All is well with music maestro
The maestro vanishes. Or so I thought till I hopped over to his apartment in the old-worldly Rungta House in a lane snaking through Petit Hall. For months, the stalwart music composer — whose scores were laced with his deep knowledge of the Indian as well as the western classical idiom — was missing in action.
He was no longer a regular walker at the Priyadarshini Park; a food store said that he no longer stopped over to pick up a packet of imported Italian pasta, and there was certainly no news of him in the media columns. Glad to report, then, that all’s well and cheery with the 86-year-old Vanraj Bhatia, a chronic Soboite, who now lives in isolated splendour with his cat, a sumptuous collection of antiques, and a piano.
Bhatia who composed marvelous movie soundtracks, especially for Shyam Benegal (Manthan, Bhumika, Sardari Begum to name three), doesn’t shoo me off when I knock on the door. In fact, he offers me almonds, and apologises, “You’ve dropped in at five in the evening — too late for tea and too early for vodka.”
He walks with a measured gait, which is why he can no longer take off for his constitutionals. And if he’s put on some kilos, he’s thrilled that his doctor isn’t worried: “He told me it’s better to look lean in one’s youth, and all…er...filled up during one’s old age.” If there’s a note of wistfulness at all, it’s that his old professionals pals are no longer in touch with him: “Jaane do, jaane do,” he shrugs, and then comes to the newsy part.
He’s steeped in opera nowadays. It took Bhatia nearly a decade to complete his first, Fire and Rain, adapted from a play by Girish Karnad. The opera was premiered in May this year in New York. So how come there’s been no buzz about it?
“That’s because I don’t believe in paid publicity,” he grins, and goes on to announce that he’s now working on the opera’s next act, which should take him at least a year or so. Meanwhile, he’s quit watching movies, but is an addict of the TV serial Madhubala. “It’s very engrossing. You must see it,” he advises.
After an hour, I return with spicy anecdotes about the lyricists and writers he has worked with. “Now don’t you dare write about them,” he cautions. “Or you won’t be allowed into my house again.” So ulp, I’m not telling.
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