You were succour to middle-class dreams, the romance, because then India was different. Without TV, without much hype, you were one of the most famous composers, coming out with tunes, which we all felt we knew. They resonated with our mood and yet were so stylish, so close to heart, so moving, so fresh.
They were so close to one’s aspirations, inner beats. There was mono and then came stereo and you ruled with your exceptional sound sense, which is a rage now in Dolby. That’s you. Timeless. Much later, we came to know that for the song Chura liya hai tune jo dil ko …… from Yaadon Ki Baarat, you used spoons with glass or for Bus mere yaar hai…. from Sagar, you used a comb etc.
But when the music was made, it took us there, to the spot, the scene, the sequence. Then the picturisation was not very realistic or sophisticated as it is today but the music was much ahead of its times. Much beyond the humdrum of everyday existence.
In many ways, you brought a sophistication, which was global to our living rooms. It was at least my initiation to westernisation in a completely Indian context. Your association with Gulzar was a phase that was remarkable for its authenticity and I would say depth in research and creativity. You did almost everything in filmi and non-filmi music. The Dil Padosi Hai album is a treat and to date remains unprecedented and inimitable. So were your Bengali Pujo numbers. Tumi Kato Je Dure.. is simply global, tremendously swanky and dangerously contemporary. That’s why many did not understand where you made the music. It was your mistake to be so progressive, so creative, so original and straddling over genres. It is safe to hail mediocrity.
Your use of saxophone, or the strums of guitar winding their ways, be it in Dhano Ki Aankhon Mein (Kitab) or Hum Kisi Se Kum Nahin, give me goosebumps even today. In the same gusto you could make a Beeti Na Bitaye Raina with Lata Mangeshkar and Bhupinder. You had no range. You were actually rangeless, seamless, borderless. From Aaja aaja, main hun pyaar tera (Teesri Manzil) to the thumri Hame tumse pyar kitna, ye hum nahin jaante (Kudrat) to Ek chatur naar, badi hoshiyar (Padosan) and the once-in-a-lifetime Tere bina zindagi se koi shikwa to nahin (Aandhi), you could do anything.
We are eulogising you today but we rendered you jobless because some of your music didn’t do well. Panchamda, towards the end, you were unhappy. But do not lose heart. Your music has to be earned by us. We did not deserve your high quality, ethereal music. We were happy with Oh Taki! Oh Taki.
I am possessive about you and so when in a group people discuss your music, I somehow feel that I should keep quiet. There is a strange sense of arrogance that I think I know or understand your music much better than anyone else. Many RD fans, I realised later, think the same way. I am not alone. I remember being in a lathi-charged mob in Cuttack to see you in Barabati Stadium And I even managed to meet you for about two-and-a-half minutes. But it was like time stood still. I was meeting my icon. I have heard others saying the same thing about their meetings with you. I had so many questions but couldn’t utter the words coherently. I saw Manoharji with you on his gleaming saxophone and I was almost perspiring.
We lived on your music. All my romance was born out of your strains, created by you and produced by the legends – Lataji, Kishore Da, Ashaji, Rafi Sahab and others. Your compositions were so close to my imagination that it was I who did the work, almost.
Probably this identification makes icons like you, because you carry all our energies, all our dreams, all our realms. It seems that once, to get the sound of raindrops, you spent the whole rainy night in your house balcony to record the exact sound you wanted. There are so many stories like this about you. Gulzar Sahab rightly says, “You were as good a craftsman as a musician”.
You were God’s gift. Keep making music wherever you are. Fifty four was no age to bid adieu. It is only now that we know who you are. A brilliant, sparkling, unfading galaxy on a Pancham refrain.
There is a voice that doesn’t use words. Listen….Rumi
Many Happy Returns of the Day!
