Abhijeet Sawant: K Jo’s on the Line

These days, Sawant hops from TV appearances (Jassi, C.I.D and Kaisa Ye Pyar Hai) to dance rehearsals and live shows (he travels 12 days a month). ‘‘Acche paise mil rahen hain,’’ says the singer, who charges between Rs 1 lakh to 1.5 lakh per show.

He says he’s already received three Bollywood offers, the latest being a comic role alongside Maharashtra Chief Minister Vilasrao Deshmukh’s son Riteish. ‘‘It’s a big production,’’ he adds, letting each word roll off his tongue slowly.

HIS family complains that Sawant doesn’t spend any time at home. ‘‘He used to hover around me all the time or play cricket right here,’’ says mother Manisha, who misses feeding him kheema and Konkan fish curry.

It’s one of those rare days when Sawant is in town (still in bed because of another late night), at his Shahunagar residence in Mahim. Here, the buildings rest cheek by jowl, and the lanes turn neatly at right angles. There’s a splash of blue and orange amidst all that grey—a six-foot poster of the man staring down from his second floor balcony.

‘‘If he wasn’t a singer, he’d probably be a sound recordist,’’ says father Sridhar, a municipal superintendent in charge of rent recovery and other property issues. But he ensured that Sawant had a BCom degree as back-up before he ventured into showbiz.

Uncle Sanjay, well-known in the stage show circuit with an orchestra to his name, trained Sawant before his big break and has been an important influence. ‘‘One day, the Sawant family should earn a name like the Mangeshkars,’’ dreams Manisha.

In the one bedroom apartment, one flaky wall is covered with a large Indian Idol poster, and images of Sawant peep out of several frames from every corner of the tiny living room. The meaning of publicity has sunk in for the family, as TV crews regularly drop in for a quick byte.

There have been others too. One irate father, for instance, walked in insisting that the Idol marry his daughter after Sawant signed the girl’s autograph. ‘‘Another man came with his daughter’s biodata and photograph, but I sent him away telling him that my son will marry only after three years,’’ says Manisha, who’s already zeroed in on a bride.

Finally, Sawant’s up and after a quick breakfast of chapati and home-made mango pickle, is ready for work. ‘‘I always drive myself,’’ he says, backing up his metallic grey Honda City.

Some children playing cricket on a makeshift pitch in front of his house yell, ‘‘Ei Abhijeet’’. Another group saunters in for a closer look.

As he drives out of the lanes, children run after his car, banging on the sides, yelling for attention. He’s treated differently at home too. ‘‘I’m mostly soft-spoken, like my mother, but now I get angry sometimes when I’m being dominated,’’ he says breaking into tapori Hindi, ‘‘Aajkal thoda zyaada fame ho gaya hai na.’’

THE next day, Sawant learns some moves at choreographer Ganesh Acharya’s dance academy for a live show in Delhi. Stepping outside for a breather, Sawant is sure he can’t handle the fast steps to match the edgy notes in Dum. ‘‘I can’t dance,’’ says Sawant.

But he’s loose limbed and moves easily on the dance floor. A dance instructor calls out over Sandeep Chowta’s vocals, ‘‘Glide, 1-2-3 stop, lift shoulder.’’ Dancers in ganjees and tracks lounge around watching Sawant with a critical eye. It’s his first day at the rehearsals. ‘‘Arre, he’s got good pick-up,’’ mumbles one long-haired dancer, as Sawant preens and practises in front of the mirrored walls. The crowds will lap it up.

Sawant has started looking beyond his two-year contract with Sony, but is still fixated with his idol. ‘‘I’d like to be where Sonuji (Nigam) is today.’’