I’ve been a proud Kishore Kumar fan ever since I’ve heard him on the Binaca Geetmala at the age of 11. The programme used to be for a duration of half an hour and was later extended to an hour. I was mesmerised by that voice in songs like Jeevan ke safar mein (Munimji, 1955). He didn’t sing for any other hero except Dev Anand (perhaps with the only exception when in Pyar Ka Mausam, 1969, he sang Tum bin for Bharat Bhushan). It was only in the late 60s, a tornado was unleashed in the form of Kishore Kumar in Aradhana and then there was no looking back.

Kishore’s voice had a certain “sophistication” and westernised quality which the urban middle class loved. They were the ones going to the theatres then and spending money. His urbane voice appealed to them. It was like a sharp arrow from a taut bow that pierced the soul. There was a “persona” to his voice- be it a happy song or a sad song. Mohd Rafi saab too was a master singer whose range is unparalleled. I consider Rafi saab the first real playback singer in the world because he used to change his voice quality and style to match the voice of the actor who would lip sync that particular song.

Kishore da, who was known for his light-hearted, romantic and some funny songs with his “yodelling”, was equally effective in sad songs. Kishore’s voice in contrast was free flowing, like I mentioned, almost westernised. Perhaps his lack of classical training too contributed to his freewheeling voice. I can only hazard a guess.

It is shocking that in a population of 140 billion people we are yet to find a voice that comes anywhere close to Kishore da’s voice. In fact, every time Shankar the composer and I sit down to write and compose a song we wonder aloud only if Kishore da had sung our song.

You see, the flexibility in his voice, whether it is Dukhi man mere (Funtoosh, 1956) or Kiska rasta dekhe (Joshila, 1973). If he could be deeply melancholic, then he would also sing gibberish and make you roll with laughter. No singer with the exception of say the formidable voice of Asha Bhosle could match him note to note. You hear the duets together. That’s magic.

My life’s first song ever Dekha ek khwab (Silsila, 1981) was sung by him. And with that one song my career as a lyricist took off.

He liked me a lot, perhaps it was also my sense of humour which he too possessed in spades. He was so humorous and funny. He would keep us entertained for hours. Of course he was at least 20 years senior to me and it was a matter of privilege for him to be singing my songs or to be acquainted with him.

I remember he was in the recording booth and he was singing Zindagi aa raha (Mashaal, 1984). So me who was sitting outside pointed out that he was unnecessarily stressing on the word “hai”. He joked and insisted that I show him how to sing the line. I was so mortified and we all had a good laugh about it.

Around the time we recorded for Saagar (1985), he had suffered a heart attack and we were very worried if he would be able to sing our songs. Technology had progressed a lot by then and even for a duet we could record the singers separately and match their voices together. For the Yun hi gaate raho song, we recorded SP Balasubramaniam who himself was a musical genius. He sang separately and then left for Chennai. I was astounded by his singing. Balasubramaniam was absolutely smashing brilliant. As a Kishore fan I was worried. A few days later Dada came to the studio, heard the song which Pancham I think sang to him on the harmonium. He learnt his lines and went straight for the take. The way he sang! He hit it out of the park. You please hear the song again, you will never be able to say this peerless singer had just recorded this song after a heart attack. I was beyond relieved.

But behind the practical jokes and fun persona was a deeply hurt man. I think his formative years at Bombay Talkies weren’t happy. Ashok Kumar his older brother was the shining superstar and usually the younger sibling is not taken seriously. I’m told lots of mean and uncharitable things were said to him. They said he was no good and should return back to Khandwa.

I remember Yusuf bhai, an assistant of Kamal Amrohi on Mahal (1949) used to tell me he would be drumming away happily on the tables of the Bombay Talkies canteen and people would pass snide and cutting remarks. I guess he stored up all that deep hurt.

I remember him telling me that he wanted to be buried in Khandwa. He used to say funerals in Bombay are like film premieres—everyone is only celebrity spotting and looking at which star arrived and clapping.

Years later I received the Kishore Kumar award from the Madhya Pradesh government in Kishore da’s hometown Khandwa. It’s wonderful that his legacy is preserved there and his songs continue to be played with love and affection. So many songs come rushing to my mind but for now I’m happy in the memories of the Amir Garib (1974) song…. Main aaya hoon khwaab mein…