FATHER, SON, A SUPERSTAR AND A SONG
Khagesh Dev Burman
S.D. Burman was in his mid-sixties when he composed two of the most youthful Bollywood songs of all time—Mere sapnon ki rani and Roop tera mastana—for Aradhana. The music of the film owes its timeless quality partly to SD’s melodies but also to several others, as this excerpt reveals: Kishore Kumar, who sang the songs with an inimitable lilt; Rajesh Khanna— Hindi cinema’s first superstar—who brought them alive on screen; R.D. Burman, who completely rearranged Roop tera mastana to its present form; and last but not the least, the director Shakti Samanta, who hired SD to do the music since he couldn’t afford Shankar–Jaikishan!
The year 1969 turned out to be a memorable one in the life of Sachin Dev Burman. While the Government of India awarded him with the Padmashree, the year saw the unprecedented success of his music in Shakti Samanta’s Aradhana, the only film for which he scored music that year. The film has already gone down in the history of Hindi films for the manner in which it turned star ratings topsy-turvy. Its unknown hero Rajesh Khanna became a superstar, the likes of which had not been seen in Indian cinema yet. The film also gave a new singing star to Hindi cinema. Trailing behind Mohammad Rafi for long, Kishore Kumar leaped ahead with his chartbusters in Aradhana, leaving all competition languishing. For the next two decades, till the end of his life, Kishore remained the undisputed number one singer in Hindi films. Going against the wishes of his producers, Sachin had consistently opted for Kishore for a number of his songs, helping the singer to grow under his tutelage. With Aradhana, Kishore opened a new horizon in the world of Hindi film songs. The most heartening aspect of the success of Aradhana was the victory of earthy tunes. S.D. Burman, who had arrived in Bombay with his stock of plain and simple Indian music, surpassed the Big Band represented by the likes of Shankar–Jaikishan, O.P. Nayyar and Madan Mohan—who charged three times what Sachin Dev Burman did. Their films, particularly Shankar–Jaikishan’s and O.P. Nayyar’s, used to reverberate with Western music and orchestra. Sachin had only his stock of melody and creative talent. At last, Bengal’s folk tunes had overcome Western music. The melody of flute, sitar, sarod, dhol, kansa and tabla defeated Western beats. And yet, he also demonstrated with super hits like Mere sapnon ki rani and Roop tera mastana that when it came to Western beats, he was in the same league as the best!
The film was initially titled Subah Pyar Ki. Taking the cue from the words of Sachin Dev Burman’s song in the film, writer Sachin Bhowmik changed the name to Aradhana much after work on the film had started in full swing. There is an interesting incident behind the appointment of S.D. Burman as music director for the film. Shakti Samanta reached his Bandra residence one morning accompanied by his companions. The songs of his previous film, An Evening in Paris, had become raging hits. Shankar–Jaikishan had scored the music. As such it made sense for Shakti Samanta to go with the same composers. At first, Sachin could not guess why the film-maker had come to him. It was Shakti Samanta who broached the subject, ‘I am planning a low-budget film—can’t afford Shankar–Jaikishan. If you could kindly …’
Sachin responded in his typical East Bengal intonation, ‘I understand. You want me to do the music for a pittance, isn’t it?’
Shakti Samanta knew Sachin’s temperament. Wringing his hands he said, ‘No, no, not exactly. Please don’t misunderstand me, karta. We have a very limited budget. So, finding no other way …’
‘Finding no other way, you have come to me. That does not make me feel very good about myself, does it? Say that you want to have me as the music director; why digress?’
‘That’s right, karta. I have come with high hopes. If you kindly …’
Usually, Sachin never talked about money. Haggling about such matters was inimical to his royal character. But something happened that day. He said, ‘All right, in the last film you paid me seventyfive thousand. This time you have to pay eighty thousand.’
Shakti Samanta submitted in all humility, ‘Sir, we have a provision for a lakh.’
Sachin was ecstatic. He responded, ‘One lakh? Just wait and see; my music will talk, break all records.’
Sachin himself sang a passionate background song in the nature of ‘vivek’ in Jatra play—Safal hogi teri aradhana. After the untimely demise of the hero, the unwed pregnant heroine and her father are shown the door by the hero’s uncle. The song unfolds against this background. All the songs he had sung so far in Hindi films were bhatiyali, but not this one. This poetic song is a wonderful example of Sachin’s application of a folk tune to Hindi film. The tune follows the style of old Bengali folk songs in the genre of songs of separation. The original song goes ‘Ami bandhur premagune pora sai go/Ami maile poras na tora’. Keeping the root appeal intact he created an unparalleled song with a new structure, in his own style.
Sachin was sensitive about the instrumental accompaniments on his songs. He considered orchestra secondary to the song. As such, it had to remain in the background and not overshadow the song. He used to advise Pancham, whose fascination for orchestra is well known, ‘Don’t forget the song for the sake of the orchestra.’ He was fond of the softer accompaniments like the flute, santoor, sitar and sarod, and folk instruments such as ektara, madal, etc., which gave his songs a dew-fresh appeal. His understanding of and ear for musical instruments matched his grasp of the tune itself. He was more at ease with Indian instruments in general. His sharp ear ensured that instruments and orchestra never overshadowed the tune itself. Shakti Samanta has mentioned his dislike for excessive instrumental accompaniments:
Only once have I seen Sachin-da really angry. It was during the recording of Safal hogi teri aradhana in Aradhana. Sachinda told Pancham not to have more than eleven musicians. Poor Pancham could not decide whom to drop and had to keep twelve on the floor. Sachin-da was livid with anger. He said, ‘Pay the extra hand and release him.’ Pancham reported the incident to me. I asked him to do as Sachin-da desired. The musician was paid off and asked to leave.
One of the biggest hits of the film, and the song that made the biggest impact, was Kishore Kumar’s Roop tera mastana. Let us now hear what Brajen Biswas, the tabla player, has to say about the story behind the song:
Many of karta’s songs originated from the songs we heard in our countryside—those songs were the foundation of his musical output … I remember, karta had come from Bombay to Kolkata. People had assembled at his South End Park residence—a gathering of luminaries from the world of music. In between the conversation karta kept playing the harmonium. Suddenly he stopped and said [in his East Bengal accent], ‘Do you know Shakti is making a film. He has asked me to direct the music. He also wants me do a sexy number. I was reminded of a long-ago story. I had gone to a fellow’s house. I kept calling him, but he would not come out. When he did not answer my call for a long time, I scolded him. He said, “Forgive me, karta, I am getting my son married today and was helping him with his dhuti.” I noticed a small girl playing with an earthen oven. When she saw the boy she started laughing. I asked, “Are you marrying off this small boy?” The fellow replied, “It is better now, or else he might go astray.” Hearing this, the small girl’s laughter knew no bounds. She started singing, “Kalke jabo shoshur bari, aajke khai garagari” [Quite impossible to render in English, but loosely translated: Tomorrow I go to my in-law’s place and so am rolling in joy today—author]. Listening to Shakti I suddenly remembered this song. Then and there I decided that I would slow down the tempo a bit and ask Kishoira [meaning Kishore, in East Bengal dialect and tone—author] to sing. I would ask him to sigh and punctuate the lines with deep breath and it would then be a sexy song.’ That is how the famous Roop tera mastana was born. So many songs came to life this way.
But this was not the end of the matter. The song was to be picturized on Rajesh Khanna and Sharmila Tagore scorching the scene with their passion, and Sachin’s tune did not quite reflect that. Pancham, who was assisting his father, and Kishore, who was to sing the song, both felt the same way about the tune and were wondering how to raise the issue with Sachin. Pancham set Kalke jabo shoshur badi to a new tune, making liberal use of the cha-cha-cha style. At last, Pancham himself gathered enough courage to sing the song before his father. Sachin saw that the boy had grasped the essence of the scene. This was when he realized that there was no holding back Pancham—he would be famous one day soon and that it was time he took up music direction independently rather than attach himself to his father as an assistant. It is indeed Pancham’s unseen hand that transformed Kalke jabo shoshur badi lock, stock and barrel to something as evocative as Roop tera mastana. And what about Kishore’s performance? With what effortless ease does his voice convey the feverish longing of the body, the fire of passion! There is probably no other singer in Hindi cinema who would have managed to bring a song like this to life in the manner he did.
There is no denying that the story behind the creation of a song is always fascinating. Aradhana’s other hit song Mere sapnon ki rani kab aayegi tu has an equally interesting tale. Those jealous of Sachin’s success accused him of copying the tune of Tequila. In this context Pulak Bandyopadhyay mentions what Sachin told him:
After Aradhana became a super hit, I once heard Sachin-da say, ‘Tell those who say that I have copied Mere sapnon ki rani kab aayegi tu from Tequila that I have indeed based it on another tune, but not copied it. And it is not Tequila. The tune is inspired by a song sung during the boat race of Comilla. I am a Bengali. There’s a lot of musical wealth scattered all over my Bengal. I will first of all take those before turning to the West.’
The song commences with the sound of a train passing by, the train’s whistle, as the strains of a mouth organ, flute and sundry instruments produce the effect of a train in motion. Interestingly enough, in an effort to convey the effect of a train setting off, Sachin begins the song with a jolting motion. Before creating a tune, Sachin took into account the minutest details of the situation and the character singing the song. He had an uncanny ability to create tunes which matched the situation. In his mind’s eye he would visualize the scene and then choose a tune which would make the audience correlate the song to the scene. Kishore Kumar rendered the song with an extraordinary sense of joie de vivre. The sequence—Sharmila reading a book on the train winding its way through the hill landscape, Rajesh Khanna serenading her in an open jeep—remains one of Hindi film’s iconic ones, and the credit for this largely goes to Sachin’s tune and Kishore’s voice which captured the imagination of the young. People were all praise for Kishore. The success of Roop tera mastana and Mere sapnon ki rani catapulted Kishore to the top as like a marathon runner he left all his competitors behind. It is interesting that in his midsixties Sachin created two songs which spoke so eloquently to the young generation of the era.
The other songs in Aradhana also became immensely popular. Kishore had another exceptional number, the memorable duet with Lata, Kora kaagaz tha yeh mann mera, where the unforgettable echo of the hills weaves a mesmerizing web of romantic dreams. Though Kishore walked away with all the honours, Rafi had two delectable duets in Gunguna rahe hai bhanwre and the playful Baagon mein bahaar hai. In any other film these would have stood out on their own, but such was the effect of the Kishore songs that even such melodious numbers were overshadowed. Rafi was never the same singer again for the rest of his career.
Extracted from the forthcoming biography SD: The Musical World of S.D. Burman.