The Man With The Harmonium And Harmonica

 I heard my first RD song when I wasn’t yet ten, and I remember that wonderfully warm living room of the Vishvanaths in Duliajan, the quaint record player (they weren’t called turntables then, thankfully) with a 45-rpm record playing Yeh Jo Mohabbat Hai from Kati Patang, and I remember the smell of Flit and the sound of air-conditioning and the garrulous conversation of the adults in the room as I strained to listen to the song.  

And I remember listening to a long record when they visited us in Digboi one day and my extended-family sibling, Sharu’s musical laughter when I read from the jacket and told her that Aao Twist Karen – a funky RD twist that – was sung by two people, Manna Dey and another guy called Chorus.  

And I remember the thrill of being gifted Hum Kisise Kum Nahin on my 12th birthday by the Ramans - a wonderful gentle couple they were, and they knew I was nuts about music.  That record still lies in the family’s ageing collection, awaiting a recall to the player, but it is far too precious now to be played.    

And I remember the thrill of listening to offbeat RD songs – Jab Andhera Hota Hai, which I have heard a thousand times and asked myself, How Did He Do This? and Ek Hi Khwab, a slow conversation, with memories…..

At cultural festivals in college, when everyone around - except me - listened to rock and Pink Floyd and Jim Morrison and Dire Straits were the Chosen Ones and all the conversation was about albums and quizzing and Life and grass, I’d wait to get back home to listen to my comfort food.  With RD around, there could be no other chosen one.  And I remember cycling back from college one dull, tepid afternoon after reading a letter, and then playing that song – my favourite RD song, with that misty dialogue about the moon in the middle - in my head.  And I remember that when I had stopped at that store on Richmond Road, now long gone, a stray dog with exceptionally liquid eyes stood expectantly by the side (and he got a bun for his effort).  

And I remember watching the rain one day and thinking of Ajnabee and Manzil, and then listening to Lata’s rendition of Rim Jhim Gire Sawan – where the base guitar is the finest ever and the smell of rain lingers…..  

And then, there is Yeh Sham Mastani while watching the golden sunset at Random Rubble and I have found a melancholy in that smile of mine. 

With every song of RD’s there is a memory, almost always a happy one, and they return, like old friends.  And, now when I listen to him, which is pretty much every day, the kids ask me to tone down the volume and to take a break, which is heart-warming to hear, for it makes me wonder if I have grown up at all.    

And, in this birthday week of his, I have listened to all of RD at the loudest volume society can tolerate to tell those busy work-obsessed, Instagram-cocooned Millenials in the office next door to chill a bit and sway on the terrace of their decrepit building to the Mozart of Memory.