Sanjeev Kohli talks about his father, Madan Mohan - the genius
who never got his due. He mentions (to my suprise) that a lot
of MM movies ( well known now) with such great music were huge
flops. Also that friendship, ego and temperament could be big
factors in an MD being selected or rejected for a movie. It is
understandable as there were so many talented MD's in those
days that if the producer/director had any problem with the
MD he could go for someone else.
Enjoy,
Kalyan
IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER - Sanjeev Kohli
To be honest, I remember Madan Mohan
more as a father than as a composer.
He kept us far away from the
recording studios. Perhaps because he
was disillusioned by the music
industry.
He was a very affectionate father,
but strict. He wanted his children to
have a normal childhood. He wouldn't
allow my brothers or me to hang
around the music sessions. But we did
cheat a bit. On holidays, we'd insist
that nothing would keep us from the
recordings.
Today, I feel he craved much more
appreciation than he actually got. I
can't help feeling bitter about the
frustrations that my father had to go through, hiding his hurt
behind a smile.
Since I've been a part of the music business for 20 years
myself, I find more and more people returning to Madan Mohan's
music. In Meri Pasand, the TV programme which I produce
featuring the favourite songs of celebrities, one of the seven
songs is always a Madan Mohan composition. The invitees select
the song of their own choice, and not because Madan Mohan was
the producer's dad.
It has even become fashionable for music directors to associate
themselves with the name of Madan Mohan. Whenever Khayyam or
Naushad give an interview, they make it a point to mention his
name. O.P.Nayyar has gone on record to state that the Lata
Mangeshkar-Madan Mohan combination remains unparalled. For young
composers like Jatin-Lalit, it's the in thing to say Madan Mohan
was one of the greatest composers.
In Meri Awaz Suno, the participants often want to render Madan
Mohan songs. And I wonder why people didn't express their
appreciation when my father was alive. He would tell my mother
that he didn't get his dues from the film industry.
The biggest banners never came his way. All the hotshot stars
and directors like Raj Kapoor and Dev Anand were his close
friends... Raj Kapoor had offered him Satyam Shivam Sundaram.
But I don't know what happened.
What I do know is that my father had an ego. Maybe that came in
the way. Jaikishen had died and Mera Naam Joker had flopped. Raj
Kapoor was making Bobby. After that, he wanted my father to do
Satyam Shivam Sundaram. My father probably died before the deal
could be finalised.
Raj Kapoor, Suraiya and my father were childhood friends.
Suraiya and my father would sing together on All India Radio. My
father would feel very hurt when his songs would become hits but
the films would flop. If he had done better films with better
film-makers, his compositions wouldn't have been underrated.
Today everyone loves his songs but they don't feature in any of
the lists of the 50 musical movie hits of all time. Some of the
best songs of my father were picturised on second-rung heroines.
Like Woh bhooli dastaan on Anita Guha in Sanjog. Or on Priya
Rajvansh, who was considered a bad actress. Though Chetan Anand
was one of my father's best friends and loyal supporters, I
don't think the songs of Heer Ranjha and Hanste Zakhm in a
Chitrahaar would stand a fair chance against lesser songs filmed
on better actresses.
Many of my father's song were also filmed on Mala Sinha who
wasn't considered one of the greats of her generation. He didn't
get too many Waheeda Rehman songs.
He did get a Nutan film -- Dulhan Ek Raat Ki. And he composed
the lovely number Sapnon mein agar mere for it. But the film ran
for just seven days. Jahan Ara, which had some of his best
compositions ever, was removed from theatres in four days. It
broke his heart.
There were several music camps in those days and they were all
so good. Even my father couldn't deny that. Navketan had the
Burmans. The R.K. banner hand Shankar-Jaikishen. They were all
so comfortable working together that no one was interested in
breaking up the teams.
Today, film-makers are more open to change. Subhash Ghai worked
extensively with Laxmikant-Pyarelal. He then dropped them for
A.R. Rahman. He then dropped Rahman for Nadeem-Shravan. We don't
know what he'll do next.
Once, the working environment was of the essence. My father had
to feel comfortable with the film-makers he worked with. He
worked a lot with Chetan Anand and Om Prakash, the character
actor who produced Sanjog, Jahan Ara, Gateway Of India and
Chacha Zindabad... none of them were hits.
My father worked closely with Raj Khosla. They would plan the
films together. My father's first silver jubilee hit was Raj
Khosla's Woh Kaun Thi.
There's an interesting story about Mera Saaya. The film was
originally called Saaya. My father had a huge spool
tape-recorder. After he had recorded the title song Tu jahan
jahan chalega mera saaya saath hoga, he cooked dinner and
listened to the song with Raj Khosla and other close friends
over drinks. And they all agreed that the film's title should be
changed to Mera Saaya. Back then, there was a constant
give-and-take. Now there's just take.
I don't know why Raj Khosla switched to
Laxmikant-Pyarelal after Woh Kaun Thi and
Mera Saaya. My father was hot-headed...
maybe there was some misunderstanding
between them. Raj Khosla had his own ups
and down.
Chetan Anand was the most important
film-maker in the latter part of my
father's life. Chetan Anand was planning a
small film, Aakhri Khat, at the same time
as Haqeeqat. He wanted my dad to score
music for both the films. But my dad said,
"Why don't you give Aakhri Khat to my
friend Khayyam?" And the film went on to
revive Khayyam's career.
Chetan Anand, Kaifi Azmi and Priya would often drop in at our
house. Priya would come into our room where we kids would have
our dinner separately. She played carrom with us.
My father almost died at Chetan Anand's house while working on
the music of Salim Anarkali which was eventually shelved. He
collapsed in Chetan Anand's house.
When we went on long car drives, dad would tell us to sing a
song. Small and unfeeling that we were, we would start singing
the songs composed by other music directors. He'd turn around
and say, "Hey, even you!"
At that time, we couldn't understand what he meant. We wouldn't
sing his songs because they weren't easy to sing. That used to
hurt him. Even his failmy didn't appreciate him. He started
drinking heavily. He died of cirrhosis of the lever. It's not
something I'm ashamed of at all. I don't allow this fact to
disturb me at all.
When my father died, I had to get out of his shadow. I was very
keen to become a music composer. But he had gone out of his way
to keep me away from music. He felt he hadn't made it... he
didn't want his son to go through hard times. After he died, I
tried to learn the sitar. But nothing came of it.
Memories linger on though. By the time dad got his first major
award for Dastak, he'd become very bitter. He pretended not to
be happy with the honour. But he was happy because Sanjeev Kumar
and Rehana Sultan also got National Awards for the same film. So
they all went together to Delhi for the function.
The National Award wasn't widely understood then. It was not
getting the Filmfare Award that really bothered my father. In
the year when Mera Saaya was in the reckoning, he told us that
all the issues of Filmfare had been bought. I'm not saying there
was any cheating but when consumers had to fill in the coupons
about their choices, it was so easy to manipulate the awards. I
think my father lost out because he couldn't play such games.
My father was very sentimental. He cried easily. There was a
very good arranger called Sonik who later became a composing duo
with his nephew, Sonik-Omi. Sonik would arrange the songs for my
father. Omi, who was the spokesperson of the two, said in an
interview after my father died, that most of Madan Mohan's tunes
were composed by Sonik. My question to them is--why didn't
Sonik-Omi come up with one memorable tune when they were on
their own?
My father's favourite sitar player was the renowned Rais Khan.
If you've heard the Madan Mohan compositions carefully, you'd
know that the sitar base is very crucial. Rais Khan claimed that
he had composed all the sitar interludes. It's possible that he
did. The point is, they sat together and worked in a room.
My father was so fond of Rais Khan that when there was a musical
soiree at our home, he would invite Rais Khan to play the sitar.
My father was too embarrassed to discuss money with his friend,
so he told his manager to ask Rais Khan what kind of money he
should be paid. Rais Khan took tremendous umbrage. A few days
later, he called up my father and said there's a wedding at a
friend's house and would my father like to sing there. If yes,
how much money would he charge?
My father was very, very hurt. He decided that Rais Khan would
never again play in his songs. From that day onwards, in 1972 to
the day he died, the sitar disappeared from Madan Mohan's tunes.
He was a Sagittarian and completely emotional. My father never
used the ghazal as a ghazal per se. He used it as a love song,
a sad song etc. Like Zameen se hamen aasman par in Adalat and
Aapko pyar chhupane ki buri aadat hai in Neela Aakash. At
times, he even copied Western tunes. Like Dil dil se milakar
dekho in Memsaab.
But because the ghazal was his forte he became typecast.
Naushad goes on and on about the two ghazals from Anpadh -- Aap
ki nazron ne samjha and Hai isi mein pyar ki abroo being equal
to his entire oeuvre. I don't remember him saying that when my
father was alive.
I'll tell you something about Naushad sa'ab. My father used to
take us to his house for dinner every two or three months. I
remember hearing the songs of K Asif's Love And God at Naushad
sa'ab's house. On our way home my father praised his songs
wholeheartedly.
I vividly remember attending a recording for the song Chhayee
barkha bahaar in Chirag. While Lataji was at the mike, my
father said, "See how I'm going to make her say chhayee." The
word actually spreads itself out when she sings it.
It was a very tough song to put together. The musicians were
making a lot of mistakes. Lataji had to sing it about 15 times
to get it right in one take. I remember asking her if she was
exhausted. She said, "What to do? Most of my biggest hits have
been sung at my tired worst". Today, of course, it isn't like
that. Everything is dubbed.
For the doli song in Heer Ranjha, the main theme was derived
from traditional sources. But all the antaras were my father's,
I remember everyone was crying at the end of the recording.
Kaifi Azmi, his wife Shaukat, Chetan Anand. They all went up to
Lataji and my father to say, "You made us cry."
The song Aapki nazron ne samjha (Anpadh) was composed by my
father in two minutes during the lift journey from the ground
floor to the fifth floor of our building. I remember the moment
when my father almost in a trance, shut his eyes and started
singing to himself. When the lift reached our apartment, he
rushed to the harmonium to complete the tune.
The song Naina barse in Woh Kaun Thi was composed in the early
'50s. But it wasn't found suitable for any film until Woh Kaun
Thi. Raj Khosla and my father mutually agreed that it would be
right for the ghost story. At the time of the recording, Lataji
was unwell. So the song was filmed on Sadhana in my father's
voice, and redubbed later.
My father's first big commercial break was Bhai Bhai in 1956. I
remember my mother telling me that I was lucky for him since it
was the year I was born.
He was particularly fond of the song Yeh duniya yeh mehfil in
Heer Ranjha because of the variety in arrangement. His own
favourite composition was Sawan ke mahine main from Sharabi. He
would sing the song for his friends at private gatherings.
Perhaps he identified with the lyrics.
Lataji was the last word for him. I remember Asha Bhosle came
for a recording of a cabaret song. She asked my father in front
of me, "Madan bhaiyya, this song is nice but who's singing the
other songs?" When my father told her that it was Lataji,
Ashaji bluntly asked, "Why can't I sing them?" And my father
replied, "Jab tak Lata hai Lata hi gayegi." That didn't make
Ashaji very happy.
The point is, he was very honest. Lataji and my father had no
other relationship except that of a brother and sister. When he
would be asked why he was besotted with Lata Mangeshkar, my
father would reply, "Why only me? S.D. Burman, Naushad,
C.Ramachandra, Roshan, Shankar-Jaikishen are all besotted with
her. Are they all mad?"
To make the world believe that Sharda was a better singer than
Lataji and Ashaji required a lot of guts. The joke in those
days was, love isn't only blind, it's also deaf. It wasn't just
my father who said that Lataji was the best. It was the world.
O.P. Nayyar said his style of composing suited Shamshad Begum,
Geeta Dutt and Asha Bhosle. Possibly he changed his style.
Because the fact remains that for the first film he ever signed
he wanted Lataji to sing. But something obviously went wrong
and he swore that he would become successful without Lataji.
That was wonderful. I respect and admire O.P. Nayyar's
achievements.
What I can never forget about Lataji is that after my father
died, she became closer to us than before, even though she had
nothing to gain from us. She looked after us children
completely after my mother died. When I got married, she sent
the invitation cards out in her name. Today, I want to be there
for her if she needs my help.
Coming back to my father, he scored his biggest hit, Laila
Majnu, after his death. It was probably his weakest score
though. Lataji tells us that he was often off-colour since he
had too much to drink during the recordings. Lataji did tell
him to get a grip on himself. But dad's frustrations in the
last couple of years of his life had become too much to bear.
Ironically, his best-
remembered songs are from films released after his death --
Mausam and Laila Majnu.
I discovered my father's genius at the age of 16 when I
accidentally found tapes of his songs in the cupboard. I heard
all his released and unreleased songs on master tapes. I
realised his worth. I discovered in the tapes that he had
composed ten different tunes for the same song. For example,
there were literally ten tunes for Dil dhoondta hai in Mausam.
I realised there was still so much more to his genius than what
the world had heard.
Today we're no longer called the Madan Mohan family. I never
tell anyone I'm his son. One has to come into one's own.
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