R D Burman: A Continuing Nostalgia
by Anirudha Bhattacharjee

In the business of music, the ultimate merit in the eyes of peers is success. Everything else is secondary, if at all, relevant. Paradoxically, if Rahul Dev Burman, the best-loved music composer of Bollywood ever inspires universal awe, admiration and nostalgia, it has more to do with the longevity of his compositions rather than sheer success. It is also the rediscovery of musical essence of the vast repertoire of melodies that did not do well during their times, mostly due to bad promotion.

Is there a key to the secret of RD's success? There are some obvious, facile answers. Like, he cared a lot for the situation, that he poured every ounce of his inspiration and creative energy into planning the movement of the song, that he knew how to best use the voices of Kishore and Asha, that he knew when exactly he needed the little extra from Lata or Manna Dey. But there was something more. RD could feel the need of the era. The early seventies was troubled times. Hippie Cult, Flower Power, Naxalite, Leftist, etc. were words that were no longer taboo. The common denominator was that the term 'youth' was growing in importance. RD, himself a rebel, understood the pulse of the youth. And that was his most coveted secret in the string of success he had in that period. As more and more films were being focused on the youth, RD used this opportunity to compose with the young listener in mind. It was with this force that RD brought to our film music a new look, a new vitality, as a composer who understood Western harmony, Indian melody, recording technology and unexpressed sentiments of the youth. And in the process harped upon the basics of any creative pursuit: innovation. His thorough knowledge of both Indian classical music and Western chord system also came in handy in composing songs that were a mix of multiple ragas and chords. For example, Kuch to log kahenge from the film Amar Prem, uses the ragas Khamaj and Kalavati, while the progression is definitely chord based. Innovation was not restricted to composing the songs only. They extended to use of new instruments, recording technology, beat forms, composing without using the tabla, creation of special instruments to convey a specific effect in mind, capture natural sounds, and a lot many more. Who can forget the memorable banshee wails created specially by an instrument developed by RD for Gabbar's signature tune in Sholay?

Is there a key to RD's longevity? If one considers the fact that RD could compose an exceedingly soulful number like Aja piya tohe pyar doon (Lata in Baharon ke Sapne) where the entire rhythm has been maintained on an electric guitar and not use the tabla at all, way back in 1966, yes. As a composer, he was, in the opinion of many, light years ahead of his peers. Rahul Dev Burman's foremost desire when writing music was to express himself in a simple and unadulterated way. He regularly consulted his panel of assistants and musicians for genesis of ideas that could later be translated into complete songs. He believed in the concept of jamming, a term of common usage in Western music, and many of the tune and rhythm forms were the result of his jamming sessions. But in carving out the final output, he kept his own counsel and ultimately, like his father Sachin Dev, followed his own hunches and judgements.

Like any successful personality, he too plagiarised, but kept his unique stamp of authority over the number. Today, most of the originals may have been wiped off from memory, but the inspired numbers remain. His inspiration was not the commonly understood syndrome, 'copying the tune'. It extended to incorporation of different forms of tunes and rhythm patterns into his music. This stemmed mainly from his deep knowledge of jazz and Broadway/Off-Broadway based musicals. For example, he was the only Bombay composer to use the song as the medium of conversation, the basic technique of Hollywood musicals, for instance, in the song Suno, kaho (Aap Ki Kasam). Here, lyrics needn't be verbose, only basic conversation would be needed to be conveyed in a vibrant and colourful manner. This also reflected the changing attitude of the youth who had lesser time for churning out poetry in praise of a mole on their beloved's ankle. As a supplement to his preference for clarity, Pancham religiously avoided the kind of heavy orchestra, which often used to determine the clout of the composer. When a whole lot of upcoming composers were keen to emulate the number of musicians used by Naushad in Aan or Shankar Jaikishan in so many Raj Kapoor films, RD struck to the staid, modest rule laid by his father who insisted that the number of instruments should never outweigh the singers voice. His brand of listeners, RD knew, loved not only to hum his songs, but also considered them as a way of life. His intention was not to augment the turbulence affecting the listeners. Even his loudest and fastest songs had orchestration that was uncluttered and gave the numbers an unhurried feel.

For all the glory he had earned, RD was an introvert when it came to self-publicity. This resulted in his losing out on many prestigious ventures. Directors who dropped him without any tangible reason included greats like Ramesh Sippy and Shekhar Kapoor. Subhash Ghai had once assured him that they would work together. In reality, he never did. Yash Copra dropped him even after the grand success of Deewar. Manmohan Desai, having used RD for Aa Gale Lag Jaa, his best musical by a mile, never said a word in RD's favour in the future. But these were not isolated incidents. RD was in reality an inarticulate dipsomaniac whose world revolved around his music and his close circuit of friends. Even when he got cheated, he had no real clout in the Bombay film circle to voice his opinion, let alone bloat it.

His last years were rooted in disappointments that were directed at various levels, mainly at the way the music industry promoted non-talents for reasons other than music. Like every superstar, RD needed to be constantly reminded of his greatness, the lack of which forced him into a self-appointed seclusion. Sachin Bhowmick, his chum and confidante, summed it up as, "It was loneliness which killed him. Loneliness which is supposed to be the critical foe of heart patients."



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And now there is silence...
by Gulzar
Part 1: THE MAN IN THE MUSICIAN


We knew each other from the moment we were hopefuls. We were assistants-he to his father and I to Bimal Roy. When SD would come with his compositions, his s on would come carrying a "dagga". He'd be wearing shorts the way kids wear Bermud as today.
My first lyric for Sachinda was "Mora gora ang lai le". Pancham would be there. Shailendra did the other lyrics for BANDINI. And Pancham would encourage me-go meet baba, go and talk to him. He'd invite me to their apartment in the one-storey building, 'Jet', on Linking Road. Today there's a tall building over that one-storey structure. I don't know who stays there now, Sachinda was there till his end.
Pancham was three-four years younger than me. He was always a kid, he remained one. He was fond of pranks, of colorful clothes and especially of the color red. He had a nickname for me--'safed kavva'. He'd phone, if I wasn't at home he'd leave a message.
His sense of humor was his very own. He knew Asha Bhonsle was very particular about keeping the house clean; so he sent her a gift-two big brooms in bright wrapping paper.
One of his passions, besides music, was cooking. He grew chillies in his terrace garden-as many as 40 varieties, cross-breeding them to get new exotic tastes. Ashaji now wonders, "Who'll look after his plants? He's gone."
If a friend was going abroad, he'd ask him to get back some soup packets. Like he asked Rahi Sabarwal of Air India to bring him some soup packets which you can only find in Hong Kong...Pancham even sent him a telegram, "Don't forget my soup." The telegram was signed Soup Lover.
As young men in our 20s, we shared many common interests-- interests in home-cooked food and in sports. He was a soccer fanatic, he was a true Mohan Baganian, he'd get into heated arguments with (director) Gogi Anand over soccer. Yet Gogi remained Pancham's friend till the end.
Pancham married Jyoti. It was a love marriage, but I think it didn't work out because they were two very different people. He was immersed into films and music; he'd spend long hours away from home in the recording studio of Film Centre. He was so obsessed with his work that he had little time for any other love in his life.
Pancham was a terrific mouth-organ player; he played the organ in his father's orchestra. And he was an outstanding sarod player too...he had trained under Ustad Ali Akbar Khan.
Pancham would have his differences with his father. But he was Sachinda's only child, he was the pampered one. And he could get pretty possessive about his father. They hailed from a royal family; for them it was a matter of pride that they had carved out their own little kingdoms with their music.
There'd be good-natured bantering between them. "Baba," Pancham would pout, "you don't give me enough pocket money." And Sachinda would laugh back, "Oi Pancham, when are you going to contribute to the kitchen expenses?" Whenever the son would try to shuffle out quietly from the music room, Sachinda would say, "Jao jao, I know you want to smoke a cigarette."
Pancham would frequently compose his tunes in the course of car drives. He'd hum, we'd reach Film Centre and he'd say, "OK, you go home now, I've got the tune in my head. I'll try it out with the musicians." If he was especially excited about a tune, he'd scream with joy. He never kept his happiness within himself; he shared the moments of ecstasy with others.
Pancham would keep the actor's face in mind while working on a composition. He'd tell me that, at times, he thought of my face while conjuring a tune-which I thought was a great compliment.

Part 2: GULZAR, RD & ASHA: THE WINNING COMBINATION


We first worked together on PARICHAY. It was important for me to sit with him on the music sessions. He inspired certain moments which I picturised later, his music was that visual...I went to Raj kamal studio where he was recording a background score for another film. I gave him the mukhDa- 'Musafir hun yaaro/Na ghar he na thikaana'-and I left. That night he woke me up at 1 a.m. and said, "Come, come down with me to the car." He'd recorded the tune on a cassette already. He started driving through the empty streets of Bandra, he played the beat on the dashboard. It was my first song as a director with him.
By the time he composed 'Saare ke saare', he had shifted from home--he was in the process of acquiring a new flat--to Caesar's Palace Hotel. The most beautiful song in the film--'Beeti na bitaai raina'--was also composed in the hotel room. It was based on a classical 'bandish'; it fetched Lata and Bhupendra National Awards for best playback singers.
In all, we did eight films together, as a composer-director team. Besides PARICHAY, there were: KHUSHBOO, KINARA, AANDHI, KITAAB, NAMKEEN, LIBAAS and IJAAZAT. How did 'Tere bina zindagi se koi shikwa to nahin' (AANDHI) come about? He was recording Bengali songs for Durga puja around that time. The lyrics were by the renowned Gauri Shanker. I liked the tune that Pancham was composing; I filled it up with Hindi words and said, "Look, I'm going to use this for AANDHI."
As for 'Is moD pe jaate haiN, kuCH sust qadam raste', I gave him the words from one of my poems. He composed the tune instantly. He never took time. Spontaneity was his specialty. If he struggled over a song, he would prefer to abandon it. For instance, 'Ek hi khwab kai baar yuhi dekha hai maine' (KINARA) exasperated him. He found that metre a bit difficult, but two months later I put it before him again. He caught the scanning, and the song was finally recorded.
When I gave him 'Mera kuCH saamaaan tumhare paas paDa hai' (IJAA- ZAT), he waved the lyric aside and said, "Huh, tomorrow you'll bring me the front page of *The Times of India* and expect me to compose a tune around it. What is this blank verse you're giving me!" Ashaji was sitting there, she started humming the phrase, "Mujhe lauta do." He grasped it immediately; from that one phrase he developed the song, which was quite a feat! This time Ashaji and I got National Awards. Poor fellow, he did all the work and we enjoyed the 'kheer'.
Ashaji's and his was a superb creative companionship. He used the potential in her voice to maximum effect. No other composer ever placed Ashaji's voice above his music the way he did. We recorded the non-film album DIL PADOSI HAI, and the variations from semi- classical and ghazal to pop and jazz, were a valuable experience for each one of us. There was a three-way harmony of voice, music and lyrics.
After his heart ailment, Pancham did feel that producers were sidelining him. He did feel hurt. He would laugh, with a touch of bitterness, at the new music composers who copy his tunes and make a mess of them. They would even imitate his singing style which was unmistakably his. 'Mehbooba mehbooba' (SHOLAY) and 'Dhanno ki aankhon meiN' (KITAAB) were his creations, but others tried to clone his style, only to sound like amateurs.
My last meeting with Pancham was on December 30 [1993]. He went to Sahara recording studio in Goregaon. Ashaji was recording a song for G.V. Iyer's VIVEKANANDA. Salil Chowdhry had composed the music. Pancham and I had gone along with Ashaji. At the end of the evening, he said in his customary manner, "Milte hain."
We never did.

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My God, That's My Tune"
An Interview with R D Burman

By V. S. Gopalakrishnan & Meera Pandya
Published in the June 16-30, 1984 issue of Filmfare
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WHENEVER an Indian achieves a milestone abroad, he instantly gets
More recognition in his own country. Perhaps it's the colonial
Hangover that still makes us believe that they are always right over
There. In this case however, the distinction is not going to make any
Difference as the person gaining it is already a household name here.

Rahul Dev Burman, who has given music for 225 Hindi films, has made
It to the New York hit parade with a song titled in every city. He is
All set to launch the album—'Pantera'—in India. Two people have been
Responsible for getting him there—his father Sachin Dev Burman who
Was the only member of the family willing to let him enter films, and
Pete Gavankar, a friend of thirty years who goaded him into seeking
New pastures and has financed the album.

Intrigued, we decided to find out just how the international album
Had come about and while we were at it, also gauge just how much R.D.
Had already packed into his life of 45 years. It turned out to be
Much more than we had thought as we had to have several sittings
Before we were through. But R.D. was patience itself. His partner
Sapan Chakraborty was there to help out R.D. who whenever he got
Stuck scratched his forehead and asked, Woh kaunsa gana thai or an
Occasional Qui bolche? We also met Pete Gavankar.

Pantera began when R. D. and Asha Bhosle met Pete and his wife in Las
Vegas in 1975. Pete, a micro-chip genius who's made millions after
Migrating to America 25 years ago, told Pancham (as R. D. is known to
All and sundry) that he had to move out of India to progress. R. D.
Hesitated. Making a record in America is a long process—anything from
Three to four months.

According to R.D., "Pete was really excited about it all. He said
He'd arrange the whole thing. Anyway Pete had said, even if the
Record flopped, it was his money."

Finally when Pete visited India in 1980-81 he took 15 tunes from R.
D. They had taken him just seven days to compose. Pete handed over
The cassettes to his sister Nilu, who knew many pop groups in San
Francisco and she in turn played them for Jose Flores, an up-and-
Coming musician. Jose liked five numbers, mixed them with Latin-
American music and recorded them. The result? "It sounded terrific,"
Says R.D. "It wasn't even a professional recording, just done in a
Hall, yet it sounded good."

After listening to the cassette Pete had sent him, R.D. decided to go
To San Francisco and record the songs. The day after Pancham landed
In San Francisco was carnival day, May 15. The atmosphere inspired
Him; he composed the "carnival" number on the album then and there.
Later that evening they visited a disco where R.D. and Jose's joint
Number In every city was played.

An excited R.D. related what passed: "The number began with a bang,
New York City, Chicago, LA, San Francisco and Bombay. All the people
There started dancing. At the climax all were clapping. I was so
Moved I almost cried."

"At a get-together later Pete asked how long it would take to brush
Up the whole thing," R.D. went on. "I said about four days. For the
Sound mixing Pete managed to wangle the services of Patrick Gleason,
A master synthesizer who worked with Francis Ford Coppola
On 'Apocalypse Now". They also used Gleason's studio which has the
Most sophisticated equipment.

"Gleason uses a digital synthesizer which can create any sound,
Including animal calls. For the Pantera number we tried to get the
Actual sound from the zoo but as the recording wasn't satisfactory we
Finally had the synthesizer produces the sound—and it's perfect. To
Gleason's astonishment we cut the album comprising six songs in a
Marathon ten days."

For this new album of Latin-American-Indian music only raw talent was
Chosen. All the artistes were budding youngsters, the vocalists were
Even from different backgrounds, a Japanese, a Puerto-Rican and a
Negro. Pete was euphoric about the cooperation and wonderful team-
Work they experienced.

"There was such complete synchronization," Pete says. "Even as a
Producer, I wasn't there just to provide the money. It was sheer team-
Work that made us a success. We worked out a strategy and we've made
It big." How else could R.D.Burman and Jose Flores have featured on?
The same radio programme as Paul McCartney, Michael Jackson and Lynda
Ronstadt?
The late S. D. Burman had first realised his son was musically
Inclined when he heard him play the harmonica at a school function.
Obviously 'Dada', as the industry knew him, was ignorant of his son's
Achievements since him himself stayed at Bombay and Pancham at
Calcutta.

Prior to this, R.D. had been to Bombay for a short period. There they
First stayed in a Borivli chawl and later shifted to a one-room home
Which the Burmans shared with Harindranath Chattopadhyaya's family.

Realizing how hard up Dada was, R. D.'s grandmother whisked him back
To Calcutta saying she'd bring him up. On one of his visits to
Calcutta, Dada was made the chief guest at a school sports function.
He even handed over a prize to Pancham for cycling. R.D. positively
Blushed while relating this incident.

The same evening Dada discovered his son's talent. "The next morning
My father asked me how long I'd been practicing and what my aim was.
I replied that I'd been having a go for the past eight months and
Wanted to be a better music director than he. My answer must have
Surprised him."

Dada set about the task of moulding his son. First he put Pancham
Under tabla maestro Brajen Biswas who taught him the basics of rhythm
And after that under Ali Akbar Khan and later Ashish Khan to learn
The sarod.

"This was around 1950-51. My father explained that before you compose
You must know the range of the instruments at your command to get the
Best out of them. I spent over four years with that family and learnt
The basics of classical music from them. Even today when I work on a
Film that has a classical base ('Kinara') I am subconsciously
Influenced by that period in my life.

"I was very bad in studies and my grandmother used to complain
Constantly. My father was in Calcutta one day when he made the
Decision to take me to Bombay. My grandmother objected saying the
Industry would be a bad influence on me. Father however was adamant.
He said, 'My son is not a good student, I am getting old, I must take
Him to Bombay and groom him. In ten years I may be able to make
Something of him.' A quarrel ensued and father left Calcutta. Before
Leaving he asked me if I'd composed anything. I played the 15 tunes I
Had ready.

"A year later, while watching the film 'Funtoosh' I suddenly heard
One of the tunes I'd composed. I blurted out aloud—'My God, that's my
Tune'. I wrote and accused my father of flicking my tune and he
Admitted he had." The song was Ae meri topi palat ke aa—a big hit in
Its time.

Courtesy: Pete Gavankar & Salim Shah


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Pancham Passion
HMV's Golden Collection
The Genius of R D Burman



Three years have gone by since R D Burman left us (January 1994). In the years preceding his sudden and irreplaceable demise his longstanding friends and admirers in the film industry had more- or-less dismissed the Burmanesque mystique as out of step with the times. R D Burman didn't live to see the revival of interest in his music. If he had lived to experience the upsurge of laurels in the wake of "1942-A Love Story" he would have been more saddened than gladdened by our tendency to write off artistes of illimitable aptitudes when they hit a dark spot in their careers.

After being in his father's shadow for several years and having ghost composed some of the senior Burman's most successful compositions in the late sixties, junior Burman proved he was 'beta' than the best. RD made an immediate impact with two back-to-back antithetical scores in long-standing friend Mehmood's "Chhote Nawab" and "Bhoot Bangla". While the former contained such effulgent classical nuggets as "Ghar aaja ghir aaye badra sanwariya", the latter found RD doing a tantalising twist that branded him as the most modern composer of our times.

One wonders what the shape of RD's career would have been if early in his career Nasir Husain's "Baharon Ke Sapne" had been the decisive blockbuster instead of Husain's "Teesri Manzil". If Baharon Ke Sapne had clicked RD would have had the chance to compose more compositions closer to his heart like "Aaja piya tohe pyar doon"; "Kya janoon aajan hoti hai kya" and "zaamane ne maarey jawan kaise kaise". Wisely, the anthology released to observe the third year without RD Burman selects "zaamane ne maarey jawan kaise kaise" from "Baharon Ke Sapne". This Burman score was brilliantly collaborated in the inceptive years of his career.

The collection lives up to the promise of delivering a rare largely obfuscated side of the Burmanesque genius. The side that never overcame hurdles imposed on the composer after the success of the rock n roll score in Teesri Manzil. One number out of fifty one selected for the collection alone suffices to lend a tonal multiplicity to RD's enduring image as a versatile composer.

Listen to Lata Mangeshkar sing "O ganga maiyya paar laga de mere sapnon ki naiyya" for the long-forgotten Meena Kumari in April 1967. This precious composition from RD's vast ditty-kitty is as purely Indian as the Ganga. One of Lata's most cherishable songs, "o Ganga maiyya" has seldom been put in any anthology of RD'S or Lata's songs.

The thrill of rediscovering a large number of RD's nuggets that were sidelined by the failure of parent films, is sustained almost to the end of the anthology. There's a telltale Rafi number from a pre-Zanjeer Amitabh Bachchan starrer. "Koi aur duniya mein tumsa" from "Pyar Ki Kahani" not only sounds very similar to RD's "Maine poocha chand se" in Abdullah, the two compositions are similarly worded and sung by the same singer Mohammed Rafi.

This collection stresses the more reflective artistry of Burman than previous collections. In this era when RD's songs are being remixed and restructured to suit the chart's purposes it is a pleasure beyond words to hear the originals. Without the untold benefits of multi-track recording facilities, R D Burman created edifices of enigma like "O hansini" in "Zehreela Insaan"; "Ni sultana re" in "Pyar Ka Mausam" and "Acchi nahin sanam dil lagi dil-e-beqaraar se" in "Rakhi Aur Hathkadi". All these compositions of classic modernism co-exist happily in this sun-kissed anthology.

When the prolonged lean phase set into RD's career circa the early Eighties RD was at the acme of his composing skills. The films that Burman composed for during the decade of doom, flopped. But were his longstanding filmmaker-friends like Mehmood, Rahul Rawail, Ramesh Sippy, Nasir Husain and Raj Sippy impervious to the elevated quality of music that RD composed for these disastrous films? If they missed the point earlier on here's their chance to catch up with the irrefutable convictions that Burman poured into songs from his flop phase. "O meri jaan" in Nasir Hussain's "Manzil Manzil"; "Jeene de yeh duniya chahe maar dale" in Lava. "Kabhi palkon pe aanson hai" in "Harjaee" are among the choicest, most fluent and filigreed compositions of RD Burman's career. They were also the essence of creativity in film music of the Eighties.

Why did RD Burman's career get relegated to the back rows of the charts? It's a pity he was born in an era when the fate of a film and its music scores were inextricably linked to each other. Today his imitators Jatin-Lalit become chart-ka-badshahs by echoing RD's style in "Khamoshi-The Musical" even though the film is a disaster at the box-office.

"The Genius of RD Burman" album doesn't do full justice to the composer. No single anthology can ever do that. What it does is familiarises listeners with some of the crucial career-defining make-or-break songs from RD's repertoire. Back in 1979 when Hema Malini's literary semi-classic Ratna Deep flopped its music too went down the drain. Today when one listens to RD's "Kabhi kabhi sapna lagta hai" from the film one is filled with wonderment and admiration. Was the multi-talented RD Burman a mere dream?
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Source: Screen, 1997
Posted by: Satish Subramaniam


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The Sound of RD's Music

by Raju Bharatan

The one who ruled the sound waves through the '70s is no more in the '90s. It seems incredible that the man who shook the stalwarts like only C. Ramchandra did in the '40s and O.P. Nayyar in the '50s should, in the end, have been consumed by the genie he uncorked.
Kishore Kumar's passing in October 1987 found R.D. Burman feeling suddenly diminished in composing stature. The sound of the voice, through which Rajesh Khanna had arrived like an avalanche in Aradhana, was stilled. Yes, it can now be told that it was R.D. Burman, not S.D. Burman, who conceived and executed the music score of Aradhana.
Dada Burman was far too ill during the recordings of Aradhana to alter substantially the shape and direction RD gave to the film's tuning and orchestration. Insiders knew this, none more so than Shakti Samanta as the maker of Aradhana.
That is the reason Shakti turned from SD to RD for Kati Patang and Amar Prem. I was among the select invitees to "The Jet" home of Dada Burman to announce the release of the records of Aradhana. Everyone present there that evening showered high praise on Dada Burman for what sounded even then a path-breaking score. Everyone present there that evening ignored the son standing in the corner of the drawing room, the son who had been instrumental in creating this totally fresh-sounding score.
Is is not significant that RD chose to break away from SD after Aradhana, for mother Meera Burman to emerge as the chief assistant of Dada Burman with Tere Mere Sapne, when the credit for the wave-making tunes of Aradhana went entirely to the father? It is as if in that moment, in which he stood isolated in "The Jet" corner, RD took a spot decision to cease to be SD's chief assistant and move out to be his own music man, make his own individual mark as a composer off the beaten sound track.
There was a whole new generation of music lovers waiting to be conquered by Kishore Kumar and Rajesh Khanna on the oral evidence of Aradhana. And RD soon made this generation empathethically his own to change the visage and format of Hindustani film music with Jawani Diwani.
"I feel sorry to say this, but the boy doesn't understand poetry at all," Majrooh told me. To which I replied: "But Majrooh Saab, even Dada Burman did not understand Hindi poetry." Majrooh's counter to that: "Dada Burman might not have understood Hindi, but he understood poetry, which is the same in any language."
Give RD credit for the fact that he remained wholly undeterred by such innuendo regularly hurled at him. RD had tuned with the same Majrooh to metamorphose the sound of film music with Yaadon ki Baarat. It was the same Majrooh I encountered in RD's Santa Cruz music room, sheepishly handing over to the composer "a piece of paper that's not poetry", to quote his own words.
Majrooh need not have bothered to stress his point. RD asked for poetry only when he needed it. And when he needed it he went to Gulzar, knowing Majrooh could never bring himself in tune with his generation even if he condescended to write for it. For only a Gulzar could comprehend RD's depth of feeling in an Ijaazat vein of Mera kuchch saaman tumhare paas pada hai. In the Ghar of Gulzar alone could RD fly with his notes: Aaj kal paaon zameen par nahin padte mere.
I heard those RD notes fly one last time on December 21, as I chased Pancham on the phone, to Film Centre, Tardeo, to invite him for my daughter's wedding reception. I was put through straight to RD's recording room and, during the four-five minute wait, thrilled, on the phone, to the harmony of what, ironically, was to prove Pancham's last live recording. As the tune came resonantly over, as RD lost no time after that on coming on the line, I said: "Congrats, the sound of RD music, it's still so refreshing, though the tune sounds suspiciously like Raat akeli hai from Dada's Jewel thief!"
"Who can escape your ears!" moaned RD. Spare a thought, therefore, for twice-widowed, Asha Bhonsle, whose "amazing breath control" in Raat akeli hai Dada Burman publicly praised. It was this that RD harnessed to his art and craft to bring to our film music a new vim, a new vitality, as a composer who understood both electronics and Western notation.
Asha and Kishore, the two formed the life-breath of RD's music. Yet RD was so versatile that, like SD in Taxi Driver, he could get Lata, as late as 1969, to 'do an Asha' all through Pyar ka Mausam. Lata spelt melody, Asha rhythm, in RD's recording room. A spontaneous tribute to RD's hold on the public imagination came from Ravi Shankar when Panditji was engaged with a Meera recording. An instrumentalist played a wrong note for Ravi Shankar who whispered through the mike: "I say, play it right, otherwise it will become RD on the LP!"
Laxmikant-Pyarelal were the only ones in the late '70s to ward off the RD challenge. The duo had to work extra hard to overcome the solo maestro. Dev Anand found RD to be in such wonderful tune with the spirit of the film that he wanted, from the outset, that Pancham, as he was affectionately called, score Hare Rama Hare Krishna independently. But how was he going to jettison Dada Burman, who had come to symbolise the Navketan signature tune? Dev told me that he cleverly suggested to Dada Burman that he compose the traditional tunes for Hare Rama Hare Krishna, leaving his son to do the mod songs.
"No way!" said Dada. "Let Pancham do the film all by himself. Pancham is now a full-fledged music director, Dev. My combining with him, for the first time in our careers, will help neither me nor him. So let the entire Hare Rama Hare Krishna score be Pancham's."
Remember, Dev's Ai meri topi palat ke aa tune in Funtoosh had been composed by prodigy Pancham at the age of nine. Dada had quickly filched his own son's tune! Upon Pancham's asking how Dada could possibly palm off RD's tune as SD's, Pancham had quoted Dada as saying: "I was testing your tune on the public! Now that Ai meri topi has proved a hit, I know you will make it as a composer when your time comes."
That time came much earlier than expected when Guru Dutt booked 19-year-old R.D. Burman to score the music for his Raaz. The film was later shelved after RD had done the musical spadework for it. "How did you find working with Guru Dutt?" I asked Pancham. "Want the truth? I found Guru Dutt to be most whimsical. No tune Guru Dutt okayed was ever final. What he approved this evening he would scrap next morning!"
"Was your experience the same with Raj Kapoor on Dharam karam?" I sought to know. "On the contrary, I found Raj Kapoor very firm in his judgement," noted Pancham. "I felt distictly shaky about the fact that the very first tune I was asked to compose for Dharam Karam was to be in Mukesh's voice on Raj Kapoor, who's playing the piano in the film. I came up with a selection of six tunes fearing the worst. But Raj Kapoor okayed the very first tune I played, adding by way of bonus: 'Hit tune hai, bottle kholo!' That's how my very first tune for RK went on the screen as Ek din bik jaayega maati ke mol."
Yet his best lesson in music, said Pancham, came from his father SD. Shakti Samanta had outlined to RD something that sounded to Pancham like the usual bhajan situation (on Sharmila Tagore) in Amar Prem. "And I had come up with the standard bhajan tune for it," revealed Pancham. "But Dada was there when I was giving the finishing touches to the tune and wanted from me the precise details of the song situation. When I gave him a picture of the setting in which Lata Mangeshkar was to render the number on Sharmila Tagore, Dada was aghast.
"But where's the composer in you in this tune, Pancham?" he wanted to know. "So what if Shakti said it's the usual bhajan situation. Still it's a most creative situation for any composer. For Sharmila here is something more than the nautch-girl she plays. Her motherly insticts have been aroused by that kid. Your tune therefore must communicate all the agony of the nautch-girl wanting to be the mother she can never be. Do it again, your way, but with the moving human situation in mind."
"That's how," admitted Pancham, "my Amar Prem tune finally came out of Lata's thrush throat as Bada natkhat hai re Krishna Kanhaiyya. It was my tune and yet not my tune, for it was Dada who had taught me to put the right shade of feeling into it."
There was thus something of Dada Burman, something recognisably his own, in the music so trendily made available by Rahul Dev Burman. This is what saw RD score as no other composer did in the annals of Hindi cinema. There has been only one SD, to be sure. But there has also been only one RD. Now both are no more. And popular music, in the words of Gulzar, is reduced to a plastic art.

Source: Times of India, 1994
Author: Raju Bharatan


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