THIS week marks the death anniversary of one of Bollywood’s greatest male-playback singers Mohammed Rafi, who sadly passed away on July 31, 1980, after suffering a heart attack.
Despite being only 55 when he died, the magically voiced icon left behind a magnificent body of work that continues to entertain audiences and inspire music artists.
The thousands of songs, including alltime classics, remain a permanent part of popular culture and why he will always be remembered globally.
With Manna Dey
Eastern Eye decided to celebrate the singer with a heaven-sent voice by collecting tributes that have been paid to him across the decades from legends, including those who have passed away.
Manna Dey: He was such a gentleman. He was a better singer than me, and I will say this, that no one came even close to him. He deserved everything he got. We had a great understanding, and it was never about one-upmanship.
Asha Bhosle: The beauty of Rafi saab is that right from the door of the studios, he would start wishing everyone, ‘aadab’. He would never fight with anyone. If anyone said something to him, he would stay quiet and would not answer. I would get irritated. I would ask him why he would not answer back. He would then tell me to let it go, there was no point in replying. Woh Allah ke aadmi the (he was a man of god). He would never praise himself – the pride of his popularity would not even show on his face.
With Kishore Kumar
Sonu Nigam: Rafi saab is god to me. I have grown up listening to him and imitating him in my early years.
Kishore Kumar: I had great regard for Rafi – a singer of a rare calibre.
Jagjit Singh: Rafi saab had immense versatility and an ability to take on the personality of the hero on whom the song was filmed. Every time you hear a Rafi song, you see the hero, you can vividly put in place the situation and correctly access the mood.
Nitin Mukesh: Among his contemporaries, my father’s (Mukesh) favourite singer was Mohammed Rafi. He loved Rafi saab’s voice and believed that nobody could replace him.
Khayyam: Rafi saab was the pride of India. His voice and memories are still with us even though his body has left us.
Amitabh Bachchan: What can one possibly say on one that possessed perfection.
OP Nayyar: I loved Mohammed Rafi. His death was a big loss to me. When I composed for Shammi Kapoor or Johnny Walker, he managed to sound like them. He sang so many wonderful songs for me. Rafi miyan was a wonderful person. Nobody can ever be compared to him.
With Asha Bhosle
Raj Kapoor: In the world of music, the uncrowned king of singing has left us.
Manmohan Desai: Mohammed Rafi – I worship this man. I’ve been his greatest fan – I should call it ‘devotee’. Ever since I was a kid, I remember I used to go to his recordings, hear him, and I used to go and touch his feet. And then, when my films started, he sang all my songs. And I personally feel he died at a very young. I feel it was the voice of a god. And the gods wanted to hear him personally, that is why they took him up so young.
Naushad: He earned respect, and his popularity touched the sky. The magic of his voice enthralled the whole world. His popularity, respect and wealth all increased tremendously, yet he always remained modest. Like a fruit-bearing tree, the more he fructified, the more he bent in front of the world. His heart was filled with fear of god and the love for truth. Generosity and altruism were part of his system. god and truth were the only sources of inspiration for him.
With Lata Mangeshkar
Lata Mangeshkar: What a voice. It could move mountains. When I sang with Rafi saab I had to be on my toes. His knowledge of the ragas and Hindustani classical sangeet made him formidable in the recording room. We took up very challenging compositions together and I’m proud to say we came out with flying colours.
Anand Bakshi: Even today when I write something I imagine how it would sound if Rafi saab had sung it. His place can never be filled again.
Laxmikant: He was a great human being. He would never ask what he was going to be paid for a song. Apart from waving off payments, he even helped producers financially. He’d help out the needy. He always gave without thinking of the returns. Once Rafi recorded six songs in a day for us. Imagine, he could memorise six songs in a day! And he could do this at live recordings and not through the easy dubbing method that’s on today.
The demand for Mohammed Rafi’s songs is phenomenal. No other singer, not even Lata Mangeshkar, has been able to attract such a tremendous following. It’s almost as if he were still alive.
Shammi Kapoor: When I was told Rafi saab had passed away, I wept. I felt like my voice had been taken away. But he was immortal, and his beautiful voice will be there forever, with the melodious songs he left us. He sang them in a way only he could. I miss him dearly.
Pankaj Udhas: I remember there was heavy rain when I heard about the passing of Rafi it was as if the sky was weeping. Whatever you say about him will never be enough. All I can say is that it was a blessing to have met Rafi saab, heard him sing many times and seen him record. I feel fortunate to have made those moments with him. I listened to him since childhood and learned a lot listening to him.
Dilip Kumar: Mohammed Rafi had the god-given ability to mould and adapt his rendering of a number according to the given situation in the film, the characters, mood of the time, the overall nature and disposition of the character in the film and the milieu of the film.
Dev Anand: Rafi saab is indeed immortal and will always be around and in our hearts and soul. I admire his voice and range immensely.
The actor’s evolving style from youth to maturity getty images
Aamir Khan embracing vintage looks with classic charmgetty images
Bold and dramatic changes defining Aamir Khan’s careergetty images
From rugged to refined Aamir Khan’s versatile appearancesgetty images
Memorable film moments showcasing Aamir Khan’s unique stylegetty images
Aamir Khan’s blend of classic and contemporary fashiongetty images
Aamir Khan’s dedication to authentic character portrayals getty images
Cinematic milestones reflected in Aamir Khan’s on-screen imagegetty images
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