When dialogues desiccate, a song blooms. A unique feature of Indian cinema, it dignifies and depicts emotions so oceanic, so fluid, that prosaic expressions fall short. If feelings are water, a song is a vessel. How do you, for example, capture the exhilaration of a young woman growing up in an oppressive family, seeing the world for the first time, absorbing not just what’s outside but inside her? Sure, you can use a monologue or a dialogue—maybe even a voiceover—but would any of it hit home? Probably not. So you do this: As her fingers jog outside a truck’s window, a song plays in the background: O jugni o / Pataakha guddi o. And, as if reveling in coded communication, we get it—instantly, instinctively. Because if a picture paints a thousand words, a song paints a thousand pictures. Bollywood songs, as a result, have reinforced what we’ve (intuitively) known for long: that prose can be a prison.