Kabhi tanhaiyon mein yun hamari yaad aaegi

Jaswinder Singh Baidwan

Akhran da mureed
Staff member
She was the last from the golden era of Hindi film music. Mubarak Begum breathed her last on Monday night. She was 80. Lately, she featured more for the financial troubles that plagued her old age rather than for the unforgettable numbers she rendered such as “Kabhi tanhaiyon mein…”, “Mujhko apne gale laga lo” and many more.
The careers of Lata Mangeshkar and Mubarak Begum began almost simultaneously in the 40s; but their trajectories took disparate routes. In an industry where connections and stardom reign, Begum found herself more and more alienated towards early 70s. Despite being gifted with a potently textured voice, perfect Urdu diction that rendered melancholic ghazals, skilful qawwalis and sensual mujra songs, with equal élan. She was among the last of the generation that adhered to tehzeeb; the discipline of grace, many artistes discarded in the fast-changing industry.
Success was not unknown to Begum, she lacked the skills to cash it. Never negotiated her “rate” even when she sang all seven songs of Kamal Amrohi’s Daera, that gave all-time hit “Devta tum ho mera sahara”, often one song fetched her a paltry Rs 150.
Bimal Roy chose her to render intense songs for both his hits Devdas and Madhumati.
An artiste of such calibre, at the pinnacle of her career till mid 60s, she vanished from the scene in an era when singers used to enjoy success curve lasing for four to five decades. “I didn’t know hobnobbing,” she once said in an interview.
Born in 1936 in Sujangarh, Rajasthan, and raised in Ahmedabad, she was inspired by Suraiya and Noor Jehan.
The perfect humming of their songs drew attention of her taya, a music afficionado, who encouraged her to take her talent seriously. Soon she became an artiste for AIR and came under the tutelage of Ustad Riazuddin Khan and Ustad Samad Khan of Kirana gharana.
In 1949, composer Nashad (not Naushad) introduced 13-year-old Mubarak Begum as a playback singer in film Aiye, she sang “Mohe aane lagi angdai” and became popular overnight.
Stories of her penury, inability to pay medical bills, apathy of the industry and her struggle to keep music alive in private concerts have a different tenor. Eulogised in her death, if she could, she would say, “Mere qatil aap hain” to the industry that forced the sun to set on her before her evening.
 
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