THE DAY R D BURMAN TOOK A DOBERMANN APPROACH

There are songs that owe their birth to brilliant flashes of genius – moments of literary excellence when the poet sentenced himself into self-imposed isolation, dug deep into his solitude and his experiences to translate them on to paper as verses of literary heaven.  Those are the times when he is not bothered by things like writer’s block, for his pen flows freely with the ink of life, bursting eagerly to narrate its unrequited saga.

Then there are those times when that ink dries up, when the poet feels he has either run out of experiences to share or when he senses that his expression lacks the passion that defined his earlier work. It is this period of literary drought that every writer dreads…when he desperately hopes and prays for the new rain of inspiration that will germinate dormant seeds of thought into productive verse.   

Shailendra , the poet, didn’t have these problems in his craft. He was in the most prolific phase of his career, his evergreen songs for the Shankar Jaikishan duo creating several masterpieces for the Raj Kapoor banner. He was now being approached by other music directors too, all eager to have his name in the credits as the songwriter. One among them was Sachin Dev Burman, the man who had migrated to Bombay and become one of its most respected music directors.

Shailendra had been commissioned to pen the songs for the movie, “Kaala Bazaar” and he had delivered all its songs except one. It was a song that S D Burman had already composed the music to…all Shailendra had to do was immerse himself into the situation of the song, hum the tune to himself. And of course write the words of the song down!

The first two steps were easy enough. It was the third that was proving so damned difficult.  Probably it was the flood of work that had come his way, or maybe it was the fact that in his own head, Shailendra had written almost all the song of the film and so had mentally tuned off the project. Or it is even possible that he had written several drafts of the song, but since none had met his own high standards, Shailendra had probably tossed each draft into the waste paper basket.  Whatever the reason, Sachin Dev Burman still didn’t have a song at the end of a couple of months.

Knowing that this one unfinished song was becoming a big deterrent in the completion of the movie, S D Burman summoned his son, Rahul Dev Burman to his rescue. Rahul had already been assisting his father and on many a film score, the name R D Burman came under S D Burman as his chief music assistant.

It was now Rahul Dev Burman’s turn to get a taste of Shailendra’s procrastination. He would promise Rahul that he would definitely write the song that very day and then, sheepishly tell him that he hadn’t managed to write it. But he would promise to write it the next day, leaving Rahul holding on to his word like the Gospel.

This went on for a couple of weeks, and then one morning, when S D Burman asked his son the progress of the song, Rahul replied sheepishly that he had still not managed to get Shailendra to write it. S D Burman instantly flew into one of his terrific Bengali rages. Scolding his son severely, he told him that if he was unable to get the song written by that day, he should not bother coming home. A shocked Rahul could do nothing else but embark on his Herculean mission right away…after all, only he knew how serious his father could get when it came to his work.   

Hoping to catch Shailendra before he left for a recording session or for his meetings for the day, he hurried along wondering how he could convince this much respected, much older doyen of Hindi poetry to write one song, just one song for him. A song that wasn’t so much about gaining entry into his house, but more about regaining his father’s trust, about proving to him that he could also be entrusted with a responsibility.

When Shailendra opened the door, R D Burman went straight inside and sat down on the nearest available chair. He looked at Shailendra and asked him the million dollar question, “Have you written the song?” A question to which Shailendra slowly shook his head from side to side. If they had been playing dumb charades, Rahul would have no difficulty in guessing the answer was “No.”

Rahul looked seriously into Shailendra’s eyes and with all the seriousness he could muster, said, “Well, I am not leaving your side today…till I get the song from you.”

Shailendra was astonished at the audacity of the lad. He dismissed him, telling him he had several meetings and a couple of recordings lined up through the day. There was no way the song could be written that day. R D Burman just crossed his arms like a determined mobster and looking straight into Shailendra’s eyes said, “Today, wherever you go, I am coming with you. Unless you want to write that song and give it to me right now.”

Shailendra thought to himself, “How could this little slip of a boy, just stepping into his teens, hustle him like that?” He would lead him such a merry dance all around Bombay, the fellow would go running back to his father. Besides, songs were not written like this, in haste or hurry. They needed a fired-up inspiration, an urge to soar into the skies on wings of lofty words. And these words wouldn’t come to him just because a gangly, pimply teenager wanted them to. So he smiled at R D Burman and said, “You want to follow me around? Be my guest.”

What followed after that was a testimony to young Rahul’s dogged determination. Shailendra took him along to recording studios, to lengthy meetings with all sorts of people. Through it all, Rahul stuck by his side like a Doberman does when he’s clamped down on a suspect. At one point, Shailendra asked him if he would even follow him into the toilet. Rahul said no…he wouldn’t, but only after he had ensured that there was only one entry to it and that he could stand on guard outside.

Finally it was late in the evening and Shailendra had run out of places he could take Rahul Dev Burman to. He decided to return back home, with Rahul faithfully in tow. On the way, he decided to stop off at the beach and both of them set off walking on its sands. At a point, Shailendra sat down and Rahul settled in next to him. He looked up at the sky…it was an empty, cloudless sky. A night when even the moon had decided to play truant.

Shailendra took out his notebook and began verbalizing his thoughts loudly. “Aasmaan khula hain, chaand bilkul hi kho gaya hai…hmm”

And then in a burst of inspiration, he wrote the first two lines of the song, “KHOYA KHOYA CHAAND, KHULA AASMAAN.” Then looking at Rahul Dev Burman with a mischievous smile continued writing, “AANKHON MEIN SAARI RAAT JAAYEGI…TUMKO BHI KAISE NEEND AAYEGI.” The first para of the song, the mukhda of the song was ready. After this momentous breakthrough, Shailendra was on song…literally and he wrote, not two, not three…but four more paragraphs to the song.

When the movie Kaala Bazaar released, the song Khoya Khoya Chaand became the rage throughout the nation. Dev Anand on whom it was picturized, now had women swooning over his walk, besides his dashing good looks.

As Shailendra reveled in its success, he silently acknowledged the role R D Burman had played in its creation. He knew now that besides talent and inspiration, sometimes what it takes is just some good, old-fashioned doggedness. 

Listen to this all time classic by clicking on the link below:

KHOYA KHOYA CHAAND KHULA AASMAAN