Making It Big Read online

  One day, we heard from the Soaltee that Dev Anand would be coming to shop at Arun Emporium.

  Now that the person I was so desperate to catch a glimpse of was going to visit my shop, I had found something to boast about. He wanted to keep it a secret but I was telling all my friends about it, many of whom thought I was only joking.

  Dev Anand turned up late in the evening.

  We took some photos with him. He wanted to buy the Jaguar brand of socks, which were popular then. A fresh lot had just arrived and were still in our godown, so I went there and fetched five pairs in all the available colours. He carefully examined them, sniffed them and said, ‘I’m looking for black ones.’

  Damn! We did not have any black ones. However, I was not going to let my hero down.

  ‘Sir, we don’t have those here right now, but I’ll get them for you,’ I said.

  ‘Fine,’ he replied, leaving. ‘Drop them at the hotel.’

  As he had not told me how many pairs he wanted, I got together more than a dozen pairs from various places, packed them in a box and headed to his hotel to deliver them. When I reached the hotel, he was out on a shoot. I had to wait for hours. When he finally returned, I stood in front of him with a wide grin, hoping he would recognize me. But he did not at all, and headed straight to his room.

  I tried to follow him but the hotel’s security guards stopped me.

  ‘I’ve come from Arun Emporium to deliver some socks that Dev Anand sir ordered,’ I told them.

  One of the security guards pointed to the reception desk. I said the same thing there and a receptionist rang Dev Anand. He asked me to come up to his room.

  As I was climbing the stairs, my heart was pounding. Dev Anand had invited me to his room! He was expecting me! He would talk to me! I was in a state of ecstasy.

  I pressed the doorbell, and Dev Anand himself opened the door.

  ‘Have you brought the socks?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’ I showed him the box.

  ‘Are they black?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied.

  ‘Fine. Put the box over here,’ he said, pointing to a rack by the door. I thought he might invite me into his suite, but he did not say anything. I was disappointed. ‘Fine then, sir, I’ll take my leave,’ I said, stepping out.

  He shut the door behind me without replying.

  All my hard work had been for nothing, and Dev Anand did not even pay for the socks!

  I returned to Khichapokhari from the Soaltee late at night, feeling sad and dejected. I was so downcast that even the streets looked bleak. I felt hurt. Later, I looked at it from Dev Anand’s perspective. How foolish I was to expect a star like him to entertain a delivery boy like me!

  As it turned out, I had many opportunities to meet Dev Anand later in my life.

  I also developed an interest in songs and music.

  The credit for this goes to Ryan, a vocalist in a music band called Ralpha. His real name was Narayan Prasad Shrestha. Ralpha was a very popular and revolutionary band in those days, and Ryan was a boarder in my aunt’s house. He taught me music. I would play the guitar and practise songs using the notes Ryan would write for me on a piece of paper. Through him, I met Pradeep Nepal, now a senior leader of the Communist Party of Nepal (Unified-Marxist Leninist). Before devoting himself to politics full time, Pradeep had been a member of Ralpha. I also got to know Hiranya Bhojpure, Ramesh and the other members of Ralpha through Ryan.

  I learnt to play the harmonium too. Harmonium Maila of Khichapokhari was my guru. He used to run a musical instruments shop in the neighbourhood, and was nicknamed Harmonium Maila because he sold harmoniums, apart from other instruments. I would visit his shop every day, either to watch him play the harmonium or to hone my own skills.

  My musical journey took a new turn after I met Neer Shah, now a prominent film-maker. Neer introduced me to a musician called Shambhujeet Banskota. One day I said to him, ‘Shambhujee, I want to record a song. Why don’t you write one for me?’ He was just beginning his career in music and was struggling, so he jumped at the chance.

  It was not easy to make a recording in those days. The state-run Radio Nepal would arrange recordings, but only for established singers. They were not interested in unknown musicians. We had to hire everything, from the instruments to the backing musicians, and take them to the studio. We had to pay for the studio too. I also had to contend with some people who, knowing I was the son of a businessman, would try to fleece me.

  But I was determined. I said to Shambhujee, ‘This is our debut song. Let’s record it and I’ll meet all the expenses.’

  We chose a morning slot for the recording. We had arranged for the accompanying musicians the previous day itself. I was to pick them up from their houses and take them to the studio at Radio Nepal. I had even hired a van for the purpose.

  I was nineteen years old when I recorded my first song, Maya ta jingdagi ko avinna anga ho; launu ra lagaunu aphno-aphno dhanga ho (Love is an integral part of life, though we fall in love in different ways).

  But Radio Nepal would not play the song. They would not play any singer who had not passed a voice test. And you had to wait months to take the test. I did not give up, however. I registered for the test and kept practising my song while I waited for my turn. Eventually, I passed the test.

  My song went on air, and it was played often on radio. Inspired by the success of my debut song, I soon recorded a second song, Mera lakh lakh sapana haru (My millions of dreams). Shambhujee composed the music, while Biswo Ballavjee wrote the lyrics. Shambhujee wrote both the lyrics and composed the music for my third song, Ekai najarma maya basyo hai, lukichhipee heridinale (I’ve fallen in love at first sight, the way she stole a look at me). It was a big hit and was later sung by other artistes too.

  Annapurna (Ghimire) didi of the Annapurna Travels Group used to handle a musical troupe called Lalupate in those days. I used to receive blessings from her on the day of Bhai-tika. Annapurna didi later lived in the United States for many years. She would still call me up every Bhai-tika and for Janai Purnima.

  One day, in mid-2011, Lily said to me, ‘Please go to Bir Hospital as quickly as you can. Annapurna didi is there.’ I had, however, taken it lightly. Only after I got to the hospital did I realize that didi was in a critical condition with kidney failure. She was only partly conscious. I was filled with emotion. I grasped her hands and, as soon as I touched her, she turned to look at me, but could not speak. She had been waiting for dialysis for three days. I immediately raised the matter with Bulanda Thapa, Bir’s medical superintendent, and then called up Health Minister Rajendra Mahato to express my concern at the situation.

  That evening, I received a call from the hospital. Annapurna didi had passed away.

  I felt she had been fighting death until she had the chance to see me for the last time.

  Annapurna didi had given me my first opportunity to sing on stage.

  In view of my interest in music, she used to invite me to all her troupe’s performances. During a national conference of the Lions Club held at City Hall, she asked me, ‘Do you have the courage to perform live on stage?’

  I replied, ‘I’ll do it if I get the opportunity.’

  I was quite nervous in the beginning, standing with a microphone in my hand in front of hundreds of people. The clamour in the hall made me feel so scared that I thought no voice could escape from my vocal cords. But, somehow, I overcame the fear and sang well.

  That was my first public performance.

  The three recordings at Radio Nepal had now made me so confident I told Neer Shah, ‘I have to bring out a solo album.’ There were no CDs or DVDs in those days. There were only huge EPs. We had to record around half a dozen songs for that.

  ‘Where do we go to record the songs?’ I asked. ‘We don’t need to go as far as Bombay, do we?’

  ‘Why would we go to Bombay? HMV has a good studio in Calcutta,’ Neer said. ‘We can always go there.’

  He also made ano
ther suggestion: ‘If you want good results with Sambhu, you’d better include Shubha Bahadur as well.’

  I liked his suggestion. Shubha Bahadurjee was an expert when it came to playing, as well as arranging, music. Shambhujee had a deep knowledge of beats. They were working separately at the time, and I was the first to bring them together.

  The four of us headed to Calcutta.

  We stayed at the New Elgin Hotel in Calcutta. The recording took about ten days. Neer wrote four songs for me: Euta nibhna lageko battiko prakash (Light of a lamp that’s about to go out), Aaoo basa mero chheuma sunsan raat chha (Come and sit beside me, it’s a lonely night), Pratikchhyaka palharu (Moments of waiting), and Vaishalu tarangama (In sensuous waves).

  I could not record one of the songs in Calcutta because I caught a cold. We waited for one more day, hoping my throat would clear, but it did not. We had to sync my pre-recorded voice with the new music.

  An amusing incident took place in Calcutta, something we recall often in our music circle.

  Neer and I had shared a room in New Elgin while Shambhu and Shubhajee shared another. Shubhajee was a man with a set routine. After his morning shower, he would put on a singlet, then emerge from the bathroom with his lower body wrapped in a towel. He would then put on his socks and boots. Only after tying his bootlaces tight would he slip into his pants.

  A customs clearing agent had come to meet me at the hotel. He must have asked the receptionist for my room number and, as both the rooms were booked in my name, he first knocked on the door of the room where Shambhu and Shubhajee were staying.

  Shubhajee opened the door in his singlet, towel and boots. The agent could not control his laughter. ‘Wow! What a Tarzan look, brother!’

  This line has become one of our great catchlines. If someone dresses oddly, or is in new clothes, we still tease him with: ‘What a Tarzan look!’

  After the recording of my songs at HMV, I greatly looked forward to releasing the album. I approached Ratna Recording Corporation, which agreed to distribute the album so long as I met the costs. I agreed. To ensure a quality product, I sent the recorded songs to Victor Studios in Japan for production of the EP.

  My first solo album, Nepalese Modern Songs, hit the market.

  Raj Kapoor, the famous Indian actor, producer and director, once visited Kathmandu. I do not remember the reason for his visit, but his film Bobby had just been released, and the Lions Club hosted a reception in his honour at the Soaltee. The Lalupate group was performing there, and I was part of the troupe.

  Raj Kapoor arrived at the hotel. His fans had gathered there in large numbers, but the security guards did not allow any of them to enter the hotel. Just as Raj Kapoor was stepping into the hotel, someone in the crowd was heard singing a track from the film in a melodious voice:

  Hum tum ik kamare me bandh ho

  aur chabi kho jaye,

  tere nayanoki bhulbhulaiya mein

  Bobby kho jaye

  (I wish you and I were locked inside a room

  and the key is lost,

  and that in the maze of your eyes

  Bobby gets lost)

  Raj Kapoor suddenly paused. He turned around and looked towards the crowd. We looked in the same direction. A skinny boy who was humming the song was the centre of our attention.

  The boy was Udit Narayan Jha, who went on to become one of the top singers in India.

  Raj Kapoor was so impressed that he immediately asked Udit into the hotel. ‘Bravo, son! God bless you!’ he said, patting Udit’s back.

  Udit Narayan is the perfect example of a person who rises to great heights through sheer dedication and hard work. I had met him several times at Radio Nepal when I went there in connection with my voice test. I think he had already passed the test, but had yet to find a good song. He was so passionate about music that he would wait for days inside the canteen of Radio Nepal, hoping for a break. Today, he has made his mark in Bollywood.

  Despite my passion for music, I could not focus on it the way Udit did. The time and energy I should have devoted to music got diverted to many other pursuits. When it comes to industry and commerce, however, I remain as passionate as Udit Narayan.

  My production, Basudev

  It was Neer Shah who came up with the idea of making Basudev.

  I immediately accepted his proposal for a movie based on Kattel Sirko Chotpatak (Kattel Sir’s Wound), a novel by Dhruva Chandra Gautam. It was an opportunity for Neer to prove that he had directorial skills. For me, it was a chance for a new experience completely outside the family business.

  We named our company Manakamana Films. I wanted to hire Shambhujeet Banskota as the music director. He was yet to compose music for movies. But Neer signed on Ranjeet Gazmer instead. Shambhujee felt slighted, and rightly so. He had been with us through thick and thin. He was there whenever we needed him. But when we were making our own film, we had hired somebody else! I tried hard to persuade Neer to sign on Shambhujee, but he would not change his mind. ‘This is our debut film, I can’t take any chance,’ he said. There was no point pressing the matter after that. Neer, as director of the movie, had made his decision.

  There was an old house by the path leading to the temple at the royal palace. The shooting of Basudev started in that house. To cut costs, we used technology that could blow up the picture shot on 16 mm. We hired equipment from Bombay. The total cost came to about Rs 13 lakh. We also encountered some technical problems during the shoot. To save on costs, we had bought reels stocked by Photo Concern, a leading studio in Nepal. We later realized that the use-by date for some of the reels had expired. We did not want the production costs to go up, so we reshot only those scenes that had blurred views. As a result, the quality of the cinematography suffered a bit. We faced other problems too. The lighting system would break down, the cameras would not function properly, technicians would fall ill, and so on. Somebody suggested the project could be jinxed as we had not started the shooting at an auspicious hour. To bolster the crew’s spirits, we visited the temple of Manakamana in Gorkha district, where the goddess is widely believed to have the power to fulfil the wishes of her devotees.

  Film critics gave rave reviews to the movie when it released in 1980. It is still considered one of the most realistic and artistic movies made in Nepal. Commercially, however, it was not so successful.

  The film did not give me any monetary returns, but it did give me exposure to the international film community. Basudev was selected under the Foreign Language Art Movie category at the Moscow Film Festival in 1983. Neer and I attended, while Shiva Shrestha represented the then state-run Royal Nepal Film Corporation. Back in those days, the Moscow Film Festival had the status of the Cannes Film Festival of today. It was there that I experienced for the first time the pride of walking on the red carpet. As soon as you step on it, you feel like a celebrity. The paparazzi followed celebrities from the moment they stepped on to the red carpet and until they reached the various function halls where the screenings were held. The cameras continually flashed, like lightning, for us too. Among the hundreds of artistes, producers, directors and technicians, I recognized only half a dozen—Smita Patil and Utpal Dutt from India, Richard Attenborough who had directed Gandhi, and, of course, Neer and Shiva.

  The organizers had arranged to escort representatives from each country to the function halls. Before a screening, the film-makers had to stand on a dais and present a synopsis of the movie. Neer and I were invited to the stage before Basudev was screened. We were introduced as director and producer. Neer spoke about the movie for a few minutes. The hall broke into a thunderous applause. A girl came to the stage with roses on a platter, giving each of us one. We pinned them on our lapels and stepped down. The screening began.

  The organizers would give us ten roubles at each screening for appearance as guests. We showed the movie in about half a dozen halls.

  Basudev did not make much of an impact at the festival. However, we got the opportunity to meet with officials from S
oviet Film, the national film-making institution of the then Soviet Union. Soviet Film had just produced an Indo-Soviet movie in collaboration with an Indian company. I thought that if we too could work out a joint venture with Soviet Film, we would be able to access to the international market. We held formal discussions with high-ranking officials from Soviet Film. I told them Nepal would provide fresh locations for Soviet movies and that the cost of production would be low. The Soviet officials liked my proposal. We signed a letter of understanding. One of their writers was to visit Nepal to write a script after deciding on a story.

  Russian writer Aagisev came to Nepal within a few weeks of our return from Moscow. Neer took him to various locations in the country. They started working on a script. Aagisev returned after a few months, completing the initial draft. As per the agreement, we were to make the logistical arrangements for the movie and notify Soviet Film when that was done. However, I could not devote as much time to film-making as I did to the music.

  My business interests, needs and priorities left me with little bandwidth for films.

  The cinematographer of Basudev, Prem Upadhyay, knew the Indian actress Jaya Bhaduri well. Prem, Jaya and another Bollywood star, Danny Denzongpa, had graduated from the famous film institute in Pune in the same year. Prem opted for cinematography, while the other two chose acting.

  Two years after the release of Basudev, Bollywood superstar Amitabh Bachchan came to Nepal for the shooting of his film Mahaan. Jaya came with him. This film was already attracting a lot of interest as Amitabh was playing three roles in it. Now that the film was going to be shot in Nepal, what else could film maniacs like us ask for?

  I really wanted to meet Amitabh.

  I told Prem, ‘You told me that you know Jaya very well. Why don’t you arrange a meeting with Amitabh?’