Long before satellite TV had gatecrashed into our homes, long before iPods became child’s play and YouTube was at your fingertips, the radio was the music lover’s shrine. And Ameen Sayani, a genie for lovers of Hindi film music, brought home their favourite tracks in his iconic countdown programme Binaca Geetmala (on Radio Ceylon – from 1952-1988 and on Vividh Bharati from 1989-1994). So hot was the hit parade that every Wednesday at 8 pm Sayani’s honeyed voice filtered through every bylane, every club. And much of the credit can go to Sayani’s warm, intimate approach. “My listeners are like family. I may be reaching out to multitudes but I speak as though I’m talking to just one individual,” shares the veteran who mesmerised a 20 crore audience with his signature address ‘Behenon aur bhaiyo…!’ “The best radio programme is the one you can see,” asserts the 70-year-old Sayani who still hosts shows.
With Filmfare his association goes back to the time when the award was called Clare Awards after The Times of India critic Clare Mendonca. “I did the radio commentary and the voiceover for the Filmfare Awards documentary,” reminisces Sayani whose timeless lilt can best be summed up in Gulzar’s lines, “Meri awaaz hi pehchan hai, gar yaad rahe (Kinara)…” In the master's voice...

RAJ KAPOOR

I first came to know Raj Kapoor when, as a school boy, he had participated in an inter-school competition. My elder brother Hamid Sayani (eminent broadcaster) was also a contestant. Though my brother’s speech was impactful, Raj Kapoor had his own style. Also, he had the aura of being Prithviraj Kapoor’s son. He kept joking and chewing gum and with all his nakhras walked away with the prize. Raj could charm anyone under the sun, he had that attractive a personality. I got to know Raj closely when I took on the publicity of his films right from Aah (1953). I remember watching Sangam (1964) with Raj sitting on one side and Rajendra Kumar on the other. However, I was not shown Mera Naam Joker (1970) before we began the publicity as it wasn’t ready for viewing. I was briefed by his team that this was Raj’s biggest film, so go to town about it, blow it up! I hosted the radio programmes with dhoom dhaam. I even delivered the title with flourish like Mera Naaaam Jokerrr...
Then one day Raj called me over to see the film. I realised it was a beautiful film but I’d been publicising it in the wrong way. I was saying it with gusto, when it needed an element of sadness. I shared my fears that the movie would suffer because of the wrong publicity, even as I toned down the rest of the promotion. The picture bombed!
Few years later Raj made Bobby (1973). I insisted on seeing Bobby much before we began the publicity. I said, ‘I love you too much to do anything silly again.’ I moulded the publicity of the film to suit its character. Fortunately, it went on to  become a huge hit.
Raj would be deeply involved with the music of his films. He’d barge into Shankar-Jaikishen’s studio to tell them what he wanted for a situation, even breaking into a song and jig. He played the dafli beautifully and even played it for a song recording and asked Shankar-Jaikishen a remuneration for it, of course in jest. The evenings spent at RK Studio in his room remain a warm memory.

MUKESH

Mukesh was one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. Once, a well-known organisation of highly influential people, had arranged a music show in India. Two shows were to be held on two consecutive days. The first one included Mukesh and Mahendra Kapoor and the next had composer C Ramchandra and Mukesh.
On the first day of the show, for some reason, there was a riot and lathi charge in the stadium. It took me an hour of ceaseless talking on the mike to pacify the crowd. The show was eventually conducted and it was a success. When we returned to the hotel, we asked Mukesh bhai, who was our leader, to call up and ask the organisers for the money. They said, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll pay you tomorrow’. Mahendra Kapoor left after the first day. The next day there was rioting again and a nine-year-old boy was injured in the lathi charge. I had to take over and soothe the angry crowd. The show began, it was a hit and we returned to the hotel. But there was no money or the organisers in sight. The hotel management refused to let us go without clearing the dues. Mukesh bhai, who had received some advance, cleared the hotel dues from his share. His magnanimity remains exemplary.

KISHORE KUMAR

Kishore Kumar was an unusual chapter in my life. One of my college friends introduced me to Kishoreda, she being a cousin of his first wife Ruma Guha Thakurta. Those days (early ’50s), I wanted to be a singer. Kishoreda and I became friends; we went for parties and picnics together. He’d take us around in his khatara (old) Chalti Ka Naam Gadi car. I’d ask him to sing my favourite number Jagmag jagmag karta nikla (Rimjhim, 1949) and he’d joke, “You want to hear Kishore Kumar without paying?”
Then I became a broadcaster. Geetmala started in 1952. I took bytes from musical personalities like Mohammed Rafi, Asha Bhosle and Lata Mangeshkar for the show. But Kishoreda kept stalling me saying ‘baad mein’. I was getting a bit cheesed off. Only 10 days were left for the tapes to be sent to Ceylon and I needed his inputs desperately. On being persistent, he asked me to come to a studio in the far off suburbs.
I reached there with my giant recorder. But I was stopped by a producer at the gate. He said sheepishly, “Kishore called me to say that he’ll only come to the studio to shoot for my film after you’ve come and gone.” I saw blood. I was hurt and broken. I made up my mind never to ask him for an interview again. I stopped meeting him.
But eight years later Kishoreda asked me to do the publicity of his films Door Gagan Ki Chaon Mein (1964), Door Ka Rahi (1971) and others. Yet
I never asked for an interview.
Later, I started the show Saridon Ke Saathi on Vividh Bharati. Kishoreda came to promote his film Badti Ka Naam Dadi (1974) on it. I asked him in a serious tone, “Didn’t you see two pehelwans (wrestlers) standing outside? They’ll beat you up if you don’t give me an interview.” Flabbergasted he replied, “So you’re taking badla.” I said yes. He then said, “You bore people. Go sit in the corner and let me conduct the interview. He went on to court martial himself, as Kishore the child, the youth and the adult. He levied charges on himself and also gave answers in his defense. He even played the judge in the voice of veteran Tiwari. This became the best interview of my career.

MADAN MOHAN

He was a schizophrenic – he had two distinct personalities. One was of the fabulous musician steeped into creativity. The other carried traits of his military training (he was once part of the army) - strong and kadak (strict). Even Lata, whom he called his sister, once told me, “If he liked a song, he’d give me a hard whack on my back and I’d be all shaken up.”  Madan often got into friendly fights. Once he fought with Om Prakash brandishing a chimta (tongs) and got down to blows. Even lyricist Raja Mehdi Ali Khan would have a mock fight saying, “Madan, I’ll ask my dog to bite you if you don’t compose well.” I remember Madan was grief-stricken when Raja passed away. He could reach only as people were covering up the grave.
Fate played against Madan all the time. He was one of our most outstanding musicians along with SD Burman and Roshan. But the top awards only went to Shankar Jaikishen, SD Burman and others. Once someone even asked Madan for a bribe to present him the award. He was livid about it. There was no question of juggling the list in Geetmala. Ciba and I were both strict about accuracy. We’d tally the sales list from the top 10 to 12 music shops all over India with the farmaish (request) list sent to us by the public. But I discovered there was rigging in the farmaishes – many postcards carried requests for the same song! The addresses would represent cities like Benares, Pune, Kohlapur… but when you turned around the postcards, you’d find the stamp of Kalbadevi Post Office in Mumbai. So I scrapped this farmaish list. Instead, we formed radio clubs in various cities, which sent us the popularity lists.
Madan’s songs never topped the charts. They reached the 2nd and 3rd position but never became No. 1. All songs of Anpadh (1962) made it to Geetmala. I’d praise his songs to the skies, hoping the sales would go up. They did but still never topped. Except after he passed away (1975). Koi pathar se na mare from Laila Majnu (1977) topped Geetmala. Though the song was not as good as his other great compositions, fate did bend a bit for Madan after his death.

ROSHAN

The only time I ever broke down was after the demise of the closest person in my life – composer Roshan. He was like an elder brother. He and his wife Ira Bhabhi (mother of director Rakesh Roshan and composer Rajesh Roshan) and my wife Rama and I formed a group. We went out for New Years and other festivals. After Barsaat Ki Ek Raat (1960) and Taj Mahal (1963), Roshan’s career skyrocketed. His songs topped Geetmala. He gave such soulful music.
Once when he was creating the music of Chitralekha (1964), he called Rama and me over. Before playing the tunes, he insisted, “Tumhein ek peg lena hoga.” Not being fond of drinks, I pleaded, “Roshan bhai mujhe nahin chahiye.” But he forced me to have it. My head started spinning. As he started playing song after song, all I could say was a lukewarm ‘theek hai’. The next day the incident was forgotten. Of course, I publicised the music of Chitraleka, in fact, I rate it as my favourite. Man re, Sansar se bhaage phirte ho, Cha gaye badal... all these are embedded in my heart. Years later, a few days after he passed away (1967), I went to visit Bhabhi. She reminded me of that evening and how all I said was ‘theek hai’. She further revealed that an upset Roshan bhai had wept saying, ‘Ameen didn’t like my songs’.” On hearing this I broke down too. “They’re the most outstanding songs I’ve ever heard. Why didn’t you tell me about this? I’d have reassured him,” I rued.
So, Roshan bhai was that sensitive. In fact, he could have suffered a heart attack both with extreme joy and sadness. When the annual programme of Geetmala was to be aired, Bhabhi had to prepare him for the finale continuously telling him that his songs were doing well. She believed he could suffer a heart attack even if his song topped the show!

AMITABH BACHCHAN

I was impressed by his performance and his voice in Anand (1971). I decided to go all out to promote all his films. But I reminded myself, ‘Don’t be stupid, this man is going to be a hit anyway’. Those days Amitabh, Jaya Bhaduri (he was dating her then) and Gulzar saab formed a lovely trio. Once they even came to record a programme on Hrishikesh Mukherjee with me. Then years later, I invited Amitabh as a chief guest for the Radio and Television Advertising Practitioners’ Association (RAPA) awards. In his speech, he mentioned that during his early days he had gone to a commercial broadcasting firm a few times for auditions but they were too busy to attend to him. And that’s why he didn’t become a broadcaster and became an actor instead.
After the show, I asked my wife Rama (she worked with me at Radio Ceylon) who Amitabh was referring to. Because ours was the only such company and I didn’t remember meeting him. She said there was this man who had come to meet me. I then recalled that my secretary had come saying someone called ‘Amita Bachchan’ had come. I asked him to come with an appointment. He came a second time but again without an appointment. I apologised saying I didn’t have the time to meet him.
In retrospect, whatever happened was for the best. Had I auditioned him, I’d have loved his voice and given him work. Soon my clients would have asked for him while I’d have been on the streets. But more so, the world would have missed the superstar of the millennium.

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