Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; February 20, 2020)

In 1978, on a visit to Mumbai from Hyderabad, at a mehfil in Khar, singer Talat Aziz ran into music director Khayyam who complimented him on the purity of his voice and promised to record a song with him for a film if he got a chance. Talat saab did not hear from him till ’80-end when, one day, out of the blue, Khayyam saab called, saying he had a song for him and asked him to come over for rehearsals. “He was very particular about rehearsals. Even Lata ji (Mangeshkar) and Asha ji (Bhosle) had to drive down all the way from town, like me, to his apartment in the suburbs for 10-15 rehearsals before going in for recording. We would sit in his music room and Muzaffar Ali, the director, would be standing at the doorway, watching me go on and on. Sometimes his wife, Jagjit Kaur ji, would feel sorry for me and tell Khayyam saab to let me go, but he would argue that I could sing it better with practice,” Talat saab recounts.

Much later, the composer confided, that singer-actress Suraiya ji, who was among the guests at the mehfil, had been equally impressed by his voice and had urged Khayyam saab to give him a break only in a good film. “He’d retorted saying he only did good films,” Talat saab shares.

Talat Aziz made his debut as a playback singer in Umrao Jaan with the ghazal “Zindagi Jab Bhi” (left). The song was not there in the original script. But Khayyam saab pointed out to Muzaffar Ali that the Umrao had plenty of suitors and the only way the courtesan would be drawn to Farooq Shaikh’s character, Nawab Sultan, was if he wrote nazms. “The film didn’t do well commercially, so I was surprised when, after its release, I was inundated by requests for this particular song at mehfils abroad and learnt that people there had heard it on video cassettes. In some cassettes though it was snipped out because the film was too long,” Talat saab laughs.

The following year, they collaborated on the melodious “Phir Chhidi Raat Baat Phoolon Ki” (right) for Bazaar which was recorded at Bombay Lab. Talat saab recalls how nervous he was to be singing with the legendary Lata ji, and how, when he told her “darr lag raha hai”, she quickly put him at ease. After three takes, Khayyam saab’s voice boomed over the headphones, complimenting them and saying he was on the way to their booth. “Wait and watch, as soon as he comes in, he will say, ‘ek aur’, Lata ji told me, and that’s exactly how it happened. That ‘ek aur’ was Khayyam saab’s ‘safety’ take,” he informs.

Quiz Talat saab on the man himself, and the singer describes his mentor to be “frugal” in every sense. He visited Khayyam saab at home every Friday after prayers as the mosque was next door. The composer waited to have lunch with him. “It was a simple meal of tomato soup, dal, doodhi or turai ki bhaaji and a chapati for him, and overriding my objections, he’d insist his cook Nirmala make chicken for me. After the meal, brushing away my reluctance, he’d insist I eat an apple, at least a slice, as it was a healthy dessert,” he flashbacks.

After that, they’d chat for hours. Sometimes Khayyam saab would recite verses— “he knew Sahir Ludhianvi’s book of poetry, Talkhiyan, by heart”—and sometimes he’d narrate stories, like how he landed the 1958 film, Phir Subah Hogi (left), which was a turning point in his career. “Khayyam saab had gone to RK Studio and played different tunes for Ramesh Saigal (the film’s producer-director), and Raj Kapoor, its hero, with his team of musicians for almost an hour. Raj saab had listened without expression, then gone into the room next door. Thinking he’d been rejected, Khayyam saab was packing up to leave, when Raj saab returned after around 30 minutes, and asked him to play some tunes again. He ended up getting the film which was a big deal then for a newbie composer as it was unthinkable for RK to do a film without Shankar-Jaikishen,” says Talat saab.

The memories continue... How one day, after Kamaal Amrohi’s Mercedes had dropped him off at home close to midnight, Khayyam saab had come upon Sahir Ludhianvi taking a nightly stroll. The lyricist told him he was doing a film with Yash Chopra. Soon after, Jaya Bachchan turned up at his door, wondering if he had the Razia Sultan song, “Dil-e-Nadaan Tujhe Hua Kya Hai” which had become a craze, on a cassette. “Amit ji wants to hear it,” she told him. He didn’t, but the next day, when he told Kamaal saab this, the filmmaker had it recorded on a cassette and rushed to Bachchan’s office. “On Amit ji’s recommendation, Khayyam saab landed Kabhi Kabhie (right),” narrates Talat saab. The film remains unforgettable for Sahir and Khayyam’s evergreen “Neela Aasmaan”, “Main Pal Do Pal Ka Shayar Hoon” and of course, the title track, “Kabhi Kabhie Mere Dil Mein Khayal Aata Hai.”

Khayyam saab has given the music for many love stories, but the one Talat saab loves best is his own. He remembers how, after his mentor collapsed in his flat last year, on July 28, nattily dressed in jacket and trousers, his trademark topi on his head, they rushed Khayyam saab to the hospital, where, soon after, his wife, was admitted too. “Three days before he died, I wheeled Jagjit Kaur ji into the ICU where he lay, eyes closed. She took his hand and whispered, ‘Dekho saab, main aa gayi hoon. Kholo aankhen, mujhe chhod ke mat jao. I love you.’ I could see something flutter beneath his eyelids as if he was trying to come out of the coma. But this time even love failed,” he sighs.

Mohammed Zahur Khayyam Hashmi passed away on the night of August 19. The next morning when Talat saab gave the news to Lata ji she sighed, “He was the last of the Titans. With him an era has ended.”

Talat Aziz bids farewell to his mentor and father figure
As told to Upala KBR (MID-DAY; August 21, 2019)

I first met him during my performance at a private mehfil in Khar, in 1978. After my performance, Khayyam saab walked up to me and told me, ‘Beta, I like your voice. One day, I will give you a break.’ When Umrao Jaan (1981) was conceived, there was no male song in the original script. So, Khayyam saab told Muzaffar Ali [director] saab, 'I want you to include a male song so that it can lend a poetic vibe to Farooq Sheikh’s character and Umrao Jaan can fall in love with him.' That’s how the song, Zindagi Jab Bhi Teri Bazm Mein, was created, and I came into the picture. I remember going to his house for 15 days for rehearsals before we recorded the song.

Khayyam saab was a father figure to me. I used to meet him at his home every three-four days, and if I couldn’t make it, he would invariably check on me and ask me where I was. I learned the art of perfection from him. He made me record the ghazal, Nagma-e-Jaan Saaz-e-Dil, [Yatra, 2007] 20 times before he was satisfied.

He once narrated to me that when he was recording the song Hazar Raahein [Thodisi Bewafai, 1980] with Kishore Kumar, Kishore da wanted to sing the song without interludes while Khayyam saab wanted it with interludes. He let Kishore da sing it his way, but the singer was not happy with the result. That’s when Khayyam saab told him, ‘I put those interludes because the story is about an estranged couple. The director can show flashbacks of what happened in their relationship in those music pieces.’ This was the kind of detailing that Khayyam saab practised.

I was by his side all through his illness. I took care of him over the last 21 days in the hospital. I was praying by his bedside when he breathed his last.


Khayyam was accorded State Honours. Pics/ Sameer Markande, Yogen Shah