RMIM Archive Article "356".
From the RMIM Article Archive maintained by Satish Subramanian
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# RMIM Archives..
# Subject: Mukesh: Remembering papa
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# Source: indiaxs.com
# Author: Nitin Mukesh
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Remembering Papa by Nitin Mukesh
"From all the relationships one has - that of a husband, brother, son,
friend, father, he was the best as a father. He was a doting parent -
an indulgent, pampering father, so that we could have easily got
spoilt but we didn't because he taught us values too. In fact the way
he gave us our values was worth seeing. He'd never thrash us or be
angry but in his own gentle way make us understand," his son
reminesces.
"But to go back to his life in films, he got his first break with Anil
Biswas in the film Pehli Nazar. This is how it happened. It was in his
sister's baraat that the great actor Motilal was one of the
baraatis. People pushed my father to sing in front of him. He sang one
of K.L.Saigal's songs and Motilal was struck by his voice. He invited
him to Bombay and when he did go, true to his word, got him to sing
for Pehli Nazar in which he was the hero. The song catapulted papa
into fame immediately. Thereafter Motilalji kept papa in his own house
as a son. That's when he started training. He'd had no training
earlier. He was very young when he came to Bombay, almost penniless
and one of 11 children, but it was his keen desire to become a singer
that brought him here. He was a great fan of Saigalsaab. After that he
continued to learn almost till the end of his life. He always said
that he was a student even after achieving a stature few people
do. Motilal was his benefactor. He got instant success, for a while it
was an upswing careerwise. He was singing for Anil Biswas, Naushad and
many greats. That's the time when he met my mother. They did not
belong to the same community, my mother is a Gujarati and he a Mathur
Kayasth. There was stiff opposition from her family so they eloped and
Motilalji gave her kanyadaan. He was in fact the grandfather I've
never met. Life was much better for my father now. Soon after, my
elder sister was born and then, in 1950, I was born. Around this time
he sang for Awaaraand his peak period started. Then again there was a
lull in his career, for heaven knows what reason. This went on for
almost five years and anyone else who'd seen so much popularity
would've found it intolerable, particularly because one could not
pinpoint why it happened. But papa was a great believer in destiny and
God. This helped him survive and then the innate fondness of a person
does pay - and papa was for me decidely the best, not just one of the
best, human beings I've ever known and many others will share this
view, his concern for people, his generosity was apparent . The way I
see it, I have to make an attempt to be nice, but papa was a
natural. There was no effort in his goodness whether with family
members or with colleagues.
"There used to be music directors who were starting their careers who
couldn't afford to pay him and he'd say: 'Never mind, just give me a
song to suit my style' and he'd walk away from so many recordings
without payment. If you see the career graphs of a number of composers
you'll find that Mukesh was their main voice. He had become the
launching pad for many of them. When they did well they'd be grateful
to him.
"His concern for everybody was phenomenal. When we'd go for concerts
we'd be put up in the best five star hotels while the musicians were
put in less expensive hotels. This would bother him and he'd say,
'It'll be unfair to the organisers to expect them to put up everyone
at an expensive hotel so it would be much simpler for me to shift to
their hotel'. I'd be fuming but later I realised what he was doing and
his musicians simply adored him. He was all this and more.
"He taught us a sense of values by showing how disciplined he himself
was. I remember there was a time when he didn't have money to even pay
our school fees. My friends all had bicycles and I wanted one too and
I was being very stubborn. So he got me one and an imported one at
that because he didn't want me to feel that I was lacking anything,
but he made me realise that I should look after it, he'd had to borrow
money to buy it and just because I had a famous father I shouldn't
think that I had a right to have the best. I wondered why he didn't
have money because he was always famous. But fame and money don't
necessarily go together. Similarly, he'd buy me the most expensive
clothes and I'd come to know that he'd had to sell off something to be
able to do so. He made us realise that we must not be wasteful. When I
went to college, most of my friends had a car, so of course, I wanted
one. The easiest thing was to go to mummy and tell her, which I did
and she told papa - almost spontaneously. He took the keys of his own
Fiat and handed them over to me. I was thrilled and drove the car for
a few days till I realised that he was travelling by bus.
That was the way in which I effectively got a smack in the face. He
could've refused me and I would have revolted, but now I said 'why are
you travelling by bus, buy a new car and you use the new one' and he
said 'Beta, I cannot afford two cars and you must have a car so you
use this!'. When I protested, he told me 'I would like you to have a
car when you can afford to buy it'. Today I can say that it really is
the most beautiful feeling to be able to buy a car for myself. After
that, believe me, the car didn't matter to me at all, I could travel
by bus or taxi without feeling anything. That was his way of driving
his message home. He and I are both Cancerians. He was born on 22nd
July 1923 and I on 27th June 1950. He was a true Cancerian.
"I have a whole lifetime of memories. Yet another time, I was only 17,
and I had started smoking in college. Those days everyone used to
flaunt their triple five's and around that time he had gone to the
States. When he returned he got me a carton of State Express
cigarettes and a lighter. I was flustered. I said 'why?. Why have you
bought these?'. He replied 'Son, I know that you smoke.' I was foolish
enough to think that because I didn't smoke in front of him he
wouldn't find out. But for a man who had so much time for his
children, it was obvious that such a thing couldn't be hidden. He
could've been strict, slapped me, got angry. I think I'd do that to my
son, but all he said was 'Why did I have to discover through someone
else that you smoke and why do you need to go out of the house to do
it?' He added 'Remember that if you want to be a singer, this is not
the best thing for you to do.'
"That day onwards I gave up smoking. That's the way he taught the
simple things of life to us. He was not a very educated man and he was
very keen that we should all study and get degrees. He saw so many
dreams, particularly for me. He sent me to the London School of
Economics to study and I went, but my heart was not in it and I wanted
to return. I rang up and told him 'Papa, I want to sing, I want to
come back.' When I did come, I must've shattered so many of his dreams
apart from causing him the embarrasment of telling people that his son
had returned without completing his studies. But all he said was 'Yes,
I know that you want to sing and now I'm sure that you will take it
seriously.' He made me feel so welcome. He always felt and wrote in my
song books 'Singing is a beautiful hobby but a painful profession'. He
had seen the heartache of this profession - the pain, sometimes the
rejection and he worried whether I would be able to handle it.,
whether I would have that dedication.
"I can't hold a torch to the sort of dedication he had. He'd wake up
at 5 o'clock even if he'd slept at a quarter to five and do his riyaz
for a couple of hours then he'd go for a walk to Hanging Garden's. I
think he'd befriended every flower in the garden. Till today when I
walk there I meet at least 15 people who come up to me and say, 'We
were your father's friends, the most beautiful flower in this garden
has gone away'.
"I do not remember even a single day of my life that I'd wake up and
not find papa around. He'd give me my morning cup of milk, he could've
left it to a servant but he wanted to do it himself. I try to do that
for my kids, be present when they're having breakfast and share
mealtimes with them. Papa loved children, Nitin was the last kid on
his mind. I have this dear friend who lives across the road and
everytime he needed a haircut I'd get one. Mukeshji would fill his
Hillman car with eight to 10 kids and take us for a haircut. One
wonders how he found time for such mundane chores because he was an
extremely busy man. He'd take us for drives and picnics. On Marine
drive, I remember when they'd put the tetrapods to avoid the crashing
of the waves all the kids wanted to see them and he took us. It used
to be just him and a car full of kids. I don't remember any other
parent doing this, he was a child at heart.
"We were on this tour and I was accompanying him to have a holiday. He
was full of showing me the place because he'd seen it before. He was
very emotional on this tour. He was already a heart patient, but he
was very cheerful throughout the tour. It was Raksha Bandhan in
Washington and my cousins tied rakhee to him amd me. Later on that day
he sent me off for sightseeing and went to visit a doctor with a
friend. But she was sworn to secrecy and I did not know of this till
after his death. The doctor told him that he was sitting on a volcano
and he needed by-pass surgery. But he had a commitment to Lataji and
the organisers of the tour. So he asked the doctor if he could
complete the tour and the doctor said 'Yes', so long as he'd get the
operation done immediately afterwards and didn't strain too much. That
was perhaps the only lease he took. He wanted to call my mother and
then have the operation after the tour.
On the 22nd of August we were in Montreal where he developed a slight
cold but he was still cheerful, it was a dream to see my father and
Lataji perform together. The audiences were eating out of their hands,
literally. At that time he called for me and said 'Tu do gaane
gayega'' I was very nervous and unprepared and said so. But he
insisted and Lataji said 'Yes, you must sing, I'll introduce you',
which she did, very beautifully saying 'Yeh Mukesh bhaiya ka beta hai,
bahut honhaar hai, Mukesh bhaiya samaan hai.' Anyway I sang with
Lataji and it worked. I received a thunderous ovation. I continued
singing 5 to 6 songs and when I looked at him I saw tears streaming
down his face. He was so happy. He told Lataji, 'Mujhe lagtaa hai ki
Nitin dal roti kamaa lega'. Those were his favourite words, for him
'dal roti' was enough. Fans surrounded the hotel. When I returned I
was a bit peeved with him but he said he wanted me to have my
moment. Actually he had come back to talk to my mother, to tell her of
my triumph. He'd never praise me to my face but then he told mummy
that 'Kisi din hum Nitin ke shows par jaya karenge' 'tumhare bete ne
kamaal kar diya'. These words still ring in my ears whenever I am
performing. I feel he is watching me.
On the 26th Aug we reached Detriot. We had a show on the 27th. He told
me, 'Today will be the best show because it is your lucky number'. 27
is my birth number. It was our ninth show and we were on the ninth
storey of the hotel. On the day of the concert he woke me at about
4.30 a.m. and said that he was going to have a shower and I should do
riyaz to prepare for the evening. But when he went to the bathroom I
had a premonition of something being wrong. I couldn't do riyaz. I
knocked on the door and asked if he was all right and he was all right
and he was a bit irritated and said 'Yes'. But in a few minutes he
came out panting and asked me to put on the A.C. I called Lataji who
came immediately. We called an ambulance and he was taken to the
hospital. He kept clutching my hand and remembering his mother and my
younger sister Amrita. Finally, he was wheeled in to the emergency
ward and that was the last time I saw him.
It was 27th August, 1976 in America and 28th August in India. I
brought him back on the 30th on the same plane on which he was booked
as a passenger. He'd promised my mother that he'd return and take her
to the States for a holiday and perhaps for the surgery he'd been
advised. I thought that fans would remember him for a few months,
maybe a few years, then forget. But 18 years hence all I can say is
that his popularity has multiplied. It is as if he has achieved
immortality because of the wonderful soul he possessed.. The film
industry has been immensely kind to me after his passing away -
Lataji, Manoj Kumarji, Yash Chopraji all these people have been very
supportive, but Raj Kapoor till he was alive, was the next father
figure I had. He was always by me and Krishnaji is like a goddess, she
advises and counsels me and is always there. This was the goodwill he
had in the industry.
Papa's favourite singers were Lataji and Geeta Duttji. In the earlier
years he'd call Lataji by her first name but later he started calling
her didi and when she protested that he was the elder why did he
address her thus, he said that 'we all look up to you because of your
art and I want everyone to call you didi'. I remember when she sang
Megha chhaye adhi raat he was weeping. He was so concerned and caring
about his co-singers. He simply adored Rafisaab and Kishore
Kumarji. He said if Kishore Kumar so wanted, 'usne to kabki hum sabki
chhutki kardi hoti'. Papa has sung the Ramcharitmanas and a number of
devotional songs and listening to him I feel that if I had to listen
to the voice of God this would be the voice. Such is the sanctity and
the pathos of his voice. He experienced every emotion he sang of ,
whether it was a Jaane kahan gaye wo din or a non-filmi Pit maat
sahayakswami sakha, tum hi ik naath hamare ho and it is the discerning
listener who keeps him alive."
From the RMIM Article Archive maintained by Satish Subramanian