The boatman’s song in Bollywood

Pankaj K.Deo

The melancholic strains of “Mera sundar sapna beet gaya” composed in 1947 by S.D. Burman, perhaps, carry a sense of personal loss. It was a watershed year in the lives of the people in the Indian subcontinent, since with Independence came Partition. Burman lost his birthplace Comilla (now in Bangladesh) forever. As the authors of a new biography on Burman, S.D. Burman: The Prince-Musician, note, “Comilla ceased to be part of India; Varman had become an outsider; he would never go back to his birthplace.” Partition had drawn boundaries, but it couldn’t stop the boatman’s song and music from wafting across man-made borders. Comilla’s music never faded out of Burman’s compositions, for he could never go far from the boatman’s song (bhatiyali). Despite his training in classical music, his compositions carried the vibrancy of folk music.

S.D. Burman has already been a subject of several biographies. Besides, he also left us an autobiographical note, Sargamer Nikhad, which traces the maestro’s musical lineage and his early life in Comilla and Agartala. So, why have one more biography on him in the 21st century when music has been redefined by millennials not only in terms of how it is composed but also how it is distributed and listened to? 

Your scepticism, however, soon vanishes when you go through this new book that presents a charming mosaic of perspectives on Burman and his life. The book traces not only the evolution of a genius through the years but also how the spelling of his surname changed over time from ‘Varman’ to ‘Burman’ in Bollywood. 

As you delve into it, you come across a beautifully structured narrative, though at times discursive, built around family relationships, love, self-esteem, ambition, loss and redemption. You see myriad sides of a shy Sachin’s personality: his stubbornness, his unwillingness to take criticism, his die-hard support for East Bengal Football Club, and his liking for paan. 

The best thing about the book is that it uses numerous asides to build the narrative around Burman. His life unfolds in an episodic manner. One interesting episode is how Burman, a musician from eastern India, collaborated with Shailendra, a lyricist from the Hindi heartland renowned for his Avadhi poetry. So, when Shailendra recited ‘Nache mann mora magan’, Burman added ‘Tigda dhigi, dhigi’ rather spontaneously, taking it from kathak. A temporary tiff between Shailendra and Burman not only introduced a lyrical genius, Gulzar, to the world of Hindi cinema, but also led to the creation of an all-time great song for Bandini, “Mora gora ang lei le.” 

Shailendra and Burman soon made up and did several films together subsequently. 

The narrative, at times, veers away from Burman, but in the process, offers many interesting asides about others. You come to know how Dilip Kumar and Meena Kumari almost came to play Devdas and Paro in Bimal Roy’s Devdas for which Burman composed music. Meena Kumari was keen to play Paro against Dilip Kumar, but her husband, Kamal Amrohi, put certain conditions — no outdoor shooting or intimate scenes. Bimal Roy did not agree to Amrohi’s terms. Meena Kumari let go of the role, not to let her two-year old marriage fall apart.

Another such episode is about poet Neeraj, who passed away recently. It seems that Dev Anand was looking for a lyricist after Shailendra’s death and had discovered Neeraj in a mushaira. Burman was not convinced that Neeraj could replace Shailendra. So, he gave a complex situation and a difficult tune to Neeraj. However, to everyone’s surprise, Neeraj wrote, “Rangeela re, tere rang me” in just one night. The song, with Burman’s music, went on to be a huge hit. 

S.D. Burman’s music celebrated singing with full-throat ease, for his initial tutoring came from nomadic Baul singers and boatmen of Bengal’s backwaters. His music is our great heritage. This new biography is a collector’s item for film and music buffs as well as all those who love S.D. Burman’s music, which has enchanted millions across borders.