When KL Saigal sang 'Mere Sapno ki Rani' first in a Hindi film

New Delhi, April 11 (IANS) If the song 'Mere Sapno ki Rani' only brings to your mind Rajesh Khanna, gambolling about on a jeep, while singing his heart's desire to a curious Sharmila Tagore in the train running along, think again. The first to sing this serenade to the beloved of his dreams was another superstar, K. L. Saigal, when Khanna was just four years old!

Saigal's 'Mere Sapno Ki Rani' (with different lyrics and tune) was one of the nine songs in 'Shah Jehan' (1946), the second biggest hit of the year, just behind 'Anmol Ghadi'. Yet, this song, which also brought its chorus singer Mohd Rafi to prominence, is eclipsed by the more famed 'Jab dil hi toot gaya', which turned out to be Saigal's swan song.

'Jab dil hi toot gaya' and the likes of 'Nuktacheen hai gham-e-dil' ('Yahudi Ki Ladki', 1933) – his first hit, 'Dukh ke ab din beetat nahi' ('Devdas', 1935), 'Babul mora naihar' ('Street Singer', 1937), 'Karoon kya aas niras bhayi' ('Dushman', 1939), 'Ae qatib-e-taqdeer' ('My Sister', 1943) are among the best of Saigal but, paradoxically, have left a shadow on the future reputation.

While triumphing over several obstacles to become Hindi cinema's first – and sole – male singing superstar, and a significant cultural icon for his rendition of bhajans and ghazals, Kundan Lal Saigal (1904-47), who was born on this day (April 11), has been mostly forgotten by succeeding generations.

And if not forgotten, he is mocked, or at best, parodied as an exponent of "old-fashioned" sorrow and pathos-imbued songs.

This is despite Saigal being a rare singer who impressed both classical and popular exponents of the art, and even a pre-eminent cultural icon, Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore himself.

While all succeeding singers of the Hindi film industry - be it Mukesh, Mohd Rafi, Talat Mehmood, and Kishore Kumar - tried to emulate him - as their early songs show (e.g. Mukesh's 'Dil jalta hai' or Kishore Kumar's 'Marne ki dua kyun mangu'), legends of the Indian classical world were unrestrained in the praise of his virtuosity.

Ustad Faiyyaz Khan, the doyen of the Agra Gharana, told Saigal that he had nothing to teach him that would make him a greater singer and Ustad Abdul Karim Khan, of the Kirana Gharana, visited a cinema hall for the first time only to hear Saigal's rendition of a song in "Devdas" (1935) and was moved to tears.

Saigal also became the first non-Bengali allowed to render 'Rabindrasangeet', with the Gurudev himself giving him permission.

And he was commercially successful too.

Twice rejected by HMV, then India's biggest music recording company, for "lack of training", he was given a break by Hindusthan Records and became a top-selling artiste for them. One 1933 record, containing just the bandish 'Jhulana Jhulao Re' and bhajan 'Hori O Brajraj Dulare' on the flip side, sold a whopping half a million pieces in the days when gramophones were rare.

And then, Saigal was so proficient in pitch that musicians used to tune their instruments by asking him to sing a note.

But, more importantly, Saigal, in his short life and career, was not limited to tragic songs.

In a career lasting just a decade and a half, spanning the key film centres of then Calcutta and Bombay, and comprising 36 films – 28 Hindi, seven Bengali, and one Tamil – he sang 185 songs, including non-film, in Hindustani, Bengali, Punjabi, Tamil, as well as Persian and Pashto. And like 'Mere Sapno ki Rani' from 'Shah Jehan', not all were tear-jerkers.

Take the upbeat 'Ek bangla bane nyara' ('President', 1937) with its esoteric music, 'Mai kya janoon kya jadoo hai' ('Zindagi', 1940), with the various shades he imbued in the second 'kya' – which is not easy to enunciate, or 'Do naina matware tihare' ('My Sister', 1944), and then, 'Hum apna unhein bana na sake' from 'Bhanwara' (1944), where he even laughs mid-song.

And while 'Diya Jalao' ('Tansen', 1943), is another signature rendition, which he emotes perfectly too – especially where he seems a bit unsure of the raga's potency and wistfully closes his eyes mid-note, 'Baag laga dun sajni', and 'Sapt suran tin graam gaavo' also display his range.

But then, it was not only his repertoire of melancholy that remained around him on and off-screen that left a shadow over him in posterity. It was the fact that he was never for the casual and superficial listener, requiring a measured and mellow outlook to appreciate, as his baritone/tenor mix, with just the slightest hint of a twang, slowly entrances you with his intensity and intricate art.

Music maestro Naushad, his final composer, penned the perfect epitaph: "Aisa koi fankar-e-mukammal nahi aaya/ Naghmon ka barasta badal nahi aaya/ Mausiqi ke maahir bahut aae lekin/ Duniya mein koi doosra Saigal nahi aaya".

(Vikas Datta can be contacted at vikas.d@ians.in)

--IANS

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