Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; April 6, 2019)

She would have turned 54 on April 3 had death not snatched her away 19 years ago, but for many Nazia Hassan is still a star. “Jab Bhi Miltay Hain Hum Aur Tum, Aankhon Aankhon Main Hotay Hain Gum, Dil Bolay Boom Boom, Haan, Boom Boom ” echoes in the collective consciousness of those who grew up in the ’80s when the brother-sister duo of Nazia and Zoheb made us disco deewane. “We were very young then, barely into our teens, and had no idea what music we were creating. We were just being ourselves, growing up in London, the East-West fusion happened naturally and caught the attention of (composer) Biddu,” Zoheb reminisces from London.

The trio’s 1981 Disco Deewane was the best-selling Asian pop album, charting in 14 countries worldwide. “We had recorded eight songs but HMV wanted one more, a title track with the word ‘disco’ in it. While brainstorming, the words ‘disco deewane’ came up and Biddu asked, ‘What’s deewane?’ When told it translated as ‘crazy’ he said, ‘Let’s go with it!’ I suggested the ‘ah ha’ which became an integral part of the song,” he recounts. A revamped version, titled ‘The Disco Song’, was used in the 2012 campus romance, Student Of The Year.

While Biddu has become synonymous with Nazia and Zoheb, not many are aware that Bappi Lahiri who would meet them whenever he was in London, coaxed the siblings to fly to Mumbai towards the end of ’85, after Nazia’s sensational debut in Feroz Khan’s Qurbani with “Aap Jaisa Koi”, and during their week-long stay, recorded “Main Aaya Tere Liye” with them for Pahlaj Nihalani’s Ilzaam (right, above). “Nazia had a great voice and a distinctive style, the song was created specially for her. They came around 7 pm and by 11 pm we were done. It was filmed on Anita Raaj and Govinda became very popular but they never visited again. She was such a pyaari bachchi with such a beautiful voice,” sighs Pahlaj.

Zoheb informs that living in UK, they were used to working in western studios with multi-tracking systems and were astounded when told the song would be recorded in one go with a live orchestra. “We had never seen anything like this before but everyone was so well-coordinated and I was thrilled to be told I was giving the playback for Govinda, the hottest actor of the time,” he reminisces.

Soon after, his sister nervously told him that that she would be singing with the legendary Kishore Kumar (right) and was clearly rattled. Zoheb reassured her that she would fine and accompanied her to the studio for the recording of “No Entry” (left; above) for Main Balwaan. “Kishore Kumar had such an amazing voice, so much strength, clarity and control,” he raves. Bappida adds that his Kishore mama who usually sang with Lata Mangeshkar and Asha Bhosle at the time, was astounded when introduced to Nazia. “Such a young girl and so famous,” he marveled and was very encouraging, also collaborating with her on “Rock ‘n’ Roll.”

The brother-sister duo recorded one last song, “Aap Ka Shukriya” for the Shatrughan Sinha, Poonam Dhillon starrer Saaya with Bappida before returning home. “We were young kids from Wimbledon, Nazia, the star, and I her sidekick, yet India showered so much love and appreciation on us, shukriya,” says an emotional Zoheb who still can’t believe how stardom dawned on them.

Feroz Khan was filming Qurbani when he bumped into them in London. “Who does this guitar belong to?” he asked. Zoheb (left) picked it up and started strumming while Nazia sang. And suddenly, the actor-filmmaker from India was saying this was the voice he was looking for and asking their parents if Nazia could sing for his film. “We had exams and they were reluctant but he was able to persuade them. We went to the studio for the first time, Nazia recorded 'Aap Jaisa Koi', it was done in an hour, we returned home and forgot all about it. Then, the film released, the song and Nazia were a sensation. I guess good things happen unexpectedly, just like this,” he muses.

Bappida informs me that they were working on an album when she fell ill and passed away. “Except for one song, 'Dil Ki Lagi', it remained unreleased. Nazia was a lovely girl, she went away too soon,” he trails off even as words of her first song resonate within me, “Aap Jaisa Koi Mere Zindagi Mein Aaye, To Baat Ban Jaaye, Baat Ban Jaaye.”

Shaan remembers his days of struggle with interviewer-cum-friend Sonu Nigam, as they speak about their musical journeys
Soumya Vajpayee Tiwari (MID-DAY; May 14, 2018)

While we thought getting two titans of the Indian music fraternity under the same roof would be a tough nut to crack, Sonu Nigam and Shaan made it seem like a cakewalk. In the cosy living room of Nigam's Versova home, the two transitioned from being musicians to interviewers, with utmost ease. Nigam had the perfect question to set the ball rolling, "Bhai, mere Karjat farmhouse kab chal raha hai?"

Edited excerpts from the interview.

Sonu to Shaan

You were initially known in the industry as Raja. How did you become Shaan?
Raja was not only my nickname, but also a contracted one. When I was collaborating with Raju [Singh, composer] on a Zee [Music] project in 1993, he asked me to sign the contract under that name Raja. Biddu [composer-producer] changed it from Raja to Shaan. He said Shaantanu [his original name] was too long a name. I was okay shortening it to Shaan because I liked the name, and found Shaantanu slightly thanda.

When did you first realise there is a musician in you?
I was 16, and I'd lost my dad. Until then, while singing, I would struggle to get the nuances of other singers right. Once I tried singing Mohammed Rafi saab's Subhanallah Haseen Chehra from Kashmir Ki Kali (1964) and pulled it off perfectly. I got all the notes right. I also felt as if I saw my dad's shadow on the window then. It was a spiritual moment for me.

What made you pursue music as a profession?
Since my dad had struggled to make a mark in the music industry, I decided to pursue it diligently. When I realised that I have the potential to make it big, I started singing jingles alongside doing odd jobs like taking tuitions and selling cable TV points. I also ran a DTP service, where I would create layouts and print material for clients like Jet Airways, East-West Airlines, Maersk, etc. But I was certain about growing as a musician. Since I got married around the same time, the sense of responsibility grew and I became more focused on my singing career.

When the texture of your voice changed in teenage years, how did you deal with it?
It was a tough time. When I started singing jingles at the age of five, I was made to stand right in front of the mic alongside other kids. But as I grew older and my voice began to get hoarse, I was made to stand further away from the mic. I felt so discouraged that I asked them to not call me again.

(Sonu adds)
When my voice was undergoing a transition and I wasn't able to hit the higher notes, my dad [singer Agam Kumar Nigam] couldn't understand why I was complaining about it. I was taken to doctors and given penicillin injections because they suspected that I had swollen tonsils. The injections were so painful that I would limp on my way back home. One day, I was rehearsing a song sung by Vijay Benedict from the Doordarshan show, Manoranjan, in front of the mirror. That's when I realised that my voice had come down one octave perfectly.

Did you learn music from anyone other than Ghulam Mustafa Khan saab?
I had attended some classes at Suresh Wadkar ji's academy. Since my preparation was not up to the mark, I skipped the exams and was too embarrassed to resume classes after that.

Are you disappointed when you record a song that has been attempted by multiple singers, and your version is not chosen?
Of course, it pinches. But I'm okay with the idea of recording a track that's also sung by others because I find the process challenging. When I feel my version was better than the one chosen by the makers, I just feel bad for the song (laughs).

What do you think of the way the business of music has changed over the years?
I started out as a pop singer, when people bought music and music labels backed independent projects. Now, even if you have a composition and lyrics, you need money for the production of a track. You need to invest money to shoot a music video and sometimes to also buy hits online. Today, the business of music has literally turned into a 'business' that only singers with money can 'invest' into. Of course, there are some extremely talented singers, but they are exceptions, not the rule.

Shaan to Sonu

You keep taking breaks from work frequently to travel. What's the reason behind it?
Throughout childhood, my parents never took us on vacations. It's not that we were poor; the concept of a vacation didn't exist at our home. In fact, despite having settled down in Mumbai in 1991, it wasn't until three years later that I went to the Gateway Of India at Babul Supriyo's insistence. I was so focused that my travel otherwise was limited to home and studio. I realised that I shouldn't grow old like this. That's when I started going on vacations. My South Africa trip in 2001 was the turning point — I was at Signal Hill alone and had never experienced such silence before. That's when I realised that breaks are important. I went trekking in the Himalayas. Lately, I've been going to Rishikesh a lot. Sitting on the banks of the Ganga, attending aartis and visiting ashrams gives me solace.

What is your mantra to be in sur during gigs?
There's no mantra. It's to do with the technique. If I start off perfectly, everything goes off well.

(Shaan adds)
I remember attending a show in Canada, where you performed alongside several other singers. All of them were off tune, but the moment you came on stage, you hit the bull's eye. I was amazed by your talent.

What do you prefer — when composers decide the structure of a song and ask you to replicate it, or when they give you the freedom to improvise?
It's good when composers have a clear vision, but I enjoy more when they are open to improvisation. For instance, I recently recorded the song Kulfi from 102 Not Out with Salim-Sulaiman. They are talented composers. While I was singing, Salim said, "Kuch apni taraf se karo, yaar." Aise kaam karne mein mazaa aata hai.

How did you widen your range to adapt to the trend of high-pitch singing?
As soon as I took note of the increasing demand for high-pitched singing, I started practising techniques to increase my range. In a few months, I started hitting notes that were five-six semitones higher than what I was comfortable singing earlier.

Nazia Hassan with brother Zoheb; Zeenat Aman grooving to ‘Aap Jaisa Koi’ in Qurbani

Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; April 5, 2018)

I didn’t need a Google doodle to remind me of Nazia Hassan on April 3 on what would have been her 53rd birthday. The sweet, shy 15-year-old school-going singer had become a household name in 1980 with the Qurbani chartbuster, “Aap Jaisa Koi” and not just because a sexy Zeenat Aman was crooning it in a night club on screen. There was something about this teenager from across the border, who grew up in London and exploded in Bollywood with the Biddu composition in Feroz Khan’s action-drama, that made her a star, albeit a reluctant one.

It was a sensational debut for the young singer and I was surprised to learn from her brother Zoheb, who later became her singing partner, that it almost didn’t happen. “Nazia didn’t really want to sing and had to be persuaded by Feroz Khan to show up at the recording studio where the track Biddu had composed in a rush was played for us and we realised that it was a knockoff of the popular Boney M hit, 'Rasputin'. We were already writing, composing and singing our own music and she didn’t want to be a part of anything that wasn’t original. Biddu stomped out in anger and Feroz Khan sighing over his decision to go against the golden rule to never work with animals and kids, asked Nazia why she was blowing her big chance,” reminisces Zoheb, adding that his sister stuck to her stand despite the filmmaker’s pleas.

Eventually, Biddu returned to the studio and Feroz took him aside, trying to placate him. After a while, the composer walked up to them and asked to listen to their music. Nazia sang, an adolescent Zoheb whose voice was breaking played the guitar. Biddu was impressed. “He told a worried Feroz Khan who didn’t want to delay his film, that between us we would come up with something new and the rest, as they say, is history,” he laughs across the wire from London, going on to add that the filmmaker had been prepared to be diplomatic when “Aap Jaisa Koi” was played for him, but like everyone else he was also bowled over. Nazia was the first Pakistani to take home Filmfare’s Black Lady, the youngest recipient in the best playback (female) category.

A year later, the siblings collaborated with Biddu on their first album, Disco Deewane, which was on the charts in 14 countries to become the best-selling Asian pop record at the time. Over the next decade, the duo released four more albums — Boom Boom, Young Tarang, Hotline and Camera Camera (Nazia’s last solo album) in 1992. “We were very young, still in school, and our parents were determined for us to acquire a degree first before pursuing a career in music. So, we were only allowed to record during summer holidays,” Zoheb points out.

He adds that he also had to turn down all the movie offers he was flooded with at 17 from big filmmakers like Manmohan Desai, Prakash Mehra and Gul Anand because his parents did not want him to move to Mumbai. “Nazia also got her share of movie offers. Raj baba (Raj Kapoor) was really close to our family and for years he tried to coax a nod out of Nazia for his dream project Henna but she was not interested in acting,” he reveals. The cross-border love story was eventually made by Randhir Kapoor after his father’s death with Pakistani actress Zeba Bakhtiar playing the role RK had in mind for Nazia. Meanwhile, Nazia went on to get a degree in law while Zoheb graduated in economics and financial management.

The turning point in their life came when Nazia was diagnosed with cancer. Zoheb had to record their last album alone even though they had planned plenty of duets because his sister was unwell and undergoing chemotherapy. “She knew she was dying but remained positive, telling me we would go on a tour together. That album, titled Signature, remains special because those were our last months together and she remained a fighter till the end, wanting the doctor to intensify the chemo so she could spend more time with her son, even though she was warned that her frail body might not be able to take it. She wanted to kill the disease and not vice versa,” he says emotionally, flashbacking to when they had just moved to UK and were staying with their grandmother. On the way to school, they would be chased by a gang of students led by a punk of a girl who, for him, was a scary figure with her cut-offs, nosering and denim jacket. “But Nazia was fearless and one day walked up to the older girl, telling her to fight her one-on-one. She beat the girl up, determined to protect me, till the girl ran away and never bothered us again,” he says proudly.

Nazia left the world on August 13, 2000, at the age of 35. Now, Zoheb plans to bring her story to the screen. He has offers from seven companies who want to roll with the biopic. His mother’s illness put the brakes on the project for a few months but now that she is home, he plans to resume work.

He has two daughters, Allyana and Mia, who are 16 and 14, while Nazia has left behind a son, Arez. Will any of them feature in the film? “Arez is into sports. My daughters are the ones interested in music and are working on an album presently. We need established actors for Nazia’s story who can bring the agony, ecstasy and the music that was her life to the screen,” he asserts.

The film will feature some of Nazia's unreleased vocals
Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; March 11, 2016)

Samyuktha K (BOMBAY TIMES; September 4, 2015)