When the great, gifted singer Manna Dey — immediately anointed legend — after he breathed his last, moved from sight to memory after being on life support for a while, the media and everybody did the predictable thing … lip service. Sure, many people expressed feelings and sentiments from the heart, but tons of interviews, bytes and takes came from people who, for ages (if ever) were off the singers radar.
I guess it is a human fallacy — convenient, comfortable, politically correct, even expected — to suddenly emerge from the woodwork and let fly emotion-dripping never-before anecdotes (real or imagined) about the departed soul, hoping to be counted among his very special own. It happens each time a celebrity leaves us for outer space — be it Dev Anand, Shammi Kapoor, Rajesh Khanna, Yash Raj Chopra — the noises (zilch during their lifetime) hit decibel levels, unimagined! Ah well …
Indian Coffee House in Kolkata pays tribute to one of its frequent patrons, Manna Dey
Coming to Prabodh Chandra Dey — Manna Dey’s real name — who signed off at age 94 (almost 70 years after singing his first song in the 1942 film Tamanna) his entire career was one of talent never fully celebrated or given its due, even if acknowledged and recognized by connoisseurs, music-directors, colleagues, film-makers and discerning fans. The reason was simple. Branding, a critical component of marketing and image-building, totally escaped his voice in relation to the stars who rocked the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s. The Big Three had their chosen voices: Dilip Kumar had Mohammad Rafi. Raj Kapoor had Mukesh. Dev Anand was partial to Kishore Kumar. Dilip and Dev interchanged between Rafi and Kishore (Bairaag, Sagina) but this was, more or less, a given brand-fit.
Manna Dey, with his sweet voice and flair for the classical, came in when there was a requirement for this kind of tonality. Hence Baiju Bawra, Barsaat ki Raat, Basant Bahaar etc. Sure, he was adept at other forms too, as brilliantly showcased in Pyar Hua Ikraar Hua, Yeh Raat Bheegi Bheegi, Kaun Aaya Mere Man Ke Dwaare, Poochho Na Kaise Maine Rain Bitayee, Laaga Chunari Mein Daag, Ae Mere Pyare Vatan, Ae Mere Zohra Jabeen, Kasme Vaade, Ek Chatur Nari, Yeh Dosti, Aao twist Karen, Zindagi Kaisi Hai Paheli, Madhushala. But, clearly, he was the outsider among stars, unlikely to emerge at a time when the chairs were occupied and he had to constantly wait his turn for one of the star-singers to grant him place or chance upon a song that only he could do justice to.
It was the greatness of the man that never ever — unlike today’s bitching generation — did he say any unkind words about his colleagues or the music fraternity. Instead, he went on record to praise them to the skies, especially Rafi and Kishore. The compliment, of course, was returned by these legends in fulsome manner.
In later years however, he did express disappointment about the focus and direction of film music, but never did he insult, berate or dismiss any of the new singers, music directors, lyricists. He was too refined for that. He kept busy with his silent communion with his muse and till the time he could, did his riyaaz every day.
A fine human being, an astonishingly gifted and versatile singer, a warm and wonderful colleague, as Lata Mangeshkar has pointed out, he was the last of the glorious quartet of Rafi-Mukesh-Kishore-Manna to depart … and the world of music is unquestionably poorer for this irreparable loss.