Husn waalon ko na dil do yeh mitaa dete hain
Zindagi bhar ke liye
Zindagi bhar ke liye rog lagaa dete hain
Zindagi haay
Zindagi bhar ke liye rog lagaa dete hain …
THE SUPER TALAT MAHMOOD GHAZAL, AS FLESHED OUT ABOVE, IS the one that ‘made’ Mehdi Hasan – as written by Shakeel Badayuni and as composed by Naushad to go upon Dilip Kumar in Babul (1950). Ghazal Sultan Mehdi Hasan is no more and therefore much more. How possibly could I forget that evening (during a showery phase of July 1989) when Mehdi Hasan, at a private sitting, sang for us as only he could. Just before he began performing, Mehdi Hasan (having moved over to Pakistan after Partition) graciously talked about how he owed his initial rise – to ghazal eminence – to a composition by Naushad Ali and its rendition by Talat Mahmood. Names ironically symbolizing the twain that never could meet in our cinema …
That singing phenomenon styled Mehdi Hasan was all enthusiasm as he did a rewind: ‘Dilip Kumar was my absolute favourite as the screen hero without peer in Pakistan or India. Therefore, as a fresher, when my turn to sing came during that [early 1957] evening in Karachi, I chose both ghazals from that acting giant’s films. First I sang Talat Mahmood’s [1951] Tarana ghazal, Eik main hoon eik meri bekasi ki shaam hai. As I finished rendering this Kaif Irfani-written, Anil Biswas-tuned ghazal, I should have paused for the audience to react. But feeling [at that point in 1957] not yet assured enough on the stage and being somewhat nervous, I failed to hold on to the moment. Even as they were beginning to clap, I had launched into my second ghazal handpicked for that evening. This one was Naushad Ali’s and Talat Mahmood’s Husn waalon ko na dil do yeh mitaa dete hain from Babul [1950]. The applause for my rendition of this Naushad classic, so originally sung by Talat Mahmood, was deafening that evening in Karachi. Money just rained in upon me from the audience. In next to no time I had collected Rs 14,000 in cash. That was the beginning and from there I never looked back. I swore by Dilip Kumar and Naushad Ali; and need I add that Talat Mahmood was the inspirational influence in my advance as a ghazal singer? A dream come true it was when I met Talat Mahmood and Naushad Ali in person. These had been my idols from my early song-warbling years as an auto mechanic. Then, when finally I encountered Dilip Kumar in person, my lifetime wish was fulfilled. An exceptionally tuneful team they formed, Dilip Kumar and Naushad Ali, I can’t conceptualize the one without the other.’
Mehdi Hasan’s art, according to Majrooh Sultanpuri, lay in the fact that ‘he punctuated the ghazal’. This was something that I was to discern as I heard Mehdi Hasan during that monsoon evening of Friday, 28 July 1989, at the Sonmarg Napean Sea Road (Malabar Hill) apartment of Sultan Arshad, the Pakistan International Airlines chief in Bombay then. Mehdi Hasan, during that evening, had gone on to add that, apart from Talat Mahmood’s surpassing interpretation of Husn waalon ko na dil do yeh mitaa dete hain – crafted in Raag Bhimpalasi by Naushad – he had been struck by our composing wizard’s evocative use of the harmonium in that ghazal. ‘Would you know,’ queried Mehdi, ‘about who played the harmonium in Husn waalon ko?’
‘Mohammad Ibrahim,’ I responded, ‘the one who was the younger brother of Naushad’s chief assistant, Ghulam Mohammad, himself an independent music director highly regarded by one and all in the Bombay film industry.’
That memorable interface with Mehdi Hasan brought home to me the tragedy of Talat Mahmood vis-à-vis Naushad. Here was Mehdi Hasan telling us how a Naushad ghazal rendered immortal by Talat Mahmood had provided him with his career-launching platform. Telling us how, with it, he had first come to public notice while singing to an open audience in Karachi. This while Naushad, to the end, remained persona non grata where it came to Talat Mahmood. There was some kind of a reunion by December 1963. That is, a full 13 years after the two had so unforgettably collaborated upon the music of that evergreen Dilip Kumar starrer, Babul (releasing 6 October 1950). But the Talat–Naushad vibes went wrong yet again. This following a chain of events that I shall detail as we Talat-hum along.
Remember that Babul (1950) was the first, and almost the last, film in which Talat Mahmood performed for Naushad. Let me therefore focus upon what happened at Talat Mahmood’s very first recording for Naushad (in Babul). Talat – impeccable in his idiomatic use of the English language – had told me something astounding in this direction, as I met up with him. Our interaction came about just after a ‘Special Sweetness’ piece that I wrote on Talat Mahmood in my Filmfare ‘On Record’ column of 25 April 1969. ‘Your article was in the nature of an agreeable surprise sprung upon me’ – acknowledged Talat Mahmood – ‘published as it was at a time when the film industry in Bombay had completely forgotten me. I loved your song selections too, especially your identifying my voice so distinctively upon Dilip Kumar via that exquisite Shailendra–Shanker creation, Sapnon ki suhaani duniya ko aankhon mein basaa na mushkil hai, from SJ’s Shikast [September 1953]. ‘It’s my plaint that, where it comes to Talat Mahmood going upon Dilip Kumar vis-à-vis SJ, my projection, nearly all the way, is mechanically through that old Shanker–Shailendra chestnut, Ae mere dil kahein aur chal, from Daag [July 1952].’
Our talk turned to Naushad and Talat Mahmood’s ‘maiden’, for that composer, from S. U. Sunny’s Babul (arriving in the first week of October 1950). With a deep sense of regret did Talat, now, expatiate on how he had displayed self-defeating conceit, at the Meraa jeevan saathi bichhad gayaa take for that film, by presuming to smoke in front of Naushad. This, horror of horrors, just before his first ever recording with our number one music director got under way. ‘Naushad said not a word then,’ reminisced Talat Mahmood. ‘He just proceeded with the recording as if nothing had occurred. But I felt it in my bones that I had indulged in an utterly pointless show of vainglory. I don’t think Naushad – being from a Lucknowi dispensation different from mine – ever forgot the slight that he clearly felt during that morning. It was something singularly foolish to have done, going in for a puff with Naushad there before me. I mean the spectacle of a fellow Lucknowi venturing to smoke in front of someone so elder, someone already regarded as a towering talent at home and abroad.
‘Shall we here say,’ continued Talat, ‘that I had grown loftily conscious of the fact that I was beginning to emerge as the favoured voice of Dilip Kumar, following the instant impetus that I got with my very first ghazal rendition in the Bombay film industry? I mean the Majrooh Sultanpuri-written, Anil Biswas-tuned Ae dil mujhe aesi jagah le chal jahaan koee na ho, going upon Dilip Kumar in Arzoo. That was in the February of 1950. That Arzoo ghazal’s impact was such that I thought I was through. My articulation of this ghazal had created a stir in the Bombay film world. Almost overnight, every other music director in mainstream cinema was looking for one Talat Mahmood – recently arrived from Calcutta – to enhance the marquee value of his score by getting at least one ghazal for his film put over by me.
‘Plus composers began sending for me to sing outside the fold of ghazals too. Thus, following my Bombay debut via Arzoo [in the February of 1950], I had been invited by Khemchand Prakash to perform for Jaan Pehchan; by Shyam Sunder for Kamal Ke Phool and Bhai Bahen; by Bulo C. Rani for Jogan; by Hafiz Khan for Meherbani; by Vinod – the one whose real name, you now enlighten me, is Eric Roberts – for Anmol Ratan and Wafaa. Thus did I picture myself to be on song by the time Babul released [on 6 October 1950]. Such spot success made me forget the ground reality. It saw me overlooking the simple fact that I had just about begun the process of stabilizing myself in the quicksands of Bombay filmdom.
‘So what if, already, I was known as a ghazal- and geet-singing specialist? That was outside the orbit of films in Bombay, where the movie industry had its own peculiar yardstick of rating the commercial value of a singer. Do remember that, in mainline cinema those days, it was the ambition of each performer, male or female, to sing for Naushad – as the one and only. In this light, I should have considered it a rare honour to have been commissioned by Naushad to perform upon our topmost hero Dilip Kumar for Babul – following Arzoo with Anil Biswas – so early in my playback singing career in films. But I obtusely failed to pay heed to the fact that, if I was already something of a draw in the field of ghazals and geets, Naushad, too, was held in high esteem indeed by the musical literati.
‘For all that,’ went on Talat, ‘my Babul duets for Naushad with Shamshad, Milte hi aankhen dil huuaa diwana kisi ka and Duniya badal gayi meri duniya badal gayi [both due to be picturized upon Dilip Kumar and Munawar Sultana], went through without a hitch. Rather late in the day, I took a grip on myself during the extensive rehearsals that Naushad carried out for these two duets of mine with Shamshad Begum in Babul.
‘As Mohammed Rafi joined us two singers on the Babul recording scene for that chorus-accompanied number, Nadi kinaare saath hamaare, I should have had the wit to watch out. Seeing the way in which Naushad appeared to be extra accommodating where it came to making Rafi feel comfortable. Mind you, I well knew that the name of this up-and-coming singer had been considered as Dilip Kumar’s playback performer in Babul. But, as one from the Hindi heartland of Uttar Pradesh, I had a sneaking contempt for the Punjabi Urdu-oriented Mohammed Rafi too!’ Talat staggered me by candidly conceding.
That is to say, Talat did not view as competition a humble one hailing from a village near Amritsar in the Punjab. As Talat further explained: ‘In the case of my having offended Naushad during that Meraa jeevan saathi bichhad gayaa recording, it could be described as a silly clash of Lucknowi egos mindlessly initiated by me. With Rafi, on the other hand, there had been no real reason for me to be patronizing. But I already felt myself to be in the front flight as a ghazal specialist in films and outside. I got carried away by the vein in which such a revered music composer as Anil Biswas, all contempt for Rafi, had gone out of his way to recommend my name as the coming voice to fellow composers.
‘I should have had the perception to see that this stemmed, in Anil Biswas’s instance, from his deep-seated antipathy towards Rafi. Such an overweening estimate of myself was to prove my undoing in the final analysis. In the case of Naushad, my long-term self-interest had lain in bowing to him on the dot. But, as the privileged voice of Dilip Kumar, I felt that I was already there. I was there and yet not there. The very Rafi – of whom I had tended to be dismissive – was set to overtake each one of us in the years to come. As Mukesh and I met up after Rafi had so broken through, we exchanged notes upon how we had let the ground slip from under our feet by going in quest of what turned out to be totally illusory stardom. Thus was the Naushad momentum gained with Babul lost and how much that meant in all-India cinema I came to realize only later.
‘Still, with the high success of Babul, I became the most sought-after ghazal singer in films by the end of 1950. Even here, after having it really good as a playback performer through three years, I audaciously embarked upon a career as a singing star. As I thus began shooting for A. R. Kardar’s Dil-e-Nadan [due for release in June 1953], music directors just lost track of me as a playback performer. While still active enough in the playback field, I had smugly assumed that even someone so mighty as Naushad was left with no alternative but to send for me. Simply because Dilip Kumar was to be the hero of his [April 1951] film, Deedar, to follow Babul within a frame of six months Here is where I learnt the lesson of my life – talk of pride being sadly misplaced. Naushad – I later heard – just would not budge from his selection of Mohammed Rafi to go upon Dilip Kumar in Deedar. He would not relent in the teeth of Dilip Kumar earnestly pleading for one Talat Mahmood already so soulfully singing the Babul theme for him.
‘I had facilely reasoned that Rafi, at that [1950] point, was yet to establish himself in the Naushad sanctum. But Naushad, as Dilip Kumar’s senior, just asked that cult hero to leave the selection of the Deedar male playback voice to him. How I had underestimated Mohammed Rafi came to be underlined as Naushad scored yet another sensational triumph with Deedar. The thing for me to digest here – that Mohammed Rafi had excelled upon Dilip Kumar in no fewer than three solos: Huue hum jin ke liye barbaad; Naseeb dar pe tere aazmaane aaya hoon; plus Meri kahaani bhoolne waale. My own musical indiscretions, they are legion. But the Naushad indiscretion cost me most in terms of industry weightage,’ rued Talat, a day after the fair.
Naushad himself – as the only one prepared to brave going without Talat Mahmood through 36 years – had a more savvy explanation to offer for the reason why he had moved away from our ghazal monarch. As Naushad validly pointed out: ‘But I had similarly drawn away from Mukesh after the soulful hit that that singer proved to be upon Dilip Kumar playing the piano in Andaz [March 1949]. From Mukesh upon Dilip Kumar had I gone on to Talat Mahmood upon Dilip Kumar with Babul [October 1950]. At that time, Talat had perhaps rationalized my swift switch to his voice as arising from the fact of his being the more obvious vocal choice upon Dilip Kumar. Talat can’t have it both ways. I had absolutely nothing against him at the end of such a runaway musical hit as Babul. Talat had contributed majorly to this with his vocals. But he failed to take into account the singular advantage of his having ultimately scored upon a coming histrionic force in Dilip Kumar.
‘First Mukesh and then Talat Mahmood,’ insisted Naushad, ‘were merely part of a process by which I zeroed in upon Mohammed Rafi as the voice of Dilip Kumar.
‘All this talk of my having resented Talat smoking in the recording studios, at that Babul take, is without substance. Here’s something sure to come as a bolt from the blue to you, Girija, and to you, too, Raju – that I myself smoke the occasional cigarette to keep my throat clear for the pursuit of rehearsals with my singers. Talat Mahmood is a ghazal specialist and shall remain one. But he has certain limitations as a cine singer. Not always does his voice display the gift of being thehrao [rock steady]. I could compose only within a certain ambit if I opted to stay with either Mukesh or Talat. By contrast, Rafi, even then [after Babul by October 1950], offered me a wider vocal spread,’ concluded Naushad.
Point – you just cannot hope to beat Naushad where it comes to a musical counterpoint. Let it therefore just be recorded here that Talat Mahmood, mesmerizingly, went on to survive the total Naushad ignore. No mean feat, that, when Talat’s straight ghazal comparison was with our greatest singing star ever – K. L. Saigal, the legend of legends through the 1930s and 1940s span of our cinema. Indeed Kundan Lal Saigal – the 1935 New Theatres’ Devdas icon who passed away on 18 January 1947 – knew no ghazal equal. What could be more flattering to the ghazal suzerainty of Talat Mahmood – our fluently Bengali-speaking crooner supreme – than to spell out the wispy position here. This is that, where it came to the 1955 Bimal Roy remake of Devdas – with Dilip Kumar in the title role – the only credible harkback to the vocals of K. L. Saigal was the incomparable Talat Mahmood. The 1955 Bimal Roy Devdas music composer, Sachin Dev Burman – himself chosen for the job after a prolonged media debate – was not exactly enamoured of the vocals of Talat Mahmood (‘Not a good singer at all, Raju!’ was Dada Burman’s opinion). Yet even S. D. Burman had no go but to settle for this everlasting voice on Dilip Kumar as Devdas. Tell me, could you image the vocals of any singer save Talat Mahmood going upon Devdas Dilip Kumar eternalizing two such melancholic melodies as Mitwa mitwa laagi re yeh kaisi anbuj aag mitwa nahein aaye and Kis ko khabar thhi kis ko yakeen thhaa aese bhi din aayenge?
That Talat Mahmood thus brought his own template to ghazal singing in films is a measure of his sway, by 1953, as the voice in which the nation made love – Hain sub se madhur woh geet jinhen hum dard ke sur mein gaate hain. This Shanker–Shailendra gem going upon Dev Anand is from Amiya Chakraborty’s Patita (June 1953). A film in which, while sounding the perennial romantic on Dev Anand, Talat Mahmood, rather weirdly, went and sang for that comedy actor Agha too – Andhe jahaan ke andhe raaste jaayen to jaayen kahaan and Tujhe apne paas bulaati hai teri duniya. ‘But why in heaven’s name had you to go and sing for Agha?’ I enquired, feeling scandalized. Talat’s cool retort: ‘Agha is a dear family friend. Besides, he was doing a warm human role in Patita, so that my voice sat neat upon Agha in that Amiya Chakraborty film that was all sentiment.’
Talat’s vocals sat flush upon Dilip Kumar too still, but Naushad had decisively determined to hear the end of this ‘voice in a million’ where it came to his recording theatre. Maybe Mohammed Rafi had been but a fringe Naushad performer in S. U. Sunny’s Babul (1950) as in Mehboob’s Andaz (1949). Yet Naushad was but tarrying for a Rafi opening to present itself – something that was apparent to everyone except to Talat Mahmood. Could Talat have gone on to forge a Naushad–Rafi style of duo with our maestro, if he had given himself the pragmatic chance? No Rafi way! Yes, there always was something melismatic about Talat Mahmood’s vocalizing. But that melisma for our top composers – bar C. Ramchandra and Madan Mohan – endured for only so long as Talat Mahmood stayed rooted as a playback performer first and last. Once he turned his attention to being a singing star, he automatically ceased to be on the soundboard of Naushad for one.
If only because that musician’s musician was very particular about a singer regularly doing the daily riyaz (disciplined practising) to sustain voice quality. This riyaz is the very foundation of singing that Talat Mahmood began neglecting, day by day, once he plumped for stardom. Early morning is the time when such riyaz conventionally takes place. But a star’s early morning is never his own, given the distinct possibility of his shooting schedule having stretched late into the previous evening or night. Naushad demanded – now and forever – whole-time attention from the voice that he employed and got it without fuss from Mohammed Rafi – as a performer never known to argue with any composer. If marginally less demanding Naushad ever was, it was only in the case of an instinctive singing star – like Noorjehan or Suraiya. No Naushad concessions to any playback performer ever.
Indeed, after Babul (releasing 6 October 1950), it took a full 17 years for the listening public in India to have Naushad grudgingly getting back to the vocals of Talat Mahmood. This for the January 1968 Aadmi duet with Rafi, Kaisi haseen aaj bahaaron ki raat hai, due to go upon Dilip Kumar and Manoj Kumar.
At the time, all of us, still pining for the silken vocals of Talat Mahmood, fondly fantasized that he had matched Rafi word for word, note for note, in this Kaisi haseen aaj bahaaron ki raat hai duet. How naïve of us to have gone on such a flight of fancy! Hear the Kaisi haseen aaj bahaaron ki raat hai duet afresh, objectively, and you divine that Rafi has Talat’s vocal measure in every single syllable. In fact, Talat can be heard to be struggling to keep Kaisi haseen pace with Rafi in spite of every effort by Naushad to match the voices of the two. Having said that, we did come to look upon Kaisi haseen aaj bahaaron ki raat hai as an Aadmi fait accompli, once the song was released as an N74633 HMV 78-rpm record. I vividly call to mind collector listeners racing to the nearest music shop to acquire a disc record featuring Talat Mahmood performing for Naushad after years and years of vintage wait – even if in a mere male duet with Rafi.
But they had reckoned without the voice-conscious Manoj Kumar upon whom Talat Mahmood’s genial vocals were slated to go. Manoj Kumar had come in as a replacement for the whimsical Raaj Kumar in Aadmi, halfway through that highly troubled January 1968-releasing film. Having modelled himself upon Dilip Kumar, Manoj Kumar was acutely conscious of the vocal beating that he could take, in Talat Mahmood’s softer tones, at the hands of the Mohammed Rafi–Dilip Kumar combine hitting the apt notes. As Naushad recounted it to me, there was not a day when Manoj Kumar did not ring him up – with 11-12 weeks to go for the release of Dilip Kumar’s Aadmi. The burden of Manoj Kumar’s song was straightforward: ‘Get for my visage a voice with which I could hold my own opposite a Dilip Kumar already giving me the willies!’ Naushad resisted for a while but temporized, at the end of it all, as Manoj Kumar, in sheer despair, carried his urgent urgings to Aadmi producer P. S. Veerappa himself. Naushad now brought in, entirely predictably upon Manoj Kumar, who if not that nearest thing to Mohammed Rafi that we know, Mahendra Kapoor, for the Kaisi haseen aaj bahaaron ki raat hai record to be reissued. Re-pressed as N74634 (Mohammed Rafi and Mahendra Kapoor) in place of N74633 (Mohammed Rafi and Talat Mahmood) in what represented, at the time when it transpired, an eyebrows-raising departure from HMV tradition.
‘Mahendra Kapoor came smarmily to me with a letter,’ revealed Talat. ‘A letter to be signed by me stating that I had no objection to his displacing me in Kaisi haseen aaj bahaaron ki raat hai. I signed the letter without hesitation since I knew that Mahendra Kapoor was approaching me after, not before, Naushad had supplanted me in that duet without even caring to ring me up. I did tell Mahendra Kapoor that he could have at least brought the letter to me before he went on to record Kaisi haseen. The guy grinned sheepishly. I left it at that. If a stalwart like Naushad was not prepared to stand by me after having let that Aadmi disc record of my Kaisi haseen duet hit the market, there was little to be done. I accepted it philosophically as the approaching end of my film singing career. Through 15 years had I struggled to live down the ignominy of having thoughtlessly turned a singing star. For the first time in my life, I even began to call music directors, saying that I was back on whole-time playback duty. Still no go it was,’ wound up Talat.
Mohammed Rafi, as one who never ever queried the composer’s vocal preference, had been an unusually keen, if a scrupulously silent, onlooker during all that came to pass on Kaisi haseen. In fact, Rafi could have been excused for thinking that Talat had but reaped what he had sown. For it was Rafi who had been at the receiving end during the progression of another male Talat–Rafi duet recording, some 14 years earlier. Even though the incident does not concern Naushad, it is important to cite the course that it took, since it involved C. Ramchandra as our maestro’s implacable rival. CR had used Rafi extensively to further his career as he broke into the big league during the 1947–52 peak years of Naushad. Then CR, shockingly and all of a sudden, turned against Rafi – at the instance of his mentor, Anil Biswas, one who just did not believe in that singer. Anil Biswas also believed that Naushad was overrated. C. Ramchandra shared this view. Now Anil Biswas and C. Ramchandra alike came to the amazing conclusion that ‘Mohammed Rafi would have struggled if Naushad had not looked after him in the hour that mattered’!
The Rafi–CR incident occurred in the January of 1954 as C. Ramchandra was recording his last song for Kolkata titan Debaki Bose’s Kavi. The number came to be issued as a two-sided N51021 78-rpm duet. It was a Talat–Rafi duet unwinding as Kavita naam hai gyaan ka eise likhne waala gyani, as penned by Rajendra Krishna. CR here had wanted one final Rafi rehearsal with Talat – during the day preceding the Kavi recording. Rafi, having grown quite busy by then (January 1954), had urged CR to keep such a final rehearsal, too, for the morning of the recording, promising (according to CR) that he would be able to manage. It did not come off in the precise way that CR had wanted it from Rafi. Whereupon CR chided Rafi, irate that that singer was failing to measure up after having said that he would be able to do it. ‘Such a little thing, just see how easily Talat grasped my point,’ taunted CR in a way that made Rafi feel downsized. ‘I know why you are not able to do it, Rafi,’ went on CR, ‘you have made so much money that you are not inclined to put in the slog any longer.’
‘You are jealous of my money!’ (‘Tum mere paise se jalte ho!’) came back Rafi in a rare rasping rejoinder to a composer extolled for his silver jubilee touch. That did it, words led to words; CR stingingly proclaimed Rafi to be ‘purely Naushad made’ and Rafi retaliated suitably. Outcome: C. Ramchandra decided to drop Mohammed Rafi altogether from his roster while Talat Mahmood – as no Naushad pet – stayed on, as male playback number one under his baton, even after that ghost voice had turned a singing star. The CR rebuff carried an extra edge for Rafi as, in Talat’s presence, he had been compared and contrasted with that competing singer. Now in January 1968, therefore, in Naushad’s Kaisi haseen duet from Aadmi, when Talat Mahmood came to be displaced by Mahendra Kapoor in Rafi’s performing company, our tenor could be forgiven for feeling that the man had it coming. To the end, Rafi’s one plaint was that he never really could please either C. Ramchandra or Anil Biswas, two Naushad-unfriendly composers who always showed a soft corner for Talat Mahmood.
Take Doraha (September 1952) as a pertinent example. As a matter of courtesy, Talat Mahmood, as a ‘makeover’ singer here, should have formally asked for his singing contemporary Mohammed Rafi’s written permission. I mean on the occasion when Anil Biswas, unabashedly, replaced Rafi with Talat. Replaced Rafi in three ghazals already recorded in that singer’s voice to go upon that film’s hero Shekhar (pairing with Nalini Jaywant): Mohabbat tarq ki maine; Dil mein basaa ke meet banaa ke; plus Teraa khayal dil se mitayaa nahein abhi. If those three do sound like ghazals made for the gossamery voice of Talat, why had Anil Biswas got them recorded by Rafi in the first place? Anil Biswas never did care for Rafi. Naushad, by the same token, had not appeared to care too much for Talat Mahmood – after that 1950 Babul experience in the case of Meraa jeevan saathi bichhad gayaa.
Or so we thought. But for Talat himself unravelling it to me, I would never have come to know of such a shattering development. Evidently Rajendra Kumar had been keen upon not just ‘doing a Dilip (Andaz) Kumar’ via Mukesh. That megastar had taken things a dulcet step further by expressing, to Naushad, a parallel desire, following their October 1963 Mere Mehboob windfall. This was a desire to try and see if the serene vocals of Talat Mahmood could not be replicated upon him – à la Dilip Kumar in Babul. Once Rajendra Kumar made known his line of thinking here, Naushad, startlingly, was only too ready to disregard Talat Mahmood’s misdemeanour on the Babul smoking front. Thus did something none of us foresaw come about by the end of 1963. According to Talat Mahmood, when the Naushad door appeared shut to him for all time to come, our maestro sent for him. Upon the two getting together again, Naushad amiably told our mood singer without a compeer that he had pitched upon just the Lucknow-based theme needed for Talat Mahmood to stage a long overdue return in his melodic charge. Talat stressed upon how plausibly Naushad had won him over here. Our composing wizard had thus called upon Talat Mahmood to render, for S. U. Sunny’s Lucknow-centric Palki (ultimately releasing only 42 months later in May 1967), not just a duet but two solos: Kal raat zindagi se mulaaqaat ho gayi and Chehre se apne aaj to purdah uthaaiye.
Talat Mahmood, still in a daze, eagerly went and harmoniously recorded – after meticulous rehearsing – Kal raat zindagi se mulaaqaat ho gayi and Chehre se apne aaj to purdah uthaaiye for Palki in December 1963. Only to find Naushad – after having so astonishingly effected such an unexpected Talat Mahmood recall – putting those two Palki recordings into cold storage. Naushad and Rajendra Kumar had belatedly decided that both Talat Mahmood and his Palki could be kept on hold. The two became preoccupied – all over again – with going ahead on that Rajendra Kumar ego trip of re-creating Dilip Kumar via Mukesh in that superhero’s fixated notion of an Andaz remake. In the event, neither the Mukesh Andaz-ideating, nor the Talat Palki-theming, really took off. Never once did Naushad mention to me that Talat Mahmood and he were back on the same recording wavelength as early as by end-1963. The act of Talat Mahmood and Naushad so reconnecting had not come off, after all, so why disclose such hush-hush recording details to me? Disclose them only for me to go to press with the tidings and importune Naushad to bring back our ghazalnawaz – here and now!
As to why Naushad should have bothered yet again to get back to the antediluvian Palki story idea – this time as the 1966 year so crucial to him got going – passes human comprehension. If only because Palki was a concept not worth reviving now or ever. But the Naushad-written Palki story was given a launching fillip by the movie’s director S. U. Sunny in the January of 1966. For Naushad and Waheeda Rehman’s Palki hero, Rajendra Kumar, to sit down and hear out (in mid-1966) Talat Mahmood singing the critically thematic Kal raat zindagi se mulaaqaat ho gayi and Chehre se apne aaj to purdah uthaaiye. Having done that, the two, Rajendra Kumar and Naushad, decreed – a full 30 months after the recordings of those two Palki songs had been gone through – that ‘a certain something’ was missing from the vocals of Talat Mahmood for a theme that was based in his native Lucknow. Rajendra Kumar in fact – as the hero of heroes calling the shots by then – put his foot down in the matter of it simply having to be Rafi in place of Talat. The Naushad of mid-1966 just caved in, electing to eliminate the mild-mannered Talat Mahmood without a second thought. Rajendra Kumar, after all, had become all-important to the turn that Naushad’s career would now be taking, 26 years after our composing ace came into films.
Upshot: those two solos witnessing Rajendra Kumar singing of Waheeda Rehman, Chehre se apne aaj to purdah uthaaiye and Kal raat zindagi se mulaaqaat ho gayi (in which Rafi dislodged Talat), failed to come off on the Palki screen. Both numbers left viewers with the impression of having been rather cavalierly – certainly none too musically – shot. Thus did Palki – for all the exertions of Rajendra Kumar and Naushad Ali – go for a Lucknowi toss (all the seasoning in Rafi’s soliloquizing coming to naught). This was something in tune with the temper of the times. The Lucknowi theme came through as sounding horrendously jaded and dated. It looked a quixotic attempt at ‘doing a Mere Mehboob’ here and now.
The May 1967 box-office fate of Palki found Naushad at the tinseltown crossroads after his having invested so heavily in Rajendra Kumar against the possibility of a Dilip Kumar fadeout. That Dilip Kumar’s captive voice once, Talat Mahmood, never really could bring himself to condone this two-song Palki recording transgression, on the part of Naushad, was but natural. Especially as such perverse sidelining had come to be followed by that joyless January 1968 male-duet substitution of Talat Mahmood by Mahendra Kapoor in Aadmi.
Alongside the Aadmi duet ‘that never was’ – do mark it down – came to be Naushad recorded (by the middle of 1967) yet another song number involving Talat Mahmood and Mohammed. Rafi! This one for nothing less than K. Asif’s Love and God, the film releasing on 27 May 1986 – a full 19 years, that is, after the Naushad recording had come to be executed in mid-1967! That Asad Bhopali-written Love and God choral number – the oft-witnessed key song upon those mendicants in the Laila–Majnoon theme – unspools as Rahegaa jahaan mein teraa naam banenge tere bigde kaam (as picturized, by K. Asif, upon Sanjeev Kumar, Lotan, Abubakar, Munshiji and co). Mohammed Rafi (as the main voice here on Sanjeev Kumar), and those co-ordinating with that sonorous performer in this Love and God number, read like a who’s who of male singers – read on to see how! Do observe that Rafi it is singing (on Sanjeev Kumar) the longest passage last (to Nimmi as Laila) in the first part of this Love and God saga as we come to view it. Rafi is to be heard as Tumhaare dar tak to aa gaye hain hum apni taqdeer aazmaane .… In this first segment of that Love and God song number, Rafi is preceded (not necessarily in the order indicated) by Manna Dey, Talat Mahmood, Hemant Kumar, S. Balbir and Khan Mastana. What sort of a Naushad exposure Talat Mahmood (singing on a mendicant), in the result, gets in this long song is better envisioned than discussed. Still, technically speaking, Talat Mahmood’s voice, as ‘batonized’ by Naushad, does (in Love and God) get to be heard on the silver screen – and not merely on the record – from the 27th of May 1986. Gets to be heard live on the screen under Naushad for the first time since the 6th of October 1950. That, never ever forget, was the release date of Naushad–Dilip Kumar’s Babul, the S. U. Sunny movie that featured the ear-caressing vocals of Talat Mahmood upon our method-acting celebrity.
Cold comfort such a Love and God bit appearance vocally was for Talat Mahmood in ‘post-dated’ Naushad custody. Yet things developed in such a manner that our ghazal lord urgently needed Naushad (with his unique standing) for something on the Wednesday of 26 August 1992. This was for the release of the Talat Geet Kosh, planned to be held in that star singer’s own Sunbeam bungalow on Perry Cross Road in the posh West Bandra suburb of Bombay. Rakesh Pratap Singh – as the ‘subjectively’ romanticized author of the Talat Geet Kosh featuring all 747 songs of our virtuoso with their full wording – had himself come down from Lucknow for the occasion. In fact, Rakesh and a Talat-faithful set of cinesangeet connoisseurs had already gathered, in an already rejoicing tone, at the home of our ghazalnawaz for Naushad to arrive.
The musical outlook prevailing in that congregation was one of keen expectany during that misty Wednesday evening of 26 August 1992. Upon Talat’s personal request, I had spoken to Naushad three days in advance and got him to agree to come and release the book on the scheduled date. I had even made it my business to remind Naushad, during that Wednesday morning, about the release date being in the evening. I had further told Naushad that I would be reaching his place to escort him to Talat Mahmood’s home. To seal the deal, so to speak, I had also prevailed upon Talat Mahmood to erase from his memory the grim Aadmi-Palki past and himself ring up Naushad without fail. I had asked our ghazal prince to phone a couple of hours before the function. I had further suggested to him: ‘Impart to it all the polish of Lucknow in reminding Naushad of my having already rung him up during that morning. Make it a point to let Naushad know what an honour it is going to be for this nobody called Talat Mahmood to have such a pre-eminent composing personality releasing his Geet Kosh!’
I cannot really say what went amiss after that. As I recollect it, I had just entered my stopover flat located on Kalanagar Road – a venue made famous by cricketing colossus Sachin Tendulkar’s original home having been there. A Sachin home overlooking the now renowned Bandra–Kurla Complex. From next to that venue was I preparing to dress and drive to Naushad’s Khar–Danda Ashiana home to fetch him. Just then, there was a near-desperate call from Talat Mahmood himself on my Bandra number. ‘I’ve just spoken to Naushad, personally inviting him, but, while being extra polite, he gave no assurance that he would be coming for the inauguration of the Talat Geet Kosh,’ lamented our ghazal wizard, sounding worriedly worked up for one with a heart history. ‘Rakesh Pratap Singh & co., plus a whole lot of my family friends, have already assembled at my home. I’m very very anxious, Raju Saab.’
I somehow pacified Talat Mahmood and asked him to give me 15 minutes to get back to him. I forthwith rang up Naushad – to find that composer picking up the phone himself. ‘I’m coming there right away, Naushad Saab,’ I laconically said. ‘In fact, everyone at Talat’s home is eagerly looking forward to having you in their midst.’
‘I’ll be there within the half-hour, not to worry – Bus main haazir ho gayaa samajhye!’ got back Naushad smoothly. ‘Waive the formality of your driving to my home to take me there. You drive straight there and I will join you at Talat’s place, just a few furlongs away for me, okay?’
Was Talat relieved to hear that! Now the pressure was upon me to drive to Talat’s Sunbeam Perry Cross Road abode before Naushad got there. I just rushed down to my car without bothering too much about a change of dress. But that way Naushad always was comprehending – he made it there in roughly 45 minutes. Thereby taking a load off my mind in the prestige matter of my simply having to be there at the Sunbeam gate to receive him. As his Fiat car showed up and as a beaming Naushad was led in by a whole musical clan, all tension vanished. Extraordinary as it may sound, even Talat Mahmood personally calling had not been enough for Naushad; so bitter, evidently, had been their Aadmi–Palki face-off.
Yet, once our maestro arrived at Sunbeam to lend authenticity to the scene, both Naushad and Talat were all Lucknowi lilt. Amidst rousing applause and to no end of delight, Rakesh Pratap Singh’s Talat Geet Kosh was declared as released by Naushad in our ghazal badshah’s grateful presence. The way in which Naushad spoke that evening about Talat Mahmood and his ghazal tapestry made up for everything – almost. After the function, as our Movie Midas relaxed in our melodiously vindicated company, the talk turned to whether Naushad Ali and Talat Mahmood could not have teamed to greater effect. It was all said in good cheer and there was much bonhomie – with Talat Mahmood’s singing career virtually over 20 years ago. The Talat Geet Kosh was all that was left for this crooner’s crooner to hug. But we still do hug Talat Mahmood’s ghazal memory, don’t we? His mystique, it is unique – Puchho naa mohabbat ka asar haay naa puchho haay naa puchho …1
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1 From Sunny Art Productions’ Babul (1950). Directed by S. U. Sunny. Song-lyric by Shakeel Badayuni. Music by Naushad. Rendered by Talat Mahmood and Shamshad Begum.