Mukesh: A Denial Of Legacy

Imitating singer K L Saigal impressed no one, least of all actor Raj Kapoor who changed his life.

The first time K L Saigal heard Dil Jalta Hai Toh Jalne Do, he tried to recollect when he had sung that song. It was an era when every young man looking for a break in playback for Hindi films emulated Saigal. Mukesh was no stranger to this brain fever.

For his first recorded song as a playback artist, Mukesh had sung Dil Jalta Hai, imitating Saigal.

Saigal, who happened to hear the song on radio, failing his memory, returned to his chore, having dismissed the song as no mean feat if memory did not help him place its origin.

Mukesh, when he heard of Saigal’s predicament, felt swell that the maestro could not tell between the two, failing which, Saigal had then carelessly placed the song in his own heap of innumerable hits he would only later perhaps have a passing recollection of.

Saigal’s stamp meant everything.

Thereafter, Mukesh decided never to sing in Saigal’s voice and find his own. It was not going to be an easy task to follow. He would subconsciously slip into imitative mode when he sang, impinging each song with the nasal twang that was so becoming of Saigal’s quiet exit.

Music composer Anil Biswas, for whom Mukesh had sung solos, tried every trick in the music book to help him exorcise Saigal’s spirit from his spleen. He would give Mukesh lighter melodies to display his range but the public was in no mood to hear him come into his own.

It began to irk Mukesh, that he should be introduced at film events as the voice that replaced Saigal. He was outraged less out of dishonour towards his idol than from his sense of propriety. Hitherto, he decided to launch himself as an actor, as Saigal had successfully done, and thus, be able to put a striking, handsome face to his voice.

His plan backfired.

There were no takers for his acting chops. His effort to produce another film, lay in the cans. It was a case of misdirected vanity and in the years that Mukesh invested to primp his image, Mohd Rafi and Talat Mehmood had earned stripes that were marked for him. Music composers, wary of his self-indulgence, had begun to hire them who were least interested in acting and had original voices.

Things came to such a turn, that Mukesh’s children were turned away from school because he did not have the required money to pay for their tuition fees. His idol worship had ruined him greatly. Saigal had died in these intervening years and yet his legacy loomed large over Mukesh’s fate.

Mukesh then approached Raj Kapoor, who he had previously sung for. ‘Ek shart par,’ Raj shot back, ‘Tum sirf mere liye gaoge.’ Who was Mukesh to refuse at this point? In return he got Mera Joota Hai Japani, in the film Shree 420.

The song was a marked departure from his sonorous style; it wore its heart on its tattered sleeve. Mukesh disliked the clownish lyrics. ‘What drivel, mera joota hai japani, yeh patloon englishtaani, what form of ridicule do I have to abase myself with?’

Mukesh, Raj Kapoor.

At the music recording, Raj Kapoor sensed his annoyance and asked him to think not of himself while singing but of Raj’s comic face.

‘Sing with a smile Mukesh, this is not about your choice, it’s about my screen presence. Henceforth, when you sing for me, it will mirror the deep pathos of your voice with my winning smile on-screen. That is the combination I want; for people to go back from the theatres with a song about their loves, their lives, their passions and worries, all of which resonates with a be-fikri, a living in the moment hedonism.’

Raj Kapoor was right. Russians were demanding the song be played at The Bolshoi Theatre in Moscow. Mukesh was back. This time, only more sovereign in thought, jubilant with the success of his new song.

Its global impact helped him discover his new voice, his own, free from influence, and ready to fend for his family. This second coming was not to be shrugged off as just a passing phase. He understood he had to keep this tempo constant, if not soaring, not dipping also.

When Filmfare decided to hand out trophies to singers, he was the first recipient for a song very dear to his heart, Sab Kuch Seekha Humne, Na Seekhi Hoshiyaari from Anari, filmed on Raj Kapoor’s impish smile.

Soon, the actor, Mukesh, the Saigal-clone singer, was forgotten, replaced by the playback artist Mukesh, who was the voice of popular film star Raj Kapoor. Musicians could not think of using any other voice for Raj Kapoor. This insured steady income for Mukesh’s family of wife and five children. Mukesh got so busy working, his family life suffered.

He began touring the west, spreading as far and wide as he could, his new-fangled voice emboldened to improvise Awaara Hoon to Kunwara Hoon for a bunch of beaming women sitting in front rows, lusting over his virginal confessions.

At one such concert tour in America, he died from a heart attack. Lata Mangeshkar who was touring with him, brought his body back home for a state funeral.

On hearing of Mukesh’s sudden death, Raj Kapoor eulogised, ‘I have lost my voice.’ Fittingly, Mukesh’s last recorded song was for Raj Kapoor’s film Satyam Shivam Sundaram.

Naturally, someone in Mukesh’s family was going to take over where he left. His son, Nitin Mukesh, bought it upon him to carry forward his father’s blazing glory. With Mangeshkar’s support, he notched a few duets in his early years, but it was not before the eighties when people began to take notice of the son.

The portly son, dressed in shot-silk kurta, a shawl draped over his shoulders, would walk unsteadily across a stage at a concert, clear his throat, and pay homage to his father through a song he had moderate success with, Zindagi Ki Na Toote Ladi. He tried to sound ethereal, a chain of melody spiralling heavenwards.

Audiences would raise their hands up and sway, trying to conjure images of Mukesh in their head. Nitin would sing feebly, his voice compassing between an infant’s prattle and a fawning boy attaining puberty.

This was his best Mukesh imitation.

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