Sultan of Sorrow

As we enter Saigal’s centenary year in April, India will commemorate the cult singer who turned playback singing into an art. ‘‘Saigal made singing a serious profession. Before him people would see singers as mere gawaiyas,’’ says Latafat Kazi, director (culture) of Nehru Centre, Mumbai which has planned a week-long tribute (soirées, talks and a biographical play) to Saigal next month.

Born in Jammu, Saigal would have ended up becoming a bard in the court of the Maharaja of Jammu and Kashmir, Pratap Singh (his father was employed there). But Saigal felt stifled and fled home at 12. He became a railway linesman, and later sold Remington typewriters before heading to the then dream destination of all actors/singers—New Theatre in Calcutta. Employed at a princely sum of Rs 200 per month, he went on to render many memorable numbers, including Karu Kya Aas Niras Bhayi (Dushman), Do Naina Matware (Meri Bahan), Diya Jalao (Tansen), Ek Bangla Bane Nyara (President) and Duniya Rangrangili (Dhartimata).

Moving to Mumbai in 1941, Saigal took the Mecca of Hindi movies by storm, most notably with the Naushad-composed Jab Dil Hi Toot Gaya. A generation of playback singers, from Hemant Kumar to Mukesh to Mohammed Rafi, were influenced by his style.

Clones of Saigal too have made a fortune out of singing his songs. Rajendra Zaveri, a diamond merchant and an amateur singer in Mumbai, holds regular soirées of Saigal. Distributing printed songs among the audience, he makes the listeners sing with his troupe. ‘‘From eight-year-olds to 80, they all sing with me. He never went out of fashion,’’ says Zaveri. Nalin Shah, who has made a documentary on Saigal, calls him a self-taught singer who never followed any rules. ‘‘He did what he believed in. He would drink like crazy and no one could do anything about it,’’ says Shah who has extensively interviewed Saigal’s family and friends.

Few sang ghazals like Saigal did. Listen to his rendition of Ghalib’s Nukta Cheen Hai Gham-i-dil (My heart’s sorrow is my critic), and other voices pale in comparison. ‘‘He made the ghazal sound like a requiem,’’ says Abdul Ali, Cine Society’s secretary and founder of the Saigal Memorial Trust, who met Saigal only once in the late 1930s at, where else, ‘‘a maikhana (bar)’’.

Saigal acted in 36 films, and left a lasting impression on the silver screen, especially with the portrayal of a doomed lover in PC Barua’s Devdas. Dilip Kumar and Shah Rukh Khan might have played Devdas at different points of time, but it was Saigal’s role as Sharatchandra Chatterjee’s hopeless, confused hero that became a metaphor.

An incurable slave to liquor, Saigal was ultimately consumed by it. ‘‘I told him he could sing better without being drunk. Lekin tabtak bahut der ho chuki thi (By then it was too late),’’ rued Naushad at a function in Mumbai some months ago. ‘‘He lived with his kaali paanch (Saigal’s code word for his bottle) and died with it.’’