Jacko and I

I think it was the year 1990.

One routine afternoon, I was among the three "out-standing" students of 5-B, Kendriya Vidyalaya-NAL Campus, Bangalore. The reason: My everyday crime of being oversmart enough to answer questions out of turn in class. My partners in crime being B Karthik and K R Sreedhar.

Having nothing else to do and completely oblivious to the fact that we were being watched by our headmistress Ms Lilly Philips from the staff room across the quadrangle, I began demonstrating to my friends some "cool" break dance steps that I had seen recently on TV (DD, only DD!!). No prizes for guessing who I was trying to be!

By the end of the day, I had got what possibly was my first nickname in school: Chhota Jackson!

Such was the impression created by Michael Jackson on us kids that virtually every movement of ours -- at least mine -- was based on an imagined dance step of either the late musician or the Tamizh actor Karthik (Yeah, his feeble attempts in "Raja...Rajadhi Rajan Indha Raja" of Agni Nacchattiram endeared him to all of us.)

I remember my grandfather -- the late U Sreekumara Menon -- rebuking me for not walking properly (yeah, even walking had to be in Michael Jackson style).

Today, when one hears of the pop king's tragic demise, one can't help but relive those memories and images attached to that wierd man in outlandish costumes.

Undeniably, one has grown out of the childhood awe of Michael Jackson. Yet, after all the dusting and cleaning one's personality goes through in the course of years, a few particles of the star-dust remain hidden here and there.

There was virtually nothing of Michael Jackson's music nor the supposed politics in it that I appreciated then. The obsession with his dance was just a passing phase. It was purely the larger-than-life persona and the glitz and glamour associated with him. But that was more than enough, I guess.

Something within persuades me to sympathise with the troubled life of Michael Jackson.

They say he was a flawed genius. I think genius itself is a flaw in world of average human beings. They say he will always remain at the top as far pop music concerned. I say the top is always a place where loneliness burroughs deep into your bones, making it hollow.

When I think of Michael Jackson, I can't help but conjure up an image of a tormented soul, who hated to be constantly under the glare and yet was always in it.

He may or may not have been a paedophile. He may or may not have been the paragon of virtue.

But at a very very personal level, to me his ultimate contribution to the world was: "Heal The World, Make It A Better Place..."

I used to play the tanpura for Rafi saab: Mahendra Kapoor

Neither old age nor the vicissitudes of a long singing career have weakened Mahendra Kapoor's zest for music.

The singer who gave us the soulful "Chalo Ek Baar Phir Se" way back in 1963 is now ready with a collection of Sufi songs.

Even at 72 (in 2006 when he spoke to me), the voice that took high pitch singing to unmatched levels still has a lot to offer. The affable veteran singer says that his sufiana album is something he wanted to do after he had his full in other genres of singing.

Dwelling at length on his relationship with the legendary playback singer Mohammed Rafi, Kapoor says: "Rafi saab had made it very clear, much before my career hit a high note, that we should not sing together, mainly because of two reasons. One because we shared a guru-chela relationship and there should be no competition between us and secondly because our voices are very similar."

Kapoor crooned some unforgettable Bollywood chartbusters like "Chalo ek baar phir se" ("Gumraah", 1963), "Aadha hai chandrama" ("Navrang", 1959), "Neele gagan ke tale" ("Humraaz", 1967) and "Laakhon hai yahan dilwale" ("Kismat", 1968).

Even in 2006, he had a music teacher who came to his Carter Road residence in Bandra in central Mumbai twice a week.

The Amritsar-born singer, who began his career with "Madmast" (1953) is genial enough to sing a couple of lines of that lilting Sahir Ludhianvi gem "Aap Aye to Khayal-e-Dil-e-Nashaad Aaya" without the airs of a veteran for this correspondent.

Excerpts from an exclusive interview he gave me:

How do you feel when you look back at your career?

Satisfied is what I would like to say. I have done what I always wanted to do as a child. I have sung in almost all genres - classical, qawwali, bhajans, romantic etc. I perhaps missed out on sufiana music. So this new album will fulfil that aspect.

Your voice was considered best for high pitched numbers like "Na Munh Chupa Ke Jiyo" and "Neele Gagan Ke Tale"...

It is goddess Saraswati's gift and thankfully I could make use of it well in my career. Perhaps that also got me stereotyped as a singer of patriotic songs, making my voice an inseparable ingredient of actors like Manoj Kumar (known as 'Mr.Bharat' for his patriotic flicks) and Sunil Dutt saab.

Your reverence of Mohammed Rafi and the subsequent initiation into classical music is Bollywood legend. Something on your relationship with the late singer?

In simple terms we shared a guru-chela (teacher-student) relationship. I often used to play the tanpura for Rafi saab during his performances. I used to call him Paaji (elder brother in Punjabi) and we used to speak in Punjabi mostly.

Once when we were stepping out of the All India Radio building after a performance and I was holding the tanpura behind him a group of school kids approached him for autograph.

He did not understand and asked me what the fuss was all about. When I told him what the kids wanted he, in a matter of fact manner, asked me to oblige them! And I signed their autographs as Mohammed Rafi! (Laughs) That shows the simplicity of the man. No airs, no arrogance. Just simple human being.

What about your spat with him in connection with the B.R. Chopra-Yash Chopra clan? Is there any truth to it?

There was indeed a spat. But the problem was not between us. It was between Rafi saab and the Chopras where the latter totally ignored Rafi saab after he refused to sing a duet with me in one of their movies.

Rafi saab had made it very clear much before my career hit a high note that we should not sing together, mainly because of two reasons. One because we shared a guru-chela relationship and there should be no competition between us and secondly because our voices very similar.

Can you pick out favourites in your songs and music directors?

In songs perhaps yes. One of my favourites is "Chalo Ek Baar". I put in a lot of passion while singing it. It is also my favourite because perhaps this was one song that gave me a lot of recognition and a distinct identity. But it is difficult to pick out music directors. It would be an injustice to others.

So can we have a small list of favourites?

It's still difficult. All were greats. Naushad saab, C. Ramchandra, Kalyanji-Anandji, (O.P.) Nayyar saab.

You rarely mention Ravi although most of your best songs were his creations and the Ravi-Mahendra Kapoor-B.R. Films combination held sway for a long time...

See this is what happens when I start listing out. It reminds me of the old story where while inviting relatives for a wedding one tends to forget the closest mostly as their presence is considered a 'given'.

In fact I would say nobody understood and made use of my calibre as much as Ravi saab did.

Remembering Sahir Ludhianvi, the romantic rebel

Nearly 30 years after his death, Sahir Ludhianvi's eloquent lyrics continue to resonate in people's minds, and no one in Bollywood is likely to take his place.

Though legions of lyricists have followed since his death Oct 25, 1980, seldom has there been a poet who brimmed with as much cynicism, scorn and disparagement for the modern world as Sahir (meaning enchanter or magician).

The poignancy in Sahir's creations was nurtured at a very young age when he faced his parents' estrangement as a teenager.

Born Adbul Hayee at Ludhiana in Punjab March 8, 1921, to Sardar Begum, one of his father Fazal Din's 14 wives, the Lahore High Court had to affirm Sahir's legitimacy when his own father questioned it.

This anguish is reflected in many of his lyrics like "Tu mere pyar ka phool hai" ("Dhool Ka Phool", 1959) and "Tu mere saath rahega munna" ("Trishul", 1978) -- which rebel against the concept of illegitimacy.

"Even as a person he never bothered whom he was facing although he was very kind-hearted. He just lashed out at people," says veteran music director Ravi, who composed the music for some of Sahir's greatest lyrics like "Chalo ek baar phir se" ("Humraaz", 1963), "Aage bhi jaane na tu" ("Waqt", 1965) and "Chhoo lene do naazuk hothon ko" ("Kaajal", 1965).

"After him Hindi film lyrics lost their potency. Today people can only write garbage. Show me someone who can match Sahir and I will return to the industry," Ravi me October 2005.

Sahir's anti-establishment nature was first seen after he migrated to Pakistan, when a warrant for his arrest was issued in 1949 by the government there because of his tirade against the authorities. As a result, he fled to Mumbai.

Though "Naujawan" (1951) was his debut film, Sahir's first major success came later that year with Guru Dutt's "Baazi", where S.D. Burman set his poetry to music.

Thus began a successful collaboration with Burman that yielded some of his most popular songs, like "Yeh raat yeh chandni phir kahaan" ("Jaal", 1952) and "Teri duniya mein jeene se behtar hai ki mar jaayen" ("House Number 44", 1955).

Unfortunately the duo parted ways after reaching their high point with "Pyasa" (1957) in which Sahir bloomed into what he subsequently came to be known as - the romantic rebel.

Be it romance, patriotism, philosophy or devotional songs, he injected rebellion and cynicism into all his creations. The strong intellectual element in his poetry caught the imagination of the youth in the 1940s, 1950s and 1960s.

Using his command over Urdu and Hindi, Sahir mocked religious dogma in "Sansar se bhaage phirte ho" ("Chitralekha", 1965), grandstanding politicians in "Jinhe naaz hai hind par woh kahan hai" ("Pyasa") and society in "Aurat ne janam diya mardon ko, mardon ne usse bazaar diya" ("Sadhana", 1958).

Sahir's cynicism did not spare even the majestic Taj Mahal. While he wrote lyrics for "Taj Mahal" (1963), not a single song in it eulogised or even referred to the marble monument.
Instead he ridiculed the grand mausoleum, which he loathed for its opulence.

In "Ghazal" (1964), he wrote: "Ek shahenshah ne daulat ka sahara lekar hum gareebon ki mohabbat ka udaya hai mazaak, meri mehboob kahin aur milakar mujhse" (By building the beautiful mausoleum, an emperor has mocked at the poor man's love. My dear! Let's not make the Taj our meeting spot).

Although a bachelor, his romantic trysts with several women were well known. But the only woman important in his life was his mother.

Sahir, who was extremely attached to her, did not survive too long after she died in 1976.

Addiction to nicotine and alcohol took its toll and he succumbed to a heart attack, leaving behind a rich legacy of poetry.

Mukesh could have sung classical songs too: Lata

It is more than 30 years since he passed away, leaving a void in the music world of Bollywood. Yet, Mukesh's mellifluous voice still casts a spell on listeners, emitting the fragrance of romance for some or drowning others in the depths of melancholy.

Mukesh Chand Mathur alias Zoravar Chand, who sang innumerable songs for legendary Bollywood showman Raj Kapoor, passed away Aug 27, 1976, following a cardiac arrest in Detroit, US, where he had gone for a concert.

Raj Kapoor is said to have remarked that "he had lost his soul" in Mukesh's passing away - a testimony to the extremely popular combination of Raj-Mukesh-Shankar Jaikishen (music directors) that produced timeless classics for generations of Hindi film music connoisseurs.
Lata Mangeshkar, living legend of Bollywood playback singing and a close friend of Mukesh, cherishes the moments spent with her Mukesh 'Bhaiyya' (elder brother) even today.

"'Jaane Kahan Gaye Woh Din' ('Mera Naam Joker', 1970) remains my favourite song of Mukesh bhaiyya (brother)," Lata told me in August 2006.

"The reason the song is my favourite is because it perfectly expresses my longing for the yesteryears where singing in films was a totally different thing from what it is today," the 77-year-old Bharat Ratna awardee said.

Indeed, the nightingale's yearning is typical as she shared a very close relationship with Mukesh. She accompanied his son Nitin Mukesh when Mukesh's body was brought back to India from Detroit and still remembers the day of the funeral when almost the entire industry turned out to pay tribute to him.

"I first met him in 1947 and almost immediately struck a chord. He was much senior to me - both in age as well as profession - and yet he insisted on calling me 'didi' (elder sister)," Lata reminisced.

"There was no particular reason for this. Everyone one in my family used to call me didi. So he also took it up. But it's amazing that he never addressed me as 'Lata' till the end," she said.
Mukesh, who along with the versatile Mohammad Rafi and the rebellious Kishore Kumar was considered one among the finest and most popular playback singers of Bollywood, has sung some of the most melodious and evergreen duets with Lata.

The naughty "Dum Bhar Jo Udhar Munh Phere" ("Awara", 1951), the romantic "Jaane Na Nazar" ("Aah", 1953), the effervescent "Dil Tadap Tadap" ("Madumati", 1958), the gloriously patriotic "Aa Ab Laut Laut Chalein" ("Jis Desh Mein Ganga Behti Hai", 1960) are just a few of the examples one could quote.

Born on July 22, 1923, in Delhi, the "man with the golden voice" was first noticed by Motilal - a popular actor of his times and a distant relative of Mukesh - when he sang at his sister's wedding.

In the beginning Mukesh was considered more an actor than a singer, thanks to his good looks. Soon he was seen in the 1941 flop "Nirdosh".

He got his first break as a playback singer in "Pehli Nazar" (1945) in which he took people by surprise by almost imitating the legendary singer actor K.L. Saigal - who was in the throes of alcoholism by then - in "Dil Jalta Hai To Jalne De" - incidentally picturised on Motilal himself.

"Mukesh bhaiyya was as enamoured by Saigal-saab as we all were. But although he began his career singing in the Saigal style, he soon developed his own identity," Lata noted.

"Mukesh bhaiyya was also proud of the fact that he had met Saigal-saab once. I know for a fact that he (Mukesh) even had for himself a harmonium used by Saigal-saab," she said.
His voice characterised by a slight nasal tone, Mukesh was almost always considered for light and breezy songs, ranging from the happy-go-lucky "Awara Hoon" ("Awara", 1951), the lovelorn "Yeh Mera Deewanapan Hai" ("Yehudi", 1958) or the tramp-like "Kisi Ki Muskurahaton Pe Ho Nissar" ("Anari", 1959) and "Mera Joota Hai Japani" ("Shri 420", 1955).

However, when it came to more complex and classically-inclined songs like "Ae Bhai Zara Dekh Ke Chalo" ("Mera Naam Joker", 1970) or a "Dil Ke Jharokhe Mein" ("Brahmachari", 1968), Mohammed Rafi and Manna Dey were always the choice.

"The problem is that Mukesh bhaiyya was never tried for complex and classically oriented songs because of stereotyping. It is not that he did not have the capability," Lata observed.

"Classical music-wise, the best trained was Manna-da, who was trained under his own uncle - the legendary K.C. Dey. Rafi-saab also was trained classically. But very few recognised Mukesh bhaiyya for his classical background," she said.

"I cannot say with full authority. But I feel he (Mukesh) could have sung complex songs too if given a chance because I know he used to do regular riyaaz (practise) along with his son Nitin, under a teacher," she noted.

Scores of singers, including son Nitin, tried their luck in the industry by adapting the Mukesh-style of singing but failed to make a mark.

"God blesses only a few with the original talent. The others will remain just that - copies. Mr. (Sudesh) Bhonsle succeed to a certain extent in carving a niche for himself, but that's about it," Lata said.

But for the purists and the connoisseurs today - confounded by a bewildering array of remixes of old classics - nothing less than the original refrains of Mukesh would do.

As Lata said, one can only remember Mukesh and recall his "Jane Kahan Gaye Woh Din" (Where have those days gone?).

Rafi was the best: Manna Dey

Ever since the great maestros faded away from the film music scene there has been no one who makes quality music, laments legendary playback singer Manna Dey.

"Film music is losing its purity and its foundation in Indian heritage. Now all it consists of is heavy rhythm, glossy picturisation and bone breaking dance," 84-year-old Dey, whose last song was for the film "Prahaar" (1991), told me in an interview in Delhi in February 2005.

"After working with great maestros like Anil Biswas, Roshan and others I cannot digest current day music. But then I have to move on and accept the change," said Dey, ruing the lack of depth and soul in current day film music.

Dey, who was this year awarded the Padma Bhushan, one of India's highest civilian awards, for his contribution to music, was in Delhi for a concert "Golden Era Revisited", organised in aid of tsunami victims by the Prayas Institute of Juvenile Justice.

Dey was of the opinion that artificial sounds and synthetic instruments had deteriorated the quality of music.

"Where is the involvement of the musicians? Nowadays, the male and female singers hardly meet for duet recordings, thanks to computer-generated track recordings and readymade tunes," Dey said.

He should know. His song "Ritu aye ritu jaye", which he sang with Lata Mangeshkar, under music director Anil Biswas, reportedly took close to three weeks of rehearsals.

Born as Prabhodhchandra Dey, he was named "Manna" by uncle and legendary musician K.C. Dey of Kolkata's New Theatres.

Dey began his singing career with "Tyag Mayi Gayi Tu Sita" ("Ram Rajya", 1941) at the age of 22. His big break came with the smash hit "Upar Gagan Vishaal" ("Mashaal", 1950).
He sang classics like "Kaun aya mere man ke dware" in "Dekh Kabira Roya" (1957) and "Aayo kahan se ghanshyam" in "Buddha Mil Gaya" (1971).

Although he is associated with a range of evergreen songs - qawwalis such as "Ae meri zohra zabin" ("Waqt", 1965), romantic numbers such as "Yeh raat bheegi bheegi" ("Chori Chori", 1956) and the comic but irreplaceable "Ek chatur naar" ("Padosan", 1968) - many say he was typecast as a singer of religious hymns.

Recognition was hard to come by, for his voice was rarely considered suitable for the conventional Bollywood hero.

"I used to feel sad initially. But I am very content now after having been a contemporary of singers like Mohammad Rafi, Lata Mangeshkar and Talat Mehmood on one side and several great music directors on the other," Dey said.

"I have sung for heroes, villains, comedians and side role characters. Not everybody gets that opportunity," he said.

For Dey, there have never been other singers like Mohammad Rafi and Lata Mangeshkar.
"People may disagree with me, but I know for a fact that Rafi was not that well versed with classical music. Few know that he has worked under me as a chorus singer when I was an assistant director," Dey said.

"But that was his greatness. His voice was god's gift, which not everybody gets.
"Even filmmakers were of a different quality then. Kapoor Saab (Raj Kapoor) used to sit with us during the rehearsals and understand the songs. That showed in the filming too."

Incidentally, Dey won his first Filmfare Award in 1971 - 25 years into his career - for the Raj Kapoor song "Aye bhai zara dekh ke chalo" composed by Shankar Jaikishen for the film "Mera Naam Joker".

"Awards no more interest me. If I get them I will only ask 'why not?'"

"All I can do is sing. I will sing till the last breath of my life," Dey said, condensing in his wish the spirit of that immortal line he sang "Sur Ke Bina Jeevan Soona" (Life is empty without music).

What’s the identity of today’s singers: Lata Mangeshkar (A 2006 exclusive interview of Lata Mangeshkar)

She was 2 when sound came to Indian cinema and just 12 when her voice got tuned in. Lata Mangeshkar, the unbroken string of the past to present Bollywood music, laments the lack of originality in present day singers.

Born Hema Hardikar, 77-year-old Lata has literally “been there, seen and done that” in the field of film music and continues to lend voice to actresses who are old enough to be her great grand daughters.

Witnessing a steady deterioration of quality in film music through ages has although not made her quit purely because her approach to film music – right from her seminal films - is thoroughly professional.

“Even as children our interest was never much into film music. We were more into classical and folk music. It was purely because we had to earn a living that I opted for film singing,” the Bharat Ratna holder told me in an interview.

“My family was already into moviemaking. So film singing became a natural and obvious choice for a career,” the Bharat Ratna awardee remarked.

Indeed, the phenomenon called Lata Mangeshkar happened purely as a matter of fate and destiny.

One would wonder what would have happened if her father, Dinanath Mangeshkar had not died when she was just 13. Or what would have happened if she was not the eldest in the family and hence taking responsibility for its survival.

Interestingly, according to Lata, her father forbade the listening to or singing of film songs, except those of Kundan Lal Saigal.

Lata’s voice first created a stir when she won the “Khazanchi” trophy in 1941 in Pune, singing composer Master Ghulam Haider’s actually songs sung by Noorjehan.

“I can still remember how we used to rave about “Khazanchi’s” songs. It left a memorable impact on our minds. In those days Saigal sahab’s voice used to turn our knees to jelly,” Lata reminisced.

“Of course there were so many other artistes including great ones like K.C. Dey (uncle of legendary singer Manna Dey), Zohrabai and Noorjehan,” she said.

In fact “Badi Maa” (1945) saw Lata and her sister Asha (Bhonsle) acting alongside Noorjehan and sang for both - herself and Asha – in it.


“That was a time when I also used to act in movies – again only to earn a living. It was only after the end of 40s did I take up singing full time,” a nostalgia-filled Lata said.

Her first cinematic song was for the Marathi film “Kiti Hasaal” (1942) and in Hindi it was in the film “Aap Ki Seva Mein” (1947) where she sang songs composed by Datta Davjekar.

However, her first impact came with “Majboor” (1948) in which she also sang her first duet with Mukesh – “Ab Darne Ki Kya Baat” – which has a faint resemblance to “Tu Cheez Badi Hai Mast Mast” (Mohra, 1994).

Legend goes that Ghulam Haider locked horns with his employer Filmistan after they deleted a song recorded in Lata’s voice for “Shaheed” (1948) and worked – with a vengeance - on “Majboor” for Bombay Talkies.

However, Bollywood music history as we know it today was made only when she began haunting the Indian mass psyche with her “Ayega Anewala” composed by Khemchand Prakash for Kamal Amrohi’s “Mahal” (1949).


Although, ironically the film’s credits named the singer “Kamini”, the character played by the ethereal Madhubala who sings the song, Lata swept away her competition overnight after “Mahal”.

After reigning supreme for more than five decades she has now slowed down. However, her

humility betrayed her frustration when she spoke about present day songs, singers and other artistes.

Her irritation was evident at the current crop of film songs and composers when she said: “Earlier even if the film was a bad one the film’s music used see to it that it was a hit.

“Even people used to like variety in emotions – sad, romantic, comedy, patriotic. Show me one example of even one good sad song in recent times.”

Lata, who once refused to sing “Mujhe Buddha Mil Gaya” for Raj Kapoor’s “Sangam” (1964) to Shankar-Jaikishen’s tunes for she considered them vulgar is aghast at what is heard today.

“Those upcoming girls and boys who dance to vulgar tunes and words and sing them. What is their identity?

“If people are looking for genuine talent, why are they singing our songs and compositions? Don’t they have anything new to offer?”

When told about the usual reasoning of “public demand”, Lata retorted: “If they are giving what the public wants why aren’t their songs lasting for more than two months. Don’t blame the public for your trash creativity.”

Ponaal Pogattum Poda...

In my immediate memory, apart from "Kaattadicchu, Kodunkaattadicchu" in Malayalam, no other song has such a melancholic mix of pathos, fear, anxiety and fatalism as Kannadhasan's Ponal Pogattum Poda from the Sivaji-Prem Nazir-Savitri starrer "Paalum Pazhavum.

Together with the picturisation (fantabulous for that day and age) and innovative use of natural wild sounds along with heart-stopping instrumentals, this song simply epitomises cynicism along with anxiety over death...

The second para is, I feel, the best, describing the futility of man trying to keep death at bay...

Ponaal Pogattum Poda
Indha Bhoomiyil Nilaiyaay Vaazhndhavar Yaaradaa?

Vandhadhu Theriyum Povadhu Yengae Vaasal Namakkae Theriyaadhu
Vandhavarellaam Thangi Vittal Indha Mannil Namakkae Idamaedhu
Vaazhkkai Enbadhu Vyaapaaram
Adhil Jananam Enbadhu Varavaagum
Varum Maranam Enbadhu Selavaagum
Ponaal Pogattum Poda...

Iraval Thandhavan Kaetkinraan, Adhai Illaiyenraal Avan Viduvaanaa?
(When the person who gave you alms, wants you to return it, can you refuse?)
Uravai Cholli Azhuvadhanaalae Uyirai Meendum Tharuvaanaa?
(Do you think he -- the almighty -- will return your life considering your siblings' sentiments?) Kookkuralaalae Kidaikkaadhu
(There is no point howling, you won't get it back)
Idhu Courtukku Poanaal Jeyikkaadhu
(you can't fight a case in the coutr)
Andha Kottayil Nuzhaindhaal Thirumbaadhu
(No point trying to hide inside a fort)
Ponaal Pogattum Podaa...
(Just let go...)

Elumbukkum Sadhaikkum Maruththuvam Kandaen Idharkoru Marundhaik Kandaenaa?Irundhaal Avalai Thannandhaniyae Eriyum Neruppil Viduvaenaa?
Namakkum Mele Oruvanadaa,
Avan Naalum Therindha Thalaivanadaa,
Dhinam Naadagam Aadum Kalainjanadaa
Ponaal Pogattum Podaa...

http://in.youtube.com/watch?v=A8PucLdCgkg