Pancham-da: A Letter

So many people are bashing the big stars for the kind of booth-capturing they have done in the industry, the most recent case being Sushant Singh Rajput's death triggering probes of involvement of big-banner folks. Sushant was an ordinary, a nobody, so to speak, in the film industry. He aimed for the moon (all puns intended) and got a few stars in his bucket. But just think about a young prince born to a Bollywood music legend. Life would be easy, a casual observer might think. But no. Pancham's life is an ironic transition from ruling turntables, churning out hit after hit, and then watching the tables turn, as a helpless, hapless soul. A man who was, at one time, offered film after film, sans daddy SD's aegis, was left to rot like a crumbling, fumbling, insecure composer–like a mutilated Mozart. And people say that the biggies gate-keep just the actors. What made me tear up watching this documentary was the fall of this heroic composer, sans hubris; his only hamartia being so naive to the tactics of the big-bad world of Bollywood. But alive he was in spirit, and alive he is in his music. From his heydays of the seventies to early eighties and a solid smackdown in the mid-eighties, Burman Jr. rose from the ashes, only to be one with them. But today, let us not dwell on the murky phase of his life, and lament on the loss of such a man to the vagaries of the rapidly commercializing music industry. Let us remember that such talent existed. You can call it a privilege, nepotism, favouritism or whatnot. But Pancham was a different ball-game altogether. People associate Abhishek Bachchan with Amitabh Bachchan, they associate Aamir Khan with the Hussains, they associate all the "strugglers" with their parents. But people, or more correctly, the younger lot associates S. D. Burman with R. D. Burman–"Oh! So he is R. D. Burman's dad!" That's the legacy Bollywood's wannabe stars need now. That's a legacy to remember, for time to embalm you with memories for a lifetime. 

Thirteen years have passed since I stumbled onto your music, Pancham-da. I am yet to gain more insight into your Bengali discography, though. And even as you had left us twenty six years ago let alone during the eighteen years of my existence, I still remember having a vague childhood desire of playing cricket and other games with you. It would sound made up, but my statements have more substance than the soul of the music Bollywood's been churning out today. 

Pancham would have been 81 today. But he's still here. In movies as well as music. Jhankaar Beats, and I say it out loud for everyone to hear, Jhankaar Beats is not just about "Tu Aashiqui Hai". It has that Pancham essence to it. It's a tribute to the man who made everyone from schoolchildren to genial old folk, vibe to his beats. From "Aao Twist Karen" to "Piya Tu Ab to Aaja", this man had it all. From "Musafir Hoon Yaaron" to "O Maanjhi Re", he had the sensitivity. From "Lakdi Ki Kaathi" to "Mehbooba Mehbooba" this man's music is a guide to my childhood, and to my present years where I have developed a certain affinity to mimicking him. I know I can't perfect it, nobody can except him (and Sudesh Bhosle, perhaps?) but that's that and here we are. Left to where Pancham had lost himself. Left to modular music compositions. Left to hyper-mechanisation of music, an art which no one has perfected except perhaps the likes of SEL, Rahman and Amit Trivedi. Nowadays its all rehashing, ripping off old music. No doubt Pancham da did it quite often, but he did so inconspicuously, not in the cheap ostentatious manner of modern Bollywood music. I may sound like a harsh critic of today’s music but as a Bollywood fan, I am eagerly waiting for a next wave of Hindi cinema music. A wave, of R. D.’s proportions, a wave, creating an all-encompassing global synergy.

I once visited the Shah Music Centre, an old vinyl record shop in old Delhi in the older days when we could venture out fearlessly. There I found out that Pancham’s music was, along with Bappi Lahiri’s disco records, a bestseller. I had always known about Pancham’s overseas popularity, but the craze for his vinyl records really hit a different chord of the heart of the physical music collector that I am. Zamaane Ko Dikhana Hai is next up on my list. Planning to fish three notes of five-hundred on that as soon as the Corona murk whisks away. 

Times have taken a toll on my writing and I have experimented with this piece. This piece is raw, fresh from a draft-Facebook post with a MUBI link attached, that of his documentary aptly titled, Mujhe Chalte Jaana Hai. Like song, like film, this musafir gave me his parichay as a master of percussions. And the tabla-player in me has had a rekindled desire to meet my better half and jam all day. 

But this day, I’ll miss you and remember you and your beats, Pancham-da. 

Happy, happy birthday!