Kishore Kumar still lives
When Kishore Kumar had made up his mind to leave the film industry once and for all and head to Khandwa, what could have been his rationale? Apart from having worked tirelessly for others and fending off income tax officials and emergency babus, he had had his fill, I think.
He had sung and shaped India’s finest musical period and the 1980s, with its import of foreign sounds and borrowed compositions and rambunctious energy, was slowly but surely weeding out the depth, the understated elegance, the brevity.
Strange indeed that the man who literally brought energy and youth in a largely melancholia-driven male playback world knew that with the loss of form of his closest co-conspirator RD Burman, a certain kind of melody was dying its death. Disco had come to replace dhadkan.
And he, of all people, knew that a certain timbre was missing. And even when he did sing compositions like the RD-Gulzar Main Thak Gaya Hoon from Musafir, it failed to see the light of day.
As a fan, I do wish, despite his apprehensions, that he had gone on to sing more. Maybe collaborate with Ilayaraja more. Maybe seeing the success of Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro, realised that his kind of films (Badhti Ka Naam Daari) would find a greater audience. Soon.
He was working on a film about a bus accident with blind passengers in them.
And yet, a small part of me is glad that his voice didn’t get to hear caustic remarks for a voice way past its prime, like Lata Mangeshkar has had to hear.
And yet, a film that released about a month before he breathed his last, Kaash proved this theory of mine wrong.
The title track and O Yaara, tuned by Rajesh Roshan, showed that the yodel, the baritone, the pathos and the green hadn’t faded one wee bit.
His commanding a record royalty fee for a Rabindra sangeet album stands (inflation not withstanding) even after almost 40 years, but monetary bounties could be attributed to the legacy and stardom he had built for himself. What is astonishing is that there has been no singer thereafter to command such respect from a recording company.
Which is probably why repackaging his songs through specially curated radio sets (Saregama) or soundtracks amplifies his need in an industry where a voice and texture arrives, belts out its maximum potential and pretty soon a new flavour is discovered.
Forget about ruling for four decades. Staying on top for five years is an arduous task, given how recordings, appearances, stage shows and jingles exact the last ounce of ability from the true talents.
And to add to the woes, technology has shown that at least inside a recording room, who cares if you don’t hit the right notes or have just woken up from a drunken night. For someone who was a teetotaller, who would rehearse weeks before he could sing a male version that could rival the superior singer’s Shivranjani rendition ( Mere Naina Saawan Bhaadon), perhaps these times and these success stories would expedite his return to Khandwa.
And yet, technological aid, superior production can’t find an answer to that genius. And no fact is more telling on his everlasting influence than the fact that while all Kishore clones have settled into their retirement days (with ministerial or troll duties), his voice continues to bring in ringtone sales, film OSTs like never before.
A fact that I keep repeating year on year, and wherever I see, despite who the current flavour of the season is, I find no contender.
There was, and strangely enough (not to me) there remains only one Kishore. And while I began this day tweeting his songs and videos, fellow Kishore fanatic Sujoy Ghosh reminded me: "Stop it. Kishore Kumar is alive."
Indeed. Now. More than ever.