From: parrikar@mimicad.colorado.edu (Rajan Parrikar)
Newsgroups: rec.music.indian.misc
Subject: Interview with Kishore Kumar! (REPOST)
Date: 16 Apr 92 03:16:56 GMT
Article-I.D.: colorado.1992Apr16.031656.4010
Organization: University of Colorado, Boulder
Originator: parrikar@sangria

(NOTE: I had posted the following piece on SCI sometime in 1991.)

Here are excerpts of a tete-a tete with Kishore Kumar and the 
editor of the Illustrated Weekly, Pritish Nandy. This piece 
appeared in a cover story entitled "GENIUS" in the April 28, 1985
issue of the Illustrated Weekly.
In the same story, Kishore Kumar ranked HIS favourite 10 songs.
They are:
	Song                    Music               Film 
Dukhi man mere               S.D. Burman         Funtoosh
Jag mag jag mag karta nikla  Khemchand Prakash   Rim Jhim
Husn bhi hai udas udas       Anil Biswas         Fareb
Chingari koi Bhadke          R.D. Burman         Amar Prem
Mere naina saawan bhaadon    R.D. Burman         Mehbooba
Koi hum dum na raha          Kishore Kumar       Jhumroo
Mere mehboob kayamat hogi    Laxmikant-Pyarelal  Mr X in Bombay
Koi hota jisko apna          Salil Chowdhury     Mere Apne
Woh Shaam kuch ajeeb thi     Hemant Kumar        Khamoshi
Badi sooni sooni hai         S.D. Burman         Milee


PN=Pritish Nandy
KK=Kishore Kumar

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
PN: I understand you are quitting Bombay and going away to Khandwa...
KK: Who can live in this stupid, friendless city where everyone seeks to
    exploit you every moment of the day? Can you trust anyone out here?
    Is anyone trustworthy? Is anyone a friend you can count on?
    I am determined to get out of this futile rat race and live as I've 
    always wanted to. In my native Khandwa, the land of my forefathers.
    Who wants to die in this ugly city?
PN: Why did you come here in the first place?
KK: I would come to visit my brother Ashok Kumar. He was such a big
    star in those days. I thought he could introduce me to KL Saigal
    who was my greatest idol. People say he used to sing through his 
    nose. But so what? He was a great singer. Greater than anyone else.
PN: I believe you are planning to record an album of famous Saigal      
    songs....
KK: They asked me to. I refused. Why should I try to outsing him?
    Let him remain enshrined in our memory. Let his songs remain
    just HIS songs. Let not even one person say that Kishore Kumar
    sang them better.
PN: If you didn't like Bombay, why did you stay back? For fame?
    For money?
KK: I was conned into it. I only wanted to sing. Never to act. But
    somehow, thanks to peculiar circumstances, I was persuaded to
    act in the movies. I hated every moment of it and tried virtually
    every trick to get out of it. I muffed my lines, pretended to be
    crazy, shaved my head off, played difficult, began yodelling in 
    the midst of tragic scenes, told Meena Kumari what I was supposed
    to tell Bina Rai in some other film - but they still wouldn't let
    me go. I screamed, ranted, went cuckoo. But who cared? They were 
    just determined to make me a star.
PN: Why?
KK: Because I was Dadamoni's brother. And he was a great hero.
PN: But you succeeded, after your fashion....
KK: Of course I did. I was the biggest draw after Dilip Kumar. There
    were so many films I was doing in those days that I had to run 
    from one set to the other, changing on the way. Imagine me. My
    shirts flying off, my trousers falling off, my wig coming off 
    while I'm running from one set to the other. Very often I would    
    mix up my lines and look angry in a romantic scene or romantic       
    in the midst of a fierce battle. It was terrible and I hated it.
    It evoked nightmares of school. Directors were like schoolteachers.
    Do this. Do that. Don't do this. Don't do that. I dreaded it. That's
    why I would often escape.
PN: Well, you are notorious for the trouble you give your directors
    and producers. Why is that?
KK: Nonsense. They give me trouble. You think they give a damn for 
    me? I matter to them only because I sell. Who cared for me during
    my bad days? Who cares for anyone in this profession?
PN: Is that why you prefer to be a loner?
KK: Look, I don't smoke, drink or socialise. I never go to parties.
    If that makes me a loner, fine. I am happy this way. I go to work
    and I come back straight home. To watch my horror movies, play
    with my spooks, talk to my trees, sing. In this avaricious
    world, every creative person is bound to be lonely. How can you
    deny me that right?
PN: You don't have many friends?
KK: None.
PN: That's rather sweeping.
KK: People bore me. Film people particularly bore me. I prefer talking
    to my trees.
PN: So you like nature?
KK: That's why I want to get away to Khandwa. I have lost all touch
    with nature out here. I tried to did a canal all around my
    bungalow out here, so that we could sail gondolas there. The
    municipality chap would sit and watch and nod his head        
    disapprovingly, while my men would dig and dig. But it didn't work.
    One day someone found a hand - a skeletal hand- and some toes.
    After that no one wanted to dig anymore. Anoop, my second brother,
    came charging with Ganga water and started chanting mantras. He
    thought this house was built on a graveyard. Perhaps it is. But
    I lost the chance of making my home like Venice.
PN: People would have thought you crazy. In fact they already do.
KK: Who said I'm crazy. The world is crazy; not me.
PN: Why do you have this reputation for doing strange things?
KK: It all began with this girl who came to interview me. In those
    days I used to live alone. So she said: You must be very lonely.
    I said: No, let me introduce you to some of my friends. So I 
    took her to the garden and introduced her to some of the friendlier
    trees. Janardhan; Raghunandan; Gangadhar; Jagannath; Buddhuram;
    Jhatpatajhatpatpat. I said they were my closest friends in this
    cruel world. She went and wrote this bizarre piece, saying that
    I spent long evenings with my arms entwined around them. What's
    wrong with that, you tell me? What's wrong making friends with
    trees?
PN: Nothing.
KK: Then, there was this interior decorator-a suited, booted fellow
    who came to see me in a three-piece woollen, Saville Row suit 
    in the thick of summer- and began to lecture me about aesthetics,
    design, visual sense and all that. After listening to him for about  
    half an hour and trying to figure out what he was saying through
    his peculiar American accent, I told him that I wanted something     
    very simple for my living room. Just water-several feet deep- and
    little boats floating around, instead of large sofas. I told him 
    that the centre-piece should be anchored down so that the tea     
    service could be placed on it and all of us could row up to it
    in our boats and take sips from our cups. But the boats should
    be properly balanced, I said, otherwise we might whizz past each
    other and conversation would be difficult.
    He looked a bit alarmed but that alarm gave way to sheer horror 
    when I began to describe the wall decor. I told him that I wanted
    live crows hanging from the walls instead of paintings-since I
    liked nature so much. And, instead of fans, we could have monkeys
    farting from the ceiling. That's when he slowly backed out from 
    the room with a strange look in his eyes. The last I saw of him
    was him running out of the front gate, at a pace that would have
    put an electric train to shame. What's crazy about having a living
    room like that, you tell me? If he can wear a woollen, three-piece 
    suit in the height of summer, why can't I hang live crows on my
    walls?
PN: Your ideas are quite original, but why do your films fare so badly?
KK: Because I tell my distributors to avoid them. I warn them at the
    very outset that the film might run for a week at the most.          
    Naturally, they go away and never come back. Where will you find
    a producer-director who warns you not to touch his film because
    even he can't understand what he has made?
PN: Then why do you make films?
KK: Because the spirit moves me. I feel I have something to say and
    the films eventually do well at times. 
    I remember this film of mine - Door Gagan ki Chhaon mein - which
    started to an audience of 10 people in Alankar. I know because I    
    was in the hall myself. There were only ten people who had come to
    watch the first show!
    Even its release was peculiar. Subhodh Mukherjee, the brother of
    my brother-in-law, has booked Alankar(the hall) for 8 weeks for 
    his film April Fool- which everyone knew was going to be a block-
    buster. My film, everyone was sure, was going to be a thundering
    flop. So he offered to give me a week of his booking. Take the 
    first week, he said flamboyantly, and I manage within seven. After
    all, the movie can't run beyond a week. It can't run beyond two
    days, I reassured him. 
    When 10 people came for the first show, he tried to console me.
    Don't worry, he said, it happens at times. But who was worried?
    Then, the word spread. Like wildfire. And within a few days the 
    hall began to fill. It ran for all 8 weeks at Alankar, house full!
    Subodh Mukherjee kept screaming at me but how could I let go the   
    hall? After 8 weeks when the booking ran out, the movie shifted
    to Super, where it ran for another 21 weeks! That's the anatomy
    of a hit of mine. How does one explain it? Can anyone explain
    it? Can Subodh Mukherjee, whose April Fool went on to become a
    thundering flop?
PN: But you, as the director should have known?
KK: Directors know nothing. I never had the privilege of working with
    any good director. Except Satyen Bose and Bimal Roy, no one even
    knew the ABC of film making. How can you expect me to give good
    performances under such directors?
    Directors like S.D. Narang didn't even know where to place the
    camera. He would take long, pensive drags from his cigarette,
    mumble 'Quiet, quiet, quiet' to everyone, walk a couple of furlongs
    absentmindedly, mutter to himself and then tell the camera man to
    place the camera wherever he wanted. His standard line to me was:
    Do something. What something? Come on, some thing! So I would go
    off on my antics. Is this the way to act? Is this the way to direct
    a movie? And yet Narangsaab made so many hits!
PN: Why didn't you ever offer to work with a good director?
KK: Offer! I was far too scared. Satyajit Ray came to me and wanted me 
    to act in Parash Pathar - his famous comedy - and I was so scared
    that I ran away. Later, Tulsi Chakravarti did the role. It was a
    great role and I ran away from it, so scared I was of these  great
    directors.
PN: But you knew Ray.
KK: Of course I did. I loaned him five thousand rupees at the time of
    Pather Panchali-when he was in great financial difficulty- and even
    though he paid back the entire loan, I never gave him an opportunity
    to forget the fact that I had contributed to the making of the 
    classic. I still rib him about it. I never forget the money I
    loan out!
PN: Well, some people think you are crazy about money. Others describe
    you as a clown, pretending to be kinky but sane as hell. Still
    others find you cunning and manipulative. Which is the real you?
KK: I play different roles at different times. For different people.
    In this crazy world, only the truly sane man appears to be mad. 
    Look at me. Do you think I'm mad? Do you think I can be mani-
    pulative?
PN: How would I know?
KK: Of course you would know. It's so easy to judge a man by just
    looking at him. You look at these film people and you instantly
    know they're rogues.
PN: I believe so.
KK: I don't believe so. I know so. You can't trust them an inch.
    I have been in this rat race for so long that I can smell trouble
    from miles afar. I smelt trouble the day I came to Bombay in the
    hope of becoming a playback singer and got conned into acting. I
    should have just turned my back and run.
PN: Why didn't you?
KK: Well, I've regretted it ever since. Boom Boom. Boompitty boom boom.
    Chikachikachik chik chik. Yadlehe eeee yadlehe ooooo (Goes on 
    yodelling till the tea comes. Someone emerges from behind the
    upturned sofa in the living room, looking rather mournful  with
    a bunch of rat-eaten files and holds them up for KK to see)
PN: What are those files?
KK: My income tax records. 
PN: Rat-eaten?
KK: We use them as pesticides. They are very effective. The rats die
    quite easily after biting into them.
PN: What do you show the tax people when they ask for the papers?
KK: The dead rats.
PN: I see.
KK: You like dead rats?
PN: Not particularly.
KK: Lots of people eat them in other parts of the world.
PN: I guess so.
KK: Haute cuisine. Expensive too. Costs a lot of money.
PN: Yes?
KK: Good business, rats. One can make money from them if one is
    enterprising.
PN: I believe you are very fussy about money. Once, I'm told. a
    producer paid you only half your dues and you came to the sets
    with half your head and half your moustache shaved off. And you
    told him that when he paid the rest, you would shoot with your face    
    intact...
KK: Why should they take me for granted? These people never pay unless
    you teach them a lesson. I was shooting in the South once. I think
    the film was Miss Mary and these chaps kept me waiting in the hotel
    room for five days without shooting. So I got fed up and started
    cutting me hair. First I chopped off some hair from the right side
    of my head and then, to balance it, I chopped off some from the
    left. By mistake I overdid it. So I cut off some more from the 
    right. Again I overdid it. So I had to cut from the left again. 
    This went on till I had virtually no hair left- and that's when
    the call came from the sets. When I turned up the way I was, they
    all collapsed. That's how rumours reached Bombay. They said I had
    gone cuckoo. I didn't know. I returned and found everyone wishing
    me from long distance and keeping a safe distance of 10 feet while
    talking. Even those chaps who would come and embrace me waved out
    from a distance and said Hi. Then, someone asked me a little 
    hesitantly how I was feeling. I said: Fine. I spoke a little
    abruptly perhaps. Suddenly I found him turning around and running.
    Far, far away from me.
PN: But are you actually so stingy about money?
KK: I have to pay my taxes.
PN: You have income tax problems I am told....
KK: Who doesn't? My actual dues are not much but the interest has
    piled up. I'm planning to sell off a lot of things before I go
    to Khandwa and settle this entire business once and for all.
PN: You refused to sing for Sanjay Gandhi during the emergency and,
    it is said, that's why the tax hounds were set on you. Is this true?
KK: Who knows why they come. But no one can make me do what I don't
    want to do. I don't sing at anyone's will or command. But I sing
    for charities, causes all the time.

[Note: Sanjay Gandhi wanted KK to sing at some Congress rally in Bombay.
       KK refused. Sanjay Gandhi ordered All India Radio to stop playing
       Kishore songs. This went on for quite a while. KK refused to 
       apologize. Finally, it took scores of prominant producers and
       directors to convince those in power to rescind the ban- Rajan]

PN: What about your home life? Why has that been so turbulent?
KK: Because I like being left alone.
PN: What went wrong with Ruma Devi, your first wife?
KK: She was a very talented person but we could not get along because
    we looked at life differently. She wanted to build a choir and a
    career. I wanted someone to build me a home. How can the two
    reconcile? You see, I'm a simple minded villager type. I don't
    understand this business about women making careers. Wives should 
    first learn how to make a home. And how can you fit the two 
    together? A career and a home are quite seperate things. That's why
    we went our seperate ways.
PN: Madhubala, your second wife?
KK: She was quite another matter. I knew she was very sick even before
    I married her. But a promise is a promise. So I kept my word and
    brought her home as my wife, even though I knew she was dying from
    a congenital heart problem. For 9 long years I nursed her. I watched
    her die before my own eyes. You can never understand what this means
    until you live through this yourself. She was such a beautiful woman
    and she died so painfully. 
    She would rave and rant and scream in frustration. How can such an
    active person spend 9 long years bed-ridden? And I had to humour her
    all the time. That's what the doctor asked me to. That's what I did
    till her very last breath. I would laugh with her. I would cry with
    her.
PN: What about your third marriage? To Yogeeta Bali?
KK: That was a joke. I don't think she was serious about marriage. She
    was only obsessed with her mother. She never wanted to live here.
PN: But that's because she says you would stay up all night and
    count money..
KK: Do you think I can do that? Do you think I'm mad? Well, it's 
    good we seperated quickly.
PN: What about your present marriage?
KK: Leena is a very different kind of person. She too is an actress like
    all of them but she's very different. She's seen tragedy. She's 
    faced grief. When your husband is shot dead, you change. You 
    understand life. You realise the ephemeral quality of all things..
    I am happy now.
PN: What about your new film? Are you going to play hero in this one too?
KK: No no no. I'm just the producer-director. I'm going to be behind
    the camera. Remember I told you how much I hate acting? All I might
    do is make a split second appearance on screen as an old man or
    something.
PN: Like Hitchcock?
KK: Yes, my favourite director.
    I'm mad, true. But only about one thing. Horror movies. I love
    spooks. They are a friendly fearsome lot. Very nice people, 
    actually, if you get to know them. Not like these industry chaps
    out here. Do you know any spooks?
PN: Not very friendly ones.
KK: But nice, frightening ones?
PN: Not really.
KK: But that's precisely what we're all going to become one day. Like
    this chap out here (points to a skull, which he uses as part of his
    decor, with red light emerging from its eyes)- you don't even know
    whether it's a man or a woman. Eh? But it's a nice sort. Friendly
    too. Look, doesn't it look nice with my specs on its non-existent
    nose? 
PN: Very nice indeed.
KK: You are a good man. You understand the real things of life. You are
    going to look like this one day.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Rajan Parrikar
==============
Center for Microwave/Millimeter-Wave Computer-Aided Design
Department of Electrical and Computer Engineering
University of Colorado at Boulder

E-mail: parrikar@mimicad.colorado.edu
(O): 303-492-8719
(H): 303-440-3898
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