By Anirudha Bhattacharjee & Balaji Vittal

Rs 399

It is indeed ironical that while Rahul Dev Burman’s music is enjoying a revival of sorts now, he was neglected, ignored and even ridiculed for much of his professional career. In the beginning of his journey as a musical director, RD was not taken seriously (his father was on top form at the time), and when he finally proved he was an original thinker, he was condemned for plagiarism.

While some of this latter criticism was undoubtedly true, (not that others did not copy), R.D. Burman, known to his millions of fans and colleagues as Pancham, was mocked for his penchant for experimentation.
Yet, the immense popularity of his music today shows that he was a man far ahead of his time. Youngsters now dance to his funky music in clubs, filmmakers eagerly use his songs in current films and even serious connoisseurs have begun to appreciate the man’s vast range.
This book, written by two of his hardcore fans, Anirudha Bhattacharjee and Balaji Vittal, therefore, comes at an appropriate time. It is meticulously researched and the authors have tracked down not only his musicians but also deconstructed many of his songs and given their back stories, making it an enjoyable and fruitful read, not only for the RD fanatic but also the general lover of film music. Some readers may find the tone and approach a trifle too infatuated, but once you get past that, this promises to be the definitive book on that maverick musical genius.
Old time RD watchers know that he was a precocious youngster who showed signs of his musical skills early on. He composed the song Ae meri topi palat ke aa in Funtoosh when he was just nine and played the harmonica on his father’s song Hai apna dil to awaara (Solva Saal, 1958) at the age of 19. Showing no interest in conventional academics, he began assisting his father and waited for his big break which came when Mehmood offered him Chhote Nawab. The long-forgotten film had terrific songs like Ghar aa jaa ghir aaye and Matwali aankhon wale which should have signalled his arrival in the film industry but did not. Shankar Jaikishen, O.P. Nayyar and Burman senior dominated the scene and Laxmikant-Pyarelal were knocking on the door. After a couple of indifferent films he once again came up with a marvellous score in Mehmood’s next film Bhoot Bangla, with Pyar karta ja and Aao twist karein, an energetic version of Chubby Checker’s Let Twist Again.
The latter shows R.D. Burman’s awareness of international musical trends but also opened him to charges of being “inspired” by foreign songs. The website www.itwofs.com lists no less than 47 RD songs that could be said to be lifted and while there is little doubt that he gave them his own flavour, it is difficult to ignore the strong resemblance between the original and RD’s interpretations. The authors, however, prefer to explain it away in three ways — 1) there is nothing wrong in being inspired, others were too; 2) he was a man who drew from a variety of sources and was not confined to Indian musical traditions, and, most ingenously, 3) the directors forced him to copy. This last one is the explanation for two of the most blatant rip-offs of R.D. Burman’s portfolio — Mehbooba Mehbooba (Say you love me by Demis Roussos) which is blamed on Ramesh Sippy’s insistence and Tere liye, zamana tere liye (Mama mia by ABBA) which Nasir Husain wanted at any cost. While this may be true, it appears that the authors are trying to protect their hero, even if it occasionally requires running down others.
Which is rather unnecessary, because Pancham has left behind such an amazing legacy that a few copies here and there are not going to take off the sheen from his reputation. Anyone who can compose Chingari koi bhadke as well as Dum maaro dum, Duniya mein logon ko as well as Kya janun sajan, Aap ke kamre mein as well as O mere dil ke chain is almost critic-proof. That youngsters are still humming and dancing to these songs itself reflects his brilliance.
This brilliance shines through in the book. Pancham was not only steeped in music, he was also a thinking man. He worked closely with the director and got to know everything about the film before he composed the songs. His close rapport with directors like Nasir Husain resulted in outstanding collaborations, from Tumne mujhe dekha in Teesri Manzil to the multi-tune wonder, Tum kya jaano in Hum Kisi Se Kum Nahin.
However, it is also true that in the latter half of his career, Pancham composed some mediocre songs. Indeed, the one weak point of the blockbuster hit Sholay was its music, which simply did not rise to the occasion. The LP of the powerful dialogues by Salim Javed ended up selling more than that of the songs. It was around that time that Pancham went into a decline. Big producers were not seeking him and he started cutting himself off from his old friends. Though he continued to be prolific, who remembers Bundalbaaz, Mahachor, Bhala Manus or Vishwasghat that came soon after. Occasionally there was a Hum Kisise Kum Nahin or Great Gambler, but such gems were too few and far between. Barring Ijaazat, RD had to wait till the early 1990s for 1942: A Love Story (1993) to show his mettle. Tragically, that proved to be his swan song and he died suddenly a year later.
Pancham’s songs had spoken to the 1970s generation, which was in a rebellious mood and wanted to throw over the shackles of the establishment. The sense of liberation engendered by Dum maaro dum cannot be fully explained — it had to be felt. Which is why any new remix sounds synthetic. Pancham, with his own eclectic tastes and bohemian attitude towards life, spoke to his compatriots in their own language. That is his greatest legacy and this book honours that.

Sidharth Bhatia is a senior journalist and commentator on current affairs based in Mumbai