His warmth lingers on

“Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.” — Theodor Seuss

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As I try to wrap my head around the fact that legendary singer Bhupinder Singh is no more, floodgates of memories open up. I recall when I first saw him back in the 1970s. Stylish, dashingly handsome, stately personality, he could give many a filmstar a run for his money. Perhaps, that is why for the very first group song “Hoke majboor mujhe usne bulaya hoga” that he recorded, director Chetan Anand was compelled to picturise a part of the song on him.

Those were the nascent days of my career. I nursed dreams of becoming a singer and had moved to Mumbai (then Bombay) and was working as an assistant with music composer Hansraj Behl; and Uttam Singh used to be the music arranger. Bhupinderji would come to our recording studio and play the guitar for his compositions. The beauty of his guitar-playing skill lay in the manner in which he could improvise impromptu and bring in new elements. Of course, being an aspiring singer myself, I was a greater admirer of his singing prowess. By then, he had earned fame with memorable songs like “Rut jawan jawan raat mehrbaan”, “Dil dhoondta hai”, and many more.

Though his repertoire of songs may not be vast, his contribution is no less significant than other more prolific playback singers. His voice was (is) like amritvani, manna from heaven, flowing like a river of nectar. If I were to sum up his voice succinctly in two words, it would be “hoshamand nasheeli” (sensitive and intoxicating). As we would often meet, I would touch his feet and he would respond with his customary and cheerful blessing: “Jyonda reh”. We always conversed in Punjabi. An unmistakable quality about him was his never-say-die attitude. I never ever saw him unsmiling or sulking. His affable demeanour was further enhanced by the warm smile that never seemed to leave his face.

Born in Amritsar, he was quintessentially a Punjabi. But the film industry is a universe in itself where art is the only religion. Hence, regional, religious or cultural identities don’t matter. Later, he was to marry Bangladeshi singer Mitali Mukherjee. He worked closely with Bengali music director RD Burman. Together, they created some sterling music, with Bhupinder taking up the role of a guitarist and singer. While the world knows he was a master guitarist, few are aware that he could play the rabab equally dexterously. It is with great sense of pride that I can today gloat that for my song “Yaara teri yaari pe qurban jaoon mein” for the film Mujjhe Vachan Do, I had the honour of Bhupinder embellishing Raamlaxman’s music on this fascinating musical instrument. Equally priceless is the fact that I had the opportunity to sing with him. The song “Yaara teri yaari ke liye dil haazir hai” from the movie Raahee — for which Bhupida, Mahendra Kapoor and I sang — could well summarise the feelings I had for him.

However, more than a friend, he was someone I truly looked up to with admiration and respect. One of life’s most valuable lessons came to me through his sagacious advice. As a young lad working as an assistant composer only too eager to prove myself, I had this inherent failing. It was part of my job to explain the tarz (tune) to singers, but in my overzealousness, I would often overstep the line. The memory is vivid even today. Mahendra Kapoor saheb was to record a song and was a little off-key. Time and again, I would interrupt his rendition and try to correct him. Bhupinderji saw my foolhardiness, called me aside, “aithe aao,” and while falling a little short of rebuking me, made me realise my misdemeanour. Hereafter, I learnt how maestros are masters of their art and craft and trying to ‘teach’ them is transgression, which can only be a grave folly.

Yet another time, he also taught me how to stand up for myself. I remember a producer walking in while I was with Bhupinderji. As is the wont of arrogant moneybags, he asked me to leave the room. The great singer who was an equally lovable human being, Bhupida asked me not to pay heed to the producer. A lesson in self-respect was forever ingrained in me that day.

After I relocated to Ambala, I did not remain in constant touch with him. But once when he visited Pathankot for a function, where he was honoured with the RD Burman Award, I spoke to him briefly.

I still cherish how a decade ago, en route to Ludhiana, he stopped by in Ambala and we met on the highway itself. He was in good spirits, like always, rather hale and hearty. Today, as I recall that priceless moment, my only regret is that I should have gone to Mumbai to meet him sometime. As I look back at my journey shaped by another ghazal maestro Jagjit Singh, I can say with all honesty that Bhupinderji was an equally bright star in the galaxy of music, whose light has shone on me and my music in infinite ways.

I can still feel the positive vibes which beamed from his being. Here lived a singer whose stature was so eminent that even thespians would greet him with a hug. The warm and affectionate touch of his hand on my shoulders lingers on. A privilege to have known him.

The writer is an Ambala-based ghazal singer

(As told to Nonika Singh)