THIS ABOVE ALL
Man with the golden voice
Khushwant Singh

During my two years in Government College, Lahore, I saw more pictures than in the rest of my 94 years. Sometimes I saw the same picture two or three times. There were films which starred Kundan Lal Saigal, mostly shot by New Theatres of Calcutta. I saw Saigal’s films with eyes open for the first time. For the second and the third time, I kept my eyes shut as all I wanted to hear was Saigal’s voice. It was a deep bass of the kind I had not heard before, and the raga was perfect. What I say about my reaction to Saigal’s singing was true of the reaction of people of the subcontinent extending from Khyber Pass to Kanyakumari and from Chittagong to Baluchistan.

Saigal’s songs mesmerised people of the subcontinent

Pran Neville has documented this in his K.L. Saigal: The Definitive Biography. He starts from his birth in Jammu on April 4,1904, to his death in Jalandhar. He was only 42. He was a diabetic and an alcoholic.

Pran Neville has done painstaking research, listing all the films in which Saigal played the star role, the songs he sang in Roman Urdu, the women who appeared with him and the lyricists who set the chosen songs to music. The one thing missing is his family life and the kind of person he was. There are a couple of photographs of his wife and children.

I could have filled the gap because I got to know his daughter Neena Merchant, who lived next door to me while I was living in Bombay. She had married a Muslim tailor master and bore him two sons. The marriage broke down and her husband and sons migrated to Hyderabad. She made a living by boarding Iranian students in Bombay University. She often dropped in on me at drink time. She told me a lot about her father.

The last time I met Neena was in Delhi when she came to see me. She had married one of her Iranian boarders much younger than her. She looked younger than I saw her in Bombay. And cheerful. "I know it will not last very long. I don’t care. I always say have a good time as long as you can."

Nanak Kohli asked me if he could invite his friends for dinner in my flat. "I will get all the drinks and food." I assumed that since his house was at a distance and my flat more accessible, he wanted to make sure that all his invitees would come. "Okay", I replied, "if you stick to my time schedule. Drinks: 7 to 8 pm; dinner: 8 to 8.30 pm. Then all out."

And so it was. His guests started streaming in at 7 pm. I knew most of them. A few were strangers to me — among them Vikramjit Singh Sawhney, whose photographs appeared periodically in the papers. He is a Padmashri. He runs an orphanage. He has a thriving import and export business and is a rich man.

Nanak does everything in lavish style. Chilled French champagne to start with. All kinds of Chinese food, two kinds of desserts. There was enough time for everyone to meet everyone else. Sawhney came and sat beside me. He told me: "People know me as a successful business man.

Not many know that I also have a good voice and can sing. One evening I will sing Bulley Shah for you."

"Why not here and now?" I said, and called for silence.

Vikramjit has a melodious voice. All Nanak’s guests, including myself, heard him sing "Bulla kee janna main kaun" in enthralled silence. I enjoyed being a guest in my own home. There was enough of Chinese gourmet food to last me another two days.