Posted:
Originally posted by: Shweta06
Kishorda was GIFTED he was GODS man and nobody can even come close to him.
very true...i have heard him live...he's amazing...the very best...
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Originally posted by: Shweta06
Kishorda was GIFTED he was GODS man and nobody can even come close to him.
very true...i have heard him live...he's amazing...the very best...
Originally posted by: kishore_bhakta
No one in this forum classified Kishoreda as an old singer, but I remember two years ago, when I singing at a college function, I sang "saagar jaisi aankhonwali." While some liked it, some was like, "why are you singing old songs?" (Sagar was released in 1985. THe year most of these people were born! Are they old??) Someone also stated that day that "Mukeshji, Rafisaab, Kishoreda, etc. all died with their music."
Yes, statements like that are only due to a poor fund of knowledge. Just like some people making statements implying that "Vinit is the next Rafi" or "Twinkle is the next Asha" or "Nihira is the next Lata." Please, do not compare newcomers to the music business to legends who dedicated many years...
Lataji sang for 58 years, Ashaji sang for 56 years, Rafisaab sang for 39 years (his after-death released adds another 10 years, as his last release was in 1990 in 'Farz Ki Jung'), Kishoreda sang for 39 years also (his after-death releases lasted till 1994 'Mr. Shrimati'), Mukesh sang for 31 years (his after-death releases lasted till 1997 'Chand Grahan').
Talk about serious dedication with no retirement included!👏
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| NEVER BEFORE, NEVER AGAIN - AN ARTICLE BY J.S.RAO Known for his eccentricity, he was called everything from a miser to a madcap to a moron. But, as a singer he was unparalleled. So was his ability to make people laugh. J S Rao remembers Kishore Kumar on the occasion of his 15th death anniversary. The man from Khandwa, as he called himself, died exactly 15 years ago in October 1987. It is strange that an eccentric like Kishore Kumar Ganguly should have thought so much of his birthplace in Madhya Pradesh. He was the later-day Don Quixote de la Mancha who tilted at the windmills of false values so fostered by the Bombay film industry. But despite its perfidy and intrigue, the same film industry could never deny the undoubted genius of this versatile showman. Kishore Kumar has been called everything - from a miser to a madcap to a moron. Perhaps, it is out of such madness that his genius emerged. As a singer, he was unparalleled: his songs coming as naturally as laughter. No other comedian had the precise timing for slapstick that he had and like slapstick itself, he was no respecter of age or sex. The heroine's gouty uncle could face as much the butt of his humour as his cruder contemporaries like I S Johar or Mehmood. In many ways, greatness was thrust upon him and he played the fool to the hilt. To understand Kishore Kumar, one would have to go back to his native Khandwa. In 1949, he came to what was then Bombay, hoping that his elder brother and film star Ashok Kumar would introduce him to his idol - singer K L Saigal. He too wanted to be a singer, but the film industry conned him into becoming an actor. Naturally, Kishore Kumar rebelled. He came to the sets with half his head shaved or half his moustache trimmed off. He muffed his lines. He said to Meena Kumari what he should have told Bina Rai in some other film. He ran away, or hid himself under the tables when the producers came home, he laughed when he was supposed to cry. But nothing worked. Only the audience laughed the louder at what they thought his antics. "I just went cuckoo", he once confessed. The same quality was reflected in his singing. His ability to yodel perfectly, freak off into nonsense rhyme and still return to the original tune was exhilarating. For those used to straightforward singing, this was heady wine. And Sachin Deb Burman, that talented music director, made him a constant playback for Dev Anand. Who does not hum those tunes even today? From Paying Guest (Mana janab ne pukara nahin) to Nau Do Gyarah (Hum hain raahi pyar ke) to Funtoosh (Ai meri topi palat ke aa), he weaved his spell. And in the films in which he starred, from Bandi, Bhai Bhai, Looko Chhori (Bengali), Shararat, New Delhi, he yodelled his way through; Eena meena deeka, Mera naam Abdul Rahman, CAT Cat, Hum to muhabbat karega and the list is too long to recollect. He is, of course, best remembered for his own production Chalti ka Naam Gadi, where he starred with his brothers Ashok Kumar and Anoop Kumar and his wife then, the fabulous Madhubala. The jalopy in which the three brothers fooled around lay for many years in the backyard of his Juhu residence in Bombay. The songs, of course, were immortal, tuned by S D Burman. Baboo samjho ishare (with Manna Dey), Ek ladki bheegi bhagi si, Paanch rupaiya barah anna, Jaate the Japan pahoonch gaye Cheen (again with Manna Dey) and Haal kaisa hai janab ka (with Asha Bhonsle). This surely was the most enjoyable freewheeling knockabout ever made in India.In other films too, he clowned and sang: In I S Johar's Bewaqoof, with brother Ashok Kumar and the sexy Mala Sinha and Helen for company: Michael hai to cycle hai, Michael jo nahin cycle bhi nahin! Could the world have been crazier? And of course that great comedy Padosan, with Sunil Dutt, Mehmood and Saira Bano. That one particular reel where the song occurs - Ek chatur naar karke singar - is played over and over again to this day. In Ragini, he played a Bengali in love with a Miss Pillai and sings: Main Bangali chokra and Humre Bangladesh mein har gori ke lambe baal. Nonsense, really, but what fun! But behind this clown's facade, there was a serious mind at work too. For instance, his films Door Gagan Ki Chaon Mein (a father's struggle for his disadvantaged son), Jhumroo and Badhti Ka Naam Dadhi and Chalti Ka Naam Zindagi. The first few feet of Door Gagan could well match any art film made here. And in Badhti Ka Naam Dadhi he fairly reaches surrealistic heights, taking off from the final 'draw' in the Western genre. In the last scene, the two bearded rivals, played by K N Singh (elder brother of the late film critic Bikram Singh) and Jayant (father of Amjad Khan) confront each other armed with a pair of giant scissors! Kishore also played a serious role opposite Meena Kumari in Shararat and appropriately, Shankar Jaikishen gave him a playback for the one and only time for the song Ajab hai dastan teri ai zindagi. For all his eccentricity, Kishore married some of the most beautiful women in India. First Ruma Guha-Thakurta (the mother of his singer son Amit Kumar), then the beautiful Madhubala (whom he literally nursed for years till her death), Yogita Bali (niece of the great Geeta Bali) and finally Leena Chandavarkar. There are any number of Kishore Kumar tales to be heard in Mumbai. The best is how when he was shooting for a Satyen Bose film in Mahableshwar, he was supposed to come out of a bungalow, get into a car and go past the gate. After a couple of retakes, Kishore got into the car and drove past straight to Bombay while the entire unit waited for him to return. Night fell, but there was no sign of the man. To make matters worse, the car belonged to the producer. He was a miser, screamed that the taxmen took away all his earnings. And considerable earnings they were too: he charged Rs 15,000 per song. He charged one rupee less than Lata Mangeshkar to show his respect for her and her seniority. And he talked of going back to Khandwa to become a farmer. He shunned people, never smoke or drank and had no friends. Once when a lady gossip writer asked him who his friends were, he took her to his backyard and introduced her to half-a-dozen trees. There they are, he said, Janardhan, Raghunandan, Gangadhar, Jagannath, Budhuram and Jhatpatjhatpat-jhatpat! The lady wrote that he was mad. For many years, even after his death, Radio Ceylon regularly played a Kishore Kumar song on the first of every month - the payday when the common man dreams of taking his wife to a movie starring Dev Anand, Dilip Kumar, Ashok Kumar, Meena Kumari, Nargis and of course Kishore Kumar. The song was Bhool mat jaana aaj pehli tarik hai, khush hai zamana aaj pehli tarik hai! About Kishore Kumar, one may only say: Never before, never again! |
From Phillumfare's special issue (Nov 1-15, 1987), less than a month after KK's death:
Kishore, in his own words:
"My father Kunjalal Ganguli, was a pleader (advocate) who earned Rs 30 a month. My mama, Dhananjay Banerjee, a classical singer, was the only family link I had with music. But I was never trained to be a singer. It was my brother Dadamoni who learnt music from the well-known Saraswati Devi."
*********************
"Very early in life I was fascinated by K.L. Saigal. I used to save my pocket money to buy his records. He's my real guru.
*********************
"In Padosan, I mimicked my mama - long hair, kajal in the eyes, constant paan-chewing and the works. My performance was so perfect that shooting was halted after two days. Both Mehmood and Sunil felt that I was stealing every scene from them, and they got down to working on their get-ups. That's how Mehmood and Sunil got to wearing wigs etc."
*********************
"When I married Leena I didn't expect to be a father again. After all, I was in my fifties then. But Sumeet has been a source of immense joy to me. Leena, Amit, Sumeet and I today make a well-adjusted foursome. I had always longed for a secure, happy family. It remained just a dream until Leena came along. With her, for the first time, I have achieved emotional security."
*********************
"I was surprised when "Lata agreed to do stage shows with me in London. Though I was thrilled, I was worried about one thing - her discipline. She would never go on stage without proper rehearsal. But I like to take things easy. We had to sing five duets: Chai pe bulaya hain (Souten), Gata rahe mera dil (Guide), Jai jai shiv shankar (Aap ki Kasam), Accha to hum chalte hain (Aan Milo Sajana) and Kora kagaz tha yeh man mera (Aradhana). The problem arose when it was time for us to go on stage. We couldn't decide who should go first. I suggested that Lata sing first because she was my senior. But she didn't. Instead she went on stage to introduce me. She praised me a lot, but made it a point to add, "I call him Da because he is older to me". Yes, I'm one month and 24 days older than her! We did three shows in Wembley. During the first one there was a problem because organizer had publicized that we'd be singing "Angrezi mein kehte hain I love you"(Khuddar). But Lata refused to sing the song because it contained the word 'idiot' in it. Again she put her foot down against "Pag ghungroo" (Namak Halal) because she said it belittled Meerabai. Instead, she said, I should sing a bhajan. I was nonplussed because I couldn't remember any. Finally, I managed to sing one - Hari naam ka pyaala - rendered originally by S.D. Burman. It was received with great applause."
*********************
"I am a crazy fan of Topol's. When we were in London, I saw an advertisement of "Fiddler on the Roof" in the drama section of a newspaper. I thought they'd made a mistake. When I checked, I was told that there WAS a stage show of "Fiddler...". I can't tell you how thrilled I was. I had seen the film at least a hundred times and now I had an opportunity to see my favourite actor perform right in front of me. Would you believe it, I attended all the four consecutive shows. I went backstage to introduce myself to Topol and even took his autograph. I still remember the date - September 9, 1983. He presented me a copy of his autobiography, Topol by Topol, and I presented him the records and cassettes of my songs. In 1960, he was only 48-49 but still he played the old man so beautifully. I think nobody, just nobody, can perform the way Topol did in Fiddler. He actually sings through the whole film. Neither Dilip Kumar nor Ashok Kumar can match him."
*********************
More from the same issue:
"My brother Ashok discouraged Anoop and me from joining films. You are a pair of donkeys, he said", Kishore Kumar gleefully narrated to Filmfare in 1955. When Ashok Kumar became a favourite Bombay Talkies hero, Kishore was still at college "trying to get through examinations". "I could do little else besides sing" Kishore said frankly. "I was never good at studies so I used to compose different tunes for different subjects. For instance I composed a tune for a paragraph on the Malthusian theory of population."
The Gangulys used to visit Bombay once a year. During one of these visits Kishore was asked by the music director, Khemchand Prakash to sing for Dev Anand in Ziddi. Kishore became very popular as a playback singer and got many assignments, but even then he was not very serious about a film career.
In a diary he wrote for Filmfare in 1957, Kishore talked of Ashok. "I'm in fifth form and I'm very proud of my brother. Hasn't Ashok Kumar Ganguly of Khandwa become a film star?" Jeevan Naiya, Ashok's first film, comes to Khandwa. Kishore and a few friends of his, all fans of Master Vithal and other action heroes of stunt films, eagerly go to see "Big brother laying low a dozen villains", but are disappointed. It's a soft sentimental film - and Ashok Kumar even puts up with a slap from another character. "That very night," said Kishore, "I write Dadamoni a letter, telling him he had better swing his fists around a bit in his next film or he will lose a number of fans in Khandwa." In the same diary, Kishore recalled attending a night shooting of Mahal, starring Ashok Kumar and Madhubala, at Filmistan Studios in Bombay. During a break in shooting, Kishore gave Madhubala a big fright putting on "a grotesque mask with a drooping moustache" which he had taken along with him. Years later, he was to marry her.
Writing an interview with Kishore in 1970, a Filmfare staffer noted that it added to "that well-known Kishore Kumar mystique of lack of continuity and endless little puzzles." Though Kishore didn't appear from or disappear into any cupboards during the interview, he did exit, for no particular reason, through a rear door of the room and re-entered through the front door enjoying immensely the journalist's momentary bafflement.
The room had photographs of Rabindranath Tagore, Ashok Kumar and Dev Anand and a painting of "The Last Supper". The interview recorded that Kishore's dislikes were telephone calls, tax problems, cigarette smoke, alcohol and the studio routine.
*********************
Again from the same issue of PhillumFare. Preeti Ganguly, KK's niece and Ashok Kumar's daughter, reminisces.
It's impossible to believe that Kishore Kaka is dead. How could a man who breathed life into everything around him die? He was my favourite uncle - it seems so strange to say 'was'. Not that we saw him very frequently or were extremely close. But he was very childlike and innocent. There was always a sense of wonder about him.
His eccentric ways weren't just for outsiders. If others complained that they weren't allowed past his gate, his behaviour was not any different with us. He'd do it with us too. There were times when he would himself invite our family over for lunch, we'd go up all the way to Juhu and end up waiting at the gate. There, right within our view, Kishore Kaka would ask his man to tell us he wasn't in, if he wasn't in the mood to receive us. Mummy would get irritated, then hand over what she had carried for him, and say to the man, "I've brought him some of his favourite food. The least he can do is eat it." And we'd all have to return without getting past those doors.
We had a house in Bangalore, a huge sprawling one on an acre of land near the army establishment. It had always been drilled into our young minds that the land was once a burial ground. We went there for our holidays once. Amit must've been about 5 years old. While I was between three and four. The place was spooky, the atmosphere eerie - and we were very scared. So much so, that we would accompany each other to the bathroom too. And Kaka would insist on telling us a story - a ghost story, at the dead of night. He'd take us to a certain room from where you could see willow trees swaying outside in the wind. Kaka would insist that we sit with our back to the window and we'd obediently do that. Then he would point to a tree under which a Colonel had supposedly committed suicide and start narrating a spooky tale. That wasn't all. He would deliberately provide eerie sound effects to go with that story: tan tan, thak thak thak. And he'd even jump at us suddenly. All this was most nerve-racking - Amit and I would literally be quaking with fear. If we turned our heads to look at the trees, he'd say,"Peechhe se haath aaya", and then add "Colonel abhi nahi aayegaa, baad mein aayegaa." Which made it worse. There was one particular story (one of the many cooked up by Kaka) called The Golden Hand, which was the worst. Whenever I heard that one, I wet my pants. Literally.
Like Dad, Kaka was quite paranoid about money, and about not being paid. But Kaka's eccentricities made him do funny things. .................At another time when he discovered his dues hadn't been fully paid, Kaka landed up for shooting with make-up on only one side of his face. No one really noticed, until all the lights were switched on. "What's this?" asked the shocked director. Kaka nonchalantly replied, "Aadha paisa to aadha make-up. Pura paisa to pura make-up.".........
Kaka's mad ways could take other forms too. Once, when his car was caught in a traffic jam, he happened to be outside a grocer's shop. "Yeh laal laal kya hain?", he asked his driver Abdul. "Masur ki daal hain", Abdul replied. In a flash Kaka was reminded of Mussoorie and he told Abdul, "Chalo Mussoorie chalen." And then he took off for Mussoorie right from there itself.
When I was at FTII, I was exposed to a lot of his films. Half Ticket, Chalti ka Naam Gaadi and all the rest. I marvelled at his sense of timing. Some of his films were totally mad but he had a terrific feel for the absurd. During the shooting of Badti Ka Naam Daadi, some clothes, without which the continuity of the scene would be affected, had been inadvertently left behind. It would have been too much of an effort and expense to fetch them. Kaka improvised and introduced a new scene right in the middle of the first. The scene showed him sitting on a chair in the middle of nowhere, saying, "I'm the director, I'll do anything I want". The next scene had everybody continuing with the earlier scene - in different clothes!........
What an actor he was...Occasionally when he'd come home, I would ask him, "Kaka, why don't you act anymore? You're so brilliant." He'd reply firmly. "No. I'll never act for other producers again." He hated to collect payment from people, to chase them for his money........
Kaka was also very fond of food, especially of amangshor jhol, a thin Bengali-style mutton curry, with maida puris. He loved the way Mummy cooked it, and she'd prepare it for him everytime he came here. When he came here after Mummy died, I had it especially made for him. He was very touched and said, "You remembered, Pallu." He also loved tiny bits of gobi (cauliflower). He'd say, "Cover me with mounds of fried gobi. I'll lie under them and keep eating the gobi. Even after I've finished it all, I'm sure I won't be satisfied!"
Just two months ago I'd finished writing a script on Dad and another on Kaka. Thought it would be good for a documentary film. When I told Kaka about it, he asked me to call him on a certain date. When I did, he put Amit on the line, instead of speaking to me himself. I was quite exasperated because I was quite serious about it. It was a script written to show the sensitivity of the man. Now it is too late.....
When I saw Kaka lying dead, covered with flowers, I couldn't think of it as real. The feeling I got was that he would suddenly get up, and true to his nature, stick his tongue out, cocking a snook at all of us, and say, "See what I've done to you guys!" I wish it had happened.
RAJAN PARRIKAR
Here are excerpts of a tete-a tete with Kishore Kumar and the editor of the Illustrated Weekly, Pritish Nandy. This piece appeared in a cover story entitled "GENIUS" in the April 28, 1985 issue of the Illustrated Weekly. In the same story, Kishore Kumar ranked HIS favourite 10 songs. They are:
Those who aren't interested should hit 'n' right now!
| Song | Music Director | Film |
| Dukhi man mere | S.D. Burman | Funtoosh |
| Jag mag jag mag karta nikla | Khemchand Prakash | Rim Jhim |
| Husn bhi hai udas udas | Anil Biswas | Fareb |
| Chingari koi Bhadke | R.D. Burman | Amar Prem |
| Mere naina saawan bhaadon | R.D. Burman | Mehbooba |
| Koi hum dum na raha | Kishore Kumar | Jhumroo |
| Mere mehboob kayamat hogi | Laxmikant-Pyarelal | Mr X in Bombay |
| Koi hota jisko apna | Salil Chowdhury | Mere Apne |
| Woh Shaam kuch ajeeb thi | Hemant Kumar | Khamoshi |
| Badi sooni sooni hai | S.D. Burman | Milee |
PN=Pritish Nandy
KK=Kishore Kumar
PN: I understand you are quitting Bombay and going away to Khandwa...
KK: Who can live in this stupid, friendless city where everyone seeks to exploit you every moment of the day? Can you trust anyone out here? Is anyone trustworthy? Is anyone a friend you can count on? I am determined to get out of this futile rat race and live as I've always wanted to. In my native Khandwa, the land of my forefathers. Who wants to die in this ugly city?
PN: Why did you come here in the first place?
KK: I would come to visit my brother Ashok Kumar. He was such a big star in those days. I thought he could introduce me to KL Saigal who was my greatest idol. People say he used to sing through his nose. But so what? He was a great singer. Greater than anyone else.
PN: I believe you are planning to record an album of famous Saigal songs....
KK: They asked me to. I refused. Why should I try to outsing him? Let him remain enshrined in our memory. Let his songs remain just HIS songs. Let not even one person say that Kishore Kumar sang them better.
PN: If you didn't like Bombay, why did you stay back? For fame? For money?
KK: I was conned into it. I only wanted to sing. Never to act. But somehow, thanks to peculiar circumstances, I was persuaded to act in the movies. I hated every moment of it and tried virtually every trick to get out of it. I muffed my lines, pretended to be crazy, shaved my head off, played difficult, began yodelling in the midst of tragic scenes, told Meena Kumari what I was supposed to tell Bina Rai in some other film - but they still wouldn't let me go. I screamed, ranted, went cuckoo. But who cared? They were just determined to make me a star.
PN: Why?
KK: Because I was Dadamoni's brother. And he was a great hero.
PN: But you succeeded, after your fashion....
KK: Of course I did. I was the biggest draw after Dilip Kumar. There were so many films I was doing in those days that I had to run from one set to the other, changing on the way. Imagine me. My shirts flying off, my trousers falling off, my wig coming off while I'm running from one set to the other. Very often I would mix up my lines and look angry in a romantic scene or romantic in the midst of a fierce battle. It was terrible and I hated it. It evoked nightmares of school. Directors were like school teachers. Do this. Do that. Don't do this. Don't do that. I dreaded it. That's why I would often escape.
PN: Well, you are notorious for the trouble you give your directors and producers. Why is that?
KK: Nonsense. They give me trouble. You think they give a damn for me? I matter to them only because I sell. Who cared for me during my bad days? Who cares for anyone in this profession?
PN: Is that why you prefer to be a loner?
KK: Look, I don't smoke, drink or socialize. I never go to parties. If that makes me a loner, fine. I am happy this way. I go to work and I come back straight home. To watch my horror movies, play with my spooks, talk to my trees, sing. In this avaricious world, every creative person is bound to be lonely. How can you deny me that right?
PN: You don't have many friends?
KK: None.
PN: That's rather sweeping.
KK: People bore me. Film people particularly bore me. I prefer talking to my trees.
PN: So you like nature?
KK: That's why I want to get away to Khandwa. I have lost all touch with nature out here. I tried to did a canal all around my bungalow out here, so that we could sail gondolas there. The municipality chap would sit and watch and nod his head disapprovingly, while my men would dig and dig. But it didn't work. One day someone found a hand - a skeletal hand- and some toes. After that no one wanted to dig anymore. Anoop, my second brother, came charging with Ganga water and started chanting mantras. He thought this house was built on a graveyard. Perhaps it is. But I lost the chance of making my home like Venice.
PN: People would have thought you crazy. In fact they already do.
KK: Who said I'm crazy. The world is crazy; not me.
PN: Why do you have this reputation for doing strange things?
KK: It all began with this girl who came to interview me. In those days I used to live alone. So she said: You must be very lonely. I said: No, let me introduce you to some of my friends. So I took her to the garden and introduced her to some of the friendlier trees. Janardhan; Raghunandan; Gangadhar; Jagannath; Buddhuram; Jhatpatajhatpatpat. I said they were my closest friends in this cruel world. She went and wrote this bizarre piece, saying that I spent long evenings with my arms entwined around them. What's wrong with that, you tell me? What's wrong making friends with trees?
PN: Nothing.
KK: Then, there was this interior decorator-a suited, booted fellow who came to see me in a three-piece woollen, Saville Row suit in the thick of summer- and began to lecture me about aesthetics, design, visual sense and all that. After listening to him for about half an hour and trying to figure out what he was saying through his peculiar American accent, I told him that I wanted something very simple for my living room. Just water-several feet deep- and little boats floating around, instead of large sofas. I told him that the centre-piece should be anchored down so that the tea service could be placed on it and all of us could row up to it in our boats and take sips from our cups. But the boats should be properly balanced, I said, otherwise we might whizz past each other and conversation would be difficult. He looked a bit alarmed but that alarm gave way to sheer horror when I began to describe the wall decor. I told him that I wanted live crows hanging from the walls instead of paintings -since I liked nature so much. And, instead of fans, we could have monkeys farting from the ceiling. That's when he slowly backed out from the room with a strange look in his eyes. The last I saw of him was him running out of the front gate, at a pace that would have put an electric train to shame. What's crazy about having a living room like that, you tell me? If he can wear a woollen, three-piece suit in the height of summer, why can't I hang live crows on my walls?
PN: Your ideas are quite original, but why do your films fare so badly?
KK: Because I tell my distributors to avoid them. I warn them at the very outset that the film might run for a week at the most. Naturally, they go away and never come back. Where will you find a producer-director who warns you not to touch his film because even he can't understand what he has made?
PN: Then why do you make films?
KK: Because the spirit moves me. I feel I have something to say and the films eventually do well at times. I remember this film of mine - Door Gagan ki Chhaon mein - which started to an audience of 10 people in Alankar. I know because I was in the hall myself. There were only ten people who had come to watch the first show! Even its release was peculiar. Subhodh Mukherjee, the brother of my brother-in-law, had booked Alankar(the hall) for 8 weeks for his film April Fool- which everyone knew was going to be a block- buster. My film, everyone was sure, was going to be a thundering flop. So he offered to give me a week of his booking. Take the first week, he said flamboyantly, and I'll manage within seven. After all, the movie can't run beyond a week. It can't run beyond two days, I reassured him. When 10 people came for the first show, he tried to console me. Don't worry, he said, it happens at times. But who was worried? Then, the word spread. Like wildfire. And within a few days the hall began to fill. It ran for all 8 weeks at Alankar, house full! Subodh Mukherjee kept screaming at me but how could I let go the hall? After 8 weeks when the booking ran out, the movie shifted to Super, where it ran for another 21 weeks! That's the anatomy of a hit of mine. How does one explain it? Can anyone explain it? Can Subodh Mukherjee, whose April Fool went on to become a thundering flop?
PN: But you, as the director should have known?
KK: Directors know nothing. I never had the privilege of working with any good director. Except Satyen Bose and Bimal Roy, no one even knew the ABC of film making. How can you expect me to give good performances under such directors? Directors like S.D. Narang didn't even know where to place the camera. He would take long, pensive drags from his cigarette, mumble 'Quiet, quiet, quiet' to everyone, walk a couple of furlongs absentmindedly, mutter to himself and then tell the camera man to place the camera wherever he wanted. His standard line to me was:Do something. What something? Come on, some thing! So I would go off on my antics. Is this the way to act? Is this the way to direct a movie? And yet Narangsaab made so many hits!
PN: Why didn't you ever offer to work with a good director?
KK: Offer! I was far too scared. Satyajit Ray came to me and wanted me to act in Parash Pathar - his famous comedy - and I was so scared that I ran away. Later, Tulsi Chakravarti did the role. It was a great role and I ran away from it, so scared I was of these great directors.
PN: But you knew Ray.
KK: Of course I did. I loaned him five thousand rupees at the time of Pather Panchali-when he was in great financial difficulty- and even though he paid back the entire loan, I never gave him an opportunity to forget the fact that I had contributed to the making of the classic. I still rib him about it. I never forget the money I loan out!
PN: Well, some people think you are crazy about money. Others describe you as a clown, pretending to be kinky but sane as hell. Still others find you cunning and manipulative. Which is the real you?
KK: I play different roles at different times. For different people. In this crazy world, only the truly sane man appears to be mad. Look at me. Do you think I'm mad? Do you think I can be manipulative?
PN: How would I know?
KK: Of course you would know. It's so easy to judge a man by just looking at him. You look at these film people and you instantly know they're rogues.
PN: I believe so.
KK: I don't believe so. I know so. You can't trust them an inch. I have been in this rat race for so long that I can smell trouble from miles afar. I smelt trouble the day I came to Bombay in the hope of becoming a playback singer and got conned into acting. I should have just turned my back and run.
PN: Why didn't you?
KK: Well, I've regretted it ever since. Boom Boom. Boompitty boom boom. Chikachikachik chik chik. Yadlehe eeee yadlehe ooooo (Goes on yodelling till the tea comes. Someone emerges from behind the upturned sofa in the living room, looking rather mournful with a bunch of rat-eaten files and holds them up for KK to see)
PN: What are those files?
KK: My income tax records.
PN: Rat-eaten?
KK: We use them as pesticides. They are very effective. The rats die quite easily after biting into them.
PN: What do you show the tax people when they ask for the papers?
KK: The dead rats.
PN: I see.
KK: You like dead rats?
PN: Not particularly.
KK: Lots of people eat them in other parts of the world.
PN: I guess so.
KK: Haute cuisine. Expensive too. Costs a lot of money.
PN: Yes?
KK: Good business, rats. One can make money from them if one is enterprising.
PN: I believe you are very fussy about money. Once, I'm told. a producer paid you only half your dues and you came to the sets with half your head and half your moustache shaved off. And you told him that when he paid the rest, you would shoot with your face intact...
KK: Why should they take me for granted? These people never pay unless you teach them a lesson. I was shooting in the South once. I think the film was Miss Mary and these chaps kept me waiting in the hotel room for five days without shooting. So I got fed up and started cutting my hair. First I chopped off some hair from the right side of my head and then, to balance it, I chopped off some from the left. By mistake I overdid it. So I cut off some more from the right. Again I overdid it. So I had to cut from the left again. This went on till I had virtually no hair left- and that's when the call came from the sets. When I turned up the way I was, they all collapsed. That's how rumours reached Bombay. They said I had gone cuckoo. I didn't know. I returned and found everyone wishing me from long distance and keeping a safe distance of 10 feet while talking. Even those chaps who would come and embrace me waved out from a distance and said Hi. Then, someone asked me a little hesitantly how I was feeling. I said: Fine. I spoke a little abruptly perhaps. Suddenly I found him turning around and running. Far, far away from me.
PN: But are you actually so stingy about money?
KK: I have to pay my taxes.
PN: You have income tax problems I am told....
KK: Who doesn't? My actual dues are not much but the interest has piled up. I'm planning to sell off a lot of things before I go to Khandwa and settle this entire business once and for all.
PN: You refused to sing for Sanjay Gandhi during the emergency and, it is said, that's why the tax hounds were set on you. Is this true?
KK: Who knows why they come. But no one can make me do what I don't want to do. I don't sing at anyone's will or command. But I sing for charities, causes all the time.
[Note: Sanjay Gandhi wanted KK to sing at some Congress rally in Bombay. KK refused. Sanjay Gandhi ordered All India Radio to stop playing Kishore songs. This went on for quite a while. KK refused to apologize. Finally, it took scores of prominent producers and directors to convince those in power to rescind the ban- Rajan]
PN: What about your home life? Why has that been so turbulent?
KK: Because I like being left alone.
PN: What went wrong with Ruma Devi, your first wife?
KK: She was a very talented person but we could not get along because we looked at life differently. She wanted to build a choir and a career. I wanted someone to build me a home. How can the two reconcile? You see, I'm a simple minded villager type. I don't understand this business about women making careers. Wives should first learn how to make a home. And how can you fit the two together? A career and a home are quite separate things. That's why we went our separate ways.
PN: Madhubala, your second wife?
KK: She was quite another matter. I knew she was very sick even before I married her. But a promise is a promise. So I kept my word and brought her home as my wife, even though I knew she was dying from a congenital heart problem. For 9 long years I nursed her. I watched her die before my own eyes. You can never understand what this means until you live through this yourself. She was such a beautiful woman and she died so painfully. She would rave and rant and scream in frustration. How can such an active person spend 9 long years bed-ridden? And I had to humour her all the time. That's what the doctor asked me to. That's what I did till her very last breath. I would laugh with her. I would cry with her.
PN: What about your third marriage? To Yogeeta Bali?
KK: That was a joke. I don't think she was serious about marriage. She was only obsessed with her mother. She never wanted to live here.
PN: But that's because she says you would stay up all night and count money..
KK: Do you think I can do that? Do you think I'm mad? Well, it's good we separated quickly.
PN: What about your present marriage?
KK: Leena is a very different kind of person. She too is an actress like all of them but she's very different. She's seen tragedy. She's faced grief. When your husband is shot dead, you change. You understand life. You realize the ephemeral quality of all things.. I am happy now.
PN: What about your new film? Are you going to play hero in this one too?
KK: No no no. I'm just the producer-director. I'm going to be behind the camera. Remember I told you how much I hate acting? All I might do is make a split second appearance on screen as an old man or something.
PN: Like Hitchcock?
KK: Yes, my favourite director. I'm mad, true. But only about one thing. Horror movies. I love spooks. They are a friendly fearsome lot. Very nice people, actually, if you get to know them. Not like these industry chaps out here. Do you know any spooks?
PN: Not very friendly ones.
KK: But nice, frightening ones?
PN: Not really.
KK: But that's precisely what we're all going to become one day. Like this chap out here (points to a skull, which he uses as part of his decor, with red light emerging from its eyes)- you don't even know whether it's a man or a woman. Eh? But it's a nice sort. Friendly too. Look, doesn't it look nice with my specs on its non-existent nose?
PN: Very nice indeed.
KK: You are a good man. You understand the real things of life. You are going to look like this one day.
Rajan Parrikar
| SPECIAL TRIBUTE | |||
| Some great photographs of Guru - as a tribute | |||
| The ever smiling face of our Guru | We miss you Kishoreda | ||
| Wah kya pose hai ! | With Mohd.Rafi and brother Ashok Kumar | At a party with Manoj Kumar and others | With Satyajit Ray |
| Hope concert in 1986 | Guru Live | With parents and sister Sati | In a pensive mood |
| Dressed to kill! | The ever charming smile | The smirking face | With family at ease |
| pictures of Guru |
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