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Solos that linger long in the night
Jul 07, 2004
As youngsters we have our dreams. Sometimes even in the evening of our lives, these dreams follow us. Take this story of a bachelor and Lata Mangeshkar which started in the 1940s. Today even though the two are far apart physically, they remain close in other ways. In between this poignant tale, is the celebrity’s struggles, and climb to stardom.
“Lata got her break in films as a child artist,” Vijay will tell you. “Later in play-back singing by imitating the melody queen of the day, Noor Jahan. However, success came to her only when she expressed her individuality, improved her Urdu, and trained in Hindustani classical music.”
“Those were the heady days when films were the entire craze in the Civil and Military station,” Vijay will reminisce. “We’d see a film in the Majestic area. Our doctor uncle would buy a 78 rpm record on Avenue Road. Back home we’d play it on the gramophone again and again!
“Lata held sway on the music charts then with ‘Tum na jaane’ (Saazaa, 1951), ‘Chanda re ja re ja re’ (Ziddi,1951), and ‘Dheere se aaja re’ (Albela, 1951).”
As a student at Intermediate College, Vijay had a framed picture of Lata at home. It showed Lata with long plaited hair, bindi, white sari, and a gentle captivating smile. Her eyes followed him everywhere in the room. While studying he’d often be caught looking up at her — prompting many a joke and giggle from the ever-observant girl cousins in the joint family.
Lata’s lullaby, ‘Neethara pora thamuda’ became a favourite in Vijay’s Telugu-speaking household. Even the strict head of the family, grandfather, was taken up by it. “The ‘girl’ has thatha’s approval,” the cousins teased Vijay.
When Binaca Geethmala hit the airwaves on Wednesday evenings, life came to a standstill. Everyone sat glued to the radio set. When ‘Hum pyar mein jalnewalon’ (Jailor, 1958) played, the love-sick Vijay was visibly stirred. Deeply. It was then that he read about Madan Mohan and Lata making magic together: Songs like ‘Yun hasaraton’ (Adalat, 1958) prompted O P Nayar to remark, “I don’t know whether Madan Mohan was created for Lata or vice versa.”
“Why did Lata remain single?” a cousin listening closely to Vijay asked once. He thought for a while and answered, “She didn’t have the time to marry. She was busy with her career and in taking care of her siblings. As a little girl, once when she saw K L Saigal in ‘Chandidas’, she said that she’d like to marry him!”
After the silence that followed, the girl cousin mused, “But without Saigal the path has been clear for a long time. Hasn’t it?” Vijay who takes such digs sportingly, blushed, excused himself and left for bed.
There as has been his habit for more years than one can remember, he will pick a cassette, dim the lights, slip on a Walkman and lie in bed. She will pour out her heart in song.
Of joy and spring. Of love that is ‘pleasure at its best, pain at its worst’. ‘Aaja, abudo aaja’ (Anarkali, 1953), she will cry. He’ll hear her pleas. Mutely. Together the pair, both single, in their 70s will explore the labyrinths of the lonely night.
Koli Raja & the night of big fight
Jul 06, 2004
It was the dry season in Dakshina Kannada. A time before the monsoons, when the farming community found various ways to entertain themselves, children learnt to swim in the nearby stream, women made pickles while the men folk involved themselves in the excitement of cockfights.
But for four children in a village near the hilly seaport of Mangalore, cockfight was something they had been dreading for long. And now as the huge red-orange orb dipped into the Arabian sea, a strange fear gripped them. Their pet rooster, now almost an adult, was being taken out by their father to a cockfight.
The bird had a strong athletic build. “It has the qualities of a good breed,” said the old man who had sold it to their father. “Feed it well and train it. It will reward you. You will have healthy, robust chicken. It will bring honour and fame to your family,” he had said.
The bird was reared and the children enjoyed playing with it. The children fondly named him Koli Raja. Naturally, the children voiced their protest. “He’s too young, too gentle to fight,” they argued with their father. “He needs more time for cockfights.” But their pleas fell on deaf ears.
Their father glared at them for their apparent act of defiance and tore himself away from the protests and set out across the field. The rooster in the crook of his arm was securely held. Like his forefathers, the man enjoyed the sport. Besides, he had to remind the community that he came from a rich lineage that produced and reared robust healthy livestock. As he squatted on his haunches, his mind was focused. This beauty had to win.
The small circle of people who had gathered on the ‘big day’ were surrounded by dense vegetation and plantation of areca nut, banana and coconut trees. The local zamindar, who resided there, boasted of a rich collection of fierce fighting birds. Seven of them were to be in the ring that night. Koli Raja was pitted against one of them.
The fight began when the zamindar flung a big burly bird into the ring. A battle-scarred veteran, it had won three fights in earlier years.
Koli Raja and its famed opponent danced around each other, sizing up the other. With a sudden jump, they lunged at each other. A hushed silence fell as the smaller and less experienced Koli Raja suffered a violent blow. It fell to the ground. There was a momentary stillness. Then to everyone’s surprise, it sprang up. With fire in its eyes, it repeatedly struck the bulky bird. As the young bird circled and attacked, the spectators’ mood turned to approval.
The fight electrified the crowd and as the combat progressed, the older bird started slowing down and looked for ways to escape. This was not to be. The youngster pursued its opponent until the veteran hit the ground. Hovering over the still body, a tired, wounded Koli Raja stood on one leg. His proud, ecstatic owner gathered the dizzy, triumphant bird in his arms, and hurried home.
The children had gone to bed, crying themselves to sleep. The ladies were moved by the children’s feelings but could do little. But when the ladies saw the familiar dark figure approaching them, they stopped their activities and stepped out to hear the news.
Elated by what they heard, they rushed in to wake the children. The usually reticent father gave a lively blow-by-blow account of the fight. “Koli Raja reigned supreme and over-powered his opponent,” the father said proudly.
Today the village doesn’t have cockfights. And Koli Raja is no more. What of the children? They have long moved out from the small village. When the siblings get together, they talk affectionately of their hometown, and invariably Koli Raja’s first fight figures in the conversation. “It was a great relief to see him alive,” says one brother recalling the excitement of that evening sixty years ago. “We thought he’d be dead meat by morning. Imagine our joy when early next morning, from under the cot he cried Kok re koo KOW!!”
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