Chhaayaageet #57 - She removes her sandals outside the recording booth. It is her temple.
She is upset and very angry. How could he go back on his word? Is there no such thing as integrity? Hell hath seen no fury like a woman scorned.
What is the matter, you ask? A little flashback.
The filmmaker approaches her with a request. Could her brother compose the music for his next film? It is to be a classical music based film.
"He doesn't want to score the music for Hindi films", her reply.
The filmmaker pleads her to try and convince her brother. She has to leave soon for a long concert tour to the US. But she assures she will try her best before she leaves. And she does.
While on tour, she speaks with her brother back in Bombay. He tells her that he accepted the film because of her, but now the newspapers are writing otherwise. The film has been assigned to different music composers. The press and media are asking questions why he is no longer the composer for the film. How offending and embarrassing?
She is upset and very angry. It is a breach of trust. How could the filmmaker do this?
As soon as she lands back in Bombay from the US after the long tour, she calls the filmmaker.
"Why did you do this?"
No answer.
"I persuaded my brother only because you asked me to", she reminds him.
No answer.
"I am not going to sing anymore for your film", she thunders into the phone.
Word travels. The music composers are in a bind.
"Agar woh nahin gayengi, to hum bhi ye film nahin karenge", they tell the filmmaker. If she is not going to sing, we also won't do this film.
The filmmaker is not used to being told no. He instructs the composers. Do what you can, do what you must, change her mind. The composers don't know what to do. After racking their brains, they turn to the veteran lyricist. They know she looks up to him as a father figure. Surely, she won't turn him down.
"Sirf aap hi unhein manaa sakte hain", they plead him. Only you can convince her. The lyricist agrees to call her.
"Beta, aaiye aur geet ko gaa dijiye", the lyricist offers fatherly sage advice. Child, come and sing the song.
"Sirf aap keh rahe hain isliye gaungi", she accepts. I will sing only because you are asking me to.
Out of deference and respect for the lyricist, she gives in. But she puts forth a condition - she does not want to see the filmmaker anywhere in the studio when she is there to record the song.
Now that is a tough condition. The filmmaker always likes to be present during song recordings. That is how he visualizes the song. But who will tell him this condition? Who will bell the cat?
On the day of the recording, she reaches the studio. Still very angry. She takes a look around. The filmmaker is nowhere in sight.
"Bataiye kya gaana hai?" She asks to see the song. She has not seen or heard it before. The lyrics are beautiful.
The elder of the two composers sings the song for her. She listens to it intently, making notes on the piece of paper. She practices once without any accompaniment, just making sure she gets what the composer wants.
She requests him to sing once again, this time with music. He obliges.
"What do you want to do?", the composer asks her.
"I will go to the recording booth", she says. She wants to get this over with quickly. She doesn't want to spend a minute longer on this song than she needs to. She removes her sandals outside the recording booth. It is her temple.
She does one full rehearsal in front of the mic. Just as the rehearsal is about to end, the filmmaker casually saunters in, oblivious to her condition, not knowing that he is not welcome there.
Everybody freezes. What is he doing here? She seethes with anger, but only her professionalism keeps the volcano from exploding.
To make matters worse, the filmmaker starts to give suggestions about the music to the composers. He wants more alaap. He knows when she sings alaaps they are heavenly. He wants alaaps, because they can touch millions of people deep inside. And her voice is divine.
She listens to him making all these suggestions. She keeps quiet. Finally she has had it.
"One more suggestion and this song will be nothing but a long alaap", she conveys from the recording booth.
Hushed silence. Hell hath seen no fury like a woman scorned.
She signals from inside the booth that she is ready for the final take.
As soon as the song finishes, the composer gives the ok. She comes out of the booth, wears her sandals, and storms out of the studio without so much as a single word, nor a glance in anybody's direction.
This is a live performance of the song by Lata ji at Royal Albert Hall, UK.
Lata Mangeshkar sang the title song, written by Pandit Narendra Sharma, music by Laxmikant-Pyarelal, for Satyam Shivam Sundaram (1978), directed by Raj Kapoor.
Laxmikant-Pyarelal won the Filmfare award for Best Music for the film. Pandit Narendra Sharma was nominated for Best Lyricist award for the title song.
Lata Mangeshkar was the inspiration for the film. Raj Kapoor visualized the story of a man falling for a woman with an ordinary countenance but a golden voice. Back in the 50s, he wanted to make a film with Lataji in the lead role, and wanted to call it Soorat aur Seerat (Face and Soul). However the idea got shelved then. In the late seventies, Raj Kapoor resurrected the concept again as Satyam Shivam Sundaram and cast Zeenat Aman in the lead role. It is reported that Lata Mangeshkar did not appreciate the casting of Zeenat Aman and the excessive focus on the body beautiful theme. She expected it to be more emotional, instead there was more lust and passion.
Raj Kapoor believed that love was based on the purity of the relationship and not physical beauty. The movie was controversial at the time of its release for its erotic nature.
Nevertheless, the title song by Lata ji is a timeless masterpiece. She, along with her divine voice, will continue to live in the hearts of millions of music lovers forever.
Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
Lyrics: Pandit Narendra Sharma
Music: Laxmikant-Pyarelal
*ing: Zeenat Aman, Shashi Kapoor
Director & Producer: Raj Kapoor
Film: Satyam Shivam Sundaram (1978)