Much ado for the love of it
I was very young then. Everyone seemed glued to the radio, especially Radio Ceylon every week, when Ameen Sayani played popular Hindi film songs with a commentary in his inimitable voice and style. Perhaps he was the first to change the way of addressing the audience from ‘Bhaiyon aur Behnon’ to ‘Behnon aur Bhaiyon’. He was the star presenter of Binaca Geetmala, a programme of hit Hindi film music. That was the first countdown broadcast of Hindi film songs. I recall that it was broadcast on Radio Ceylon for 30 long years and then shifted to the Vividh Bharati Service of the All India Radio in 1989 where it ran until 1994. Sayani continued being the host of the show. He would also broadcast the annual year-end lists which included iconic all-time favourites like ‘Mera joota hai Japani’ and ‘Baharon phool barsao, mera mehboob aaya hai.’
People would be waiting to hear his voice. Listeners would make predictions for the next week’s top position. Many a time, one song would continue dominating for weeks. And before playing the one on top of the chart, a short musical composition used to be played before the legendary announcer would play the song saying, “Iss hafte ki pehli payedaan par hai ye geet, jise gaya hai…” giving details of the singer, film, writer and composer.
But the biggest problem used to be to get connected. Those days, the transmission was not good enough to reach us in India from Ceylon. Or, maybe the radio sets were not good enough. Sayani’s voice would one moment be heard clearly, and the next moment be lost to the crackle of other radio stations playing at around the same wavelength. It was not the usual constant static, but a medley of too many voices competing with each other at the same time. People would stand in groups, gathered around the one holding his prized possession, the transistor, tilting it or shifting it to a place where the signal was better.
Difficulty in getting the broadcaster’s voice was also a pain when India played cricket abroad, particularly in the West Indies. People would either stay awake late into the night or set an alarm to get up in the wee hours to hear the radio commentary. The transistor hidden under the pillow and kept close to the ear would half the time be playing unintelligible hissing sounds. Then suddenly, the commentator would be heard shouting, all loud and clear. The whole exercise of fine-tuning would begin again.
As radio made way for the television, the struggle for the air waves is no longer as intense, spoilt for choice as we are. But that ordeal of yore now sounds all the more sweet, and film songs and cricket commentary played no small role in it.
