Anuradha Paudwal: The Melancholy of Sound
By: Manish Gaekwad
Tags: Bollywood, Songs, Music, Dance, Singer

Someone pinched her bottom to elicit the effect of her ‘ouch’ in the song Dhak Dhak Karne Laga

Anuradha Paudwal demonstrates the pinch.

It was her first steamy number and the Jai Mata Di bhajan queen did not know how to sing it.

Her despair tantamount, as she was explained how in the film Beta, the ever so comely village belle Madhuri Dixit would gyrate to her sensuous playback.

A week before the song recording Anuradha Paudwal trekked to Vaishno Devi from her Khar road apartment in Bombay, and pleaded with the cold mountain goddess to forgive her if the song was later going to be rejigged as ‘Mata Mata Karne Laga.’

Isn’t that how most prayers were reaching the deity’s gilded ears? O mora jiyara darne laga, Anuradha’s heart raced to those words sprinting across her troubled mind.

She could have refused to sing the song but when the scratch was played to her by the music composers Anand-Milind, Anuradha knew in her heart that the song was such a guaranteed hit that she could not let the opportunity to sing it slip. Both Alka Yagnik and Kavita Krishnamurthy were covering enough ground to leave her stranded alone in musical high waters.

Once back in Bombay after her pilgrimage, Anuradha sought the help of the lissome lass La Dixit to help her with the recording. She would need Dixit to guide her on the oomph factor. Initially, during rehearsals, Anuradha sang with a low timbre, with no thrust in her pitch.

Composers Anand-Milind were looking for a playful yet seductive quality in Anuradha’s voice. They were sure they could extract a sexiness, ‘ek madhur dhun aap ke kanth mein basey bansi se,’ (a sweet melody from the flute of your throat)’ as Anand had spelled out in those exact words. It sounded part corny and part sincere — the kind of praise she was used to. Anuradha’s voice was not easily associated with sultriness as she had made a career in singing bhajan geet in a flat, monotone pitch.

Anand particularly believed she had a quirk she was not tweaking. Milind being the more impatient of the duo would have liked to punch some more holes in her flute.

Madhuri decided to perform the song forAnuradha, to help her get a visual aesthetic to the lyrics, which Anuradha considered too bawdy for her own quiet demeanour.

‘You begin with heavy breathing, so cleave your chest and open your mouth only as wide as an oyster shell — a small but suggestive window. Then when you say ‘dhak dhak’, pull your stomach in, clench your gut, and then inhale…deep…lift your chest when you say ‘karne’ — karne requires a thrust from your bosom, and it should then cascade in your voice, after which you release air with the two syllables la-ga — this laga should have an impactful aah consonant feeling in it.’

‘Lift my chest?’ Anuradha was horrified. Bosom thrust? What insanity is this?

Anil Kapoor, Madhuri Dixit.

Anuradha was zapped at her dhak dhak instructor’s calisthenics for vocal training. Madhuri advised Anuradha to place a palm on her chest, locate her heart beat and sing with a sensation. To assuage her fears, Madhuri made the process sound sterile, like a doctor placing a stethoscope on her breast. Anuradha was aghast, and found it inappropriate to behave like that.

Madhuri, on the other hand, had already been choreographing the song in her head. ‘Trust me,’ she said, ‘Do as I say, and it will give the effect which both Sarojji and I will be able to duplicate on-screen.’

This was going to be Madhuri’s number one soft-core erotic number, no less than Sridevi’s ‘Kaatey Nahin Katt Tay’ in Mr India.

Willy-nilly Anuradha, dilly-dallied. She just couldn’t bring herself to act like that. Hours passed, Anuradha rehearsed and sounded more and more like a mooing cow outside a temple gate.

The composers were running out of patience. They needed to shake things up. Milind approached Madhuri and said, ‘I think you need to shock her out of her moral torpor. Either she’s too demure, or she’s faking it, drama queen!’

Madhuri knew exactly how to turn this around. She asked him to instruct his musicians, put Anuradha in front of the microphone, and pretend to read the lyrics sheet to her.

He did as told. Madhuri slyly walked behind Anuradha and sternly pinched her bottom and walked out in a jiffy.

‘Ouch!’ Anuradha blurted, turning pink.

She darted a glance at Milind who was privy to Madhuri’s prank. He feigned shock.

Madhuri raised a thumb and flashed her million dollar Mona Lisa smile.

This was Anuradha’s cue; she dropped her guard and sang without a hitch.

That ‘Ouch’ you hear in the beginning of the song, before Anuradha heaves.

That ‘Ouch’ which started the frenzy for Dhak Dhak Karne Laga.

That ‘Ouch’ which deflated Anuradha’s temple-going supercilious bum.

That ‘Ouch’ which sent her scurrying back into the caves of Vaishno Devi, where she now resides in her self-imposed exile; manjeere in hand, bobbing her head, singing dutiful bhajans.

No dhak dhak, only mata mata.

Trivia: Dhak Dhak is copied from composer Ilaiyaraaja’s Telugu hit tune Abbanee Teeyani featuring Sridevi.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction or more formally known as real person fiction. It is not for any commercial use. Read more on Real Person Fiction here.