Chhaayaageet #228 - "Gaana ready hai. Thoda hutke hai par kamaal hai."
The composer sits in his studio, the air thick with tension. Outside, the city is unusually quiet. Coincidentally, it is quiet inside the studio as well. Most of the music industry is on strike, and musicians are nowhere to be found. The composer is lucky to have a few of his loyal musicians and the lyricist around him. But tough to record with just this handful.
The phone rings, slicing through the silence. The composer answers. The filmmaker’s anxious voice roars through the receiver.
“Ye gaana record karna hi hai.” We have to record this song. The filmmaker insists. “Superstar ki dates fixed hai. Ye nikal gayi to pata nahi kab ki dates milengi. Picture delay ho jayegi.” The superstar’s dates are fixed. If we lose this one, not sure when we will get the next set of dates. The film will be delayed.
The composer shrugs his shoulders even though the filmmaker cannot see his body language. But his musicians next to him get it. The composer pushes back. “Saari team strike par hai. Kaise record karenge?” The entire team is on strike. How are we going to record?
“Mein kuch nahin jaanta. Agar tum nahin kar sakte to kissi aur ko bulaana padega.” I don’t know anything. If you can’t do it then I will have to call somebody else. The filmmaker gives an ultimatum and hangs up.
The composer glances at his three musicians around him: the percussionist, the flutist, and the guitarist. Each one waits for what he will say next, sensing the urgency.
He turns to them. “Jyaada time nahin hai humare pass. Director saheb ko gaana jaldi chhaiye. Gaane ki situation ek chalti train par hai. Gaana dumdaar aur hutke hona chhaiye.” We don’t have much time. The situation for the song is on a running train. It needs to be energetic and also unique.
The percussionist, a soft-spoken man from Nepal, is humming something. The composer looks at him. “Koi Nepali tune ya rythm hai tumhare paas? Ek dum taaza honi chhaiye.” Can you think of any Nepali tunes or rhythms? Something fresh.
The percussionist nods, tapping his fingers on the table. “Ek Nepali folk tune hai mere gaon ki.“ There’s a Nepali folk tune from my village.
“Zara sunao“ Let’s hear it, the composer says enthusiastically.
The percussionist hums a melody, his hands matching with beats in the air. The flutist and guitarist listen, then begin to join in, almost like a jazz session. The room fills with sound, the beginnings of a song taking shape.
The composer closes his eyes, imagining the train, the wind, the actors singing out in the open on a running train. He opens them and asks, “Ye accha hai. Par train ki awaaz kaise nikalenge?” This is good. But how will we produce the train sound?
The percussionist wants to help again. “Mujhe nahin pata par mein madal pe koshish kar sakta hoon par woh effect nahin aayega.” I’m not sure, I can try to reproduce on the madal, but it won’t be the same.
The composer goes back to his thinking mode with his head down. The sound of a running train expands inside him as seconds and minutes go by.
He stands abruptly, walks over to the chest of drawers, rummages in one of the drawers, and pulls out two sheets of sandpaper. He rubs them together, a rough, rhythmic sound echoing through the room.
“Suno.” Listen, he says, grinningly. “Train ki awaaz hai ki nahin.” Isn’t it the sound of a train?
Those standing around the composer are left in awe. They know he’s among the finest, but this display of ingenuity is beyond anything they imagined.
The flutist feels inspired, “Mein flute se hi gaadi ki whistle daal doonga.” I will use the flute to add the train’s whistle.
The guitarist doesn’t want to be left out. “Recording bilkul ho jayegi. Kisko chhaiye poora orchestra.“ Yes, we can do this recording. Who needs a full orchestra?
The lyricist is silently sitting next to them and witnessing nothing short of a miracle. He gets down to jotting lines based on the tune. He is done in minutes.
They rehearse, blending the Nepali rhythm, the flute’s melody, and the sandpaper’s scratchy train sound.
The recording date is set for later in the week. The singers are available. Luckily, they are not on strike. The song gets recorded, and everyone is quite happy with the outcome.
He makes a call to the filmmaker. “Gaana ready hai. Thoda hutke hai par kamaal hai.“ We have the song. It’s different, but it’s magic. The composer gives him a preview over the phone.
The director’s relief is palpable. “Kya baat hai. Mein superstar ko ye gaana shooting ke pehle zaroor sunaoonga.“ That’s awesome. I will make sure the superstar hears it before the shoot.”
R.D. Burman composed the tune for the song Hum Dono Do Premi in the film Ajanabee. The lyrics were written by Anand Bakshi, and the film was directed by Shakti Samanta. The playback was provided by Kishore Kumar and Lata Mangeshkar. The song was picturized on Rajesh Khanna and Zeenat Aman. The musicians that accompanied R.D. Burman during the recording of this song were Ranjit Gazmer (Kancha) on the madal, Manohari Singh on the flute, and Bhupinder Singh on the guitar.
In 1974, the Indian music industry faced a major upheaval when thousands of film musicians went on strike, bringing film music production to a near standstill. The strike was called by the Cine Musicians Association, demanding better wages, improved working conditions, and recognition of their rights as essential contributors to the film industry. Recording studios across Mumbai fell silent as orchestras and session players refused to work.
When Shakti Samanta urgently approached Pancham Da to record the song during the strike, Pancham Da faced a daunting challenge. With most musicians unavailable, he had only three musicians at his disposal. Understanding the importance of the project, especially since superstar Rajesh Khanna’s dates were locked, Pancham Da responded with remarkable ingenuity. Instead of relying on a full orchestra, he created the song’s distinctive train effect by rubbing two pieces of sandpaper together, mimicking the sound of a moving train. He also improvised with other unconventional sounds, even using his own voice, to complete the recording. His innovative approach allowed the song to be recorded on schedule, despite the strike, and the director was able to proceed with the crucial shoot.
The song Hum Dono Do Premi is a four-minute train sequence in the film, and it was the first song to be shot fully on top of the train.
Music: R.D. Burman
Lyrics: Anand Bakshi
Musicians: Ranjit Gazmer (madal), Manohari Singh (flute), Bhupinder Singh (guitar)
Singers: Kishore Kumar, Lata Mangeshkar
*ing: Rajesh Khanna, Zeenat Aman
Director: Shakti Samanta
Film: Ajanabee (1974)