Mehdi Hassan saab spoke from his heart. Undoubtedly the best ghazal singer of all times but stripped off all his genius, he was a very simple man.
Whether he spoke with his servants or a celebrity, his tone was the same: Respectful and concerned. Even his music was conversational. The depth of his lyrics was simplified by his soulful guftagoo (dialogue).
He was born in India and became famous in Pakistan but the cross-border tension never affected him. He had very strong ties with India in terms of his music. But temperamentally he was a fakir. Religion and politics were not a part of his world or his language. For him, musicians were one big global family.
He was certainly a part of mine. In my life there have been three gurus: my mother Shrimati Alamelu, my guru Ustad Ghulam Mustafa Khan and Mehdi saab. He taught me how to marry musicality with lyrics, how to combine straight notes with murkhis, how to strengthen the technique of my music. He mentored me, connected with me on a completely different level and showed me how simple even legends can be.
He was this rare combination of being elemental and transcendental. On a micro-level, he would be very childish sometimes and some other times he would be strong and mature. Even though his musical soul was elevated, he was very grounded and passionate. He went out of the way for people close to him. I remember back in 2005, I had spoken with his son Arif and invited him for my 50th birthday. I knew Mehdi saab was unwell and wasn’t expecting him. Arif called back in five minutes saying both he and his wheel chair-bound father would attend my birthday party. And true to their word, they came and spent 10 days with me. Could anyone ask for a better birthday present?
Mehdi saab, of course, wasn’t fond of all presents he received. Once he showed me this vintage Rolex he was wearing and asked me what I thought of it. I politely said, “Kaafi achcha hain.” He frowned and said, “Jab bhi main yeh ghadi dekhta hoon, mujhe gussa aata hai (I get angry every time I see this watch).” I was flummoxed. Why on earth would a Rolex anger him? He pouted: “I once did a show for someone who didn’t pay me. Doosre din organiser aaya, paise toh diya nahin lekin yeh ghadi deke chala gaya (The next day the organiser visited me, but instead of paying me for the show, he presented me with his watch).”
Fame and the luxuries that came with it didn’t sway him. He knew his roots, his humble beginnings and no level of success made him forget that. He started off as a car mechanic and was quite proud of what he learnt then. He would tell me, “Hari, I just have to sniff the fumes of a car and I can tell you how many miles it has travelled.”
I had an uneasy feeling about Mehdi Hassan saab’s deteriorating health but in a way I also had time to prepare for his demise. He suffered a lot over the last few years but his passing away should be seen as a ghazal God finally attaining mukti.
The writer is a playback singer and ghazal maestro
(As told to Lakshmi Govindrajan Javeri)