In his words:
Kishore Kumar’s persona defied conventional boundaries; his eccentricities were beyond unbelievable, his genius unparalleled. How did this untrained singer capture the mindscape and hearts for generations and continues to rule our imagination? Some of the stories are apocryphal, some you have heard before, but all of them beg repetition. The book Kishore Kumar: The Ultimate Biography by Aniruddha Bhattacharjee and Parthiv Dhar attempts to demystify the mvytvhvs behind the legend. That their musical expertise, especially Bhattacharjee’s, is legendary was evidenced in their books on RD and SD Burman.
It’s clear, besides being fan boys, they also probe into the anguish and heartache of a genius singer who had very few friends and fewer people who understood him.
His monumental success ratio as a singer and his slew of hasty marriages added to the conundrum. Also, he spoke very little to the media, which made him a sitting duck for many a biased tale. When Kishore sang, you could visualise the eddies churning behind that mind. He hid his heartache behind humour. Expertly written and analysed, this book is a fairly comprehensive peek into a troubled but extraordinary soul. The Khandwa portions of his childhood and Christian college years are most evocative.
His reluctance to grow under his big brother’s shadow, his diffidence about facing the camera, and his high-profile relationships with wives Ruma Guha Thakurta and Madhubala help you to figure him somewhat.
Madhubala’s sisters always give their side of the story, while Kishore chose to be silent. The truth, of course, lies somewhere between. There are wonderful passages on his equation with the Burmans and his utmost respect for Mohammed Rafi. I would have loved to know more of his equation with the Mangeshkar sisters. Considering they almost began their careers together.
A month before he passed away, he’s said to have revealed his unhappy state of mind to Lata, while a day before he died, he spent more than seven hours recording a song with Asha Bhosle. Some sweeping statements could have been avoided- like Kishore’s version of Mere Naina Saawan Bhaadon in Mehbooba (19760) is superior to Lata’s.
Or Kishore scores over Rafi in his version of Tum Bin Jaaon Kahan in Pyar Ka Mauvsam (1969).
All this falls into the realm of fanboy gush. Also, it’s nice the writers don’t get bogged down by too much genealogy and syntax of songs, etc. In the previous books, the knowledge was veering towards slightly “showoffy”. Especially in the Burmans books.
Here there is restraint and economy of expression, which is a relief.
Throughout the book, you get a feeling now you know him, and then you realise you don’t really. Like there was a time as an actor he had stopped playback singing for other actors. He made an exception for Dev Anand, however.
It must have taken inordinate amounts of strength for filmmakers and music directors to put up with his Mercurial ways- bunking shootings, playing truant during recording. And as we know by now, great actors need empathy from those around them to understand him. But when the stakes are high as they are in the movies, one can only imagine how harrowed people must have been- cases in point are directors like Kalidas and SD Narang.
Abhas Kumar Ganguly aka Kishore Kumar was a troubled genius. Through his songs and mad hatter movies, he lives on as an example of a much misunderstood human being. And when a book makes you empathise with the subject, it’s a job well done. In the absence of an archiving culture or genuine film archivists, this is an important book.
Also Read: Editor’s Take: Remembering Kishore Kumar, The Man Behind The Magic
