Remembering Mohammad Rafi, The Melody King : The Warhorse and His Able Jockeys

Remembering Mohammad Rafi, The Melody King : was an Indian playback singer and musician. He is considered to have been one of the greatest and most influential singers of the Indian subcontinent. Rafi was notable for his versatility and range of voice; his songs varied from fast peppy numbers to patriotic songs, sad numbers to highly romantic songs, qawwalis to ghazals and bhajans to classical songs. He was known for his ability to mould his voice to the persona and style of the actor lip-syncing the song on screen in the movie.

Remembering Mohammad Rafi, The Melody King : The Warhorse and His Able Jockeys

Any mention of the legendary singer’s younger days is invariably summed up in that almost apocryphal-like story where a tender Mohammed Rafi took charge of the mike in place of the doyen of singers Kundan Lal Saigal at a function in Lahore. A large crowd gathered to hear Saigal became chaotic after a power failure and the organizers asked Rafi to sing to pacify the audience. Rafi did that and how! Saigal did acknowledge then that here was a star in the making, but was it a smooth sailing journey? The road to success was not easy.

Reams have been written, of it ad nauseum, about the legendary singer Mohammed Rafi’s initial years and his gradual rise to stardom. However, little is known about his childhood and teenage years. It is, by now, common knowledge that Rafi was born on 24 December 1924 in a nondescript hamlet Kotla Sultan Singh, in a remote rural area of Amritsar district in Punjab.

Having spent his impressionable years in Punjab, his diction was heavily influenced by earthy Punjabi, a language he remained comfortable till the end. It was this Punjabi diction that composers like Naushad and Husnlal-Bhagatram found difficult to get rid of but the hard worker and disciplinarian that he was, Rafi could overcome his weaknesses.

Those who believe Rafi’s is a rags-to-riches story are probably looking at the whole epic from a constricted point of view. Rafi, like most singers who make it to the national consciousness, was a tireless worker, never losing sight of the bigger picture. Pakistan must be proud of its son Mohammed Rafi.

Punjab must be genuinely proud of its great son Mohammad Rafi who started from a humble and modest beginning and rose to become the most prolific film playback singer of the movie industry in India and arguably, across the globe. Two of the Punjabis’ sons have been in charge of film singing for over half a century. This should make them double proud. Saigal, the first Punjabi singer star, ruled the Indian film industry for a decade from 1933 to 1947.

The Indian film industry switched over from silent movies to talkies in 1931, when the film Alam Ara was made. However, actor-singer Kundan Lal Saigal began his film career in Calcutta’s eastern metropolis in 1933. He never looked back. His brilliant career was cut short by his sudden death in 1947.

When Saigal’s health was deteriorating, Rafi was warming up to step into Saigal’s shoes. Then, most of the land in his village was owned by Sikh farmers and the Muslim families assisted them. They had a very cordial relationship and were happy to be together, despite the turmoil in Amritsar and Lahore. Most of the inhabitants had very few desires and aspirations and that precisely led to their contented lifestyle.

The children of the village used to play ‘Chhattapoo’, ‘Pithoo’, ‘Kokla Chhapaki’, ‘Gulel and target’ as well as hide-and-seek. Mohammad Rafi was raised the same way as other children. In addition, Rafi liked to copy the folk singers in his amateur way. It was an intrinsic desire that he nurtured in his heart.

The young and well-behaved Rafi always fell in line with most villager folks. His education was confined basically to reading and writing Urdu in Persian script. His other education was a bit of multiplication table practice. In his moments of leisure, he would carry his family’s and friends’ cattle for grazing in the fields. Intensive cultivation was alien to most of the villagers then and a lot of grassy fields were left untilled for the cattle to graze.

As a child, Rafi always loved to graze cattle. He had heard some local Mirasis (a community of Muslims, whose profession was singing folk songs and acting) sing such songs in semi-classical and other country tunes. He liked this art and found his voice suitable for it. He used to copy the Mirasis of his surrounding villages. Mohammad Rafi used to sing Punjabi popular folk songs while grazing cattle. to all and sundry in the village. A star was in the making, albeit gradually.

Radio during those days was in its infancy in Europe and America. India did get some experimental radio in the four metros of (then) Calcutta, Bombay, Madras, and New Delhi in 1927. Lahore had a brief stint with amateur radio in 1928. But organized broadcasting came to Punjab in 1936 in the public sector. The newly constructed studio complex opened in Lahore in 1937. Thus up to the age of 13, Rafi had practically no exposure to the radio.

In the commercial city of Amritsar The gramophone or phonograph (says in America) was already in great demand in the high-end bazaars. Most wealthy people had gramophones in their homes. Rafi had also heard some music in the Havelis (imposing mansions of the rich in Punjab) of Majitha and the bazaars of Amritsar. Amritsar-born Indu Bala was then the leading thumri singer of India and Kamla Jharia was fast becoming the most prolific thumri and ghazal singer of India.

These voices could be heard during those days in the music stores of Hall Bazaar in Amritsar. Rafi had some exposure to this music. His once-in-a-blue moon visits to the historic Hall Bazaar always left behind sweet memories. Bhai Chhaila of Patiala was the most popular Punjabi folk singer of the time and Dina Qawwal of Jalandhar was fast making waves. These two artists impressed and impacted Rafi.

Agha Faiz of Amritsar was a great gramophone singer. Rafi had heard all these voices. Nevertheless, he was happy and blissful in the dusty fields of his village. Everyone in the village was his friend and none his foe.

That Rafi was self-inspired was obvious since there was no one in the village to initiate him into the intricacies of classical music, which was and still is the mother of all music in India. Unaware of his handicap of not learning classical music, a teenaged Rafi kept singing to himself and to his simple village folks. Rafi’s father wanted to create better-living conditions for his family.

One fine morning his father decided to leave for Lahore, the capital of Punjab, about 50 miles away from their village. Like several other Amritsaris, he was a very good cook and Amritsari cooks were in great demand not only in Lahore but all over Northern India. His father opened a Dhaba (a no-frills countryside eatery) in Lahore.

His food was invariably delicious and the customers, both locals and outsiders, started. thronging it. As well begun is half done, he sent a message to his son to come over to Lahore. Rafi reached Lahore roundabout in 1941, at the age of 17. His father got him a job at a hairdresser’s saloon. He would shave his customers’ beards slowly and carefully. To keep his customers in good humour, he would sing some folk and country songs of Punjab.

From March 1943, Mohammed Rafi became a radio artiste. This was almost six months before the Nightingale of Punjab’ Surinder Kaur became a radio singer.

Rafi’s customers seldom took notice of his tardiness, rather they enjoyed his music. One day, Jiwan Lal Mattoo, the programme executive of music at All India Radio, Lahore, passed by the hair-cutting saloon and he faintly heard young Rafi’s enchanting voice. He instantly liked its sweetness, range and tonal quality. He stopped and paused for a while and then entered the shop. He asked a surprised Rafi if he was interested in becoming a radio singer.

On hearing this unsolicited offer, Rafi jumped in the air in happiness. In March 1943, Rafi appeared in the audition test at the studios of All India Radio, Lahore and to his utter surprise, passed the test. Thus from March 1943, Mohammed Rafi became a radio artiste.

This was almost six months before the Nightingale of Punjab’ Surinder Kaur became a radio singer. Ar about the same time in 1943, after hearing his voice on the radio, a newly emerging film music director Shyam Sunder requested Rafi to sing a song Soniye ni, biriye ni, teri yaad ne sataaya’ for his Punjabi film Gul Baloch. Rafi did full justice to this film song and it opened the gates for his future entry into the field of (then) Bombay’s playback singing.

But this born genius, who rose to be the champion singer of the Indian subcontinent, had a modest and uneventful beginning. At the time of his arrival in Punjab’s capital city of Lahore from a small village of neighbouring Amritsar district, Rafi had absolutely no idea or for that matter, no inkling that one day he was destined to become a leading film playback singer. He was a saintly figure since childhood and was content with his destiny.

Prior to moving to Lahore, he was married to the daughter of an uncle. In those days child marriages were no big deal in Northern India. He was less than 15 when he entered into wedlock, but was told by his father-in-law to become self-supporting before his wife could join him. For a couple of years, he kept shaving, cutting and dressing the hair of Lahorias and also enjoyed it. He did not earn anything substantial but whatever he earned was more than enough to keep his soul satisfied and happy.

A God-fearing and honest man, he found happiness and bliss in whatever condition God desired him to exist. He never aspired to hop from one job to another for better gains. Nature had blessed him with an uncanny unselfishness. He never hankered after ill-gotten wealth, power and pelf. Light music sprang naturally from his throat and he kept singing for his own pleasure and for the happiness of his customers. The listeners, however, saw something extraordinary in his sweet, melodious and soul stirring voice.

Although a regular namaazi, he was not in the least bigoted. He could endear himself to any person who came in his contact even for a short while. Jiwan Lal Mattoo subjected Rafi to a rigorous audition and trained Rafi to develop into a folk and country singer. Under Mattoo’s careful tutelage, Rafi became well versed with the common classical ragas in Punjab’s folk music. Raga Pahadi was one such and Bhairavi, Basant and Malhar were the others. Little wonder he could glide through effortlessly negotiating these ragas and folk tunes late in his career.

In addition to Jiwan Lal Mattoo, Master Inayat Hussain also trained Rafi in the finer points of folk singing. Mohammed Rafi also got along very well with another music teacher Budh Singh Taan, who also groomed Parkash Kaur and Surinder Kaur. Incidentally both Parkash Kaur and Surinder Kaur were making more money while in Lahore compared to Rafi. There were several known ustads living in Lahore, far more senior to Rafi. Budh Singh Taan was also a singer of light music.

Deen Mohammad used to sing as a solo folk singer, in addition to being a leading qawwal. Agha Faiz was an acknowledged folk and semi-classical singer. Another product of Amritsar, Shamshad Begum, was senior to Rafi by six years and born in Kasur, child prodigy Noorjehan preceded him by nearly two years. Both Umrao-Zia Begum and Zeenat Begum were also senior to Rafi. True to his quality of utter humility, he respected all his seniors but never tried to step into their shoes or copy them.

He was, however, a great learner. He would not mind touching the feet of any ustad willing to teach him something new in music. It was this humility and adaptability that made Dilip Chander Vedi, a leading Dhrupad exponent of Punjab, hold him in high esteem.

Rafi had great regard for Bhai Samund Singh ji of Sri Nankana Sahib and a colleague at All India Radio, Lahore. Once he said, ‘Bhai Samund Singh is so much at home with classical music that he talks in classical music, which we can’t.’ About Bhai Santa Singh, he used to say, ‘Bhai Santa Singh’s high-pitched calls to the Guru can never go unheard. On Bhai Santa Singh’s visit to Bombay in 1966, Rafi made it a point to attend each one of his renditions scheduled at various gurdwaras in the city. Similarly, when the blockbuster Punjabi film Nanak Naam Jabaz Hai was made in 1969, Rafi and Bhai Samund Singh were its leading singers.

The fact that Rafi was getting inexorably drawn towards music and had apparently become a radio singer seemed to convince his father in-law that Rafi was finding his moorings. He sent his daughter to join Rafi. The couple was simple, unassuming and hospitable. Rafi had a vast circle of friends and fans. They used to converge to his home to listen to his silken voice. His wife never tired of being a gracious hostess. Most Lahorias were fond of drinking, but Rafi never touched a drop of liquor.

His guests also respected his pious restraint and never insisted on drinking in his and his wife’s presence. His music was intoxicating enough. Several movies in Hindi and Punjabi were made in Lahore during Rafi’s stay in that city, but somehow it did not occur to any of the music directors then to feature his velvety voice in a song. The only exception was music maestro Shyam Sunder, who gave Rafi a Punjabi song to record.

This film was Gul Baloch (1943) but it was so poorly made that it sank without a trace and along with it the songs too. Another renowned music director Pandit Amar Nath liked Mohammed Rafi’s voice but he had other singers lined up for his songs. Master Ghulam Haider liked him too, but he was moving to Bombay. While packing up to leave for Bombay, he whispered in Rafi’s ears that he could join him later. Ghulam Haider left for Bombay in the end of 1943.

His long and wide entourage included his well-known musicians as well as Lahore’s famous film singers Shamshad Begum, Umrao-Zia-Begum and Noorjehan.

On several calls from Master Ghulam Haider, Rafi decided to move out completely from Lahore to Bombay in 1945. Since all that he earned was spent mostly on entertaining friends and fans, it came as little surprise that Rafi did not have enough money to buy tickets in the (then) economy class of the Frontier Mail to Bombay.

But his goodwill stood him in good stead. His long-term pampered friends and relatives, including his elder brother, came to his rescue. After an emotional and tearful senoff at Lahore Junction, he disembarked in Bombay after two days of the monotonous train journey. Bombay was the ultimate city of dreams for everyone connected with movies. It proved extremely fruitful for Rafi too.

Although it was Ghulam Haider who encouraged him to come to Bombay, Rafi was not a part of his contingent when he moved from Lahore to Bombay in the end of 1943. For Rafi, this was an ironic experience. While boarding the train in Lahore, he was seen off by hordes of emotionally surcharged friends and relatives, but in Bombay there was no such scene. Hardly anyone turned up to receive him. To the simple, sensitive Rafi this was a big cultural shock, but he was also level-headed enough not to feel agitated by it. He had come to Bombay with a promise which he had to fulfil at any cost.

Rafi sang a couple of film songs in 1945 in Bombay, but due to poor name recognition, these songs did not help him much. Today, there is no one who can identify these songs and chances are they are already lost in oblivion. However, the pay packet was much better. All India Radio (AIR) gave him Rs 25 for a day’s singing in Lahore, but in Bombay, he was paid in those days-a princely sums of Rs 300 per song. In order to make both ends meet, he sang in private mehfils (a gathering to entertain people with music, poetry, or dance), among the Punjabi community of Bombay.

The big break came sooner than he thought in 1946. The shooting for the Dilip Kumar-Noorjehan starrer Jugnu began in 1946. The film was directed by Syed Shaukat Hussain Rizvi and its music was composed by Feroz Nizami on the lyrics contributed by Tanvir Naqvi. Interestingly, all these people had moved from Lahore to Bombay at one point of time or the other. Noorjehan by this time was already established as the leading female film singer. Her competitor was another actress-singer Suraiya. Both hailed from Lahore district and Rafi was not far behind, being from the neighboring district of Amritsar.

Noorjehan was extremely jovial and witty. She was known to give a tough time to her competitors and co-singers. Strongly built, but petite and vivacious, Noorjehan was already in the sound recording studio for the recording of a duet for Jugnu. She was expecting G.M. Durrani to be the other singer. But Nizami had a better option. He had asked Rafi to come for the rehearsal. When the simply dressed Rafi arrived in the studio, Noorjehan erupted into loud laughter.

Still new in cosmopolitan Bombay and pitted against star singer Noorjehan, Rafi felt nervous. Noorjehan smilingly asked him, ‘So, little chap, you have finally come to Bombay. Welcome, welcome. How are things in Lahore?’ Nervous, but trying to gather his wits, Rafi remarked, “Things are not bad in Lahore. Everyone over there is missing their baby Noorjchan.’ On hearing this pat reply from an otherwise quiet man, everyone in the studio started smiling, Most members of the orchestra were, of course, Punjabis.

Rafi tried his best in the rehearsals but seemed to be conscious that he was singing opposite a star. When the recording of the duet song Yahan badla wafa ka bewafai ke sina kya hai was over, Rafi had doubts about his performance. He wanted a retake, but the music director said it was fine. The insistence on many takes and rehearsals can be traced to this song.

When the film was released in 1947, this duet became a massive hit. It was just the kind of boost that Rafi’s career needed and from then on, he never looked back and went from strength to strength. What it did was also raise his price tag per song recording to Rs 500, the same as Noorjehan’s. After the release of Jugnu, Rafi became a much sought-after playback singer. Ghulam Haider was composing music for another blockbuster Shaheed.

Surinder Kaur was its leading female singer, but one song sung by Rafi “Watan ki raab mein watan ke naujawan shaheed ho’ became such a rage that Rafi became a household name. This song was recorded in 1948 and released in the same year. Born on 11 April 1904, the reigning male singing star K.L. Saigal died rather prematurely on 18 January 1947 at the age of 42. Like a banyan tree K.L. Saigal was larger than life and no other singer could grow to potential under his shadow.

Being trained in Calcutta, Saigal’s style of singing had a semi-classical tinge with Bengali finesse. But Rafi’s style was a lot more flexible and suited for every actor. G.M. Durrani was another Punjabi singer who was senior to Rafi. The top slot left open by Saigal’s death took some time to be filled. This was when many music directors came forward to groom and polish Rafi’s singing skills.

Among the foremost were Shyam Sunder and Pandit Husnlal-Bhagatram (both from Lahore), famous drummer Ustad Allah Rakha (originally of Gurdaspur district), Naushad Ali from UP and Sajjad Hussain. Once when the extremely finicky Sajjad Hussain asked Rafi to sing ‘Heer Waris Shab’ for him, he sang it with a typical Amritsari intonation. Sajjad had composed the tune in his own inimitable style, but Rafi mastered the new tune in no time to come out with a fabulous performance.

Pandit Husnlal offered to train Rafi into a top-notch film singer. When Husnlal-Bhagatram started their career as a duo of music directors in 1944, they depended thoroughly on the seasoned voice of Zeenat Begum, a discovery of their elder brother Pandit Amar Nath.

However, during the late forties, much shriller female voices had started dominating the film scene. Among the male singers, Rafi was senior to Mukesh and Manna Dey while Talat Mehmood was the only established singer who had started earlier than him in Calcutta in 1941. But in Bombay, Talat Mehmood came a couple of years later than Rafi.

When the opportunities came, Rafi grabbed them with both hands. By mid-1947, Rafi had become a household name in Hindi-speaking North India. His adaptable, mellow and smooth voice suited most young actors including the brilliant rising star Dilip Kumar. Most great music directors of the time, spearheaded by Pandit Husnlal-Bhagatram, evinced keen interest in grooming his raw talent.

As Rafi’s career graph was steadily rising, in his ancestral province of Punjab, the communal divide was also on the rise. In March 1947, nearly 500 Sikhs and some Hindus were brutally murdered in Rawalpindi area, which was not too far from his ancestral home in Amritsar district and his recent professional home Lahore. As this disturbing news slowly trickled into his new home in Bombay, the God-fearing and sensitive Rafi was shocked beyond his wits at such barbaric activity.

He had seen excellent communal relations in his ancestral village in rural Amritsar and he could not believe that people killed each other in the name of religion. By August, matters took a turn for the worst in his home province. The entire Lahore division had exploded into a communal frenzy of the heinous kind.

There were massacres of Sikhs and Hindus in Gujranwala, Sheikhupura, Nankana Sahib, Sialkot, Lahore and Kasur. It caused an unprecedented backlash and reprisal with the Sikh fury erupting in Amritsar, Gurdaspur and Ferozepore. There was complete anarchy on both sides of the Radcliffe Line and all districts of Punjab were engulfed in bitter communal riots.

Renowned film producer Roop K. Shorey and music director Vinod had to flee to the Indian part of Punjab leaving all their belongings behind in the wake of the riots. On their arrival in Bombay, they narrated heart rending stories of cold-blooded tyranny unleashed by frenzied mobs. The Shoreys not only lost their film studio in Lahore, but they also lost all their property. Vinod came to Amritsar penniless.

Vinod had become a good friend of Rafi. In the fond but futile hope of seeing the return of better days in Lahore, another music director Sardul Singh Kwatra had spent some days after the Partition in Lahore. He narrated to Rafi some scary first-hand accounts of uncontrolled mass slaughter in Lahore and its vicinity. Sardul was very fair in his description of the communal riots. He had seen despotism on both sides of the communal divide.

He pointed out, Things were extremely bad in Gujranwala, Sheikhupura, Sialkot and Lahore, but the retribution seen in Amritsar was a lot more horrifying.’ Kwatra who knew Rafi since his days in Lahore later went on to become the latter’s collection agent and business representative.

Rafi had all along been a God-fearing and righteous gentleman. He always bowed before the will of the most benevolent Khuda (Allah or God). At every available opportunity he lent his mellifluous, silken voice to every song composed for fostering communal harmony and brotherhood amongst the Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims in all parts of India.

Pandit Husnlal-Bhagatram had composed several tunes for the lyrics penned to depict the horrors of the Partition and the resultant bloodbath. One such song was ‘Is dil ke tukde bazaar huye, koi yaban gira koi waban gira, behte buye aansoo ruk na sake koi yahan gira koi wahan gira.’ [A heart broke into thousands of pieces and was scattered all over the place-some here and some there.

Likewise, the flowing tears could not be stopped-some fell here and some there.] A deeply hurt Rafi sobbed his heart out in the song which became an instant hit on both sides of the border. After the assassination of Mahatma Gandhi-also due to the bitterness between the Hindus and Muslims-Pandit Husnlal-Bhagatram composed another touching tune, describing the life of the Mahatma. The song ‘Suno suno aye duniyawalo Bapu ki yeh amar kabani struck an emotional chord with the masses.

So much so that one famous industrialist of the time approached the lyricist Rajendra Krishan with the proposal that he chronicle through his lyrics the life and times of all the big leaders who fought for the Independence struggle.

From early 1948, Pandit Husnlal had decided he would groom two young voices for the film industry-Rafi among male singers and the Lahore-born actress-singer Suraiya among female singers. In those days, Pandit Husnlal would call Rafi, sometimes as early as at 4 am, to his home along with his tanpura. He used to give lessons in different ragas and would ask him to rehearse them in khyal format. This basic training in classical music continued for several years and it went on to make Rafi a high-class multitalented singer.

Since it was difficult for the young and beautiful Suraiya to come for rehearsals at odd hours, she could not come to grips with the nuances of classical singing. However, to her credit, she was very persevering on light music and she always rehearsed her assignments in the studios to perfection.

By end of 1948, Lata Mangeshkar came in contact with Pandit Husnlal. She was an accomplished singer and her grasp of classical music was quick. Pandit Husnlal discovered that training Lata was a lot more rewarding. So he started preferring Lata over Suraiya. As far as the male artists were concerned, Rafi was always Pandit Husnlal’s first preference. On occasions, on the specific recommendations of the top lyricists of the day, Pandit Husnlal-Bhagatram gave the best ghazals to Talat Mehmood to render in his unmatched linguistic sophistication.

Although most ghazals sung by Talat Mehmood became very popular, Rafi never harboured any jealousy with any singer. He invariably admired Mukesh, Manna Dey, Talat Mehmood and Hemant Kumar for the uniqueness of their voices.

Mother tongue binds human beings and Rafi was no exception. His first ever film song was composed by a Punjabi, Shyam Sunder and the music of his first nationwide hit film was composed by another Punjabi, Feroz Nizami.

Initially, his voice was used by Punjabi music directors such as Master Ghulam Haider, Pandit Husnlal-Bhagatram, Vinod, Shyam Sunder, Hansraj Behl, Allah Rakha Qureshi, S. Mohinder and Sardul Kwatra, but after his songs started becoming regular hits, other music directors including Naushad started patronising him. As mentioned before, Master Ghulam Haider’s tune Watan ki raab mein watan ke naujawan shaheed bo’, became the signature tune for the movie and a nationwide hit.

Even today, the tune can be heard with unfailing regularity on Independence Day and Republic Day. The maverick music director Shyam Sunder’s tunes rendered by Rafi for the film Bazaar (1949) including the duet with Lata ‘Apni nazar se door wo, unki nazar se door hum, tum bi batao kya karein, majboor tum majboor bum’ caught the imagination of an entire Hindi-knowing India. Allah Rakha Qureshi used Rafi and Surinder Kaur’s voices in the film Sabak (1950) with a fairly good response from the public.

Vinod’s music for his 1949 film Ek Thi Ladki was a super hit. Most of its songs were rendered by Lata, but the most popular song was ‘Lara lappa lara lappa laayi rakhada’ sung by Rafi, G.M. Durrani along with Lata. Hansraj Behl’s song ‘Jugg wala mela yaaro tbobri der daa, bassdiyan raat langbe pata nahi saver da rendered by Rafi for his Punjabi blockbuster film Lachchi (1949) had a transborder appeal to it. On popular demand, the same tune was used later for a Hindi song too.

The Punjabi duet of Rafi with Lata called ‘Kaali kanghi naal kale waal payi vaahuniyan, aa mil dhol janiyan’ for the same film also created waves among the lovers of Punjabi music. Sardul Singh Kwatra composed some lovely music for a humorous Punjabi film Posti. Its music was recorded in 1949, but the film was released in 1950. Its masterpiece was the duet song rendered by Rafi with debutant Asha Bhosle ‘Too peengh te mein parchhawan, tere naal bulare khawan, laalay dosti that became a raging hit.

Rafi’s utmost devotion to his craft and hard work under the music direction of Pandit Husnlal-Bhagatram paid great dividends and he became India’s leading singer in the company of Lata Mangeshkar. Some of his pre-1950 duets with Lata Mangeshkar are acclaimed as among the finest in the history of film music. One was ‘Khushi kaa zamaana gaya rone se ab kaam hai, pyaar uska naam tha judayi iska naam hai recorded for film Chhoti Bhabhi (1950), based on an old Punjabi folk tune, was a personal favourite of Sardul Kwatra.

Kwatra even used this tune for one of his later songs in Punjabi. Another Husnlal-Bhagatram masterpiece was the duet Paas aake huye bum door, yehi tha qismat ka dastoor recorded for Meena Bazaar (1950) became Rafi’s favourite song. This film did not do too well in the cinema halls, but its music became the proud possession of the most discriminating collectors of music including Allahdad Khan of Peshawar.

After 1950, most of the great music directors of India considered Rafi a force to reckon with in film music. When Naushad composed his masterly tunes for films like Dulari (1949) and Deedar (1951), Rafi became the star no one could afford to ignore. The song ‘Huye hum jin ke liye barbad’ from Deedar became an all-time hit. In 1952, Rafi who sang mostly in a low pitch, suddenly changed track and began to hit the high octaves. His high-pitched songs from Amar and Baiju Bawra put him up on a very high pedestal.

Even as he climbed one rung after another of the ladder of success, Rafi remained honest to the core. He never became greedy and success did not go to his head. When, after initial setbacks, composer O.P. Nayyar attained prominence in the film industry in 1953, Rafi became his first choice as a male singer and his duets with Asha Bhosle and Shamshad Begum became extraordinarily popular.

A gratuitous Rafi never charged a penny from Sardul Singh Kwatra for any song. He did the same favour for several years to most music directors who migrated from what is now Pakistan. He also helped fellow Amritsari singer Mahendra Kapoor to establish his toehold in becoming a playback singer.

A devout Muslim who performed namaaz five times daily, Rafi was a liberal secular in his professional life. He visited the gurdwaras like a Sikh during his younger days. Even while living in Bombay, he visited gurdwaras on special festive occasions and especially during the visits of iconic Sikh raagis (performers of Sikh religious music) to Bombay like Bhai Santa Singh ji and Bhai Samund Singh ji.

He missed no opportunity to visit Bombay’s famous annual Baisakhi Mela. Throughout his singing career Rafi sang many memorable naats (poetry said in praise of Prophet Mohammed), some of the most soulful bhajans and harmonious shabads (a hymn of the Guru Granth Sahib or other Sikh scriptures sung in holy congregations to praise God) composed by music director S. Mohinder.

What Rafi did and achieve after 1952-53 has been recorded by several other historians and writers on film music. Most are not aware of his early impressionistic years the period of his grim struggle to reach the pinnacle of success. This has been unfolded in this chapter.

May the soul of such a pious individual, rarely born on this earth, rest in peace forever in his heavenly abode.

If the Rafi spectrum is to be Lunveiled in all its bright, myriad colors, one has to take a long, scrutinizing look at the huge body of work that he has created for the big-time composers. While there is little doubt that these composers were exacting, worked on their own terms, and were a force to reckon with, Mohammad Rafi served each of them well with his innate versatility.

Admittedly, it is well near impossible to take a deeper look at the four-decade pilgrimage that Mohammad Rafi undertook in his rather short life span of 56 years. But a critical overview can be taken on the singer’s performance with the big league composers. Indeed, Mohammad Rafi was also lucky in the sense that the field was left clear for him with time stubbing out the careers of Saigal, Durrani and Mastana.

Still, it was not a smooth sail since Talat Mehmood along with Manna Dey and Mukesh had got going already. To that extent, the rise of Mohammad Rafi was not really meteoric in that sense, but the established music directors of the yore had taken cognizance of his voice which was not too soft like Talat’s or too nasal like Mukesh’s.

The completely different tenor and its ability to cope up with all shades of human emotion was first noticed and then cultivated by Husnlal Bhagatram. From a raw uncut diamond, they polished him to be able to take on classical notes. Bhagatram himself was an ace harmonium player while Husnlal was an accomplished violinist and a good classical singer. They were trained by their elder brother Pandit Amar Nath, the famous composer of the 1940s while working as his assistants. The scale, pitch and metre of his voice was then understandably low as film heroes were not the kind of ‘jumping jacks’ that reared heads from the early 1960s.

To those wondering why this chapter should begin with Husnlal Bhagatram, the answer is fairly simple. Not only were they the first successful and popular music director duo, they were also instrumental in giving Mohammad Rafi the kind of break he needed at that juncture. Although Mohammad Rafi practiced rigorously with them right from the time he landed in Bombay, his first taste of success came with ‘Ek dil ke tukde bazaar bue (Pyar Ki Jeet, 1948) and Suno suno aye duniyawalo Bapu ki yeh amar kahani (non-film song, 1948). It set a trend of slow-paced, tear-jerking songs during the time when Dilip Kumar was already conferred with the sobriquet of Tragedy King’.

Surprisingly, it is the Rafi-Lata duets composed by the duo that were a rage. Starting with Dev Anand-Suraiya’s Sanam (1952), Adl-e-Jahangir, Shama Parwana, Aadhi Raat, Kaafila, Aansoo, Afsana and Meena Bazaar, the composers were kings then. This was much before Shankar-Jaikishen had achieved the kind of name and fame they did later on in their career. Mohammad Rafi had immense regard and affection for the two for he knew what a crucial role they had played in boosting his career.

A point to be noted here is while the music directors used Suraiya initially, they shifted gears to bring Lata into their recording room. But Mohammad Rafi remained a regular fixture whether it was Suraiya in ‘Beqaraar hai koi (Shama Parvana, 1954) or it was Lata in ‘Din pyaar ke aaye re (Aansoo, 1953). As an aside, in the first duet, Rafi sings for Shammi Kapoor who was at least six years away from his Yahoo’ theatrics.

It will need one long and tiring effort to encapsulate Rafi’s four-decade career vis-à-vis the great composers of his time. But a deeper research throws up several interesting facts about how a great pilgrimage was made. Here we take a concise but critical overview of Mohammad Rafi with big composers.

Another composer who was a big name then and who contributed to Rafi’s rise was Hansraj Behl. Starting from Chunariya (1948), Raat Ki Rani (1949) to Moti Mahal (1952), it was not until Rafi delivered the hits of his lifetime for Behl in ‘Muhabbat zinda rehti hai (Changez Khan, 1957) on Premnath and ‘Jabaan daal dal par (Sikandar-e-Azam, 1965). Changez Khan was Behl’s home production and in that landmark Rafi song he drew from Raga Sohini with a climax call ‘Chali aa Chali ad in a musical crescendo.

There was a hearsay that Behl was not particularly enthused by the antaras written by lyricist Qamar Jalalabadi and wanted to switch over to Naqsh Lyallpuri, retaing the words of the mukhda. Naqsh, however, refused saying he would rather write a new song instead of tinkering with the original lyrics and wrote an alternative mukhda for the song ‘Muhabbat mit nabi sakti zamaane ke mitane se, Yeb aisi aag hai jo aur bhadkegi bujbane se.

The alternative mukhda fit the situation equally aptly, but Behl was adamant on the earlier mukhda. The composer and the lyricist fell out and finally, Jalalabadi wrote the song. Behl knew how much classical liberties a composer could take while composing film music. He demonstrated it yet again with something eminently hummable but classical ‘Dekho bina sawan baras rahi badli (Sawan, 1959) and straddled this composition with a brilliantly peppy Rafi-Shamshad number ‘Bheega bberga pyar ka samad’.

Around the same time, another composer was also making his mark. C. Ramchandra, also known as Anna Chitalkar, was basically known for his compositions for Lata Mangeshkar. Even among male singers, he preferred Talat Mehmood on the premise that he could identify with his (Talat’s) voice because it resembled his own. One can recall the anecdote when he replaced himself in the duet ‘Kitna haseen hai mausam with Lata when Talat was not available to sing for the film Azaad (1955).

Chitalkar was no great votary of Rafi after a bitter exchange between the two occurred over the rendition of a song. Anna had made a rather off-the cuff remark that what use was it having a trained singer when he could not deliver it the way a composer (read himself) wanted. A normally unruffled Rafi was stung by that remark and had retorted that Anna was jealous of his wealth and success. Until then Rafi had sung for him intermittently in Saqi, Shebnai, Sagaai and Baarish between 1947 and 1957. One film, Nausherwan-e-Adil released in 1957, changed all that.

There are many who swear that the Rafi solo ‘Yeh hasrat thi ke is duniya me bas do kaam kar jaate is among the ten best the singer has sung in his marathon career. Also, the two other duets with Lata ‘Bhool jaaye saare gham’ and ‘Taaron ki zubaan par established, if proof was needed, that Rafi and Lata was the best thing that had happened to film music. On his part, Rafi, the dispute with Anna weighing heavily on his mind, knew he had to give the songs all his might. The film’s music was a thumping hit and a prime example of how the class and mass could be blended in film music.

The Warhorse and His Able Jockeys 2: One music director who was all class but rarely courted commercial success was Vasant Desai. Desai regarded Rafi as the best playback singer of his time, but he got very little to compose before that unfortunate accident in a lift snuffed his life out. Even in that diminutive but classy. span, Desai utilised Rafi in Goonj Uthi Shehnai (1959) with such surpassing songs as “Jeevan mein piya tera saath rabe, Teri shehnai bole’ and ‘Haule baule ghunghat pat khole (with Lata) and Maine peena seekh liya.

While many would be tempted to attribute the success of the music to Ustad Bismillah Khan for his shehnai-true no doubt-it also cannot be forgotten that the maestro did as Desai directed. In Pyar Ki Pyaas (1961), he brought Rafi-Lata again for that beautiful chorus ‘Sab ko pyar ki pyaas. The year 1952 was a watershed year for Rafi. It set new parameters in singing with a certain Naushad Ali taking upon himself the mantle to exhibit the full range of the singer.

Naushad Ali will go down in the annals of Hindustani Sangeet-a term that he endeared the most-as the generic composer who with his musical prowess and repertoire brought classical music onto the languishing lips of the entire nation. A perfect gentleman and a demeanour that found its roots seeped in the traditional Lucknowi aadab his music encapsulated the entire gamut and intricacies of Indian ragas. The doyen of music directors sang his heart out in a freewheeling tête-à-tête at his Carter Road residence with us a decade ago, speaking about the state of music in the bygone era and in the present cacophonous times.

Ab mai aapse kya kaboon,’ he began, his helplessness coming across in the same dignified manner. Clearly, the composer, who held out his own league even in the midst of illustrious compatriots like Khemchand Prakash, Ghulam Haider, Sajjad Hussain, C. Ramchandra, Madan Mohan Roshan, Khayyam, Shankar-Jaikishen, Anil Biswas, Salil Chowdhury and S.D. Burman, appeared disullisoned with the new trends in music.

But he preferred to skip the discordant note. I can see the degeneration in Indian music, but my optimism tells me that the good old days will return,’ he said, refusing to be drawn into names. As the conversation automatically veered to his singers, Naushad lapsed into what he called the heady old nostalgic times’ and said:

Rafi is an unerasable chapter in my musical journey. You take him out of my career, and I am not even half the composer I am. When he came to Mumbai as an aspiring singer, I was bowled over by his devotion and commitment. Rafi mostly used to sing in lower notes then, but I knew he had the decibels to sing in the highest octave. In fact, in the higher range, his voice is as straight as an arrow.

Naushad tapped this range in ‘O duniya ke rakhwaale for Baiju to overtake Miya Tansen in the milepost film Baiju Bawra. His songs ‘Man tarpat Hari darshan ko aaj, Insaan bano karlo bhalai ka koi kaam and ‘Tu Ganga ki mauj were eye-openers to listeners who had not been prepared to hear higher notes. The association that began with Peble Aap in 1944 had started to blossom and how! Mela, Dillagi, Dulari, Dastaan, Deedar, Aan, Deewana, Amar, Shabaab, Uran Khatola, Sobni Mahiwal, Kohinoor, Gunga Jumna, Mere Mebboob, Leader, Dil Diya Dard Liya, Saaz Aur Awaaz, Palki, Ram Aur Shyam and Sunghursh was a musical feast that lasted between 1948-68.

No words are sufficient to describe this magnificent association which remained smooth till the end. That paltry one rupee help that Naushad had given to Rafi when he landed with a recommendation from the former’s father, the indebted singer never ever forgot.

That gratitude rings sincerely in all the songs Rafi sang for this maestro; whether it “Tere kooche mein armaano ki duniya, ‘Yeh zindagi ke mele, Tasveer banata boon teri, Insaaf ka mandir bai yeb’, ‘O door ke musafir, Muhabbat ki raabo mein’, ‘Madbuban mein Radhika’, “Koi sagar dil ko behlata nabi, ‘Ae busn zara jaag tujbe, Saaz ho tum awaaz hoon main’, “Kal raat zindagi se mulaqaf and ‘Aaj ki raat mere dil ki salami lele can be cited as precious samples. It is a measure of Rafi’s loyalty and love for Naushad that till the end, he kept singling out the ethereal Subaani raat dhal chuki as the best and sweetest song he sang in his life.

Such was Rafi’s unshakeable faith in his mentor that when the producer of Kohinoor had the cheek to tell (of all the people!) Naushad that the Raga Hamir beauty ‘Madhuban mein Radhika naache re was too classical to be of any appeal to the masses, Rafi-always non-interfering-told him that the song would be loved by the people and if it flopped, he would not take his professional fees. He would take his fees only if the song became a hit. As it turned out, the song became a rage and when the producer, completely embarrassed, came to pay Rafi his fees, the latter said that he had already received his remuneration in the way people had lapped up the song.

The Warhorse and His Able Jockeys 3 : There was another incident that Naushad told us about how Rafi became unsettled. When I summoned Ustad Amir Khan and Pandit D.V. Paluskar to sing the final jugalbandi set in Raga Desi ‘Aaj gaawat man mera jhoom ke, between Baiju and Tansen (in Baiju Bawra), an alarmed Rafi came rushing to me as to why he had been ignored for the fitting finale jugalbandi.

You used me for all the songs on the hero, now why am I being ignored here,’ Rafi asked with trepidation. Rafi sabab, ye gaana filmy nahi, ilmi bai. Is mein mujbe ustadon ki zaroorat hai [Rafi, this song is not a film song but of literary bent], Naushad reasoned out with him. And when he came to know it was Pandit Paluskar and Ustad Amir Khan, he virtually touched my feet, apologised and left,” Naushad said, adding, it said a lot about his character.”

Naushad said:

Rafi had this unique ability to get into the skin of the song. I clearly recall how to overcome he was with emotion when he sang for the handicapped Yusuf (Dilip Kumar) in Aadmi (1968). It took some time to make him understand that it was only a song but the situation and feelings got to him. I rate that as one of his standout abilities to make any song a great success.

Naushad experimented with folk music during the 1961 film Gunga Jumna where Rafi had to come to grips with Bhojpuri pronunciation and diction. He surprised all of us with a power-packed performance in “Nain lad jai bai, Naushad reminisced. It was this learner’s attitude that later helped Rafi to glide through many Bhojpuri songs. Two of them that immediately come to mind are ‘Somwa ke pinjde mein’ composed by Chitragupt (Ganga Maiyya Tobe Piyari Chadhaibo, 1962) and ‘Bagiyan kayal ke sor rabe laagal composed by Jaidev for Naihar Chhutal Jaaye (1964).

Naushad was not just a music director who patronized Rafi. He was genuinely fond of him. Both of them would begin their day with a frenetic round of badminton. Naushad was also privy to Rafi’s weakness for good food. From time to time, he would tell his protégé to watch his weight. He would keep advising him, ‘Miyan gara ghee, shakkar kum khaaya karo. My friend, reduce consuming ghee and sugar.] Alas, that was probably one area where Rafi may have not heeded to Naushad’s words. That he sang with exemplary breath control for his bulk is quite another story.

Even during the last song they did together in an unreleased film Habba Khatoon, their old charm was at work when the composer composed “Jis raat ke khwaab aaye’. So touched was Rafi with the sublime strains of the song that he hugged his tutor, his eyes welled up with tears. He said, Naushad sa’ab mujhe is gaane ke paise nahi chahiye. Arson baad itna khubsurat geet gaane ko mila hai.’ [I don’t want money for this song. After ages, I have sung something so beautiful.] However, this sentimental exchange was preceded by some inadvertent humour as well. Landed with a typically splendorous song by Naushad after long, Rafi wanted to give it his best shot.

He insisted on retakes until Naushad had had enough. When the composer told him he could not continue like that, an apologetic Rafi requested for just one last take’. Naushad relented. After that he played the last version and the preceding version he had got on a tape. A sheepish Rafi conceded that the previous one had been better. Naushad’s special programme on Doordarshan in 1976 where Rafi sang some of his songs live keeps drawing viewers’ hits by thousands. When Rafi passed away in 1980, Naushad was not a shadow of himself but by then his name was already etched for posterity.

Far removed from Naushad’s classically textbookish approach to music was the earthy Omkar Prasad Nayyar [ O P Nayyar] who with his unorthodox style redefined the parameters of Hindi film music. Brutally frank, often lavish in praising his contemporaries (read professional rivals), he set his own standards, charting out a success story that was woven around two pivotal singers – Rafi & Asha.

In an interview with us, the man who made a splash with his very first non-film song “Preetam Aan Milo’ sung by C.H. Atma in mid-1940s and then later by Geeta Dutt in Mr & Mrs 55 (1955), Nayyar was his audacious and forthright self. Just take a look at my career. I got mostly to work with B-grade banners. Save for Shammi Kapoor and Dev Anand, the movies I scored for were all rubbish.

But people went to them to hear them, not to see them,’ said Nayyar with what he felt was justified pride. Known for his peppy numbers and the signature horse gallop that went into his compositions, Nayyar was convinced his baton would have the last note in the recording room. He continued:

I didn’t take nonsense from anyone, not even the most renowned director. If I wanted a song to be sung by a particular singer or in a particular manner, I would prevail. I am surprised de even a composer of the stature of classically inclined Naushad succumbed to director’s pressure when he replaced Talat Mehmood with Mahendra Kapoor in Aadmi because that’s what suited Manoj Kumar.

As the discussion veered round to his singers, Nayyar made it clear:

I am sure you’ll be surprised. Lata remains my biggest admiration rtunately, she was too sober to take on my earthly numbers. Asha had the verve and the gusto to give expression to my songs. Right from Puchbo na bumein bum unke liye (Mitti Mein Sona) to ‘Aaiye meherbaan’ (Howrah Bridge), and ‘Bekasi hadh se jab guzar jaaye (Kalpana) to ‘Chain se humko kabbi’ (Pran Jaaye Par Vachan Na Jaaye), she could cover an entire gamut of all emotions. And of course, there was Rafi. I simply loved him. The ease with which he could touch the octave was amazing. They say there won’t be another Lata. There won’t be another Mohammed Rafi either.

Nayyar maintained that had there been no Rafi, there would not have been Nayyar either. The biggest mistake of my life was to banish farishta (angel) like Rafi from my recording room because he once reported ten minutes late. But that wasn’t for long. We knew we were made for each other,” he added.

From Aar Paar, Mr & Mrs 55, Choo Mantar, CID, Hum Sab Chor Hain, Johnny Walker (probably the only film made on the name and fame that actor Johnny Walker achieved in the film industry), Naya Daur, Tumsa Nahin Dekha, Howrah Bridge, Phagun, Jaali Note, Ek Musafir Ek Hasina, Phir Wohi Dil Laya Hoon, Kashmir Ki Kali, Mere Sanam, Babarein Phir Bhi Aayengi, Do Dilon Ki Dastaan, Mohabbat Zindagi Hai, Sawan Ki Ghata and Yeh Raat Phir Na Aayegi can be as long as any other successful garland of songs with Rafi playing huge role.

Nayyar’s personal favourite remained ‘Aana hai to aa raah mein kuch pher nahi hai from Naya Daur (1957). It won him a Filmfare Award but he seemed to be also proud about the fact that he had made record of sorts by getting Rafi to sing 11 songs in Basant (1960). The film also had song that mentions Naushad, S.D. Burman and Shankar-Jaikishen, Nayyar’s three biggest professional competitors (read rivals).

But Nayyar being Nayyar was never afraid of any competition, supremely confident that he was with himself and with his pair of Rafi and Asha. True, Shankar-Jaikishen made a fool of themselves by opting for Sharda, but then, I didn’t exactly corner myself in glory by settling for Mahendra Kapoor,’ said Nayyar. That, of course, sounded uncharitable to Mahendra Kapoor but implicit in that anguish was his blunder in keeping Rafi out.

Nayyar gushed forth on Rafi: He was a genius. He could mesmerise you the way a great historic monument can leave you mesmerised. Experts will have a tough time judging the best performance of Rafi, be any genre.’ Nayyar said:

In CID (1956), I experimented with two female voices-Asha and Shamshad-in ‘Leke pehla pebla pyaar’ while, the male voice Rafi remained common. Not only that, went as far as using Rafi’s voice on Dev Anand, Johnny Walker and street peddler.

How amazingly he adapted to their styles! And the song ‘Ae dil hai mushkil jeena yabaan’ is still considered a signature tune that describes the Bombay (Mumbai) ethos.

Interestingly, Rafi is the only singer to have sung three songs on Bombay. They are ‘Ae dil hai mushkil jeena yabaan… Yeb bai Bombay meri jaan (CID, 1956), ‘Yeh Bambai sheber ka bada naam hai (Kya Yeh Bombay Hai, 1959, music: Bipin) and ‘Bambai purani Calcutta purana’ (Umar Qaid, 1961, music: Iqbal Qureshi). In Ek Musafir Ek Hasina (1962) and Phir Wohi Dil Laya Hoon (1963), Nayyar reached the pinnacle of commercial success.

In the Rafi-Asha duet Aap yun bi agar bumse milte rahe, the dance sequence on actress Sadhna impersonated the way a peacock welcomes the monsoon. The effect produced by Nayyar was so outstanding that the background, picturisation and the voice of Rafi and Asha synchronised together. The other two songs of Rafi ‘Mujhe dekhkar aapka muskurand’ and ‘Main pyar ka rahi hoon’ had absolute Western tunes with odd chords. Rafi left listeners speechless, imparting a slight classical touch to the similar sounding Phir tere sheber me’ and ‘Humko tumbare ishq ne kya kya bana diya.

In Phir Wohi dil Laya Hoon, Nayyar sought to bring about a fusion in Western and Eastern music. Rafi’s song ‘Nazneen bada rangeen bai wada terd starts off with the traditional percussion of dholak; while the antara Humdum mere khel naa jano’ has the effect of guitar. In all the ghoda-gaadi (horse-drawn vehicle) songs, Nayyar usually took Rafi, be it ‘Banda parwar thaam lo jigar’, ‘Maang ke saath tumbard’ or ‘Yun to humne laakh baseen dekbe hat.

The rhythm became Nayyar’s trademark and no matter how many times he employed it, it always caught the fancy of the people. Sharmila Tagore may have been cast in the title role of Kashmir Ki Kali; the film was swamped by Rafi at his best. Singer S.P. Balasubrahmanyam never fails to go in a trance at the mention of Deewana bua badal”. ‘Rafi is so magical here that I remember, we used to cycle miles from our native village to hear the song played regularly at a roadside eatery. His emphasis on the word jhooma sounded so stylish we lost consciousness of what was happening around us,’ he points out.

In his last session with us, Nayyar made no bones of his cynicism that trash was being served in the name of music and that the present-day singers did not work hard and focus like Rafi did. But then, there can be only one Rafi.’

The Warhorse and His Able Jockeys 4 : Unlike Naushad, Salil Chowdhury was somewhat in the same mould as C. Ramchandra and Anil Biswas, at least as far as Rafi was concerned did not use Rafi as extensively as most other composers did in that golden period of film music. Salil-da also favoured his female singers to a great extent. As a poet, musician, lyricist, he had this masterly ability to Indianise Western symphonies.

He had the adroitness to make the twain-East and West-meet so tellingly. To be fair to this composer, never seemed to harbour any prejudice or grudge against Rafi. In an informal chat with us years ago, he had admitted that Rafi was a versatile singer without peer. It is a lesser known fact that upon his arrival in Bombay, this Left leaning artist ran his own choir where Rafi was a regular participant.

It would be easy to credit the Rafi songs in Bimal Roy’s classic Madhumati (1958) to the presence of Dilip Kumar but Salil-da never succumbed to popular expediency. If he opted for Rafi, he was well aware that only the latter could do justice to the two songs diametrically opposte in feelings.

Toote hue khwabo ne’ is an all-time classic but Salil-da showed Rafi’s voice could easily fit on Dilip Kumar as well as his sidekick in the film, Johnny Walker with a rib-tickling ‘Jungle mein mor naacha kisi ne na dekba’. Yet, when we asked him why he did not get Rafi often he told us, ‘Rafi is Rafi. He sounds like his self all the time, leaving it to us to interpret that mysterious statement any which way.

In Maya (1962) he used Rafi in two superb solos ‘Koi sone ke dilwaald and ‘Zindagi bai kya sun meri jaan’ and then in that evergreen duet with Lata ‘Tasveer teri dil mein’, which also caused an argument with Lata on the antara and Salil-da throwing his lot with his favourite singer, the latter. However, the composer had the candour to admit that Rafi did sing very well to sound a shade better in the higher notes of the antara.

Dev Anand, who rarely bothered to visit his past, told us once that he always remembered his frame at the piano, thanks to the Rafi song. Earlier, the music director had used Rafi in Dilip Kumar’s Musafir (1957) where the latter also chipped in with a song ‘Laagi naabi chhute rama chahe jiya jaye. Although he also availed of Rafi’s services in Jhoola (1962), the solo and the duet in the film did not make for popular listening.

Knowing he had to depend on Rafi in a qawwali, Salil-da called him to sing that Afghani O Saba kehna mere deedar ko’ (Kabuliwala, 1961). As he conceded to us later, qawwali was not one of his favourite genres. So he never forayed into that territory again though he was a past master at choruses.

Thereafter, Rafi was heard sparingly in Salil-da’s songs, his preference going mostly for Talat Mehmood and Mukesh. But even in this rationing period, Rafi sang ‘Dil tadpe tadpaye (Poonam Ki Raat, 1965) and ‘Tumbe dil se chaba’ (with Suman Kalyanpur in Chand Aur Suraj, 1965). Unfortunately for Salil-da-who had fallout with his close friend Hemant Kumar on ego issues could not replicate the kind of success Madhumati enjoyed in terms of critical acclaim and commercial profits.

Although, he worked for some films in the post-1970s, he had to do Malayali films later, something markedly different for a man who gave Mozart and Beethoven a desi flavour. Ironically, it is a line from Salil-da’s own song sung by Rafi that brings his memory alive so poignantly: ‘Hum dhoondte bai unko jo mil ke nabi milte, roothe bai na jaane kyon mehmaan wo mere dil ke.

Among this interesting mix in the galaxy of composing, there was Roshan Lal Nagrath, who like many veterans in the film industry had come from what is now known as Punjab of Pakistan (Pakistani part of Punjab). There is a peculiar twist in Roshan’s career graph. Rafi made a prominent entry into the Roshan fold in 1960 when Barsaat Ki Raat landed on his lap.

Roshan hit the pop charts with the film notably for the qawwalis he composed but there are as many people who believe that Roshan’s passport to popularity was granted by the Rafi solo ‘Zindagi bhar nahi bbulegi wo barsaat ki raaf (also a duet with Lata). There were two other solos which were not far behind: ‘Maine shayad tumbe pehle bhi kabi dekha har’ and ‘Mayoos to boon waade se tere. The qawwalis took the cake because the story played a key role in making their presence felt.

While there is no doubt that the star cast of the films that Roshan did in the 1960s was heavily slanted towards Rafi, the songs do leave you with the impression that the choice of Rafi as the preferred male singer was in tune with his mindset. Roshan created some fabulous tunes for Rafi. Soon after Barsaat Ki Raat, he gave one wistful solo in ‘Tum ek baar muhabbat ka imtibaan to lo’ (Babar, 1960). A couple of years later, he had Rafi to go on Shammi Kapoor who had already started taking off on his Junglee image.

In Vallab Kya Baat Hai (1962), he made Rafi sing one of his best solos in Gham-e-basti se bar begaana hota and followed it up with a fast-paced ‘Ek to surat pyaari” (with Asha). What happened thereafter was a string of films that had Roshan’s patented semi-classical touch-from Aarti, Taj Mahal, Dooj Ka Chand, Chitralekha, Nai Umar Ki Nai Fasal, Bheegi Raat, Bedaag, Devar, Daadi Maa and Babu Begum (1962-1967).

Ab kya misaal doon, Aapne yaad dilaya’ (with Lata), Jo baat tujh mein hat, Paon chhoo lene do’ (with Lata), Mebfil se uth jaane waalo’, ‘Sun ae Mabjabeen’, ‘Man re tu kaabe na dheer dhare, Chba gaye baadal neel gagan par (with Asha), ‘Aaj ki raat badi shokh badi natkhat bai (solo and duet with Asha), ‘Dil jo na keh saka, Jaane wo kaun hai kya’,

‘Muhabbat se dekha khafa ho gaye hai’, ‘Aise to na dekho ke bebak jaye kabi bumi (with Suman), ‘Zindagi ke mod par’, ‘Maine ae jaan-e-wafad (with Suman), Jaata hoon main mujbe ab na bulana’, ‘Hum intezar karenge (solo and duet with Asha) and ‘Log kehte hai ke hum tumse were a lavish treat that Roshan served to his demanding and lively listeners.

Roshan seemed to revel in period films. It is a pity that Roshan, who always lamented that his compositions never got the due they deserved, was not alive to see his very own ‘Man re tu kaabe na dheer dhare’ (Chitralekha, 1964) adjudged as the best song of the century’ by a survey in 2006 by Outlook magazine. An honour, howsoever subjective (because opinions will always differ on the parameters of judging a song), did not go to any of the other illustrious composers of his time.

By Roshan’s own admission, he felt very challenged when he was working on Chitralekha. He often became restive, gripped by the feeling that he must create a song that will make him immortal. So he put his heart and soul in this Rafi solo which did earn a lot of accolades but nothing as flattering as the one stated above.

Little wonder then that son Rajesh Roshan, who made his mark post-1970s and had the privilege of having Rafi sing under his on, would make it a point to bend and touch the soil below before he entered Rafi’s house. Rafi has gone on record saying that he adored and worshipped Roshan. His songs always gave me a deep sense of satisfaction.

I got a feeling of peace when I sang his numbers,’ he stated in deference to the composer. One can almost feel this peace in Rafi’s voice as he negotiates the balmy notes of ‘Wo muhabbat wo wafaayein’ and Aap jab se qareeb aaye hai’ (with Asha) in Noor Jahan (1967). It is strange to realise how there is a Rafi song that aptly sums up every situation. This time, it applies to him and Roshan with the same yearning: ‘Khuda kare ke qayamat bo aur tu aaye, bum intezaar karenge.

It is interesting how Rafi became a part of the S.D. Burman camp after the scion of the royal family from Tripura moved to Bombay in early 1944 and then almost decided to go back to Calcutta because the scene in the mainstream film industry did not appeal to his senses. One must keep in mind that there was no struggle with Burman Dada like many of the contemporary music directors had to go through. His first assignment Shikari (1946) was from a prestigious banner when Dada Moni (Ashok Kumar) was the king of all that he surveyed.

It is not exactly clear how and where Rafi and Burman Dada met but it is understood that the composer had heard about Rafi since he had already started making waves by then. Versatility was obviously the common factor between them but Dada was not fixated on Rafi in the beginning. Their joint campaign took off in the late 1950s, although he had Rafi sing for Do Bhai (1947). Kishore Kumar, whom Dada considered like his son all through, was not even present on the scene during this time.

The Do Bhai song turned out to be a damp squib, anyway, at least as far as compared to the bigger hit delivered by Geeta Dutt in ‘Mera sunder sapna beet gaya. Interestingly, while Dada was older than Rafi by 18 years, Rafi was the senior artiste as far as professional experience was concerned. In the mid-1950s, Dada would choose from Hemant Kumar, Talat Mehmood and Kishore. The Dada Rafi juggernaut started rolling in 1957 with Guru Dutt’s all-time classic Pyaasa.

Dada was aware of the kind of scales Rafi could reach with his voice. The theme of the movie and its songs couldn’t have done without Rafi. It was also one of the few occasions that the celebrated lyricist Sahir Ludhianvi teamed up with Dada and the trio came out triumphant in such epoch-making songs as ‘Ye duniya agar mil bhi jaaye to kya hai, Jinbe naaz hai Hind par wo kabaan bai and the arresting duet with Geeta ‘Hum aap ki aankhon mein’.

It was a chance that Rafi couldn’t have allowed to go abegging. He left a tremendous impact through those songs that carried the weight of the story. One has to see the movie to hear how poignant Rafi sounds in the nazms ‘Gham is qadar badhe’, ‘Tang aa chuke bain kashm e-kashe zindagi se bum’ and ‘Ye hanste bue phool, a domain patented by him.

The Warhorse and His Able Jockeys 5 : Old-timers will recall how the theatres would lapse into pin-drop silence when Guru Dutt meanders through the red-light areas to the strains of Jinhe naaz bai Hind par. At that point you realise your sensitivity is stilled watching a fusion of cinematic brilliance brought about by Dutt, Burman Dada, Rafi and Sahir. Unfortunately Sahir and Dada had nothing smooth going between them and eventually drifted apart-an irrepairable loss for listeners.

Dada’s composing mindset was reset after Pyaasa and he realised that Rafi was one singer who could conciliate any musical note with his voice. It was as if he had found a universal performer. Thereafter, both went on from strength to strength. A year later, Dada captured the elasticity in Rafi’s voice with that timeless Raga Chhayanat wonder ‘Hum bekhudi mein tumko pukare chale gaye (Kala Pani, 1958) that was essayed on the screen by Dev Anand.

Dada and Rafi enriched the Navketan Films camp that the actor nurtured along with his brother Chetan and Vijay. Several months later, Burman Dada proved that his Pyaasa success was not a fluke. This time, in the august company of Kaifi Azmi, he tapped the innermost core of Rafi’s voice in ‘Dekhi zamaane ki yaari, bichde sabhi baari baari (Kaagaz Ke Phool, 1959) in two versions, again for the deeply exploring Guru Dutt.

The tone and timbre in Rafi’s voice for Guru Dutt in these two films is completely different from what he sang for other actors. Yet, Kaagaz Ke Phool almost seems to take off from where Burman Dada and Rafi left in Pyaasa. Both had struck the right chords-personally and professionally.

What made Dada stand apart from all his contemporaries was he could not speak one sentence properly in Hindi. Even his broken Hindi would sound like Bengali. So, he had to understand the situation before he could infuse life into the song and that was phenomenal.

The heady run, bathed in folk music and Rabindra Sangeet-of which he was an ardent, committed fan-continued in Insaan Jaag Utha, Bombai Ka Babu, Kala Bazar, Nau Do Gyarah, Solva Saal, Manzil, Ek Ke Baad Ek, Baat Ek Raat Ki, Meri Surat Teri Aankhen, Tere Ghar Ke Samne, Benazir, Ziddi, Kaise Kaboon, Guide, Teen Devian, Talash right into the post-70s in Ishq Par Zor Nabin, Aradhana and Gambler (1959-71).

Bombai Ka Babu did not do particularly well with its odd theme of the heroine turning out to be the hero’s sister, but Rafi set the screen alive with that drop-dead beautiful song ‘Saathi na koi manzil and the reverberating Deewana mastana bua dil’ (with Asha). Dev Anand realised pretty late in life that he had to propose a vote of thanks to Rafi for a string of lovely hits. His autobiography, mostly about himself and his romances, makes only fleeting mention of Rafi but a little more charitable tribute to Kishore.

This is, of course no comparison between Rafi and Kishore but numerically speaking, the former sang 43 solos for him as against Kishore’s 52. On a substantive front, it is left to the listener to draw parallels. It is absolutely crystal clear that Dada knew those situations where Rafi alone could have delivered what he wanted. Take for instance Kala Bazar where Dev Anand runs helter-skelter with wild abandon, but one knows that airy feeling would not have come without Rafi’s enchanting ‘Khoya khoya chand’. The two other solos ‘Apni to bar aab ek toofaan hai’ and ‘Teri dhoom bar kabi’ (the other voice being that of actor Rashid Khan) were also big hits.

Dada, however, tried with disastrous results using Manna Dey in a romantic duet ‘Saanjh dhali dil ki lagi’ that looked like a total misfit on Dev Anand when he had used Rafi successfully in the duets ‘Aaja panchbi akela bai and Kali ke roop mein’ with Asha in Nau Do Gyarah (1957). Akela boon main’ (Baat Ek Raat Ki, 1962) along with Tere bin soone nain hamaare and ‘Naache man mord (Meri Surat Teri Aankhen, 1963) were class acts that stood up to ‘Na tum bamein jaand’ (both the Hemant Kumar and Suman Kalyanpur version) and ‘Puchho na kaise maine’ respectively in the two films.

Dada knew well how Rafi could fit on Dev’s persona given his intensely romantic image and gave three enduring beauties in ‘Dil ka bhanwar kare pukar, Tu kabaan ye batad’ and ‘Sun le tu dil ki sadad and in two duets Tere ghar ke samme’ and ‘Dekho rutha na karo’ (with Lata). There goes a story that when Rafi heard the Hasrat Jaipuri lines: ‘Ulfat mein taj chboote ye bhi tumhe yaad hoga, ulfat mein Taj bane ye bhi tumhe yaad boga’ in an obvious allegorical expression, he just sauntered across to the lyricist and smiled his appreciation.

We are inclined to believe that Dada had tapped the heavy pitch in Rafi’s voice few other composers managed to and yet, at no point Rafi sounds laboured or grappling for the sur. It did not matter to his non Hindi mind that he was composing for a big-time hero like Dev Anand or not so big heroes like Joy Mukherjee and Biswajit. That is why you see both Dada and Rafi at their creative best in formula films like Ziddi or something more serious like Kaise Kahoon (both 1964).

One had to just tune in to the radio to know it was the same Rafi singing for the handsome Joy Mukherjee with hummable tunes like ‘Teri surat se nabi milti, Janu kya mera dil and ‘Pyar ki manzil mast safar not to speak of that haunting duet with Asha Bhosle ‘Champakali dekho jhuk bi gayi re’. For that matter, Rafi strikes the same rapport with Biswajit trying hard to prove equal to the task in O zindagi tu jhoom le zard and the utterly gnawing ‘Dil ka dard nirala.

The last one should rank as among the very best of Dada with Rafi ending that song on a brilliant high note. Equally at ease was Dada with Shashi Kapoor’s boyish charm and composed yet another knockout in ‘Dil mein ek jaane tamanna ne jagab payi hai (Benazir, 1964). If you wanted to know the trademark Dada stamp, it is in this song.

But Dada couldn’t be kept away from Navketan for long. He was back with a bang in Guide in 1965, over which there is near unanimous consensus that it was by far, his best score. Everything about the film clicked. But this great confluence was not without its blemish. People got a shock of their life when it was not Dada but Shankar-Jaikishen who pipped him to the post with a comparatively much ordinary score in Suraj (1966).

The music of Suraj was not bad but Guide was way superior, the kind which can be considered as a once-in-a-lifetime musical score. One does not know what went through the minds of the jury that selected Shankar-Jaikishen for the award, but Dada was left fuming.

So were the listeners who thought that Dada would have a cakewalk. It was rather funny that Dev Anand, never really considered as an actor by many, walked away with the best actor’s trophy while the music that gave stimulus to the film’s extramarital affair theme, did not get its due at least as awards are concerned. Jaikishen in the Shankar-Jaikishen duo told us: ‘Even we were surprised.

To me personally, it was an injustice on Dada. In hindsight, we could have given it to him. If you discount Jaikishen’s feelings, you also cannot ignore that whether it was Guide or Suraj, Rafi was in a win-win situation. The award would have gone to him in any case but let’s not forget that it was Dada who revealed Rafi so bewitchingly in Tere mere sapne, “Din dhal jaaye’ and ‘Kya se kya ho gaya’ with only one atmospheric duet going to Kishore Kumar.

The enigmatic Din dhal jaaye was the pièce de résistance of the film. Basu-Manohari, who played those lovely interludes of saxophone in Guide, recalled how the entire recording room had fallen speechless after Rafi had rendered the song. It was as if Rafi was trying to outclass himself. For a bitter Dada, it was ‘love’s labour’s lost’.

The reference made to Jaikishen in the award controversy is ironic if you know that barely a year later he was to play a major role in bringing Rafi and Lata together after their royalty dispute. When he conceived ‘Dil pukaare aa re aa re aa re, Dada knew he had to have Rafi and Lata but this seemed almost impossible given the manner in which the two peerless artists had drifted apart in the wake of their differences. Besides, Dada had differences with Lata in the past as well.

Jaikishen, always in the good books of all, with the good offices of Nargis, decided to chip in to bring them together before the mike once again. Both succeeded in instilling saner counsel and thus ended a needless ego clash that could have been easily avoided. Finally, Rafi and Lata, all smiles, were once again ready to hold people in thrall.

With Rafi, Dada’s equations hardly changed. The singer had articulated for him two classy solos in Teen Devian (1965) Aise to na dekho and the spotless “Kahi bekhayal bo kar which went far beyond the frivolously flirtatious story. Thanks to Rajendra Kumar and Dharmendra, two long-lasting espousers, Dada composed a sweet ‘Palkon ke peechey se kya tumne keh daala’ (Talash, 1969) and a passionate ‘Mehbooba teri tasveer (Ishq Par Zor Nahin, 1970). The situation post-Aradhana will remain in the realms of mystery and speculation.

After recording two duets ‘Baagbon mein bahaar hai (with Lata) and ‘Gun guna rahe hain bhanware’ (with Asha), Dada fell sick and entrusted the responsibility to son Pancham or Rahul Dev Burman. The quiet exit of Rafi around this time, the advent of Rajesh Khanna, the taking over of Pancham-a self-confessed Kishore votary-became ingredients of intense speculation and conspiracy theories.

Pancham did deny them when he spoke to us and sought to convince us how Rafi had been important in his scheme of things. But detractors and all diehard Rafi fans did not buy them. Whatever the truth, the discernible fact was that Rafi was thereafter heard the last time in Dada’s music in Gambler (1971) where despite Kishore cornering all the glory, Rafi still made a mark with Mera man tera pyaasa. It was but a symbolic evidence of the fact that the singer had not lost his understanding of Dada’s creative expression.

For someone so young at heart, Dada knew well and at times made it clear that Pancham was a promising composer-after all he had been his assistant in the happening 1960s-but could veer out of hand if his overzealous creativity was not controlled. There is some substance in this as those who know will vouch that the Pancham of his earlier years was a different composer than what became of him later. But Rafi’s role in Burman Dada’s chapter was over. Needless, it was not the same Rafi that people got to hear when Pancham sought him in the mid-1970s. That tells the story.

Compared with many other music directors of his time, Madan Mohan (Kohli), elegant at all times had a consistently smooth relationship with Rafi. At the back of his mind, the former army officer knew that he was destined to create masterpieces and establish his own niche even when he did not have the advantage of big banners or being hooked up with any star. Not the one to be swayed by the allure of popular music and steadfast in his commitment to beauty, someone like Rafi was a natural choice for his sober and rich creations.

By and large, Madan Mohan is remembered for his songs by Lata but you still could not underestimate Rafi’s generous contribution to his cause. With Rafi, his first big hit came in ‘Basti basti parbat parbat’ (Railway Platform, 1955), a song that ran into two parts. Of course, Madan Mohan. considered the metre of the song before he decided who would sing for it. That is one reason why one also finds a fair bit of Talat Mehmood, Manna Dey and Mukesh in his songs. So was the case until Dekh Kabira Roya (1957) where Rafi had a breezy duet ‘Hum bulaate bi rabe, tum jalaate bi rabe’ (with Asha).

Then came Gateway of India (1957) that had one of the best Rafi-Lata duets in ‘Do ghadi wo jo paas aa baithe. For the doubting Thomases, he got to the other extreme end of composing something as stimulating with the same singers in ‘Dekhta chala gaya main zindagi ki raah mein’. Although shot on Johnny Walker and Madhubala, Madan Mohan still managed to make the song as the first one shot on Bharat Bhushan and Madhubala.

Madan Mohan was not the kind of composer who would sacrifice his class to win mass appeal. Who can forget the vituosity he brought to the Rafi solo ‘Tujhe kya sunaoon main dilruba and Humsafar saath apna chhod chale (with Asha) in Aakhri Dao (1958)?

And to think of it, practically no one remembers Shekhar, the hero of the film. The Nargis Lata dominated Adalat (1958) had a slow waltzing duet (with Lata) in *Zameen se bame aasman par. Strangely, one will find a lull upto 1964 when Rafi sang occasionally.

In the Dharmendra starrer Aap Ki Parchhaiyan, Madan Mohan had three Rafi solos, at least one of which was heard on the radio once a day: ‘Mai nigaben tere chebre se, ‘Yehi bai tamanna tere dar ke saamne’ and ‘Ek matwala aaj chala. Then began a chain of films where Rafi sang his heart out: from Gazal, Haqeeqat, Jahan Ara, Pooja Ke Phool, Sharabi, Subagan, Bombay Race Course, Naya Kanoon, Neela Aakash, Dulhan Ek Raat Ki, Mera Saaya, Neend Hamari Khwaab Tumhare, Naunibal, Chirag, Dastak, Heer Raanjha right up to Parwana and Hanste Zakhm, it was an unbreakable bond between the composer and the singer.

Just check out the magnificent range in ‘Rang aur noor ki baraaf, Main ye sochkar’ and ‘Masti mein chhed ke tarand, Kisi ki yaad mein’, ‘Kabhi na kabbi kabi na kabi, Mujbe le chalo aaj phir us gali mein’ and ‘Sawan ke mabine mein (both fast and slow versions), ‘Tu mere saamne bain’, ‘Shamma mein taaqat kabaan’ and ‘Kuch aisi pyaari shakl, Aakhri geet muhabbat ka suna loon’, ‘Ek baseen sham ko’, ‘Aap ke peblu mein’, ‘Yun rootho na haseend, Tumbari zulf ke saaye mein’ and ‘Meri awaaz suno’, ‘Teri aankhon ke sina, Tumse kaboon ek baat and Tum jo mil gaye bo (in the order of films mentioned above).

The Warhorse and His Able Jockeys 6 : Madan Mohan himself mentions in a recorded clip that the tune of the song from Sharabi ‘Sawan ke mabine mein’ (slower version) came to his mind as he and Meena (Kumari) sat one evening heeding the call of Bacchus. But no less is Rafi’s mood creation in that melancholic Mujhe le chalo aaj phir us gali mein’ or for that matter in the tender Tumse kaboon ek baaf.

Madan Mohan could, of course, recreate similar fast-slow magic in Hanste Zakhm where Rafi sounds so tempestuous in the midst of gushing winds and falling raindrops. The landmark ghazal Tumbari zulf ke saaye mein is rated as among the five best Rafi sang in his life. Not for nothing were Madan Mohan and Rafi made for each other. It was probably a mutual admiration club and it was the latter’s way of appreciation through Ek baseen sham ko dil mera kho gaya’.

It was only Madan Mohan who could glean out the maximum melody without an overkill of instrument-heavy orchestration. Just how hollow our awards sometimes are can be gauged by the fact that Madan Mohan never won any Filmfare Award and his only National Award came with Dastak (1970). If one has to think of it, every composition of his deserved an award.

The feelings Madan Mohan and Rafi shared with each other seem have been echoed in a song that was released only a few years back long after he left listeners weeping in 1975-but see how Rafi responds splendidly to Madan Mohan’s call in “Kaise kategi zindagi tere bagair. Madan Mohan passed away in July 1975 at the age of 51. Rafi died five years later at the age of 56. Only the heavens had everything to gain!

Thankfully, there still are sensible and well-meaning listeners who do not associate success with mere commercial profitability or numbers. If that were to be the case, Khayyam and Jaidev would never have been counted among the composing giants. Both were offbeat and yet shone on the musical firmament with brightness comparable to any.

Mohammed Zahur Khayyam better known as simply Khayyam— the Jalandhar-born Punjabi-was prepared to slog it out in the bumpy terrain of the film industry if he did not get films that made sense to his aesthetic appeal. He had this thing going that his music was cut out only for something profound one reason why his filmography does not extend to even 50 films. However, Rafi was in the Khayyam repertoire as early as in 1950 in Biwi when ‘Akele mein wo gbabrate to honge’ was a big hit.

Only a few knew then that Khayyam had composed the song as Sharma ji. The film bombed at the box-office. Phir Subah Hogi (1958) was a Raj Kapoor film so it was but natural that Mukesh had to be his voice. Yet in the same film Rafi outclasses Mukesh in Jis pyaar mein ye baal bo us pyaar se taubd. It was also the beginning of a great teamwork he enjoyed with the cerebral Sahir Ludhianvi. Late in the same year, Rafi sang an abiding hit in a tune that had distinct Arabic overtones to it.

Lala Rukh (1958) had Talat Mehmood as the hero but Rafi swept the rug from his feet with that foot-tapping ‘Hai kali kali ke lab par. His depth was unveiled in all its seriousness in Shola Aur Shabnam (1961) when struggling hero Dharmendra and a new heroine called Tarla got the best songs of their life with ‘Jaane kya dhoondti rehti hai and Jeet bi lenge baazi bum tum’ (with Lata) respectively. The Khayyam-Sahir combination was a killer.

The two emphasised it again in Shagoon (1964) when Rafi sang the refined ‘Ye raat babut rangeen sahi”, “Tum chali jaogi parchhaiyan reb jayengi’ and ‘Parbaton ke pedo par’ (with Suman). Apparently, it was here that Khayyam began displaying his bias for the Raga Pahadi. Soon after, Khayyam produced a great Rafi solo ‘Meri nigaah ne kya kaam laajabab kiyd for the film Mohabbat Isko Kabete Hain (1965).

That this lovely nagm went not to hero Shashi Kapoor but to the Marathi film actor Ramesh Deo, a new entrant to Hindi films, is another story. Talk of Rafi’s charm! No actor, big or small, could escape it. Rajesh Khanna, who came with Raag in 1967, rising on Rafi’s vocals, was still trying to gain a foothold in 1966 when Khayyam got Rafi on his lips with a very sensuous ‘Aur kuch der theher aur kuch der na jad’ in Khat (1966). Khayyam kept carving out hit songs in films that did not make much headway commercially.

Somewhere in the mid-1970s, Khayyam’s music changed track. Rafi was heard less now but whenever he was there, it was a guaranteed melody. Remember Rafi sang that plesant song ‘Kahi ek masoom nazuk si ladki’ set in Raga Pahadi from Shankar Hussain (1977) when some people had begun to say that the Rafi era was coming to an end. Those doubts were laid to rest as Rafi gave actor Kanwaljit Singh the hit of his lifetime. The last time Rafi was heard for Khayyam was in Chambal Ki Kasam (1980) when he sang ‘Sher ka husn bo’ and ‘Simti hui ye ghadiyaan’ (with Lata).

It will be too flippant to assess Khayyam and Rafi on the basis of their film songs. Their best work has come in non-film ghazals (mostly by Ghalib) and bhajans. Since these have been mentioned elsewhere in this book, we shall relate a story that Khayyam recalls with a smile. At the height of his career, Khayyam would often get invitations from Rafi for dinner. Khayyam would oblige but he found it intriguing that the singer should invite him regularly over sumptuous and tasty feasts.

When a nonplussed Khayyam asked Rafi one day why he was so meberbaan (benevolent) with him, Rafi’s secretary spilled the beans saying, ‘Sa’ab wants you to create for him some very special songs that will make him (Rafi) immortal and he believes only you are capable of creating those.’ Khayyam was even more confused. He said, ‘But Rafi sa’ab, you have made so much of name, fame, money and riches. What else could you ask for? Is there anything left for you to achieve?’ Rafi was undaunted.

He insisted that the composer do something for which he (Rafi) would be remembered history forever. It was Khayyam realised that seriously meant said. Happy that Khayyam acceded to implorings, Rafi agreed without an eyelid to the terms and conditions put forth the former, including that he dedicate his full time, focus and energy songs sing only the way wanted. The rest history. Khayyam could extract a tone and timbre from that no other composer had do before. Ghalib album and glittering examples of commitment and his songs.

Unlike Khayyam, Jaidev (Verma) in a different mould. He tried his hand at acting despite being trained classical and folk music. was lucky to get break under the Navketan Films banner whose musical reins were firmly in the hands of Burman Dada. The seasoned his assist had him to shoulder the responsibility on his own. It was therefore an interesting twist to the story when Hum Dono (1961) fell in Jaidev’s lap with Sahir doing the lyrical honours.

Jaidev’s score was not only popular but also critically acclaimed. He attributed his success to the Rafi solos ‘Main zindagi ka saath nibbaata chala gaya’, ‘Kabhi kbud pe kabhi baalat pe rona aaya’, the duet with Asha Abhi na jao chhod also to the two Lata solos. For all the awe that Dev Anand was in of Burman Dada, he always believed that the duet was the last word romanticism and the first solo a philosophy that he believed in.

The manner in which Jaidev broke the words in the antara was not only unsual; it also done in style. Recall how Rafi gets to the antara in the duet with a languid ‘Adhuri aas’ and breaks the words in ‘Ke zindagi ki raah mein jawaan dilo ki chaab mein’. is believed that Sahir actually wrote ten antaras for the Main zindagi ka saath song but Dev Anand realised only three could fit in film’s context. Therefore, only three were recorded. The rest, Jaidev would sing sometimes at his private concerts.

Two years later, Jaidev again came out with a wonderful score in Mujhe Jeene which opened to the Rafi’s refrain ‘Ab koi gulshan naa njde. He followed it up again with Kinare Kinare where Rafi casts a spell with “Teri tasveer bhi tujh jaisi haseen hai lekin’.

Surprisingly, Rafi was heard in a pulp film called Aalingan (1974) which had the hit ‘Is tarah jao nabi”. Jaidev went almost unsung thereafter. From one nondescript film to another he seemed to struggle for survival. Of the 40 plus films that he did, most came as quietly as they went. But Jaidev won three National Awads in this rather uneventful span for the films Reshma Aur Shera (1971), Gaman (1979) and Ankahee (1985).

Once again, you remember Jaidev with the song that Rafi sang in 1976 for Laila Majnu as the voice of young Rishi Kapoor when destiny was on the verge of cruelly edging out this rather unsung composer: ‘Barbaad-e muhabbat ki dua saath liye jad’.

In the wide spectrum of such talented composers, there was one duo which probably influenced and dominated film music as no one else did. If Pandit Husnlal-Bhagatram were the first genuine composing duo, Shankar-Jaikishen not only took that legacy forward, they set new benchmarks. Often they were called as the composers of the masses but that would only be half the truth. They showed through their astonishing talent that they had the class without succumbing to the temptations of playing to the gallery and yet appeal to the masses.

Shankar-Jaikishen’s body of work is amazing and actually calls for separate treatment. Their association with Rafi dates back to 1948 from their salad days of Barsaat. Then, Shankar Singh Raghuvanshi, a northerner, who spent his earlier years in Hyderabad, was well versed in Telugu for all practical purposes. Obviously his composing mindset was influenced by Husnlal under whose shadow he emerged to set his own strong identity.

Shankar knew classical music like the back of his hand-an advantage that he drew from whilst composing hundreds of tunes in his eventful career. All this bearing is necessitated here because the popular misconception was that it was Jaikishen who was the blue-eyed boy of Raj Kapoor and not Shankar. We know for sure it was Shankar who had the final call. The best thing about them was they complemented each other extremely well. Their fusion was not just in their name and work but also in the way they went about composing their music.

Usually Shankar took on the mantle of the senior and was more into classical music while Jaikishen, true to his nature, was the easy-going types. Occasionally, of course, these roles reversed but people never got to know who composed which song until Sangam (1964) brought in some unpleasantness. Unwittingly, Rafi was a part of that small rift that upset the rhythm between them. Shankar broke his Husnlal shackles after Raj Kapoor zeroed in on him for Barsaat.

A serious difference of opinion between Raj and his Aag composer Ram Ganguly hastened that process. Shankar agreed but insisted Jaikishen would give him company. Barsaat had huge Lata hits that brought them into public focus, but Rafi made his mark through a tear-jerker ‘Main zindagi mein bar dum rota bi raba’. It was a platform for a rock-solid friendship until 1971 after which Shankar-forlorn after Jai’s death was edged out by the cruel industry.

Jaikishen Dahyabhai Panchal, who came from a humble background of Gujarat’s Valsad, died an untimely death at the age of 41, but packed enough musical punch in those years to hook an entire generation. A statue erected in his memory near his home town is just one small testimony of his phenomenal popularity which also came from his magnanimous and munificient but carefree ways.

Rafi had a pride of place in Shankar-Jaikishen’s music: Kali Ghata, Rajbath, Basant Babar, Dil Apna Aur Preet Parai, Jab Pyar Kisi Se Hota Hai, Sasural, Boy Friend, Aas Ka Panchhi, Dil Tera Deewana, Asli-Naqli, Hamrabi, Zindagi, Professor, Saanjh Aur Savera, Rajkumar, Beti Bete, Ayee Milan Ki Bela, April Fool, Suraj, Brahmachari, Dil Ek Mandir, Sangam, Aarzoo, Love in Tokyo, Aman, Latt Sabeb, Shikar, Mere Huzoor, Jhuk Gaya Aasman, Duniya, Shatranj, Dharti – the list just does not seem to end. If you take out the R.K. Mukesh combo from their music, it is Rafi and Rafi.

The songs ‘Aaye babar ban ke lubba kar’, ‘Badi der bhayi, Jaane kahaan gayi, Teri zulfon se judai, “Teri pyari pyari surat ko’, ‘Salaam aap ki meethi nazar ko salami, ‘Ab chaar dino ki chhutti hai, Nazar bachakar chale gaye wo’, ‘Chheda mere dil ne tarand’, ‘Ye aansoo mere dil ki zubaan’, Hum ne jafaa na seekhi, Ae gulbadan’, ‘Zindagi mujhko dikha de raasta’, ‘Is rang badalti duniya mein’, ‘Aaj kal mein dhal gaya’, ‘Pyar aankhon se jataaya’,

‘Meri muhabbat paak muhabbat, ‘Babaron phool barsao’, ‘Dil ke jharokhe mein’, ‘Yaad na jaaye, Ye mera prem patra padhkar, ‘Ae nargise mastand’, ‘O mere shabe khuba’, ‘Wo khushi mili bai mujhko, Kaun hai jo sapno mein aaya’ and ‘Khuda bhi aasman se’ can be cited as some representative samples.

Rafi had great regard for Shankar-Jaikishen and their capacity to churn out one hit after another. Shankar-Jaikishen too reciprocated this fondness. Watch any picture with Rafi and Shankar-Jaikishen and you will see the duo looking at Rafi with awe. Both would sport amused smiles when Rafi took a barkat (a type of alankara or tonal embellishment technique used in classical music) and sang in his inimitable style in the recording room or on stage. Their chemistry was such that both never hid their admiration for Rafi and were vocal about his class. Asked why he preferred Rafi over Manna-da, this is what Shankar said without mincing words:

There was no easing out of Manna. It was just that Rafi had greater clarity of expression, better enunciation, better diction, but Language was never a bar to Rafi’s sense of expression, whereas with Manna there could be at times problems in this direction. Why, to this day, certain top singers in our midst have this problem with language and diction which affect their clarity of xpression. Rafi’s soz [ardour or passion] no singer could match. His voice had aatma [soul], it was Bhagwan ki den [God’s gift]. There will not be another singer like Rafi.

‘Kisi ki nazar lag gayi [Someone had cast an evil eye on them] was how O.P. Nayyar reacted to us when the music director feverishly groped for words to describe the greatness of Shankar-Jaikishen, and lamented that the two had bickered in the wake of the Rafi song from Sangam. Mind you, at Nayyar’s peak, Shankar-Jaikishen were his sole competitors. So what caused a rift between these two extremely talented men who made short work of most competition and won nine Filmfare Awards, three of them in a row?

In one of his exuberant moods, Jaikishen in a signed article unwittingly identified ‘Ye mera prem patra padhkar as his composition. It was a sort of unsigned agreement between them that whoever composed the song, the credit would be jointly shared and not once had this pact been violated. Shankar was livid but then he too had overstepped the line. He had begun patronising Sharda when Jaikishen was committed to Lata (Now you know why Lata approached Jai to arbitrate and use his goodwill in the dispute with Rafi).

Shankar considered it a violation of the unwritten agreement between them. Sources close to Shankar-Jaikishen say that around this time, the duo started taking individual contracts for films though they publicised themselves as being together.

Disheartened that the ingenuity of the two suffered because of this rift, Rafi intervened and brought about reconciliation. However, the damage had been done and it is widely believed that things were not the same between them which affected adversely the quality of their compositions. According to Lata, it was Rafi who brought about a rapprochement between the two.

An old acquaintance who would bump into Jaikishen frequently in Churchgate’s famous hotel Gaylord and often saw the handsome composer fish out money and give it to the needy without even counting the notes, said that Jai took the drift to his heart. Jaikishen died in 1971 due to cirrhosis of liver caused by binge drinking. In a way, destiny was cruel to the duo which enjoyed the kind of popularity few in film industry have done.

Shankar died unsung in 1987 but Jai’s funeral saw a massive turnout. Rafi was dejected to see this state of affairs. After all, he was witness and a key contributor to their glorious climb to success. Just how much the two adored Rafi was evident by the way they never even once questioned his style of singing.

It almost seemed ordained that Laxmikant-Pyarelal should pick up from where their successful seniors had left. Of course, there is no comparison between the two duos but judged on the parameter of commercial success, Laxmikant-Pyarelal stepped into their shoes about the same time as Shankar-Jaikishen’s decline. Unlike Shankar-Jaikishen, Laxmikant-Pyarelal did not move in the top bracket immediately.

They had to graft their way to the top but then, in all fairness to them, they stood up to the competition from a plethora of their great seniors. They were also lucky that the Rafi Wall of Fame’ gave them the protection they needed early on from their Parasmani and Chhaila Babu days. Laxmikant Pyarelal did never forget that it was Rafi’s ‘Roshan tumbi se duniya and Tere pyaar ne mujhe gham diyd’ that gave them a solid launch pad.

There is every reason to believe that Naushad, Shankar-Jaikishen and Laxmikant Pyarelal were the most significant composers in Rafi’s four-decade span in terms of bonding and understanding. Pyarelal is always overcome by emotion when he points to the oft-repeated fact that it was Rafi who sang their first and the last song. The twist in the Laxmikant-Pyarelal tale comes from the fact that their names were actually recommended by Lata when she came to know about the poor financial but promising musical backgrounds of the two upcoming musicians.

Between the two, Laxmikant conceived the songs while Pyarelal executed them. Both were big fans of Shankar-Jaikishen’s orchestration and it reflected in their initial work although some of the inspiration came from Burman Dada as well under whom Pyarelal interned much before he joined hands with Laxmikant (Kudalkar).

Mohammad Rafi gave Laxmikant-Pyarelal the of their career Dosti (1964) all the four solos he sang them: ‘Raahi manwa dukh ki chinta’, dosti mera pyaar, Mera bhi gadam hai’ and waalo zara’ swept people their Far removed from sugary love stories saw the hero-heroine prance around the trees, Dosti touching young friends one blind and one handicapped. It Laxmikant-Pyarelal their first Filmfare Award ironically, it was Shankar-Jaikishen they pipped to the post because Sangam also nominated for the award that year. For Shankar Jaikishen, however, destiny returned in kind after Suraj Guide 1966. The difference was little to and Sangam plenty between Suraj and Guide.

If Parasmani brought closer Laxmikant-Pyarelal, Dosti created everlasting bond. Laxmikant-Pyarelal had guts use Mohammad Rafi a young Rishi Kapoor in ‘Dard-e-dil dard-e-jigar (Karz, make success out of Brought on the voice of Shailendra Singh Bobby, Rishi except Mohammad Rafi sing songs Laila Majnu, Sargam and Karz, Laxmikant-Pyarelal also utilised Rafi’s high-pitched rhythm on heroes like Jeetendra. of them ‘Baar baar din aaye (Farz, 1967) has become a signature song for people wish on birthdays. Laxmikant-Pyarelal were always of gratitude agreeing to sing on low budgets. times they not hesitate patronize Mohammad Rafi against the wishes of filmmakers.

Dosti, Chhaila Babu, Night London, Aaya Toofan, Naag Mandir, Aaye Din Bahar Ke, Taqdeer, Shagird, Pattbar Ke Sanam, Jaal, Raja Aur Rank, Khilona, Izzat, Waapas, Anjaana, Man Ki Aankben, Jeevan Mrityu, Humjoli, Himmat, Mehboob Ki Mehndi, Loafer are just few from the exhaustive list of films in which they worked together. Laxmikant-Pyarelal’s highway to success had countless Mohammad Rafi stops.

Indeed the span from 1942 to 1980 is a colossal canvas with Mohammad Rafi painted all over it. A whole new generation emerged after the 1980s but no one has been able to recreate the magic and charm as these legends of yesteryear have done. The warhorse that Mohammad Rafi was, he galloped for four decades and continued to stay ahead in the race almost all through.

See more:

• Listeners guide to Indian Classical Music