Memories of the maverick musician RD Burman

In October 1990, a packed auditorium in Odisha's steel city of Rourkela was dizzy with excitement. There were 30 minutes to go before a concert by RD Burman. Backstage, however, his troupe was tense. Forget singing, Panchamda (as RD was lovingly called) could barely speak because of a sudden throat ailment. "He tried everything, hot water gargles, sticking a clove into a cigarette and smoking. Nothing worked," remembers singer-composer Jolly Mukherjee, who was summoned by RD.

"His secretary Bharat Ashar said Panchamda was calling. I thought he wanted me to fetch medicine. But he told me to sing from backstage so he could lip-sync. Though I knew his songs, I expressed my fear of being able to match his prowess. He just fixed me with his signature stare over his glasses, pointed at me and left. I get goosebumps every time I remember how the maestro kept the show going."

Twenty-six years later, Mukherjee was in the thick of rehearsals for a tribute concert to RD (June 27 being the maestro's 77th birth anniversary), which was on Saturday. An annual fixture for Mukherjee since RD's death in 1994.

"He was blessed. Even in a packed hall, his aura would make him stand out. Long after him, many, including me, still benefit from his Midas touch. I unfailingly include his hits along with my own songs in all shows. Even young audiences go ecstatic."

Mukherjee, who first got to know Panchamda when he was a little over eight, should know what he's saying. "My brother-in-law Bhanu Gupta played the harmonica and guitar for all of RD's iconic songs. I'd just tag along.

Given how chubby I was, both Panchamda and Ashaji would pull my cheeks lovingly. I'd freely go back and forth while senior musicians like Basudev Chakravarty, Manohari Singh and Marutirao Keer worked. I learnt how to write music in the western style with that team."

Born into a musical family, where his father played the sarod, Mukherjee had music in his genes. "But it was exposure to RD who thought up tunes, rhythms, melodies or sounds no one could think of, that helped me hone my skills. Later, when I began singing chorus (a break given to me by RD in 1978), it helped me move up quickly. I'd read the music and trained others."

Explaining how the genius' mind worked, he recounts a music sitting. "Bhavani Shankar was playing the pakhawaj when Panchamda said, 'Maza nahi aa raha hai. Tu yeh kisike peeth pe baja de. (I'm not getting the feel. Play it on someone's back)' First everyone thought it was a joke. When others shied about going shirtless, he told me. Immediately I removed my shirt and Bhavaniji left it all red with his energetic playing," he chortles. "Whether this or using the late Pakistani dictator Gen Zia-ul-Haq as inspiration for a song, nobody could predict what RD would do next."

There was this one time, Mukherjee recalls, when RD woke up after a late night. Filmmaker Narendra Bedi and Barkha Roy (Reena Roy's sister) were waiting for him. They had arrived for a planned sitting for Sanam Teri Kasam with all musicians. But RD had forgotten. "Panchamda saw Pakistan in a newspaper headline and immediately asked, 'What's their dictator called?' When told it was Gen Zia, he began tapping his foot, slapping his thigh and sang, Zia... Ah ha ha. Bedi asked him why Zia and he asked, 'Achcha heroine ka naam kya hai?' Somebody said Reena Roy only for him to snap, 'Arrey picture mein naam kya hai?' That's how it changed from Zia to Nisha. Just like that."
 

Sanam Teri Kasam, the 1982 super-hit, not only left the nation in raptures but got RD his first Filmfare with songs such as Nisha, Ah Ha Ha and the title track going on to become chartbusters.

The same genius was seen when RD composed the iconic Musafir Hoon Yaaron from Parichay (directed by Gulzar) a decade earlier, while having a bath. Mukherjee says that his brother-in-law Gupta had reached early so he picked up the guitar to warm up with a rhythmic chord he'd thought of. RD, who had just gone for a bath, opened the door, snuck his head out and asked what he was playing. He insisted the same rhythm continue, came out wrapped in a towel and sat at the harmonium with just the end of the song refrain. He then went back to bathe. And suddenly began shouting: "Mil gaya." Darting out all wet, he sat in a towel, hair dripping, playing the tune of the song."

But fame is fickle, even when it comes to stalwarts like RD Burman.

Mukherjee laments how the film industry treated RD when down with a heart attack in 1988. "After his immensely popular music for Sagar (1985) — though songs for most films he did later still play by the hour on every FM channel — the films were either disasters at the box office or sank without a trace. That gave him the heart attack. He'd often bitterly joked about his removal as composer for Ram Lakhan (1989), 'Bypass ke liye gaya, toh mujhe hee bypass kar diya.' He couldn't handle disdain from the same industry that wouldn't tire singing his praises."

Mukherjee remembers how Panchamda worked extra hard on 1942, A Love Story. "If this doesn't work, I'll give up." And it worked. The film and its music got both critical and mass acclaim when it released in April 1994.
Only, RD had given up three months before...

A biopic on RD

The maestro whose magical music helped immortalise many films will himself soon be immortalised in a biopic based on Khagesh Dev Burman's biography RD Burman: The Prince Of Music. Two production houses: Milesahead Moviedom (Mumbai) and Usha GenNext (Kolkata) have bought rights to the book, which will be made into a film called RD: Prince of Music