Alisha Chinai : Long Time, No See

Dhoom II. No Entry. Strangely, Chinai herself appears nonchalant about her comeback. ‘‘It’s my backdoor entry into the industry. Solo was just not happening, so after being tucked away here for five years, I realised it was time. When Ehsaan (of Shankar, Ehsaan and Loy, who’ve been her friends since her jingle days) called for this song, I agreed,” she says.

A self-proclaimed follower of Osho, Chinai is convinced that she was destined to be a recluse. Even as she insists on a “Vogue-like” frame for the camera (dressed in all-black, sitting on a zebra-skin rug), she is almost obsessed with her own spiritual preservation—‘‘You come alone, you go alone’’, ‘‘I’ve taken too many wrong decisions, but I was meant to, because this is the person I was supposed to become’’, ‘‘I have no shades of grey anymore’’—it’s an endless litany. Yet, there’s an endearing earnestness behind it all.

Chinai’s sassy voice has had takers all along. Music directors Vishal-Shekhar recently gave her the lilting ballad Tinka Tinka for the film Karam. Dil Ko Hazaar Bar from Murder is vintage Alisha. Kajra Re was just another, except that the three A’s involved turned it into an anthem (Chinai insists it is the four A’s, Alisha included). She has reasons not to count on playback singing—‘‘the money sucks and I see myself as a performer. I’m a solo artist, not somebody’s voice.’’ Her ‘‘backdoor entry’’ may have raked in whopping figures for Yash Raj Music, but Chinai received a paltry down payment of Rs 15,000. ‘‘That’s why hits are so rare in the playback industry. If you pay peanuts, you only get monkeys!’’ she says. The singer packs in her trademark one-liners even to the most banal conversation.

Industry associates are also seeing a new Alisha. They believe that the brash, brutally honest baby doll has given way to a poised singer, seasoned in political correctness. She shares a professional rapport with Anu Malik, on whom she slapped a sexual harassment case five years ago. Chinai recalls, ‘‘That case was not about money. He was being too overbearing and it was my way of sending out a message. I just wanted to say, ‘don’t mess with me’. We still create magic musically.’’ Vishal Dadlani (of the music director duo Vishal-Shekhar), who picked her for Tinka Tinka, says, ‘‘Alisha is no longer an aspiring Madonna. She’s more comfortable with what she is and what her place in the industry is. The best part is that the edginess in her voice has not only lasted, but perfected.’’

Chinai doesn’t hesitate to admit that her personal circumstances spill over to her songs. The edge that Ehsaan talks about has been brewing ever since Sujata, a teenager, woke up one morning and decided to wipe out her past. First, the name changed to Alisha, then came serious, desperate showbiz aspirations—not quite flattering to her conservative Gujarati joint family. ‘‘I left home many times because my family could never figure out why I wanted to be a performer.’’ A role in Alyque Padamsee’s musical Evita opened doors for modelling (Chinai featured in a Close-Up ad with Salman Khan, also a rookie then). Even Vicco Vajradanti wooed her. Baby Doll, the album, kicked off her musical career that consummated in Biddu’s Made in India, a song that Nazia Hasan refused. The rest is a journey through three failed albums, failed relationships and Osho.

The new Alisha Chinai is cut off from her family, is single and over the trauma of a failed marriage. Says businesswoman Vidhi Dalal, Chinai’s close confidante and friend, ‘‘Alisha is still every bit the diva. Nothing gets her going than her fans and a hit. She has lived life on her own terms, but she is also extremely gullible. In a way, she’s still the simple Gujarati girl inside.’’ Chinai is still comfortably cocooned. ‘‘My biggest fear is that I will be cheated by people. I’ve got duped many times with money. And by men. So I am very guarded now,’’ she says, in a candid moment. ‘‘Even from my family,’’ she continues, ‘‘because your parents may be unconditional in their love, but they have the power to hurt you as well.’’ Her father, now in his 70s, does not speak about Alisha’s success. Her siblings—a brother and a sister—have lost touch with her.

A photo shoot is rare in Alisha’s bungalow. Coco could be more than vicious—‘‘he could bite you all off,’’ she says. But once the shutter starts clicking, baby doll, diva, gullible Gujarati girl Sujata are one. ‘‘Please slim out the edges, Subi (Samuel) always does that. I love Renoir, the painter, because he only paints plump women,’’ she says, at her self-mocking best. Different frames of an old Farrokh Chothia shoot in black-and-white rest on side tables in her living room and four bedrooms. She is on a diet, her short hair is back in place. Alisha Chinai is getting ready for a long haul. Most probably, not as baby doll. Your bet is as good as ours.