01-29-2007, 10:56 PM
From Pioneer, 29 Jan 2007
<!--QuoteBegin-->QUOTE<!--QuoteEBegin-->A flamboyant rebel, he lived and died in splendid solitude
Chandan Mitra
It took us some time to locate the house although it had been explained to us in detail. It was in Thane, a good hour's drive down a flawless expressway from Mumbai airport.
Once inside the suburb, we were to look for a branch of the Bank of Maharashtra on the main commercial thoroughfare, Gokhale Road, a bank that sported a brown door. We found that easily enough, but not many people there seemed to know of the building that was supposedly just across the road. Nor had anybody quite heard of the man we were attempting to trace. Â
OP Nayyar at his home
Eventually, however, we successfully buttonholed an auto-rickshaw driver who showed us a decrepit, narrow by-lane and pointed to a block of flats visible in the distance. He, too, hadn't a clue about the once-upon-a-time celebrity we were after.
Having located the building, it wasn't a problem finding the man. He lived on the ground floor flat that almost jutted onto the lane. As we tiptoed into a small room that opened on the lane, I was rather taken aback to realise we had entered a minuscule, one-bedroom suburban apartment.
A young lady we later figured out to be the housekeeper indicated shoes were to be taken off. Having done that, we were led to the adjoining bed-cum-living room. It was small but cosy with a glass-paned window theoretically providing a view of the raucous world outside. But the air-conditioner was running and consequently the panes all frosted up.
There, on a divan, sat a lean, frail man. (On TV last night I saw it was on the same narrow bed that his mortal remains lay). A small stool placed before him boasted a jug of freshly-poured beer while three halves of boiled eggs were neatly kept on a plate beside. His cheeks were sunken and his tall frame looked gaunt from age.
Acutely conscious of his visual appearance, he promptly told our photographer to click only his right side: "I have lost too many teeth on my left; don't catch me from that angle," the (then) 79-year-old decreed.
But his wide, mischievous smile was the one thing that hadn't changed, neither his 'I don't give a damn' lifestyle. On a table next to the bed lay an array of homoeopathic medicine bottles, coexisting uneasily with a packet of State Express 555 cigarettes.
When I pointed to the incongruity of a cigarette packet nestling among medicines, he said he had given up practising homoeopathy and smoked just two sticks in the course of a day. "But my afternoon beer is must," he confessed.
I asked him how come he lived in this appallingly small flat in a lower middle class suburban apartment block. With a great deal of concealed arrogance, he said his family of two daughters, a son and wife, had together thrown him out of his lavish Churchgate flat. "No problem. I am happy with myself, being myself," he declared, trying hard to sound convincing.
I could have almost pinched myself to believe if I was really sitting in this cubbyhole talking to 0P Nayyar, one of the biggest legends of Hindi film music. Here was the man who sent us into ecstasies with compositions like <i>Deewana hua badal, Yeh chand sa roshan chehera, Ishaaron ishaaron mein dil lene wale, Yeh duniya usee ki zamana usee ka, Kisi na kisi se kabhi na kabhi</i> - all from just one movie, <i>Kashmir ki Kali</i>. Here was the man who composed <i>Mera naam chin-chin-choo </i>for Howrah Bridge, <i>Babuji dheere chalna</i> for Aar-Paar, <i>Khud dhoondh rahi hai shamma jise</i> and <i>Banda parvar thaam lo jigar</i> for Phir Wohi Dil Laya Hoon, <i>Jaiye aap kahan jayenge. Ye hai reshmi zulfon ka andhera and Pukaarta chala boon main</i> for Mere Sanam, <i>Yehi woh jagah hai yehi woh fizayen</i> for Yeh Raat Phir Na Aayegi. God! The list might never end!
We took him down memory lane, the arc-lights, the adulation, the admiration of millions. He meekly smiled. "Yes, I was the most sought-after music director in my time," OP Nayyar preened matter-of-factly.
Obviously, we got talking about Asha Bhonsle soon. He made no effort to hide their relationship, although he insisted she was the one exception to the trophy of beautiful women he routinely "conquered" in his youth. No touch of modesty there. But he added sacrificed a lot for Asha too.
So, he was India's only big-time music director never to have recorded a song with Lata Mangeshkar. "Shamshad Begum was the best singer of my time. She nursed a grudge against me because I never gave her a good enough break once I teamed up with Asha," he added in retrospect. One can believe that.
My generation might recall Kajra mohabbatwala from the <i>Biswajit-Babita starrer Kismat</i>, which also featured classics like <i>Aao huzoor tumko sitaron mem le chaloon and Laakhon hain yahan dilwale</i>. In 'Kajra', an Asha-Shamshad duet, Nayyar's flame was made to outdo the veteran quite deliberately.
I asked him to name his favourite number from the 1000-plus that he composed in a career spanning over two decades. He insisted it was impossible to name just one. Not even <i>Chayen se humko kabhi aap ne jeene na diya</i>, I persisted. A feeble smile lit up his face. "You read minds," he said in mock anger and recalled how Asha pressured the producers of <i>Pran Jaye Par Vachan Na Jaye </i>to pull out the number from the film because that was the time they separated and she was livid. In fact, Asha did not turn up to collect-the Filmfare award she got for rendering this soulful song whose lyrics were, perhaps, too close to the reality of her stormy relationship with the maverick genius.
It was astounding to find a man who had climbed the pinnacle of fame and fortune living in such sordid isolation - friendless and forlorn. In his time, 0P Nayyar commanded the highest fee in the film-world. When Shankar-Jaikishan, as employees of RK Films, drew a monthly salary of Rs 500 and yet composed some of the most memorable numbers, Nayyar charged Rs 12,000 a film. Was it his incredible arrogance that led to fights with producers, directors, singers (even the amiable Mohd Rafi) that caused his downfall? Perhaps. But can a man be faulted for adamantly living life on his own terms?
I came out saddened from the tenement of an icon of our times. But he appears to have come alive from the interaction. Since last Tuesday, he has telephoned me every day. (He did that for over one month, repeatedly thanking me for making the effort to track him down for the interview that was later published in our sister publication, Darpan). I felt happy that the time I spent re-igniting his memories brought some cheer to a man whose sentiments could be perfectly captured by the Kagaz ke Phool number Waqt hai meherbaan/Arzoo hai jawaan/Fiqr kal ki karenge/Itni fur-sat kahan.... That kal (tomorrow) has a nasty way of catching up with all of us.
This is a marginally modified version of the author's weekly column, Cutting-Ed, published in Sunday Pioneer, July 10, 2005
<!--QuoteEnd--><!--QuoteEEnd-->
ZeeTV ran Howrah Bridge as a tribute to him on Sunday. I recall seeing him as a judge on the many music shows on ZeeTV eg. Sa Re Ga Ma Pa.
<!--QuoteBegin-->QUOTE<!--QuoteEBegin-->A flamboyant rebel, he lived and died in splendid solitude
Chandan Mitra
It took us some time to locate the house although it had been explained to us in detail. It was in Thane, a good hour's drive down a flawless expressway from Mumbai airport.
Once inside the suburb, we were to look for a branch of the Bank of Maharashtra on the main commercial thoroughfare, Gokhale Road, a bank that sported a brown door. We found that easily enough, but not many people there seemed to know of the building that was supposedly just across the road. Nor had anybody quite heard of the man we were attempting to trace. Â
OP Nayyar at his home
Eventually, however, we successfully buttonholed an auto-rickshaw driver who showed us a decrepit, narrow by-lane and pointed to a block of flats visible in the distance. He, too, hadn't a clue about the once-upon-a-time celebrity we were after.
Having located the building, it wasn't a problem finding the man. He lived on the ground floor flat that almost jutted onto the lane. As we tiptoed into a small room that opened on the lane, I was rather taken aback to realise we had entered a minuscule, one-bedroom suburban apartment.
A young lady we later figured out to be the housekeeper indicated shoes were to be taken off. Having done that, we were led to the adjoining bed-cum-living room. It was small but cosy with a glass-paned window theoretically providing a view of the raucous world outside. But the air-conditioner was running and consequently the panes all frosted up.
There, on a divan, sat a lean, frail man. (On TV last night I saw it was on the same narrow bed that his mortal remains lay). A small stool placed before him boasted a jug of freshly-poured beer while three halves of boiled eggs were neatly kept on a plate beside. His cheeks were sunken and his tall frame looked gaunt from age.
Acutely conscious of his visual appearance, he promptly told our photographer to click only his right side: "I have lost too many teeth on my left; don't catch me from that angle," the (then) 79-year-old decreed.
But his wide, mischievous smile was the one thing that hadn't changed, neither his 'I don't give a damn' lifestyle. On a table next to the bed lay an array of homoeopathic medicine bottles, coexisting uneasily with a packet of State Express 555 cigarettes.
When I pointed to the incongruity of a cigarette packet nestling among medicines, he said he had given up practising homoeopathy and smoked just two sticks in the course of a day. "But my afternoon beer is must," he confessed.
I asked him how come he lived in this appallingly small flat in a lower middle class suburban apartment block. With a great deal of concealed arrogance, he said his family of two daughters, a son and wife, had together thrown him out of his lavish Churchgate flat. "No problem. I am happy with myself, being myself," he declared, trying hard to sound convincing.
I could have almost pinched myself to believe if I was really sitting in this cubbyhole talking to 0P Nayyar, one of the biggest legends of Hindi film music. Here was the man who sent us into ecstasies with compositions like <i>Deewana hua badal, Yeh chand sa roshan chehera, Ishaaron ishaaron mein dil lene wale, Yeh duniya usee ki zamana usee ka, Kisi na kisi se kabhi na kabhi</i> - all from just one movie, <i>Kashmir ki Kali</i>. Here was the man who composed <i>Mera naam chin-chin-choo </i>for Howrah Bridge, <i>Babuji dheere chalna</i> for Aar-Paar, <i>Khud dhoondh rahi hai shamma jise</i> and <i>Banda parvar thaam lo jigar</i> for Phir Wohi Dil Laya Hoon, <i>Jaiye aap kahan jayenge. Ye hai reshmi zulfon ka andhera and Pukaarta chala boon main</i> for Mere Sanam, <i>Yehi woh jagah hai yehi woh fizayen</i> for Yeh Raat Phir Na Aayegi. God! The list might never end!
We took him down memory lane, the arc-lights, the adulation, the admiration of millions. He meekly smiled. "Yes, I was the most sought-after music director in my time," OP Nayyar preened matter-of-factly.
Obviously, we got talking about Asha Bhonsle soon. He made no effort to hide their relationship, although he insisted she was the one exception to the trophy of beautiful women he routinely "conquered" in his youth. No touch of modesty there. But he added sacrificed a lot for Asha too.
So, he was India's only big-time music director never to have recorded a song with Lata Mangeshkar. "Shamshad Begum was the best singer of my time. She nursed a grudge against me because I never gave her a good enough break once I teamed up with Asha," he added in retrospect. One can believe that.
My generation might recall Kajra mohabbatwala from the <i>Biswajit-Babita starrer Kismat</i>, which also featured classics like <i>Aao huzoor tumko sitaron mem le chaloon and Laakhon hain yahan dilwale</i>. In 'Kajra', an Asha-Shamshad duet, Nayyar's flame was made to outdo the veteran quite deliberately.
I asked him to name his favourite number from the 1000-plus that he composed in a career spanning over two decades. He insisted it was impossible to name just one. Not even <i>Chayen se humko kabhi aap ne jeene na diya</i>, I persisted. A feeble smile lit up his face. "You read minds," he said in mock anger and recalled how Asha pressured the producers of <i>Pran Jaye Par Vachan Na Jaye </i>to pull out the number from the film because that was the time they separated and she was livid. In fact, Asha did not turn up to collect-the Filmfare award she got for rendering this soulful song whose lyrics were, perhaps, too close to the reality of her stormy relationship with the maverick genius.
It was astounding to find a man who had climbed the pinnacle of fame and fortune living in such sordid isolation - friendless and forlorn. In his time, 0P Nayyar commanded the highest fee in the film-world. When Shankar-Jaikishan, as employees of RK Films, drew a monthly salary of Rs 500 and yet composed some of the most memorable numbers, Nayyar charged Rs 12,000 a film. Was it his incredible arrogance that led to fights with producers, directors, singers (even the amiable Mohd Rafi) that caused his downfall? Perhaps. But can a man be faulted for adamantly living life on his own terms?
I came out saddened from the tenement of an icon of our times. But he appears to have come alive from the interaction. Since last Tuesday, he has telephoned me every day. (He did that for over one month, repeatedly thanking me for making the effort to track him down for the interview that was later published in our sister publication, Darpan). I felt happy that the time I spent re-igniting his memories brought some cheer to a man whose sentiments could be perfectly captured by the Kagaz ke Phool number Waqt hai meherbaan/Arzoo hai jawaan/Fiqr kal ki karenge/Itni fur-sat kahan.... That kal (tomorrow) has a nasty way of catching up with all of us.
This is a marginally modified version of the author's weekly column, Cutting-Ed, published in Sunday Pioneer, July 10, 2005
<!--QuoteEnd--><!--QuoteEEnd-->
ZeeTV ran Howrah Bridge as a tribute to him on Sunday. I recall seeing him as a judge on the many music shows on ZeeTV eg. Sa Re Ga Ma Pa.