MOHAMMED RAFI is rightly regarded as the greatest male playback singer in Hindi cinema history.
With an incredible body of work stretching across thousands of songs, the celebrated star left behind a remarkable legacy, which is being celebrated throughout 2024, as December 24 marks his 100th birth anniversary.
The much admired music star sadly passed away on July 31, 1980, aged just 55, but left behind a remarkable legacy and inspired the generations who followed in his giant footsteps.
Eastern Eye decided to mark the celebrated singer's death anniversary this week by speaking with his London-based grandson Rizwan Rafi. He fondly spoke about his iconic grandfather’s incredible life and gave great insights into him away from stardom.
Playing the harmonium
Your grandfather Mohammed Rafi passed away when you were only 14. What was it like growing up with such a legendary family member?
It was always wonderful and fun for all the grandchildren, whenever I had the opportunity to stay with dada and dadi in Mumbai (for holidays). Dada had a very child-like quality when he was with the family and grandchildren. I didn’t see him as Mohammed Rafi, the entertainer. To me he was and is my dada (grandfather). To everyone else he has been a legend, superstar and for some, even a god.
What are your memories of that celebrity aspect?
Whenever we would be out together, people would go crazy when seeing him. I would wonder and think to myself why? Now, as I’ve grown, I realise what he meant to people and what a legend he was and will always be. I’m so proud to be part of the lineage.
What made him such a special talent?
With his grandsonRizwan
He loved singing and loved his art. He was musically versatile, technically correct and had an amazing ability to mould his voice to the persona of that actor he would be singing for. Dada always asked, ‘who is the song going to be picturised on’. He would then add a new dimension and his own little twist to the track. He gave life to the lyrics. He sang flawlessly in various languages and styles. He was a perfectionist and made it look easy.
Which songs do you think helped define him?
There are so many. They include O Duniya Ke Rakhwale and Chahunga Main Tujhe, where he expressed deep emotion like very few could. The rock ‘n’ roll inspired songs he sung for Shammi Kapoor were revolutionary. He was a master of love songs like the award-winning Chaudhvin Ka Chand Ho and Teri Pyaari Pyaari Surat Ko. With songs like classic qawwali Parda Hai Parda, he showed great versatility. There are so many more.
What are some of your favourite songs of his?
It is very difficult to choose favourites. Some that come to mind include Yeh Duniya Yeh Mehfil, Dil Ka Soon Saaz and Dard E Dil. Baharo Phool Barsao was played at my wedding – if only dada had been around to sing it. Sadke Heer Tujh Pe Hum Fakir Sadke showed beautiful voice control. Kar Chale Hum Fida brings tears every time.
Which of his songs deserve more credit?
He had a high standard and could turn an ordinary song into something extraordinary. Some films that weren’t hits or are not so well known, have many hidden treasures. The fact he left behind so many songs means new generations are constantly discovering these gems.
He was known for his humility even after reaching superstardom, what kept him so grounded?
Dada was not a man who sought out wealth, stardom or worldwide fame. He just simply wanted to sing, which is what he loved. He was a very pious and god-fearing person. His humility and down to earth nature were greatly respected. He never said or did bad to others. His willingness to help and encourage others was widely known.
Are there any stories that come to mind?
Rizwan today
Once, while returning from a walk with a friend, a person in need asked him for money. Rafi Saab gave him rupees without counting. His friends asked why he gave money without counting. Rafi Saab replied in a dignified manner, “if the almighty is giving me rupees without counting, why would I not give someone in need, without counting.”
What do you think motivated him to maintain such a high standard?
Dada loved singing. I think that love and passion for his art is why. He would always think to himself he could have added something or done the song better.
Is there any one part of his remarkable story that is your favourite?
For me, I think it would have to be the live shows. I was able to attend here in the UK back in 1978/1979. I was lucky enough to accompany dada to some song recordings while visiting Mumbai. Whether on stage or in a studio, he was remarkable.
Tell us something not many people know about him.
In his spare time, dada loved to play badminton and carrom. During kite season, he would be on the roof terrace and everyone in the local area would know dada was flying his distinctive black kite. He loved food, especially sweets (even though he was a diabetic). If he would see the grandchildren eating sweets, he would quietly say “may I have some, but don’t tell dadi”.
Tell us about his London connection.
I think London for dada was a getaway from the Bollywood hustle bustle. He was a regular visitor to London and my parents’ house would be the first stop, as we lived and still do, very close to Heathrow airport. Dada liked shopping and would make trips to London’s Oxford Street. Dada also had a great love of cars. I can remember when the Audi 100 was out, he had a blue one shipped back to Bombay.
This year is his 100th birth anniversary. Will you be doing anything to mark it?
I am part of a small singing club called MKC (Monday Karaoke Club), which is a meeting place for those who love golden oldies. We are doing a small show each month this year remembering dada. The plan is to finish off the year with a large show, which is still in the planning.
How do you feel about all the tribute concerts?
I feel very proud and excited to see the whole world remembering my wonderful grandfather.
You have a lot of great unseen photos of him and a treasure trove of information. Are there any plans for a book or exhibition?
I would love to do something, I’m sure that all the fans and those who appreciate history would like to see these. Maybe somewhere in the future the plans for a book and exhibition will fall in place.
Do you have a final thought?
Many have said they would love to sing like Mohammed Rafi Saab. I would say that no one will ever sing like him. There will only be one Mohammed Rafi. But please ‘be like Rafi’. The humble human being, who was modest, simple, god fearing, kindhearted and showed love to others. Words to describe him are simply not enough.
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A seated Jain enlightened teacherAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
Ganesha from JavaAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
A Chinese silk painting depicting the BuddhaAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
ArdhanarishvaraAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
Head of a grimacing yakshaAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
NagaAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
The Bimaran casketAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
Hunia Chawla
A still from rehearsal
The cast of Marriage Material in key moments from the play, including Avita Jay, Kiran Landa, Omar Malik, Irfan Shamji and Anoushka Deshmukh
Sathnam Sanghera’s 'Marriage Material' adapted into bold new play on conformity
The play Marriage Material at the Lyric Hammersmith Theatre is Gurpreet Kaur Bhatti’s adaptation of Sathnam Sanghera’s novel of the same name, which first came out in 2013.
She is lucky to have Iqbal Khan direct Marriage Material. The play, a co-production with the Birmingham Rep, is set in the late 1960s. Mr and Mrs Bains (played by Jaz Singh Deol and Avita Jay) run a corner shop in Wolverhampton. Their younger daughter, Surinder (Anoushka Deshmukh), is 16, her sister Kamaljit (Kiran Landa) is just a bit older.
They have a neighbour, Patwant Dhanda (Irfan Shamji), who, as we shall soon see, is not a very pleasant man. In fact, he comes across just as racist as Enoch Powell, who represented Wolverhampton South West for the Tories from 1950 to 1974.
It will be recalled this was a time when Sikhs working on the buses were told they couldn’t wear a turban. That was a hard-fought battle that had to be won.
The Bains, meanwhile, simply want to get their girls married off.
Nothing new here, I thought.
What makes the tale different is that the plot twists and turns down the generations. Mr Dhanda, who has the makings of a paedophile, makes a pitch for one of the girls when Mr Bains dies early in the play. “A life with no man in the house is no life,” he informs the newly widowed Mrs Bains.
Mr Dhanda has a wife but she has returned to India so he considers himself to be a free man.
Surinder’s English teacher from school, Miss Flanagan (Celeste Dodwell), who is also head of the fifth form, tells Mrs Bains about her daughter: “I don’t want to embarrass you, but she is bright. Ridiculously bright.”
She adds: “Mrs Bains, I think it would be a pity if Surinder didn’t stay on at school.” The initial response from Mrs Bains is not encouraging: “Too much education makes people’s brains get mixed up, they don’t sleep at night…”
But she is finally persuaded that Surinder should be allowed to stay on for a while longer before being married off.
Mr Bains was very old school. When Surinder confides she would one day like to be “a somebody”, he is amused that “my daughter wants to be a somebody”.
“Like you,” she tells her father.
Mr Bains consoles his daughter: “We will find a somebody for you to marry.”
At the point of a possible marriage, however, Surinder is sweet-talked by chocolate salesman Jim Wilson (Tommy Belshaw) into running away with him. They share a love of literature, and he calls her “Sue Bains”. But the relationship does not end well.
Once she has left, Surinder is written off as “dead” by her family. The story that is circulated is that she was only 16 when she was killed in a car crash. That’s better than to let on that she ran off with a white man.
By the time she is reconciled with her sister towards the end of the play, a great deal has changed. Kamaljit married Tanvir Banga (Omar Malik), a young man who helped out in the Bains’ corner shop. When the two sisters meet again, Tanvir has also died. But he and Kamaljit had a son, Arjan Banga (Jaz Singh Deol doubles up for this role after the death of Mr Bains). He has come home after his father’s death to help his mother who is still running the family corner shop.
Meanwhile, Mr Dhanda’s business has prospered. He now has a son, Ranjit Dhanda (the role is taken by Omar Malik after Tanvir’s death), and he is nearly as unpleasant as his father.
Arjan has an English fiancée, Claire (Celeste Dodwell). In London, Arjan worked as a creative director. But after deciding to stay in Wolverhampton to help his mother, he decides he cannot marry Claire because she is white. In other words, Asians are not free of racism, either. Happily, at the end, the couple are reconciled.
As for Surinder, she parted company with Jim Wilson after realising he was all talk, depended on her for money and had failed to earn a penny from his literary pretensions. She had prospered, though, as a hotel owner and had been transformed in time into a well-groomed businesswoman. After being tracked down by Arjan, she decides to return to her roots in Wolverhampton and help Kamaljit run the family corner shop. Perhaps 50 years had passed during the passage of the play.
Being subjected to racism turned some Asians into racists themselves. The word goreh (white person) is repeatedly spat out with venom. Maybe it is worth remembering the play’s audience isn’t exclusively Asian – white folk are watching as well. And maybe some of the toilet humour ridiculing white people, which always makes me cringe, could be cut out.
In Sanghera’s novel, there is a quote from Enoch Powell’s speech in November 1968: “The West Indian or Asian does not, by being born in England, become an Englishman. In law he becomes a United Kingdom citizen by birth; in fact, he is a west Indian or an Asian still... he will by the very nature of things have lost one country without gaining another, lost one nationality without acquiring a new one. Time is running out against us and them. With the lapse of a generation or so we shall at last have succeeded – to the benefit of nobody – in reproducing ‘in England’s green and pleasant land’ the haunting tragedy of the US.”
In Marriage Material, where the acting is marvellous (apart from Mr Dhanda’s Indian mannerisms and accent being overdone) we do travel across a couple of generations.
There is a scene when Tanvir rejects Mr Dhanda’s vision of creating a little Punjab in Wolverhampton.
Mr Dhanda wants to take over the Bains’ corner shop and is putting pressure on Tanvir to sign the papers. He says: “In this country, money is the path to freedom.”
“Sign, please,” he instructs Tanvir. “We must make sure our children learn to behave nicely, according to our rules.”
He insists: “We maintain our identity so we can be ourselves.”
Tanvir disagrees: “We can be us here. With the goreh.”
Dhanda warns him: “Then we will be inviting chaos.”
Tanvir’s comment is telling: “You sound like Enoch.”
Kamaljit, who is expecting a baby with her husband Tanvir, says: “I would like my child to grow up knowing the history of the Gurus and to read the Granth Sahib. And to love their culture.”
Tanvir tells his wife: “I would like my child to go to the finest schools, to cheer for England in the World Cup and eat Yorkshire pudding on a Sunday.”
Kamaljit sets out a dream that has perhaps come to pass with many third and fourth generation British Asians: “Maybe our child can do both.” Much, much later, in a throwback to the past, we learn of Surinder’s O-level results: “Biology A, Chemistry A, English Language A, English Literature A, French A, History B, Latin A, Mathematics A, Physics A…”
Kamaljit tells her younger sister: “Never mind about the B.”
And that is quintessentially Asian. Their acting is outstanding.
Marriage Material is at the Lyric Hammersmith Theatre until June 21, and at the Birmingham Rep from June 25-July 5