"The 50s, in a sense, belonged to Sachin Dev Burman and singers, both
male and female, waited for the hour when Dada would give a call.
sg.
LOOKING BACK : Tribute to Talat Mahmood
Arup K Datta
http://www.thestatesman.net/page.news.php?clid=19&theme=&usrsess=1&id=92468
I gaped in wonderment as Shankar, in an atypical gesture, complimented
me on the tribute I paid to Pankaj Mullick in this column. Referring to
my effort, he concluded tongue-in-cheek, that it was not bad at all.
"I understand no records or cassettes are available of this great
musician", he lamented.
Shankar reminded me of Talat Mahmood, another legend, of who we were
equally fanatical during our adolescent years. In fact Shankar wanted
to be singer like Talat and one morning when he went missing, his
fuming father came running to our house in an effort to find his
whereabouts.
A week later Shankar returned home minus a couple of kilos and narrated
in detail his meeting with Talat, his idol. At his residence in Bombay
when Shankar sang a Talat number, the famed singer listened with
patience, complimented him, and then advised him to go back to his
studies. Or, perhaps, play football in which Bengalis excelled at the
time. Or, do something else!
It was the late 50s. I distinctly remember how we would rush back home
from school to be next to the radio at 1.40 in the afternoon when
"Anurodher Asar" would be aired for the next 50 minutes. It was the
golden era of Bengali music and Hemanta Mukherjee was its uncrowned
king.
He was a must in its every edition along with Sandhya Mukherjee,
Pratima Banerjee, Utpala Sen, Dwijen Mukherjee and Alpana Banerjee.
Satinath, Shyamal and Akhilbandhu Ghose were also among the regulars.
An insufferably long letter of Jaganmoy Mitra occasionally put us to
sleep.
Along with them, a Talat Mahood number like "Alote Chhyata Dinguli"
or "Ruper Oi Pradip Jwele" or "Tomar Akash Bhore" were
routinely broadcast. At regular intervals, "Chander Eto Alo" was
broadcast and invariably the last number in the programme for nothing
possibly could be played after this magnum opus.
By that time Talat, however, was already in Bombay, his musical career
at an all time high, his popularity no longer confined to listeners of
Bengali songs only. The handsome young man had come to Calcutta from
his native Lucknow primarily to act in films. He did act in three
inconsequential films, but soon found himself belting out hit songs in
Bengali, one after another. Once "Duti Pakhi Duti Tire" was
released in 1945, his assumed name Tapan Kumar became a household name.
"Chander Eto Alo", released in 1952, remains a milestone till date.
"I could not think of anyone, male or female singer, who could do
justice to this song. Talat was incomparable,' Rabin Chattopadhyay,
director of many hit songs of the 50s and 60s, said of him.
Talat who had trained for a long time in classical music of the
Bhatkhande school, possessed a melodious voice, its magical quality
beyond delineation. "Tumi bojho nato keno kandi" was hummed by
everyone when it was released. Shankar who was already a walking
encyclopaedia on Talat Mahmood, made his very best attempts to sing it
cloning his master's voice.
The girl for whom he sang it, I suspect, was too young to appreciate
the tear jerker and more keen on a free ride on Shankar's brand new
cycle. 'She craves for my cycle and not my song' rued a crestfallen
Shankar. When the girls father was posted elsewhere and the family
moved there, Shankar went into mourning and stopped singing for some
time while we, his friends, silently admired the wisdom of her
father's employer.
Towards the end of 40s, Talat left for Bombay with Latika, his Bengali
wife. A new life began where the handsome young man resumed his career
as an actor in the silver screen a new. He acted in a number of films
with the famed heroines of the time. Ek gaon ki kahani in which he was
hero and sang "Raatne kya kya kwab dikhaye" set to music by Salil
Choudhury was a hit. "Sone ki chieriya" with Nutan and "Dil e
nadan" with Suraiya also achieved success at the box office.
"Zindegi denewale sun" that he sang in the film was in teh lips of
every other person at the time.
He was, however, not a great success as an actor. Overlooked by
producers, he decided to concentrate on his musical career. I am not
sure of the loss the acting world suffered but the world of music
benefited enormously by his decision.
Talat sang countless film songs and almost all celebrated music
directors of the time utilised his voice at different times. Songs like
"Ai mere dil kahin" (Shankar Jaikishen), "Phir wohi shyam"
(Madan Mohan), "Taswir banata hun" (Naushad) brought the singer
into an enviable limelight.
The 50s, in a sense, belonged to Sachin Dev Burman and singers, both
male and female, waited for the hour when Dada would give a call. The
extremely finicky Burman was enamoured of Talat, for according to him,
the slight tremello and small murkis combined to make Talat's voice
very distinguished not comparable to anyone. "Jaye tu jaye kanan"
that Dev Anand lipped in the film or "Jalte hai jiske liye" that
Sunil Dutt sang for Nutan on phone in film Sujata skyrocketed his
popularity.
Shankar, by then, had set his eyes on a new arrival in our para and one
evening when he tried to sing the song a la Sunil Dutt on phone had to
stop midway as his irate father snatched the receiver from his grip.
Talat had by then came to be known as Gazal Samrat and his fame had
reached outside the Indian shores. He often went out to sing in various
cities in Europe, America and Africa.
His long absence from Bombay affected his career for exasperated music
directors went looking for substitutes. And then came the age of
systhesisers. Talat lost out.
I had the rare experience of listening to his live recitals on
occasions, the last time in 1983 at Kala Mandir. He sang his famous hit
numbers from films and basic records to a overwhelminghly
Hindi-speaking audience. When he sang "Chander Eto Alo", only a
single pair of hands was heard clapping. Soon he ended his programme
with "Zindagi Denewale Tum" and the auditorium emptied in minutes.
There were no organisers waiting for him and Talat kept standing on the
stage, a forlorn tragic figure.
Gathering my wits, I went up to him and engaged him in some small
conversation. He was enormously happy and after a while grabbing my
hand said 'Young man, are you really my fan? It is quite possible
your father was also my fan. And it is the love of generations that has
kept me going'.
In a nostalgic vein, he continued about his time and life in Calcutta,
the songs he sang, the movies he made here and all the good things the
city offered him.
'Those were my golden days' he said with a tinge of sadness
unmistakable in his voice. He was silent for a moment and then gestured
his son who went backstage and returned with a copy of his LP. In a
Blue Mood which Talat wanted changed. Then Khalid brought Vintage
Glory, his LP of Bengali hits. He scribbled 'To Arup with my best
wishes' on the jacket before handing it over to me. The date was
17.12.83 and proved to be an unforgettable evening and a gift I will
treasure forever.
Vijay
Excellent article.
Reminded me of my physics teacher who once while explaining frequency
had said that in the early 50s something called a Helmsholtz resonator
test had been conducted on all the male playback singers. The
assumption being that the voice with 'maximum frequencies' in it was
the most melodious.
who was the winner- no prizes for guessing. Talat Mahmood.
Regards
> Towards the end of 40s, Talat left for Bombay with Latika, his Bengali
> wife. A new life began where the handsome young man resumed his career
> as an actor in the silver screen a new. He acted in a number of films
> with the famed heroines of the time. Ek gaon ki kahani in which he was
> hero and sang "Raatne kya kya kwab dikhaye" set to music by Salil
> Choudhury was a hit. "Sone ki chieriya" with Nutan and "Dil e
> nadan" with Suraiya also achieved success at the box office.
> "Zindegi denewale sun" that he sang in the film was in teh lips of
> every other person at the time.
"Dil-e-Nadan" starred Peace Kanwal and Shyama, and not Suraiyya.
Afzal