Jaidev

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Is there really any truth in the popular sayings like ‘Success begets success’ and ‘Failure is the stepping stone to success’? Because a talented artiste called Jaidev Verma seldom witnessed this happening in his life and career. In his personal life, he remained a bachelor with just a few people to call his own and in the film industry, he got labelled as an ‘arty’ composer who was good for critical acclaim but useless for box-office collections! Behind his impeccable attire and ever-smiling face lurked a strange sense of under-achievement and under-appreciation. His sensitive artistic soul seemed to be silently enduring some deeper pain. Otherwise why would a triple National Award-winning composer spend most of his life as a paying guest in a single room in company of drink and ultimately die an unsung genius?

Jaidev’s early life was full of interesting twists and turns. He was born in Nairobi, Kenya on August 3, 1918 but spent most of his childhood in his maternal aunt’s place in Ludhiana, Punjab. It was there that he first fell in love with films. Fascinated by the moving images of the silver screen, young Jaidev decided to become an actor!

Just like so many impressionable 15 year-old adolescents, he did the first impulsive thing that came to his immature mind. He ran away to Mumbai to gain a foothold in the film industry. The first stint was unsuccessful and ended in a dejected return to Ludhiana with his father. But the inner urge was too strong and soon, he once again decided that running off to Mumbai was the best course of action!

This time around, he got a slightly better reception. He was hired by Wadia Movietones and got to do small-time roles in mythologicals and the popular ‘Fearless Nadia’ stunt movies. But then came the bitter realization that his acting career was going nowhere. Earlier, to advance his acting prospects, he had taken some training in music from Pandit Barkat Rai. So now he decided to pursue that interest further. In 1943, he enrolled in Almora’s Music Centre run by two great musicians – Ustad Ali Akbar Khan and Pt. Ravi Shankar. But the famed music institute soon folded up and his training in Indian classical music and sarod-playing came to an abrupt end.

For the next few years, he dabbled in spirituality trying to find answers to his inner questions. Then a chance meeting with his musical Guru Ali Akbar Khan forever changed the course of his life. That meeting at a marriage function pulled him back firmly towards music. Jaidev started accompanying Ali Akbar Khan in his sarod recitals. Later the Ustad was signed up as a composer by Chetan Anand’s Navketan banner and Jaidev followed him back into the film industry.

Ali Akbar Khan composed music for Anand’s first two films – Aandhiyan (1952) and Humsafar (1953) and Jaidev assisted the maestro in those projects. Both the films and their music did not do too well and the dejected Ustad decided to call it quits. Jaidev though decided to stay on and started assisting Navketan’s new composer Sachin Dev Burman. With his excellent knowledge of Hindi and Urdu poetry and his expertise in Hindustani classical music, Jaidev provided handy assistance to Sachinda in many milestone soundtracks like Taxi Driver, Munimji, House No. 44, Kala Pani, Sujata, Laajwanti and Insaan Jaag Utha.

In 1955, Jaidev got his first break as an independent composer in Joru Ka Bhai. Thus began a memorable if none too prolific career where he composed music for some 40-odd films over the next three decades.

Jaidev’s music seldom tasted commercial success and the main reason for that was his inability to compose simple songs with catchy lyrics and crowd-pleasing tunes. Joyous fluffy songs like ‘Main Zindagee Kaa Saath Nibhaataa Chalaa Gayaa’, ‘Abhee Naa Jaao Chhodkar’ or ‘Do Deewaane Shaher Mein’ did occasionally shine through his music but otherwise his compositions were typically serious, intricate and at times, plain complex. He was mainly inspired by Hindustani classical and folk music. Even the lyrics of his songs were almost always too poetic for popular consumption. So a typical Jaidev song was never a simple hummable fun-and-dance number; it was a song that wove a rich tapestry of subtle musical and lyrical nuances. Its cerebral appeal to any intellectual mind was undeniable and that certainly got the connoisseurs swooning over his ‘different’, ‘original’ musical approach. But unfortunately the same strength turned into his biggest weakness when it came to wooing the common man! In this regard, his music was remarkably similar to his best friend Madan Mohan’s music.

Such was Jaidev’s musical genius that even within his rather limited repertoire of film soundtracks, he was able to create so many memorable classics in so many different voices. Songs like Lata’s ‘Subah Kaa Intezaar Kaun Kare’, Rafi’s ‘Kabhee Khud Pe Kabhee Haalaat Pe Ronaa Aayaa’, Mukesh’s ‘Jab Gham-e-Ishq Sataataa Hai’, Talat’s ‘Dekh Lee Teree Khudaaee’, Manna Dey’s ‘Pyaas Thee Phir Bhee Takaazaa Na Kiyaa’, Kishore’s ‘Yeh Wohee Geet Hai’, Yesudas’s ‘Chaand Akelaa’, Bhupendra’s ‘Ek Akelaa Is Shaher Mein’, Suresh Wadkar’s ‘Seene Mein Jalan’, Asha Bhosle’s ‘Maang Mein Bhar Le Rang Sakhee Ree’, Chhaya Ganguly’s ‘Aap Kee Yaad Aatee Rahee Raat Bhar’ and Runa Laila’s ‘Tumhein Ho Naa Ho’ presented a brilliantly varied spectrum of classy compositions. Even his non- film compositions for Manna Dey’s Madhushala and Asha Bhosle’s geet, ghazal and bhajan were simply brilliant.

In the 1960s, barring the music of Hum Dono and Mujhe Jeene Do, Jaidev could not make much headway when it came to winning box-office approval. Then came the decade of the 1970s where Jaidev proved to be one of the few composers consistently tapping the best out of Lata’s slowly declining vocals! His two defining Lata-dominated soundtracks from this decade were Reshma Aur Shera (1971) and Prem Parbat (1973) and what body of work he left there for all of us to admire!

Reshma Aur Shera bombed at the box-office but Jaidev won a National Award for its music. It was a perfect recognition for his meritorious melodies. Just like the 60s, the 70s too had begum promisingly foe the maestro but once again, this decade would only flatter to deceive in commercial terms. Even in these years, Jaidev could not really break free from his ‘intellectual composer’ tag or perhaps he himself did not want to!

Whatever may be the reasons behind his inability or indifference to adopting and adapting to the popular film music conventions; one thing was sure. That by not bowing to the so-called box-office demands and always remaining true to his musical instincts, Jaidev had carved a special niche for himself in the pantheon of great Hindi film music directors. When he took the final bow from the world-stage on January 6, 1987, Hindi film-music lost an exceptionally talented composer, who never really got his due in his lifetime. (Source – Lata – Voice of the Golden Era – By Dr. Mandar V. Bichu).

N. Dutta

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Datta Naik alias N. Datta was born in 1930 in Oroba, a small village in Goa. At the age of 12, he ran away from his family and came to Mumbai. There he learnt classical music and later worked as an assistant to Ghulam Haider. He also used to participate in street music programs, where Sachin Dev Burman spotted his talent. The maestro employed him as his assistant and while working there, N. Datta also developed a notable career as an independent composer. His compositions showed a fine sense of melody and orchestration. His close association with lyricist Sahir also ensured that his songs were always blessed by meaningful poetic lyrics.

Noted Marathi writer and music aficionado P.L. Deshpande had once famously written that whenever he listened to Lata’s emotional Dhool Ka Phool title song ‘Too Mere Pyaar Kaa Phool Hai’ (composed by N. Datta), he got the impression that each word, each note was rendered as if a tender flower petal was gently placed in flowing water! Lata and Mahendra Kapoor’s qawwali ‘Tere Pyaar Ka Aasraa Chaahataa Hoon’ from the same soundtrack was a huge hit and has remained popular till date. In Naach Ghar, Lata’s silken rendition of N. Datta’s waltz based club song ‘Aye Dil Zubaan Naa Khol’ subtly exposed this materialist world’s duplicity in Sahir’s sarcastic socialist lingo.

N. Datta’s later years were spent fighting ill health and commercial failure. The 1980 film Chehre Pe Chehra was his last Hindi film and on December 30, 1987 he breathed his last (Dr. Mandar V. Bichu)

Snehal Bhatkar

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Snehal Bhatkar

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Snehal Bhatkar was from Maharashtra and his real name was Vasudev Bhatkar. While officially working for HMV, he used to secretly work as a composer under various pseudonyms like ‘B. Vasudev’, ‘Snehal’ and ‘Snehal Bhatkar’ – out of which the last one seems to have stuck forever! By the way, this pseudonym was a shorter version of his daughter’s name – Snehlata!

Bhatkar and lyricist Kidar Nath Sharma shared a special bond. Bhatkar’s main claim to fame remains Mubarak Begum’s ‘Kabhee Tanhaaiyon Mein Yoon’ – the immortal title song for film maker Kedar Sharma’s Hamari Yaad Aayegi (1961). Actually Bhatkar had originally composed this song for Lata. She had earlier recorded two duets (‘Sochtaa Hoon Yeh Kyaa Kiyaa Maine’ and ‘Jawaan Mohabbat’ with Mukesh) for the film but later in her busy schedule, she could not fit in the new recording. She then suggested that Bhatkar use Asha for this song, but Kedar Sharma opted for Mubarak Begum instead. Mubarak’s distinctive voice and Bhatkar’s exquisite tune then combined to produce an all-time classic!

Other melodious songs to his credit include ‘Ham Par Jaadoo Daal Gaye’ (Gunaah), ‘Raadhaa Ke Man Kee Muraliyaa Pukaare’ (Nand Kishore), ‘Dil Kaa Milnaa Mushkil Hai’ (Hamari Beti), ‘Woh Chalee Gham Kee Hawaa’ (Aaj Ki Baat) and ‘Lehroun pe Lehar’ (Chhabili). The last-mentioned song is perhaps Bhatkar’s best Hindi collaboration with Lata Mangeshkar. Right from the opening couplet ‘Mohabbat mein kaheen do dil hasenge, geet gaayenge/Magar ham gham ke maare raat bhar aansoo bahaayenge’, the song immerses the listener in a moody melancholy!

On May 29, 2007 Bhatkar left this world at the ripe old age of 88 at his residence in South Mumbai. He is survived by two sons, including noted Marathi actor Ramesh Bhatkar and a daughter. His funeral was held at Dadar in Central Mumbai. (Dr. Mandar V. Biuchu)

Sardar Malik

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Sardar Malik was destined to live his life in the wings so to speak, because fate seemed to turn against him early in his career. Yet one sees no bitterness in him, no sign of regret except a resigned acceptance of what could have but didn’t happen. At seventy, he’s still a dapper, good looking man. One can see that he must have always been his own person not out of stubbornness but out of an inborn lazi­ness to change the way he is or a dislike of putting an effort to try and change the nega­tive circumstances around him.

“Main hamesha se ajeeb raha hoon,” he says with engaging candour and one can see a very youthful man ticking away somewhere behind the ravages of time.

Sardar Malik started his career as a disciple of the famed Uday Shankar. “I joined his cultural academy at Almora. I was sponsored by the Maharaja of Kapurthala himself. I once jumped before his horse and asked him for the money to do my training. He was taken aback but amused, and he granted me the sponsor­ship. My stint at the Almora academy taught me a lot. I studied dance under Uday Shankar and music with Alauddin Khan. I stood first in Kathakali, first in Bharat Natyam. Along with me at the academy were people like Guru Dutt and Mohan Sehgal. Mohan and I joined as dancers while Guru Dutt and I were room­mates. Two people couldn’t have been more different. Guru was an introvert who loved to read while I was sociable, very noisy and rest­less. And we spent five years together. Imagine! I would put on the music all the time and dance. Once Guru said to me ‘Since I read at night, I want you to practice during the day till 10 pm. After that you must stop’. But one day I was so enthused by a tune that I went beyond my time limit, much to Guru’s ire. We had a massive argument. He complained to Uday Shankar who came to our room to sort out our fight. After making me acknowledge that I’d broken our agreement, he (Uday Shankar) suddenly laughed and said, “But music is something you can’t confine in time slots. Sometimes I get up and dance at two in the morning!”

“Being with Uday Shankar was an education in itself. He knew every student intimately. I remember he had predicted that Guru Dutt would enter the creative field but I would wake up only when I was old. When I asked him why he said so, he replied, “Because you are so lazy.” Just to teach me the importance of time, I remember, he assigned to me the task of fetching Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru’s bath water on one of his visits to the acade­my. He knew that Panditji would not tolerate latecoming!”

Though he was trained under Uday Shankar, luck just didn’t seem to favour Sardar Malik. He and Mohan Sehgal started their careers as dancers. They were appointed as dance direc­tors by Nanabhai Bhatt for a film titled 40 Crore at a fee of Rs 3000 which was a king’s ransom in those days. They needed a girl to play Radha in the film. They knew of a friend’s daughter who would suit the part and brought her to the studio. There one of the producers misbehaved with her and Sardar Malik and Mohan Sehgal were accused of tak­ing advantage of the girl. So shocked were they by this episode that they swore to quit dance direction. That put paid to one aspect of Sardar Malik’s artistry.

He continued performing with Uday Shankar’s troupe and it was here that his singing was noticed by Ramesh Sehgal, a director. He asked Malik to stay with him for 3 months and compose music for him. Sardar who was earning Rs 20 per show as part of Uday Shankar’s troupe asked Ramesh Sehgal for a fee of Rs 10,000 for this offer. He was quite sure Sehgal would refuse but to his utter sur­prise he agreed. He had no option but to stay with him and compose for Renuka. “I also sang one song in the film Sunti nahin hai duniya fariyaad kisiki. Then I composed for Rain Basera. I had two new singers Raj Khosla and Binota Chakravarti in it. Yes, Raj Khosla had actually come into the industry to be a singer but later turned to direction. These two films were made around 1948. Eventually, I left Uday Shankar and got into music compo­sition. I did a couple of films after that. Then followed by a long lull of seven years when I had no work. This jinx was broken when I got a film starring Dev Anand. It was called Stage. But the film flopped. Then came Khet in which Meena Kapoor gave the playback. It was inci­dentally in this film that Sahir Ludhianvi com­posed the first song of his film career. Unfortunately the film was never released. Sahir had composed a song for this film which started with the couplet Tang a chuke hain kashmakashe zindagi se hum. Since it was not used Sahir withdrew this song and gave it to Guru Dutt for his film Kagaz Ke Phool.

Where I was concerned, nothing seemed to work. If I got films they never saw the light of day or flopped which meant that the music went unnoticed, though the music of all these films was very good. I had a family of 3 chil­dren to support. I felt I just couldn’t cope and decided to commit suicide. But the thought of my children stopped me. In a fit of depression I took all my records and threw them into the sea.

Though most of my music became very popu­lar, success kept eluding me. I remember when I composed for the Shammi Kapoor starrer Thokar, the song Ae ghame dil kya karoon, became a major hit. It was sung by Talat Mahmood. In those days Asha Bhosle was given only frothy numbers. I made her sing this song solo after Talat Mahmood, and people loved it. It showed a totally different side of the singer who was till then known only for her dance numbers.”

By a quirk of fate when Sardar Malik’s ever popular film Saranga fetched the producer Rs 40 lakh in royalty, Sardar Malik’s family was starving. “We didn’t have money to buy food,” Malik recalls. “I never responded to any fan mail and people thought I was a careless man who didn’t care for his fans but the truth was that I just couldn’t spare the money to buy the postal stationary. I’d feel I should buy vegetables to feed my family instead.” There is a contrary streak to this man who is whimsical in the extreme and even has the will to back his whims. Malik was a good singer and could possibly have made some money in this profession but he says, “I used to sing till Jugnu was released. Mohammad Rafi sang the number Yahan badla wafaa ka bewafai ke siva kya hai in it. When I heard the flu­idity of his voice I felt ashamed of myself. I felt I had no right to sing unless I could match Rafi’s talent and gave up singing. Honestly, I wasn’t a bad singer, in fact I was better than quite a few of them but as I said earlier Main ajeeb hoon.

Sardar Malik has composed musical gems like Saranga teri yaad main, Mujhe tumse mohabbat hai, Ai ghame dil etc. One notices a fine blend of tunefulness and simplicity in his compositions. He says “I wanted to give a new twist to film music. I wanted to incorporate the best of classical music in simple com­positions but fate did not give me that opportunity.”

Though Sardar Malik has composed for not more than 30 films he is recognized for the quality of his work. It was he who could get Mukesh to sing most tunefully in Saranga. Mukesh always felt that in his rendering of a song his voice fell somewhere. Malik’s composi­tion Saranga teri yaad mein and all the numbers of Saranga are remembered for Mukesh’s beautiful rendering. It was Malik’s fate to become the victim of a misunderstanding between Sahir Ludhianvi and Lata Mangeshkar which put paid to his musical career. Instead of expressing his talent through his compositions he spent the best years of his life teaching music. Everything he possess, even his house comes from his earnings as a teacher. He did get films but B grade ones like Ab-e-Hayat, Bachpan, Maharani Padmini, Naag Jyoti, Superman, Taxi No.555. In the last decade or so private albums for private companies have proliferated and Malik has composed for quite a few of these which find an adequate market abroad.

But this man who has remained in the background has no regrets at all. “I feel my son Anu has made up for all that I couldn’t do. He is very creative but people haven’t realised this yet so they come down heavily on him but they will understand him one day.” But Sardar Malik has had his moments. In the days of Binaca Geetmala he recalls “there was a time when one of my song was on the first position, one was in the mid­dle and another one at the last posi­tion, in the same programme. But I got nothing for my work, no royalty nothing.”

This ironically has been the refrain of many artistes in the film and music industry. Even when the custom of paying royalty came into being only some singers and composers received them and it is the most needy ones who’ve been left out.

Today, Sardar Malik squarely takes the responsibility for whatever life has given him. “I was too weak to fight. I just accepted whatever hap­pened and took the line of least resis­tance.” Now he is working on a pro­ject which he’s held close to his heart for a long time. Once this is achieved he’ll be able to prove his ‘Guru’ Uday Shankar right for predicting that Sardar Malik would wake up only in the autumn of his life. As told to Lata Khubchandani (Screen Weekly – 1997)

Roshan

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He refined his song till it sparkled with the sheer glow of perfection. The late Roshan, who prematurely passed away in 1967, soon after he had hit commercial big time, has left behind a timeless legacy of shimmer­ing musical gems whose appeal has been further burnished by time. Like S.D. Burman, C. Ramchandra and Shankar-Jaikishan, here was a com­poser who understood that music should sound fresh, alive and mod­ern even when loaded with a sub­stantial base. Not for him the dated monotony or the hyped-up saccha­rine quality of less-gifted, far less versatile but more saleable com­posers who were the pets of the media. Roshan’s greatest failing (if it can be called that) was that he never sold or projected himself in the music bazaar. He chose to play his sarangi, flute and sitar in his songs rather than blow his trumpet in the papers!

Roshan was 32 when he made his low-key debut with Kidar Sharma’s Neki Aur Badi (1949). A year later, he hit big-time with Kidar Sharma’s Bawre Nain (1950). This disciple of Pandit Ratanjanker of Lucknow proved his mastery on the art of popular composing with an in-depth touch of class in this film itself. Muhabbat ke maaron ka (Rafi and a remarkalby Geeta-esque Asha), Mujhe sach sach bataa do (Mukesh­Rajkumari) and Sun bairi balma (Rajkumari) were songs which made an immediate impact. But the cream of the score was Roshan’s tour-de-force in the film: This then-fledgling compos­er constructed with the Darbar Raag as common base, two numbers diametrically opposite in mood, the Mukesh-Geeta Roy (Dutt) teaser, Khayalon mein kisike iss tarah aaye nahin karte, and the despondent Mukesh solo Teri duniya mein dil lagta nahin.

Roshan’s characteristic hallmark was his simple, uncluttered and unobtrusive orchestration. But while many of his contem­poraries used this feature as a sort of ‘negative virtue’ to pass off weak compositions as ‘soothing and soft’, Roshan used it for a positive purpose to embellish, subtly but with great effectiveness, a melody which was inherently strong, and oftener than not, had a classical base. Not for nothing had he studied classical music right from the tender age of eight, with Master Manhar Barve as his first guru and a chain of eminent teach­ers to follow.

Some of the best examples of this were songs including Dil jo na keh saka (Bheegi Raat), Sansar se bhaaga phirte ho (Chitralekha), Ab kya misaal doon (Aarti), Tam agar mujhko na chaho (Dil Hi To Hain) and in what was to become his swan song at the charts, Oh re taal mile nadi ke jal mein from Anokhi Raat which was released after his death in 1968.

A popular misconception about this genial genius was that his formidable musical range stopped short at comedy or the flippent type of song necessitated by a film situation. Nothing could be further from the truth. Roshan, whether in 1950 with the playful Sun bairi balam, in 1957 with Kadki tera naam hain clerki (Aji Bas Shukriya) or in 1967 with the folk-based Na na na mere beri ke ber mat todo (Anokhi Raat), could come up with lightweight songs too. In fact, Mere beri ke… is one of the earliest examples of double-entendre that we know!

But it is probably the only Roshan composition which succumbs to this temptation, for Roshan’s forte was tuning great poetry. In fact it was only when Roshan was the ‘tuner’ that Majrooh Sultanpuri, one of his favourite lyricists, seemed charged with the idea of matching Sahir, Roshan’s other favourite, ‘pith’ for pith. If Sahir wrote Zindagi bhar nahin bhoolegi from Barsaat Ki Raat (1960), Majrooh countered it with Ab kya misaal doon main tumhare shabab ki/ Insaan ban gayi hain kiran mahatab ki (Arti, 1962). Both beau­ties written are available in this col­lection for comparison. Again, if Sahir chose to pen Chura le na tumko yeh mausam suhana/ Khuli waadiyon mein akeli na jaana (Dil Hi To Hain, 1963) Majrooh surpassed it with In baharon mein akele na phiro/Raah mein kaali ghata rok na le (Mamta, 1966), both brilliant duets in the same situational tenor! If his work with Sahir earned him the label of ‘Qawwali King’ and gave him three Muslim socials when Naushad was still fighting fit (Taj Mahal, Bahu Begum, Barsaat Ki Raat) with a fourth such subject in Noorjehan, Roshan also hit it off with poets of an essentially Hindu ethos, like Neeraj (Caravan guzar gaya from Nai Umar Ki Nai Fasal) or Indeevar (Malhar, Shisham down to Anokhi Raat) and his mentor filmmaker-lyricist Kidar Sharma himself. And of course his work for Aarti and Chitralekha stands out as much for their perennial classicism as for Roshan’s perfect understanding of his Hindu and classical roots. And the maestro’s skills were given the perfect endorse­ment when Lata Mangeshkar signed Roshan to score music for her own film, Bhairavi, which was, tragically, never made.

The careful student of film music will be immediately struck by the element of modernity in Roshan’s songs even in his earlier films. He played around with notes as if they were scientific toys in the hands of a brilliant scientists. As early as in Malhar (1951), he got Mukesh to croon such an innovatively ­tuned, amazingly-’60s like number, Taara toote duniya dekhe set to the beat of the ’50s! No one could ever blame Roshan for not moving with the times. In fact, he was probably the earliest composer with S-J (who too appeared in 1949) to erase the K.L. Saigal influence from Mukesh and instill in his singing his own style, which was later exploited so well by Salil Chowdhury, Kalyanji-Anandji and Laxmikant ­Pyarelal. In fact if songs like Aaya hain mujhe yaad (Devar) and the heartstoppingly-magnificent Bane ho ek khaak se (Aarti) are any indication, Roshan, compositionally, was always ahead of his times. Yet in one respect, Roshan seemed to have an eccen­tric quirk in common with his son Rajesh Roshan. He had phas­es so far as his choice of singers were concerned. In ’52-’53 he used Kishore Kumar’s voice in seven songs in four of the eight films he did, only to totally forget him later. And a man who barely had time for Mohammed Rafi before 1960 made him rule over the Roshan oeuvre after that!

Destiny never intended big success for this man. But it was in her masterplan to give Roshan pride of place among the finest creators Hindi film music will ever see – Rajiv Vijayakar

Jamal Sen with Mehdi Hassan - both hailed from Rajasthan.

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If talent were the only criterion for a composer to succeed, Jamal Sen should have been the most successful music director of his time. But he was not.

His proficiency in singing, dancing (Kathak) and poetry, which lent a touch of completeness to his musical acumen and set him apart from the run-of-the-mill composers, became a liability to him in an industry which had no value for real class. The result: a composer who gave such brilliant scores as in Shokiyan and Daera, died unsung, after a long spell of isolation.

In his last days Sen had but one friend, composer Ghulam Mohammed, who after being afflicted with a serious heart ailment, had shifted to Bombay’s far off suburb, Borivli, where he (Sen) was living in a dilapidated room.

Jamal Sen’s forefather Kesarji who hailed from Sujangadh in Rajasthan, was said to be a disciple of Tansen and was hence called Kesar Sen. The family tradition in music was passed on to Jamal at a very young age by his father Jeevan Sen, a court singer and an acknowledged Ustad. Jamal, who could sing and play various musical instruments, was especially good on the dholak, tabla and pakhawaj.

While in Lahore, Jamal Sen was introduced by music director Shyam Sunder to Master Ghulam Haider, which marked the beginning of a fruitful association spanning 12 years. Sen’s knowledge of classical and folk music and his mastery over the dholak made him an asset to Ghulam Haider in films from Khazanchi (1941) to Majboor (1948), until Masterji migrated to Pakistan in the wake of the Partition.

Then a chance meeting with director Kidar Sharma gave him a break in films as a composer, and he proved his virtuosity in his very first film, Shokhiyan in 1951.

The imaginative use of the raag Yaman Kalyan in Sapana ban sajan aaye (Lata Mangeshkar) was a testimony to the composer’s command over classical music. The songs — Raaton ki neend cheen li (Suraiya), a ghazal where melody is predominant, and Aai barkha bahar (Lata, Pramodini, chorus)—bore the richness of Rajasthani folk music. A Door des se aajare (Suraiya, Lata) is a classic example of folk and classical music intermingling to create an enchanting melodic pattern.

Shokhiyan was followed by Kamal Amrohi’s Daera in 1953. Though a flop, the film is remembered for the perennial appeal of the bhajan, Devta tum ho mera sahara, maine thama hai daman tumhara (Rafi, Mubarak Begum, chorus), in raag Bhoop. When the situation required, Sen could also compose a Western tune Sun sun meri kahani (Rafi) for Bhagwan’s Rangila!

Jamal Sen, who had begun his career as a singer on AIR, Calcutta—he was among the first to sing Vande Mataram on radio—should have stuck to a career in, classical singing. With his talent and lofty ideals, he was a misfit in films. His inability to manipulate and his refusal to compromise, made him a loner, and the mediocre films which he scored music for led to a colossal waste of his rich talent.

Once producer K. Asif, who met him accidently in a studio, took him to show the impressive Mughal-e-Azam set and described to him Gopikrishna’s dance sequence to be filmed there. Jamal Sen told Asif that though the set did create the necessary atmosphere for the sequence, he wasn’t sure if the dance would match the period. K. Asif had not thought of the period aspect of the dance, so without hesitation he requested Jamal Sen to compose the music and the bol required for the sequence. Sen did. However this piece composed by him was not used in the film. The people around K. Asif resented the intrusion of a second music director on the scene.

Later, when K. Asif announced Sasta Khoon Mehenga Paani, which had a Rajasthani backdrop, he-asked Jamal Sen to be an advisor to bring authenticity to Naushad’s compositions. But luck once again played traunt with him and the project never saw the light of day.

A proud and arrogant man, Jamal Sen never went out of his way to grab work. As a result, he was slowly relegated to the periphery of the music scene, and then to oblivion. Shokhiyan and Daera were a thing of the past. A commerce-oriented cinema had little use for his talent. Under the circumstances, it was a poor consolation to him that his imaginative score in the documentary, Madhumakhi, won laurels abroad.

Jamal Sen knew his prowess. And was proud of it. Once, after hearing him sing, Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan called him a `Tansen’ and a ‘Sur Ka Bichhu’, Ustad Amir Khan described him as ‘Sangeet Shastri’. Notwithstanding the impressive titles and tributes, Jamal Sen continued to exist in a state of penury, unwanted and uncared for.

In his later years, out of sheer frustration, he turned to liquor, and lived on the hope that his sons Shambhu Sen and Madan Sen would carry forward the family’s rich tradition in music. But Madan suddenly died of heart failure at the young age of 40. And he never recovered from the shock. Within a year, on April 12, 1979, he too died – Nalin Shah

R.D. Burman

With ‘Dum maro dum’, the seminal rock number from Hare Rama Hare Krishna (’71), Rahul Dev Burman initiated the pop blitzkrieg of Hindi film music. But even as Burman provoked a sonic revolution, he stunned the audiences by composing, in the same year, a classical gem like `Raina beeti jaaye’ for Amar Prem (’71).

Rahul’s father, music director S D Burman, nicknamed him Pancham because even as a child, he would cry in all the five notes. Not surprisingly, Pancham grew up to become passionate about music. Along with his mother, he assisted S D Burman in the 50s, even coming up with an occasional independent tune like `Sar jo tera chakraye’ (Pyaasa).

Mehmood says he gave his friend, Rahul, his break as a music director in Chhote Nawab (’61) because he got tired of Rahul denting his car with the persistent drumming of his fingers. In Chhote Nawab, Rahul got Lata to sing the exquisite `Ghar aaja ghir aayee’, and consequently became instrumental in mending fences between Lata and S D Burman. But it took Rahul almost five more years before he got his next film, Mehmood’s Bhoot Bangla (’65). Mehmood cast Rahul in a comic role in Bhoot BangIa and even offered him Padosan (’68). But Rahul declined as he had promised his father that he would not embarrass the family by acting. So Burman’s contribution to Padosan remained a riotous score headed by the sidesplitting ‘Arrey dekhi teri chaturai’. Later, an embittered Mehmood watched friend Rahul shift focus to bigger banners like Nasir Husain which helped Rahul catapult into the big league.

In the early 70s, Burman junior reached his pinnacle with a slew of Kishore Kumar songs in Rajesh Khanna starrers like Kati Patang, Amar Prem and Namak Haram. Even the Aradhana chartbuster ‘Mere sapno ki rani’, though credited to S D Burman, was rumoured to have been son Rahul’s creation. But then, the father and son had always shared a relationship of mutual understanding. If the father felt the son was not doing justice to the Amar Prem song `Bada natkhat hai’, he did not think twice before reworking it himself.

Even as Hare Rama Hare Krishna and Jawani Diwani made Rahul a pop icon, he teamed up with Gulzar to produce such evocative refrains as ‘Tum aa gaye ho’ (Aandhi) and `Naam ghum jayega’ (Kinara). Mega hits like Sholay, Deewaar; Hum Kisise Kum Nahin kept him saleable throughout the 70s. Even in the early 80s, he was the first choice for teenage love stories like Love Story, Rocky and Betaab.

But later, Saagar or Ijazat could not stem the decline. As his wife, Asha Bhosle pointed out, “With the coming of Bappi Lahiri, his producers disappeared. If they get a plagiarised tune at a lower cost, why would they come to the original?”

Unfortunately, 1942, A Love Story which showed that Rahul was still capable of great compositions like `Ek ladki ko dekha’ came after his demise. His fans who groove even today to bootleg versions of `Chura liya hai’ or `Dum maro dum’ lament his early death. But then, as consolation, Burman has left in his dazzling repertoire, many a ready fix for RD junkies.

A. Hameed

The hallmark of the musicians of early period in our cinema is their adaptability to all situations and all sorts of songs in the film. In this context, one must talk of one very gifted music director, A. Hameed. From a classic sixties music of Saheli to the modern-day rendition of club songs in Hasan Tariq’s three beautiful movies, Mazi HaaI Mustaqbil, Seeta Maryam Margaret and Begum Jaan, he proved himself capable of all the moods. A. Hameed was a brilliant tunesmith, who was chiseled in the furnace by the masters of their time. He began in the fifties and continued well into the eighties, which shows how versatile and talented he was. Even with new prodigies like Kamal Ahmed and Amjad Bobby coming into the fold, the demand for his kind of music did not end in the early eighties. The best proof of that fact is that Kamal precisely started off from where A. Hameed left off!

Yes, if you analyze Kamal Ahmed’s music, you’ll find many similarities to A. Hameed. Kamal also began with classical musical values, with hit songs like Ga morey manwa gata ja re, champa aur chambeli and Hum ne jo dekhe khwab tumharey, and went on to make brilliant club songs in the later years of his career. The only difference is that when A. Hameed came along, even a typical Evernew musician used to hear all sorts of music, right from Frank Sinatra to Kundan Lal Sehgal, from Bing Crossby to Naushad and Jhandey Khan, from Jazz and Old man river to Mohey chorr gaey balam and Chahey koee ghul machaey galiyan hazaaar day, etc. So, the range of the new musician in the fifties was much vaster than the range that our musicians of the 2000s could boast of.

Hameed began his career from Jaffar Shah Bukhari’s film, Anjaam, in 1957. He had just wandered into Lollywood, and was fortunate he was noticed by such a stalwart of the cinema. Bukhari Sahab found him sufficiently convincing to give him another of his film, Bharosa, which was screened in 1958, and which gave us that unparalleled master of script and dialogues, called Riaz Shahid. With the commercial success of Bharosa, A. Hameed was able to stand on his own two feet. Bukhari Sahab then made him pet music man, and gave him another flick, Faisla, where A. Hameed was able to compose tunes for such incomparable voice as of lqbal Bano, one of them being Chaley jaee ho bedardi main roey mare hoon.

But, Hameed’s true triumph, which registered his name for all times to come in the industry, was the screening of S. M. Yusuf’s two golden movies, Raat Kai Rahi and Saheli. Who can forget the hit songs of Raat Kai Rahi, probably one of the most intriguing early detective films. It had such hits as Haey kiss se nazar takra gaee, Aag se na khelo babujee, Ae badlon ke rahi, Kya hua dil pe sitam, etc. You could say it was the geetmala of the Rushdi-Zubaida Khanum duets. In Saheli, on the other hand, it was classic film music of the sixties, which is the all-time favorite of Lata Mangeshkar. Its most popular song was, of course, Naseem Begum’s biggest hit, Hum bhool gayey har baat magar tera pyar naheen bhoolay. Those days, films were largely constructed around homely issues, and A. Hameed, literally, reached the apex of typical `family’ melodies. Other songs from this film were Hum ne jo phool chuney dil mein chubhey jatey hain, Mukhrre pe sehra daley aa ja o aaneywaley and of course, that eternal sad duet by Saleem Raza and Naseem Begum, Kaheen do dil jo mil jatey. It is interesting to note that in this classy geetrnala, Madam Noor Jahan was conspicuous by her absence. Naseem Begum, Kausar Parveen, and Saleem Raza have sung most songs.

From this day onwards, A. Hameed himself became a fan of Naseem Begum, and gave her priority over any other female singer. He again gave her exemplary hits in Aulad, with songs like Tum milay pyar mila (with Munir Hussain), Naam le le ke tera hum to jiyay jaeinge and that beautiful song for women, Tum quom kee maa ho socha zara/ Aurat se hamein yeh kehna hai! Do you hear such beautiful and meaningful numbers anywhere today? It’s a sad reflection on our music today.

Soon, S. M. Yusuf made another big hit, titled Aashiana, which had all its songs romantic hits of the time, of course, including Oho barrey sangdil ho/ barrey na samaj ho/ tumhein pyar karma sikhana parrega. Other hits from this film are Dekha jo unhein dil ne/ Chupke se kaha haey and Ja re bedardi too ne kaheen ka hamein na chorra. A. Hameed breathed his last in the mid-nineties, with his last few movies being Naya Andaz (De rahee hai maza berukhi aap kee and Zidd na kar iss qadar jaan-e-jaan), Mazi Haal Mustaqbil(Zindagi too ne har qadam pe mujhe aik sapna naya dikhaya hai), Sangdil (Yeh aap kee mehfil hai) and Love In London (Gulon pe rang aa gaya) – By Zulqarnain Shahid

M. Ashraf

The sudden and tragic demise of M. Ashraf on February 4, 2007 brought an end to an era of great music compositions. The 65-year-old musician entertained music lovers with his matchless tunes for 45 years and died of cardiac arrest, leaving behind countless fans to mourn the loss.

From Sangdil, Nadeem’s first musical hit in the then East Pakistan in 1968 to Babar Ali’s record-breaking debut, Munda Bigri Jaye in 1995, M. Ashraf had the distinction of creating the highest number of successful tunes in Pakistan, easily matching that of his contemporaries, Nisar Bazmi and Robin Ghosh.

He was born in Lahore inside Bhatti Gate in 1942 and belonged to a well-known family of musicians. His maternal uncles, Akhtar Hussain Sakhian and Master Inayat Hussain, were successful musicians of their time and it was under their tutelage that he began his career in 1961, as part of the dynamic duo of Manzoor-Ashraf.

The duo helped Ahmed Rushdi win his first two Nigar Awards with the song, Chaand Sa Mukhra Gora Badan, from their film Saperan in 1961, and Gol Gappay Wala from Mehtaab in 1962. Although they composed many hits such as Aaina (1966), Insaniyat (1967) and Mera Ghar Meri Jannat (1968), they split up, with M. Ashraf going solo with Sangdil (1968) and Manzoor’s career coming to a halt due to his involvement in the murder of actress Niggo in 1971.

Sangdil completed its golden jubilee and Nadeem became a star with Ahmed Rushdi’s Sun Le O Jaan-i-Wafa, making Ashraf a force to reckon with. In the ’60s his success continued, reaching a pinnacle in the ’70s when he won three Nigar Awards in four years — for Gharana (1973), Mera Naam Hai Mohabbat (1975) and Shabana (1976). Qurbani (1981) got him his last award for an Urdu film and although he continued to churn out brilliant songs with movies like Tarana, Dosti, Meherbani, Kamyabi, Faisla and Ustaadon Kay Ustaad, he was always looked over when it came to an award.

His worth can be judged by the fact that in 1975 alone he composed hit numbers for films such as Farz Aur Mamta, Mohabbat Zindagi Hai, Anari, Mera Naam Hai Mohabbat, Jab Jab Phool Khile and Naukar.

Ashraf won 13 Nigar Awards and 14 Graduate Awards as music director for various Urdu and Punjabi films during his illustrious career. He had the distinction of working with film directors such as S. Suleman, Nazrul Islam, M. Javed Fazil, Pervez Malik, Shamim Ara, Iqbal Akhtar, Jan Mohammad and Hasan Askari. And banking on his music, they all tasted success.

He composed songs for three generations of superstars — from Habib and Santosh Kumar to Nadeem, Mohammad Ali and Waheed Murad and finally for Shaan, Babar Ali and Afzal Khan giving opportunities to the finest playback singers to sing to the best of their abilities. These included Ahmed Rushdi, Mehdi Hassan, Madam Noor Jehan, Mala, Runa Laila, Nayyara Noor, Naheed Akhtar, Naheed Niazi, Irene Perveen, Naseem Begum, Saleem Raza, Masood Rana, Rubina Badar, Mehnaz, Ikhlaq Ahmed, A. Nayyar, Asad Amaanat Ali Khan, Tehseen Javed, Ghulam Abbas, Anwar Rafi, Nadeem, Rangeela and Indian starlets Sonu Nigam, Shaan, Saadhna Sargam and Shreya Ghosal. M. Ashraf’s musical journey ended with Tere Bin Jiya Na Jaye (2005).

With over 400 Urdu and Punjabi films to favor his case as a seasoned musician, M. Ashraf left the world at a time when he was needed the most. In his early days, he copied many Indian songs from across the border with his film, Nazneen, having the most copied versions, but in the latter part of his career, mostly from 1970-1990, he was the lone champion of quality Urdu songs with Kamyabi, Mehrbani and Faisla releasing in the ’80s and being copied across the border.

After his son, M. Arshad, (Bulandi, Bandit Queen, Jeeva, Raja Sahib, Dopatta Jal Raha Hai, Dil To Pagal Hai, Salakhein) emerged as a formidable musician, Ashraf composed music whenever his heart desired. He helped launch Imran Malik, son of Ashraf’s favourite director, Pervez Malik, by composing songs for his film, Tere Bin Jiya Na Jaye.

With Mohammad Javed Fazil making a comeback in films after a decade, Ashraf’s presence would have done wonders. He left this world two years after Amjad Bobby, his most formidable contemporary of the ’80s, and the absence of both these giants has left the genre of film music all the more poor – Omair Alavi