On August 4 this year Kishore Kumar would have turned 76. But he didn’t live that long. On October 13, 1987, at the age of 58, he suffered a fatal heart-attack. Cinematographer Aloke Dasgupta still can’t believe that his one-time benefactor and long-time friend is gone. He remembers their last meeting, 2-3 months before the ace singer and versatile actor-filmmaker departed. Kishore was very excited to see him and insisted on placing an order at a nearby restaurant. When wife Leena reminded him that the doctor had advised only home-cooked meals he insisted that since Dasgupta was visiting after a long time it was imperative that they celebrate by feasting on all their favourite dishes. Nothing would happen if he indulged for one day. “Kishore really loved good food,” Dasgupta smiles mistily.
The two of them tucked into a hearty lunch, then chatted late into the evening. After a while the conversation veered to their respective careers. After Badti Ka Naam Daadi Dasgupta who had been manning the camera for all of Kishore’s home productions, had started accepting outside offers. Kishore was an erratic filmmaker and when age caught up with him, he began concentrating on his singing. However, he didn’t like the idea of his friend being unavailable to him when he decided to launch another film. His decision, Dasgupta admits, caused a rift between him and Kishore and for a long time they were not in touch.
The impromptu visit bridged the breach. And when in answer to Kishore’s query, “Are you happy with the work you’ve done in all these years?”, Dasgupta answered in the affirmative, his friend confessed that he too had no regrets about the course his career had taken and they should let bygones be bygones. “I’ve been wanting to start another film. Do you have time? Will you work with me?” he asked Dasgupta hesitatingly who assured him that he would. Kishore then revealed that he was toying with the idea of a screen adaptation of a Samaresh Basu’s novel, Charitraheen. The proposal met with Dasgupta’s complete approval.
The two parted with Kishore assuring Dasgupta that he would hear from him soon. He didn’t. Then, on October 13, Dasgupta having wrapped up a shoot early was walking home at around 3 p.m. when he bumped into make-up man Anup Chatterjee. “Alokeda, what are you doing in Bandra?” Anup told him with a startled look. “You should be in Juhu. Your friend, Kishore Kumar is gone.”
Dasgupta immediately hailed a cab and drove straight to ‘Gauri Kunj’. Ashok Kumar, Anoop Kumar and RD Burman were already there. They had known that Kishore wasn’t keeping well and was taking a lot of medicines. But no one had expected him to pass away so soon.
Dasgupta met Kishore at Bombay Talkies Studio where he was an apprentice in the camera department. Kishore had come from Khandwa hoping Ashok Kumar would introduce him to his childhood idol KL Saigal in whose footsteps he planned to follow. To his surprised horror his acting career took off first with Shikari in ’46. It would be another two years before Khemchand Prakash would give him his long-desired break as a singer in Ziddi. The song, ‘Marne kee duaaen kyun maangoon...’ became very popular and Kishore finally broke into the competitive world of playback singing.
Meanwhile, his acting career counted to flourish. In ’51 Phani Mazumdar signed him opposite Manju in Andolan. Between ’51 and ’58 Kishore starred in 29 films. For a reluctant actor who did everything possible to avoid facing the camera including shaving off half his head, Kishore was a big crowd-puller and in ’56 he had as many as nine releases. The following year he was seen in Asha, Bandi, Begunah, Miss Mary and Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s directorial debut, Musafir. By the mid ’50s Kishore Kumar was a star while Aloke Dasgupta was still struggling.
“After Bombay Talkies shut shop it was hard to get work. Occasionally, I would bump into Kishore and he’d promise to help me out,” the cameraman recalls. His friend did get him 3-4 days work on one of his films and impressed, told Dasgupta he was good. The compliment was welcome but by then Dasgupta had decided to return home to Kolkata. Kishore stopped him by signing him for his first home production, a Bengali adaptation of the Shakesperean play Comedy Of Errors. Starring Mala Sinha and Anita it was directed by Kamal Mazumdar and shot entirely in Mumbai. It starred Kishore in a double role and for a scene that brought the identical twins face-to-face Dasgupta guided by ace cinematographer Radhu Karmakar, successfully attempted a masking job. Kishore was very impressed with the results.
Soon after Kishore launched his first Hindi film. Kamal Mazumdar was to directed Chalti Ka Naam Gaadi too but on the day of the mahurat he developed cold feet and a frantic Kishore rushed to his Bandi director, Satyen Bose’s house and dragged him to the studio telling him on the way that he would be calling the shots for his film. Bose was in for another surprise when Kishore dumped Dasgupta on him. He wasn’t keen on so young a cameraman but his producer coaxed Bose into trying him out for a couple of days. Reluctantly Bose agreed and after viewing the rushes had to admit that Dasgupta was good. “So I stayed on and CKNG was a turning point in my career. Had it not been for Kishore I might well have quit,” the cinematographer says queitly.
Kunjalal Ganguly had a 1928 Crysler that was a year older than his youngest son. Kishore made frequent trips from Khandwa to Mumbai to visit Ashok Kumar, his beloved baba at the wheel of the trusted vintage. From those never-forgotten, fun-filled drives CKNG blossomed. “Kishore not only roped his brothers, Dadamoni and Anoop to act in the film, even his first car was a part of the cast. Initially, we were to use it sparingly but Satyenda was so happy with it that he ended up using the vintage in a lot many sequences,” reveals Dasgupta.
He adds that most of the dialogue in the film is extempore. “All three brothers were very talented and often, a scene just happened. After it was canned Kishore would ask me if it had turned out okay. I didn’t have to think twice because when the trio were together they were always a riot,” Dasgupta grins.
A lot of the car sequences in CKNG were shot on the roads of Mumbai. The crowds then were pretty manageable and the Gangulys had a blast rolling alongside the Gateway of India and careening down Peddar Road as they trilled to the tunes, ‘Babu samjho ishare horon pukare pam, pam pam...’ Dasgupta followed with his camera, delighted to be a part of a movie unlike any he had seen before.
The car race was shot at the Juhu Flying Club. Kishore had taken special permission to use the runaway. News of the shooting spread fast and people arrived in droves to watch. “They made for great spectators,” recalls the film’s cinematographer.
It was a hilarious race that had the eccentric gaadi rolling backwards and then sprinted forward, confounding the other competitors. “The scene called for some trick shots that I managed by increasing and decreasing the speed of the camera. Some special effects were added in the lab later,” informs Dasgupta.
Though Lookochuri was a superhit, Kishore hadn’t expected much from it commercially, not knowing how to go about making a popular Bangla film, particularly one that starred not one but two Kishore Kumars. However, according to Dasgupta he was very confident about CKNG whose script he had practically written, borrowing heavily from his own life. As expected the film was a box-office bumper.
Kishore’s first wife Ruma Devi was to have acted in Lookochuri but growing difference between the couple had lead to her opting out of the female lead though she did give playback for the film. Soon after, Ruma Devi left to pursue her career as a singer in Kolkata. Kishore though at the top of his career was a lonely man those days. So too was Madhubala, heart-broken after her split with Dilip Kumar. Kishore had wanted the best looking actress in the Hindi films opposite himself in CKNG. He and Madhubala had worked together earlier in Dhake Ka Malmal (’56), and Bandi. In ’58 itself, they had two releases, Chandan and CKNG. While shooting for the latter Madhubala who had been detected with a hole in her heart, reached out to Kishore desperately. He couldn’t turn away...
Their wedding that took everyone by surprise. But soon after the shaadi Madhubala’s condition worsened. Kishore flew her out to London and consulted with all the top-ranking heart surgeons. He was told she had less than 12 months to live and he should indulge her in the short time she had left. She lived for another eight years but suffered a lot.
After a whle she shifted back to her father’s house. Dasgupta asserts that Kishore would visit her everyday. “Despite his image as a comedian, Kishore was an emotional man and it broke him to sit by his wife’s bedside and helplessly watch her wasting away. I was not in town when Madhubala died, but on my return I went straight to his house. I could see that he had taken the loss badly even though he had known for years that the end was near.”
After CKNG Kishore and Madhubala acted in three more films—Mahlon Ke Khwab (’60), Jhumroo (’61) and Half Ticket (’62). However, following the release of Mughal-e-Azam her health deteriorated rapidly and soon she was literally confined to the bed. “She had to be replaced in Shakti Samanta’s Naughty Boy with Kalpana. One of Kishore’s own productions with Phani Mazumdar as director, Suhana Geet was stuck half-way through because Madhubala was too ill to shoot. The film was never made,” rues Dasgupta.
There was a lot of speculation about Kishore and Madhubala’s relationship in the press with him being projected as being an indifferent, intolerant and even brutal husband at times. Kishore refused to speak on the subject but every evening was at her door and would spend 2-3 hours with her. “He never returned home before 11 p.m. and often stayed awake through the night,” reveals Dasgupta.
It was during these trying times that Kishore made his directorial debut with Door Gagan Ke Chaon Mein. A dark film about a war veteran who returns home to be confronted with death and desolation, the film was grim perhaps reflective of his own trauma. Not just personally but professionally too Kishore was going through a rough patch at the time with some of his films flopping. So Dasgupta was surprised when his friend called him over and narrated the story of DGKCM to him, telling him that he had decided to produce and direct the film himself “What about finance?” the cinematographer enquired. “I’ll manage,” Kishore assured him.
DGKCM was shot in Khandala. Not wanting date hassles with a busy Hindi film heroine Kishore signed Bengali actress Supriya Devi, wowing her with a challenging role. He cast Amit as his mute son. Dasgupta remembers how Kishore acted out every shot for Amit, rehearsing endlessly with him and patiently waiting till he got an absolutely natural reaction from him. It was Amit’s debut too and he was understandably nervous.
Having Supriya Devi around was a help. In the film they become very close and Dasgupta insists that the warmth was for real because the actress is a very friendly person. “She would often get food for the unit from the hotel and even cooked for us. Her fish curry is to die for. Even today, whenever I’m in Kolkata, I make it a point to meet her,” he smiles.
DGKCM was an experimental, black-and-white film with beautiful songs. Dasgupta remembers that they shot it in cloudy weather and once even when it was raining. “It was a real challenge for me,” he confesses.
The film was completed in 2-3 months. It opened in 1964 at Mumbai’s Alankar Talkies to an audience of just around 50 people, some from KS Films itself. Despite the rave reviews not even Kishore expected it to run for more than a couple of days but it packed in full houses at Alankar itself for eight weeks.
Three years later Kishore came up with Hum Do Daku that had Mannu and Jaggu traveling to Harappa and Mohenjodaro to dig for gold. Even though the film flopped he was back in ’71 with Door Ka Rahi. If Hum Do Daku was a slapstick comedy, DKR was a film that Kishore described to his distributors as “boring”. It ran for 15 weeks.
Kishore’s next film was to be Jaahil, the story of a father and his retarded son. They were to start shooting on Amit’s next trip from Kolkatta. But when Amit arrived he found his father sitting on the porch laughing over a photograph of KN Singh, the villain of CKNG, sporting a long, flowing beard. Badti Ka Naam Dadi released in 1974, was a farce revolving around a Bandookwala who believes that to be macho you had to have a beard. At a special show Satyajit Ray was seen rolling with laughter. Even Ashok Kumar couldn’t quite suppress his mirth. The film was hilarious but ran for only two weeks.
It took Kishore four years to come back with Shabash Daddy that starred Amit and his new wife, Yogita Bali. By the time Dasgupta had joined Shakti Samanata whom he had worked with in Naughty Boy. He made films like Aradhana, Amar Prem and Amanush with Shaktida. They were films that are remembered for Kishore’s evergreen numbers. In fact, it was Aradhana that took Kishore too to the top of the charts and established his 17-year reign as India’s numero uno male playback singer after his market as a popular hero had dwindled.”SD Burman suggested Kishore’s voice for Rajesh Khanna and after Aradhana the industry’s new phenomenon insisted on Kishore singing all his songs,” informs Dasgupta.
The cinematographer on his part found a champion in Sharmila Tagore. “She’s wasn’t too keen on me initially and had strongly recommended someone else to Shaktida for Aradhana but after seeing the rushes she changed her mind and started suggesting my name to all her producers,” Dasgupta says proudly. Obviously, the glamorous star was pleased that even in her old woman’s getup the cinematographer had ensured that she looked presentable and far from unattractive. “Sharmila’s make-up was very good and I did the lighting accordingly,” Dasgupta mutters modestly.
Aradhana even today is remembered for the Kishore chartbuster, ‘Mere sapnon ki rani kab ayegi tu...’ that was purportedly shot on the way to Darjeeling. But Dasgupta informs that Sharmila couldn’t make it to the picturesque hill-station and they had to shoot around Aarey Milk colony and in a film studio. Only the close shots of Sujit Kumar and Rajesh Khanna were taken in Darjeeling. “We built a train’s compartment and installed it in the studio with Sharmila in it. It was shaken from underneath to give the impression of the train moving. Five people were given the job of moving the trees they were holding up from right to left to further accentuate the impression. Machines spewing fog and some tricky camera-work ensured that no one from the audience was any wiser about the change of location,” grins Dasgupta.
Amanush was another challenging assignment. He reveals that only one-third of the film was shot in Mumbai, the rest, including many of the songs, during a 20-day schedule in the Sunderbans. “We did a lot of work in the back bay, in waters infested with crocodiles. From the jungles nearby we could hear the roar of tigers. One evening on the way back from shooting we lost our way and wandered around for 3-4 hours in the gathering darkness with Uttam Kumar and Sharmila on board. Finally, a small boat guided our steamer back on course,” Dasgupta flashbacks.
He loves Kishore’s soul-stirring ‘Dil aisa kisne mera toda...’ from Amanush. ‘Chingari...’ and ‘Kuchh to log kahenge...’ from Amar Prem are other favourites. The latter was shot on a specially erected set. Even for ‘Chingari...’ Samanta had a set of the Howrah Bridge erected. Two men under the boat swung it from side to side giving the illusion of it meandering down the Hooghly. “We were in water for two days shooting the song,” Dasgupta informs.
He insists that Amar Prem is undoubtedly his best work. “Again, I had to work very hard to ensure that the “elderly” Rajesh and Sharmila looked presentable. I took extra pains with the photography and was rewarded with the appreciation of my stars,” the cinematographer says proudly.
Dasgupta’s stint with Samanta was perhaps the most satisfying phase of his career but it cost him Kishore’s friendship. “Since I was under contract with Shaktida I couldn’t work with Kishore in films like Shabash Daddy and Chalti Ka Naam Zindagi (’81). Kishore was understandably upset. It was only later that he understood that though I was indebted to him for life I had to think about my own career at that point,” says his friend softly.
Kishore’s last film as producer was Door Wadiyon Mein, a songless film about a convict unable to cope with life outside the prison. Commercially, it didn’t have many takers but the critics were wowed. Pyar Ajnabi Hai that he had launched primarily to befriend Leena Chandavarkar was shelved after six reels once they were married. So were Neela Asmaan, Suhana Sangeet, Band Master, Chik Chik Boom, Dinu Ka Dinanath and Jamuna Ke Teer. Mamta Ke Chaon Mein was completed and censored two years after his death but never released. “Who knows, had Kishore lived, I might have got a chance to work with him again,” Dasgupta sighs.
But Kishore went away too soon leaving him with only a treasure trove of memories. Memories of a man who the world knew as an eccentric but who his unit saw as an entertainer. “He was so jovial on the sets. A great mimic with a soft spot for children. He was always romping around with them and pulling pranks. One never knew what he would be up to next,” Dasgupta smiles fondly.
You quiz him about Kishore’s reputation of being tight-fisted so much so that if a producer shirked from paying him his dues he would turn cartwheels on the studio floor before speeding away in his car to a destination unknown, and Dasgupta says defensively, “He didn’t waste money and was very cautious about his payments knowing how the industry functioned. But he was not a kanjoos. I can vouch for the fact that he was a large-hearted man who in my difficult days not only helped me with films and money but even urged me to move in with him. It was an offer I didn’t have to take up but one I’ll always cherish.”
Dasgupta continues to be close to the family. A day before this interview was conducted he was invited by Amit Kumar to the annaprashan (rice feeding ceremony) of his daughter. “Production manager Hari Ram and I are the only two left from KS Films. There was also Manohari, SD Burman’s music arranger. Amongst all the young people we old folks stood out,” Dasgupta says adding with an aching sense of regret, “Kishore would have adored his granddaughter. She’s so fair, a real doll.”