‘His memory was fading, but took no time to recognise me’

It’s pretty hard to believe that Dilip Kumarji —

Yusufsaab

to all of us — is no more. To me he was like an elder brother, friend and guide.


My first meeting with Yusufsaab was on a Mumbai suburban train. This was years ago — I think, in 1946 or ’47. I, Anil-da (music director Anil Biswas) and one of his assistants were on our way to Malad. A tall, young man hopped into the compartment at Bandra. Anil-da asked him to join us. “Yeh ladki kaun hai (Who is this girl?)” he asked. Anil-da introduced me to him, saying, “This is a young playback singer, she is very good. She is a Maharashtrian.”

Yusufsaab remarked jokingly, “Maharashtrians are hardly well-versed in Urdu. Their

Urdu

‘talaffuz (pronunciation)’ smells of ‘daalbhaat’.” That very day I asked (music director)

Mohammad Shafisaab

if he could look for an Urdu tutor for me. Today, when someone praises my Urdu ‘talaffuz’ I quietly thank Yusufsaab. His light-hearted remark made me study Urdu, which is a beautiful language. Yusufsaab’s Urdu was impeccable; it was music to the ears.

Soon, we both got busy with our work, our lives. We would often bump into each other, and he would greet me with affection. Whenever I touched his feet, he would say, “Jeeti raho, khush raho (Live a long, happy life).”

I’ve seen most of Yusufsaab’s films — Deedar, Madhumati, Aan, Daag,

Yahudi

, Aadmi... almost all — in cinema halls. Watching Yusufsaab on the silver screen was a fascinating experience. His sheer presence on celluloid was magnetic: a heady mix — grace, style, dignity and acting abilities; his faraway, brooding glances said it all.

Yusufsaab sang with me in Musafir, a Hrishikesh Mukherjee film. It was Hrishi-da’s brainwave to ask Yusufsaab to sing a duet with me.

Salil-da

(music director) put him through the paces. Yusufsaab began in the true tradition of classical music — aalaap, taan and so forth. He sang to his heart’s content and then we recorded the song. And I must tell you that people liked it — ‘Laagi naahi chchute raam...’. Connoisseurs remember the song to this day.

I had my first concert in London in 1974. I requested Yusufsaab if he would be there at the iconic Royal Albert auditorium to introduce me to the audience. He readily agreed. In his brilliant speech, he described me as his “little sister.” I used to tie a raakhi on his hand on Raksha Bandhan every year.

Over the years Yusufsaab’s health began to deteriorate. I had a strong urge to meet him. My niece Rachana (Shah) accompanied me to his Pali Hill residence. This was in December 2014. Saira-ji (Dilip Kumar’s wife) took me to Yusufsaab’s room. We all knew that his memory was fast fading. But, he hardly took any time to recognise me. He smiled and said, “Come in.”

A big chair, saddled with a gadda, was meant for him; but he insisted on sitting on a sofa, next to me. When food was brought in, I fed him maalpuwa and paneer tikka. He ate heartily — and smiled. When I reminded him of the Musafir song, he grinned. A big, happy grin.