Imagine this: a man who once cherished a dream of becoming a professional singer but could not make it a reality. Decades later, his favourite singer ends up staying with him and even offers to teach him songs. But as fate would have it, the man had to turn down the offer, citing a lack of time.
It feels like a scene plucked straight from the pages of an O Henry story. Yet, this isn’t a tale of fiction – it is a slice of the remarkable and dramatic life of Rajnikumar Pandya, the iconic Gujarati writer and passionate music lover, who died in Ahmedabad on March 15.
Pandya was a literary giant – an exceptional short-story writer, an accomplished novelist and a master of compact and elaborated evocative profiles. He was deeply admired by readers across generations.
But beyond the world of letters, Pandya was deeply enamoured with the golden era of Hindi film music and the soul-stirring private compositions performed by artists like Jagmohan, Talat Mehmood, Mukesh and Manna Dey. His personal connections with legendary artists of yesteryear infused his writing with an intimate charm, making them a treasure trove of vivid anecdotes and profound insights into their personalities – rendered with the finesse that only a storyteller of his calibre could achieve.
His anthology of articles, Aapki Parchhaiyaan, was first published in Gujarati in 1995. It was subsequently translated into Hindi under the same title and into English as Intimate Impressions. While the translations may not fully convey the unparalleled brilliance of Pandya’s original prose, they still manage to provide a window into his distinctive artistry and storytelling genius.
The singer who offered to give Pandya lessons was Jagonmay Mitra – known affectionately as Jagmohan “Sursagar”. He was celebrated for his romantic songs in both Hindi and Bengali. Pandya held Jagmohan in high regard and eventually got to meet him in his home in Mumbai. During this encounter, Pandya became aware of the hardships the singer was facing in the later years of his life.
True to his kind and magnanimous nature, Pandya did not just stop at empathy. He arranged a performance for Jagmohan in Ahmedabad, hosting him in his modest two-bedroom flat for months and then getting him his own place downstairs.
During this time, Jagmohan would often say, Rajni, let me teach you my songs. Pandya possessed a soulful voice and an intuitive grasp of sur that belied his lack of formal training. Among friends, he would effortlessly bring to life the timeless melodies of Talat Mehmood, Hemant Kumar and Jagmohan, leaving his audience spellbound.
Yet, beneath the charm of his singing lingered an unspoken yearning – a deep regret that he could not become a singer.
But when Jagmohan offered to mentor him, it was too late. He was in his fifties, too tied up with his busy schedule as a public figure and the demands of writing a serialised novel for a Gujarati weekly Chitralekha. All he could manage with an ironic smile was to quote a couplet of Shakeel Badayuni:
“Main nazar se pee raha tha to dil ne ye bad-dua di/
Tera haath zindgai bhar kabhi jam tak na pahunche.”As I was getting drunk at the mere sight of it, my heart whispered a wicked curse/
May you never get your hands on the object of your intoxication.
Poet Pradeep shared a deep camaraderie with Pandya and their freewheeling conversations often uncovered fascinating details. In one such exchange, Pradeep said after he was dismissed by the production house Filmistan in the 1940s, though still contractually barred from working elsewhere, he wrote songs for four films under the pseudonym “Miss Kamal, BA”.
Through Pradeep, Pandya would meet NR Acharya, the acclaimed director of Bombay Talkies classics such as Bandhan, Azad and Naya Sansar. It was Acharya who had introduced a young Pradeep to the heads of Bombay Talkies, setting the stage for his illustrious career.
Over time, Pandya fostered a close bond with Pradeep’s family, and in gratitude, Pradeep urged him to write about Acharya, his mentor in the film industry. He took Pandya to Acharya’s bungalow, a meeting that culminated in a captivating article rich with rare details and photographs, offering an intimate glimpse into the life of a forgotten stalwart.
Pandya’s passion for music was especially attuned to the era of the 1940s to 1960s. Among the iconic voices of that time, Shamshad Begum stood as a towering figure in the 1940s, celebrated for her powerful vocal and amazing range. However, with Lata Mangeshkar’s rise to prominence, Shamshad’s songs gradually diminished, and age also took its toll on her voice. She withdrew from the limelight, avoiding interviews and public appearances entirely.
Yet, Pandya succeeded in securing an extensive interview with Shamshad Begum – an extraordinary feat. With the assistance of music collector friends, he even curated a video compilation of some of her finest songs and gifted it to the singer ,who did not have many of those songs.
Years later, when Shamshad Begum visited Ahmedabad as the chief guest of the Gramophone Club, she graciously agreed to give us an interview upon Pandya’s request. My brother and I had a memorable conversation with her.
Pandya’s commitment to unearthing and celebrating forgotten voices extended to another star of a bygone era – GM Durrani, a singer whose style deeply influenced a young Mohammed Rafi. Pandya visited Durrani twice, building a connection with the overlooked artist. Tragically, Durrani passed away just a day after their second meeting, but not before gifting Pandya rare photographs of himself and his contemporaries.
Pandya’s in-depth article on Jaikishan (of the music composer pair Shankar-Jaikishan) stands as a remarkable example of his reporting and storytelling prowess. After traveling to Jaikishan’s native Vansada in South Gujarat and engaging with his family, Pandya wove together a long piece that seamlessly blended historical facts with vivid anecdotes, intertwining past and present.
While the name of the pair was universally celebrated, Pandya’s article offered an unprecedented glimpse into Jaikishan’s personal world, offering details that had previously remained unknown. The Hindi film magazine Madhuri recognised the brilliance of this piece and translated it, publishing it alongside other works of Pandya.
In the later years of his life, Pandya had the opportunity to meet the legendary Dev Anand, and the two formed a meaningful bond. Intrigued by the story of Pandya’s most celebrated Gujarati novel, Kunti, Dev Anand expressed his desire to acquire its rights. However, Pandya believed he had already sold the rights for a Hindi television adaptation. By the time he realised he could still grant the rights for a film, it was too late.
When the iconic music composer Anil Biswas visited Ahmedabad with his singer-wife Meena Kapoor at Pandya’s invitation, Biswas told him, “You have a wonderful voice.” Though it was a kind compliment, it stirred the dormant embers of Pandya’s unfulfilled dream of singing. Nevertheless, he channeled his talent as a writer, becoming the voice of forgotten musicians, deserving institutions and unsung people, all while nurturing his deep connection with music and its makers.
At the memorial prayer meeting for Rajnikumar Pandya on March 20, a poignant moment unfolded when the song Zindagi Khwab Hai from the film Chhoti Chhoti Baaten was played. As the hauntingly beautiful voice of Mukesh sang Alvida, Alvida, Alvida, it offered a fitting farewell to a man whose soul resonated with music, who could recite hundreds of songs from memory and whose enduring legacy was ultimately rooted in his craft as a writer.
Urvish Kothari is a Gujarati writer, satirist and publisher.
