THE SUPERSTAR WHO INSPIRED A SUPERHERO COMIC BOOK

Who else…but Amitabh Bachchan!

It is an answer that would probably be guessed by most Indians, particularly those brought up on a steady diet of the angry young man in the late seventies and eighties. Those were the times when Amitabh reigned supreme, when one other star is reputed to have said, “He occupies numbers 1-10 in terms of star ranking, all the rest can be rated from number 11 onwards.

So one might think the question is a non starter on any quiz contest conducted in India. However the story of how the Amitabh comics were born is quite an interesting one.

It began on an outdoor location shoot of the film “Pukar” where Amitabh and his costar Randhir Kapoor were in Goa. Now it doesn’t take long for news of a film shoot to travel like wildfire, no matter where you shoot in India. So enamoured are people of film stars, that it is not unusual to see a huge crowd of people, gathered outside a bungalow, just because some lights are being set up. The crowd hangs around in the hope that some major star will eventually come into view, and then they can tell their grandchildren in excited tones, “I was there, you know!”

So while day one of the shoot on one of Goa’s pristine beaches was largely uneventful, soon word got around in the village that Amitabh Bachchan was there…in the flesh. The very next day, the crowds swelled three times over, all in the hope of catching a glimpse of India’s biggest film star. And maybe, even an autograph, or two! (The second one is a backup, silly!)

The film unit hastily put up barricades, deployed additional security personnel to man the location and for some time, the measures seemed to work. However, as the numbers increased, so did the worries on the heads of the film unit. The point was soon reached when, the numbers became so large, that the possibility of a stampede on the set became dangerously real.

The energy of the crowd was on an upward graph, their impatience growing by the minute at not being able to see him. Soon the outer barricades were overrun and the crowds gathered ominously around the outer perimeter of the film shoot. No security guard would be foolhardy enough to quell their enthusiasm for fear of being lynched. Eventually, the producers and directors of the film went to Amitabh Bachchan in his make-up room. They apprised him of the situation and asked him whether they should cancel the shoot.

Amitabh knew that this cancellation would mean huge losses for the producer, so he volunteered to step out and address the crowd. Nervously, the producers agreed hoping that this idea would work and they would be able to resume shooting soon. He came out of the make-up room and picking up the microphone that was arranged for him, spoke in his rich booming baritone to the crowd.

The crowd listened with rapt attention. They were words that first addressed them is the most respectful terms, words that understood for how long they had stood in the sun hoping to see their idol. Words that gently reminded them that the entire film unit was made of people like them who had only come there to do their job, and that the crowd should allow them to do so. They were words not spoken by a superstar from his pedestal, but by a man simply requesting the masses to be allowed to get on with the job.

The request worked. The crowd calmed down, waving out to Amitabh their love and affection and he too, responded in kind.

This became a kind of a routine over the next ten days; every time the crowd would become restless and unruly, Amitabh would willingly step in to soothe them. And on one such occasion when the crowd went out of control, Randhir Kapoor told the unit hands around, “Go, It’s time for you to call our superhero.”

These words were heard by a journalist present on the set. Her name was Pammi Bakshi and she immediately recognized the potential of a comic series that would feature Amitabh Bachchan. She approached the star with the idea and he too, warmed up to it in an instant. And thus the comic series, “The Adventures of Amitabh Bachchan” was born. It was called, “Kisse Amitabh Ke” in Hindi and the stories were penned by Gulzar. 

In each comic, Amitabh would himself write a personal message where he would address the children. And they would probably hear it in their heads in the same rich baritone that used to address the crowds in Goa.

A MENTOR SETS HIS DISCIPLE FREE

In the cutthroat business of Bollywood, there are several instances where people have stepped over the heads and hands of others on the ladder of competition. They have not cared about basic human values, choosing to further their own career and ruthlessly smothered any other talent that emerged on the horizon. 

So it is heartwarming indeed when one hears of a tale of a guru, who encouraged his disciple to come out from under his wing…and find his own place in the sun.

That disciple was the music director, Ravi Shankar Sharma, who had the humblest of beginnings when he came to Bombay in 1950 to make a career as a singer. Though he had no formal classical training, he made up for it with his ear for music and the natural flair with which he taught himself to play the harmonium and other classical instruments.

Born in Delhi on 3^rd March 1926, Ravi was on the verge of turning twenty five when he came to Bombay. He found the going tough in the city of dreams, often struggling to put a roof over his head. In those days, while the pavements were his home during the day, Malad railway station would come to his rescue during the nights. When the platforms were deserted, it was easy to curl up to sleep on one of the benches and if questioned by a nosy constable, all one had to do was pose as a person who had missed the last train.

In 1952, he was lucky enough to be discovered by Hemant Kumar, the singer who himself had forayed into music direction. Hemant Kumar was glad to meet Ravi Shankar Sharma and get acquainted with his many talents.

Besides learning to play many Indian classical instruments, Ravi had a flair for composing too and a voice good enough to express those compositions. 

The first assignment Ravi got was for the film, “Vande Mataram” where he had to give backing vocals to the lead singers. During those recordings, Hemant Kumar realized that Ravi’s knowledge of rhythm and instrumentation were vital assets that set him apart from the rest. He took him on as his music assistant and soon enough, Ravi proved just how astute a decision it was.

Over several movies, Ravi the music arranger perfectly complemented Hemant Kumar the composer. From the landmark movie score for “Nagin” in 1952, to many other film soundtracks in Hindi and Bengali cinema, Ravi stood like a rock by Hemant Kumar’s side. So pleased was Hemant Kumar with his disciple that he gifted the young Ravi a car at the stupendous success of Nagin. He was employed for Rs 200 per month, a princely sum in those times and Ravi was content with his life under the tutelage of his guruji.

But in 1954, this contentment was interrupted by Hemant Kumar himself, when he summoned Ravi to his side one day. Telling him that he had to go to Kashmir for some work, he asked Ravi what he would do in the meantime. Ravi replied most deferentially that he would be busy in the studio, composing new tunes for Hemant Kumar to use in his forthcoming projects.

At this reply, Hemant Kumar told Ravi categorically that he would do no such thing. He informed him that it was now time for Ravi to emerge out of his shadows. He was talented in his own right, with the capability of earning his own rightful place as a music director. Ravi was shocked at this suggestion – what Hemant Kumar was suggesting was a separation from him, an unthinkable thought. How could he desert his mentor, his guruji who had been there for him at every turn?

But Hemant Kumar was firm in his resolve – unless he moved out of his shadow, Ravi would always remain an assistant…and that would be doing tremendous injustice to his talent. 

What is interesting about this story is that when Hemant Kumar made this conscious decision, he must have been aware that this separation would hurt him the most as a music director. It was the beginning of Hindi film music's golden period with so many talented music directors – that anyone would want the most prodigious talents working for them. And here he was actually asking his finest protégé Ravi, to become independent, to become a music director in his own right.

Over the next two decades, Ravi did just that – with sterling compositions for movies like Chaudhvin Ka Chand, Gumraah, Ek Phool Do Maali, among many others. The disciple, Ravi prospered to become one of the pillars of Hindi Film Music, while the mentor, Hemant Kumar faded away slowly into the background to return to his roots as a Bengali film composer.

But not for a moment was there any regret in him – for Hemant Kumar knew that he was the one who had shaped the destiny of that pillar of Hindi film music – Ravi.

Here is the landmark song from the film "Nagin" where Ravi had recreated the sound of the snake charmer's flute using his harmonium. The song had been a rage for over two years in a period where the next musical film was just around the corner. - and the sinewy melody mesmerizes one even today. The film score had earned Hemant Kumar the Filmfare award for the Best Music Director in the year 1955.

MANN DOLE MERA TAN DOLE

WHEN ONE SONG SITUATION LED TO THE CREATION OF TWO SONGS

A poet without sensitivity is like an arrow without a bow – unable to reach its target. He may have great command over his language, a mastery over meter and structure of poetry…but unless he has a nuanced understanding of the world around him – his words will ring hollow and not be tinged with reality. And that is the difference between prose that is pretty and prose that is path breaking.

Sometimes filmmakers, music directors and writers themselves find themselves in a piquant situation when it comes to evaluating a storyline or the lyrics of a song. And very often, they reject work because there isn’t a familiar ring about it, a degree of comfort with its expression.

The following story best illustrates this – as it is an example of a song situation that ended up creating two songs of high artistic merit, but only one succeeded in its intent to be really path breaking. The song was for the film “Leader” starring Dilip Kumar and its music was being composed by Naushad. He, along with the director of the film, had briefed Sahir Ludhianvi about the situation of the song – the hero is serenading the heroine of the film under the shadow of the historic Taj Mahal. The song was to be an ode to the beauty and magnificence of the mausoleum – an emperor’s epic of remembrance created in the memory of his beloved Mumtaz Mahal.    

Roughly translated, the words expressed the desire of the lover to meet his beloved, someplace other than the Taj Mahal, because it was so beautiful in its setting and its romantic magic, that anything he did would fall woefully short in comparison. It seemed as if an Emperor had used his wealth and power to make a mockery of the love of the lesser privileged.

When Naushad, Dilip Kumar and the director of the film heard the lyrics, they were stunned. They failed to see that in this mock complaint of the lover was the biggest compliment that could be given to Shah Jehan. They just couldn’t see how a lover who consciously wants to meet at some other place is doing so because he is intimidated by its immense beauty. Unanimously, they rejected the song and as Sahir refused to rewrite it, turned to Naushad’s favourite lyricist, Shakeel Badayuni. 

Shakeel Badayuni when he read what Sahir Ludhainvi had written, secretly admired the verse. He recognized it for its originality, for its freshness of thought and its honesty of expression. He too was a romantic at heart and could identify with the sentiments expressed by Sahir. But at the same time, he understood the apprehensions of the “Leader” team.

So his poem was an unabashed ode to the beauty of the Taj, holding it up an example without parallel to have been constructed out of love. His words were:  

“Ek shahenshah ne banwa ke haseen Taj Mahal

Saari duniya ko mohabbat ki nishani di hai

Iske saaye mein sada pyar ke charche honge

Khatm jo ho na sake woh kahani di hai”

The rest of the song expressed similar superlatives in praise of the Taj Mahal and when Naushad composed the song, it was widely appreciated for its music and poetry when the movie released in 1964. 

However no one knew about the original song that Sahir Ludhainvi had written…till the movie, “Ghazal” released the same year. When people heard this song, they were struck by the power of the lover’s sentiment expressed as a mock complaint against the emperor. And considering that they were all mere mortals who could never build a Taj Mahal, roundly applauded the sentiments it had expressed. 

This second song was composed by Madan Mohan for the film “Ghazal” and it was sung as a solo by Mohammad Rafi. The song, “Ek shahenshah ne banwa ke” was sung as a duet by Mohammad Rafi and Lata Mangeshkar. 

WHAT’S IN A NAME – IF IT HAD TO BE CHANGED THREE TIMES OVER?

It's okay for Shakespeare to write platitudes like, “What's in a name? A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.” But when it comes to the film industry, film stars have assumed different identities for differing reasons. It could be to seem acceptable to a larger audience. Or it could be because of self loathing of your name. The fact of the matter is – that stars want their names to be embedded in the minds of their audience, a kind of shorthand for their own brand of histrionics.

So it makes for an amusing story when a struggling music director in the early forties had to change his name three times over before he finally settled on one single word – Khaiyyam.

Originally born as Mohammad Zahur Khaiyyam Hashmi in the town of Rahon in Nawanshahr District of undivided Punjab, his fascination for music brought him to Lahore where he learnt music under the tutelage of a famous Punjabi music director, Baba Chishti.

Like so many others drawn to the silver screen, he then came to Bombay and began knocking the doors of music directors and film producers. The reputed music director pair of those times, Husnlal Bhagatram took Khaiyyam under their wings and he would go on to learn the craft of music direction from them. At these recording sessions, Khaiyyam met another aspiring music director, Rehman Verma who also regarded the Husnlal Bhagatram pair as his mentors. Khaiyyam and he soon became friends and after gaining enough confidence in composing music, resolved to form a team of their own. 

They consulted their mentors who blessed them in their foray into music direction, and after much deliberation, christened them as Sharmaji Vermaji, where Khaiyyam would be known by the pseudonym , “Sharmaji” and Rehman Verma would be known as “Vermaji” The rationale behind the naming was that not only would the rhyming of names make it easy to remember, but it would also remove the ‘muslimness’ of their names, making them more acceptable to even Hindu audiences.

One must keep in mind that in those pre-partition times, people were certainly very sensitive about these things. Undivided India had seen many Hindu-Muslim riots and it seemed the logical thing to do…and so, Sharmaji Vermaji it was.

The duo made their debut with the movie Heer Ranjha and when it released in 1948, the credit titles were emblazoned with the words “Music by Sharmaji Vermaji” for the first time.

However, with partition of the subcontinent into India and Pakistan, a dilemma arose in the mind of Rehman Verma. He figured that he would have a brighter career in a predominantly muslim Pakistan and he made up his mind to emigrate. Khaiyyam was in a quandary – while it made logical sense that he might enjoy more success in Pakistan, he knew his musical growth lay in inspiration. Inspiration that was far more assured in the diverse strokes of life in India. Only in India, could a bhajan coexist with a qawwali, a ghazal be as applauded as a thumri. And if he opened his mind to the vastness and diversity of India, success would be at his feet.

He resolved to stay back in Bombay.

But now, the twist of fate had reduced his name to just – “Sharmaji”  And he stuck with it even going on to compose for movies like Biwi and Parda where the credits announced him as Sharmaji. It was a weird situation in every sense of the term.

However, the agony over what his name should be didn’t last for long. Soon Khaiyyam was approached by Zia Sar Ali for the film “Footpath.” After Khaiyyam agreed to compose music for it, Zia Sar Ali told him bluntly, “You know, this Sharmaji  can’t really become your identity in the film industry. Why don’t you use your own name?”

Mohammad Zahur Khaiyyam Hashmi thought about this – there certainly wasn’t a shortage of words to play around with. So right there, all sorts of permutations and combinations were tried. When none of them sounded quite right, Zia Sar Ali, in that rare moment of epiphany, spoke up, “What if you simply went as, “Khaiyyam?”

THE RELUCTANT ACTOR

There are very rare instances where someone has been reluctant to join a certain profession – and then when he is pushed into it, embraces it as if he belonged there all his life. Take professional rugby for example – now why would a person willingly gravitate to a sport where being pounded to pulp is its raison d’être?

Anyway, the discussion here is about the elegant art of acting – the profession that is regarded as far more cushy than say, coal mining or prawn sorting. So it is difficult to imagine anybody who would have an air of reluctance about facing the camera.

But we are talking about the forties here – a time when films were not really seen as a respectable profession. So though the protagonist of this story was interested in films, his interest only lay in making them. And the name of that person was – Ashok Kumar.

Born in the Bhagalpur district of Bengal on October 13^th, 1911, he was named Kumudlal Ganguly by his father Kunjalal Ganguly, a noted lawyer who set up a successful practice in Khandwa in Madhya Pradesh. Those were times when the mantle of the father’s profession was almost always handed down to the son – and naturally Ashok Kumar was also expected to graduate into a lawyer.

So when he enrolled himself in the Presidency College in Calcutta following the orders of his father, he suffered the law lectures like an obedient son for a couple of months. But when the maze of laws, their statutes and subsections addled his mind, he confided to one of his college professors – he was not cut out to be a lawyer; what he actually wanted was to make films.

Unsure whether this desire was one of those passing fancies that afflicts teenagers, the professor gave him some sagely advice. He told him that he should continue his law studies in the mornings, and devote the rest of the day to his passion of watching films and learning their craft. Ashok Kumar found this an amenable solution – one that would allow him to follow his heart without having to face the music at home.

While this pattern continued till the years he was in college, Ashok Kumar wondered how he would be able to make it to Bombay – the city that beckoned his ultimate dream of becoming a filmmaker. He got a really lucky break when one of his relatives, based in London and also interested in the film industry, decided to come to Bombay. When he invited Ashok Kumar to join him, he didn’t waste a moment and followed him to Bombay.

He joined Bombay Talkies as an assistant in the film laboratory, where his main task was to cart the huge film reels in for processing and take them out again after they were ready. A couple of weeks into the job, he was spotted by Himanshu Roy – the noted film director and studio head, who asked him what he was doing there. When Ashok Kumar explained that he was the laboratory assistant who had the charge of the film reels, Himanshu Roy cut him short with a wave of his hand.

Putting his arm around his shoulder, he led the young Ashok Kumar to the film sets where his film, “Acchut Kanya” was being shot. Apparently, Himanshu Roy was having a big crisis that morning. He had just sacked the hero of his film, Najam-Ul-Hussain and he wanted Ashok Kumar to step into his shoes. One can only imagine the surprise that must have been there on Ashok Kumar’s face. He was a rank newcomer, his only experience in films being the lugging of film cans…how could he act in a film, that too in the lead role?

He flatly refused and turned to go back to the laboratory. But Himanshu Roy would have none of it. He reassured Ashok Kumar that since he was directing the film, he would personally ensure that he would not face any anxious moments before the camera. Plus the heroine would be his own wife – Devika Rani, so what did he have to worry about?

Now if this news was supposed to comfort Ashok Kumar, it didn’t. How was he expected to romance his heroine before the camera with the knowledge that her husband was behind it? He made all sorts of excuses, but all to no avail. Himanshu Roy, now wearing his studio head hat, would not take no for an answer.

Even while the shooting for “Acchut Kanya” started, Ashok Kumar was signed on for another film, “Jeevan Naiyya” which in 1936 was officially his first-released film. But it was the film he signed first, “Acchut Kanya” that became an instant hit and which propelled him towards further success.

By the time the forties came in,  Ashok Kumar, the extremely reluctant actor, had a flourishing acting career – a career that would entertain audiences over the next sixty years. A time span that would also earn him the fond salutation of “Dadamoni” – an elder brother to a whole generation of actors.       

In this very rare clip from "Acchut Kanya," Ashok Kumar And Devika Rani set the precedent of romancing around trees in a duet that was also sung by them.

MAIN BAN KI CHIDIYA

WHEN A REAL LIFE INTERACTION TURNED INTO A HIT SONG - PART 1

There's no doubt that inspiration is key to the business of making films. In script writing, that inspiration can take the form of a real person's life, it could be the fierce desire to tell the world a wonderful story. Or inspiration could even take the form of an unknown, foreign film DVD. Yes, inspiration is the engine that drives Bollywood.

So can you imagine stories where that great idea, that spark of creativity comes from the mundane transcripts of everyday life. There are at least two examples of hit songs that were inspired by a simple conversation between the protagonists. In this part, you’ll read about the story of the first song.

It was from the film “Aan Milo Sajna” starring Rajesh Khanna and Asha Parekh. Almost all its songs were completed, except one – a song that was based on a typical romantic situation. The hero and the heroine have finished their rendezvous, and now that it was time to part – were wondering when they could meet next. It was this longing to meet again that had to be expressed as a duet between the lead pair with words of evocative passion and desire.

However, the lyricist of the film, Anand Bakshi seemed to have a date with writer's block that day. The many balls of paper, crumpled in rejection seemed to come up to his ankles, and he wondered when those magical lines would descend into his mind, and from there onto paper. The music directors, the hugely successful duo of Laxmikant Pyarelal had waited all morning patiently for the verses of the song. They were playing around with some of their musical instruments, hoping a riff on the harmonium or the beats on the dholak would serve as the seed that would spark off an idea in Anand Bakshi’s mind.

But all to no avail. They had now spent the entire morning in a largely wasteful session where nothing of note had emerged, let alone being recorded. Finally, they all put up their hands, putting it down to one of those rare days when nothing gets done.

Anand Bakshi got up to leave and said, “Accha, toh hum chalte hain.”

Laxmikant asked him, “Phir kab miloge?”

So Anand Bakshi replied, “Jab tum kahoge.”

It was now Pyarelal’s turn to suggest, “Kal milo ya parso.”

Anand Bakshi’s mind perked up with this entire dialogue exchange. There was a nice rhythm and rhyme about it. He muttered all the words to himself and looked at Laxmikant Pyarelal with excited eyes that said, “I've had got it.”

He sat down immediately and wrote out the first four lines of the couplet they had just recited impromptu. Turning to Laxmikant Pyarelal, he said, “This is the mukhda of your song, I think it fits the situation perfectly.”

The two music directors looked at each other, then at the paper with four lines on it, and then back at each other.  As they settled down at their respective harmonium and dholak, they gave the first four lines a shot. Within minutes, a tune emerged that had all of them beaming. Anand Bakshi immediately sat back at his place, tuning to a new page on his pad. He had to write out the antras that followed the mukhda, and the best time to do it was now…after all, he was on song.

The song Accha Toh Hum Chalte Hain is available at the link:

ACCHA TOH HUM CHALTE HAIN

WHEN A REAL LIFE INTERACTION TURNED INTO A HIT SONG - PART 2

Very often, it doesn’t take a huge magnum opus to provide inspiration to the mind. Sometimes just a turn of phrase or a fragment of rhyme…or even the way a certain line is uttered. Any of these can cause the brainwaves that result in an idea coming to the shore of the mind. Where it can be picked up as a rough pearl and then honed and polished, ready to be presented to the world in all its glory.

The second song that was created out of a real life interaction was from the film, “Sangam” produced and directed by Raj Kapoor. When he was making this romantic triangle that starred two heroes with a common love interest, his mind was clear about who the other hero would be – Rajendra Kumar, an actor with whom he shared a great friendship. Where he was stuck was in the casting of the heroine who would play the pivotal role of Radha in the film.  

In the list of heroines he had shortlisted, the name of Vyajantimala was right at the top. He thought she fit the role perfectly and desperately wanted her to act in the film. He had a meeting where he narrated the story to her and even explained that she would do wonders in the role of Radha.

Vyajantimala liked the script too and she agreed with Raj – the role of Radha really would allow her histrionic capabilities to come to the fore. However, she had signed on so many films just a few months ago, that finding dates for the shoot of Sangam would be difficult unless she juggled some other dates around. She promised to let Raj Kapoor know whether she would be able to rearrange her diary to accommodate Sangam.

A couple of weeks went by and Raj had still not heard anything from Vyajantimala. He couldn’t afford to wait endlessly, and wanted to know what her answer was. Could she do the film or not? So he decided to send her a telegram and since telegrams are supposed to be concise and to the point, he telegraphed the words, “Bol Radha Bol, Sangam Hoga Ke Nahin?” hoping she would be tempted to say yes if he addressed her as Radha.

Whatever the intention of the choice of words, Vyajantimala replied with a vehement, “HOGA! HOGA! HOGA!

Raj Kapoor was thrilled when he received the reply. He immediately shared the entire episode with Shailendra, his songwriter friend who would be writing the songs for “Sangam.”  While Shailendra felt the episode itself was a quite amusing, he found the choice of words very interesting. He now began visualizing the interplay between the lead characters in his head – the hero would be pestering the heroine throughout the song, asking her whether she would relent and accept his love. She would say no consistently, till the end where she would out of exasperation, be fed up and say, “Hoga, Hoga Hoga!”

Once he wrote the song, he showed it to Raj Kapoor, who loved the visual possibilities it offered. They shared it with Shankar Jaikishan, the music composers and by the time the day was out, yet another film hit from the Raj Kapoor, Shailendra and Shankar Jaikishan combination was born.

You can watch the song with the link below:

BOL RADHA BOL SANGAM HOGA KE NAHIN