His lovingly built bungalow, Ashiana, on the Bandra seafront has survived the encroachments of real-estate sharks of sky-high towers. And despite malicious accusations and the politics of award ceremonies, the Sangeet Samrat Naushad Ali will continue to be a living presence in our lives, writes Khalid Mohamed.

Naushad Ali, the legendary music composer of Hindi cinema, continues to resonate through the timeless melodies he crafted in classics like Baiju Bawra, Mughal-e-Azam, and Pakeezah. His iconic bungalow Ashiana on Bandra’s Carter Road remains a symbol of artistic integrity and cultural heritage, standing defiant amid Mumbai’s high-rises. From his semi-classical style to his disdain for remixes and media awards, Naushad was uncompromising in his musical philosophy. Remembered for soulful collaborations with legends like Mohammed Rafi, Lata Mangeshkar, and Dilip Kumar, Naushad's legacy is yet to receive the documentary tribute it deserves. His contribution to Hindustani sangeet, the golden era of Bollywood music, and India’s secular cinematic identity is unforgettable.  

A Landmark of Musical History

On Mumbai’s seafront Carter Road, Bandra, there’s the comforting sight of the bungalow Ashiana with an attached music room. Built circa 1953 on the heels of the success of Baiju Bawra by the composer Sangeet Samrat Naushad Ali (1919–2006), it has survived the vagaries of time and the encroaching multi-tower real estate sharks.

The road in front of Ashiana was named after him in May 2008. Several similarly named colonies have sprung up over the decades in the nearby and distant suburbs. Naushad’s home, though, stands unscathed as his legacy.

Indeed, during his lifetime, a visit to his Ashiana was a traditional rite among music lovers and journalists. All it would take is a phone call.

Nearly three decades ago, then, I had dropped by one noon, and detected he could be extremely convivial but rigid. Said he, “Please stay for tea. We can talk for hours but don’t ask me to accept the Filmfare Lifetime Achievement Award. You may not be personally responsible for the injustice done to my Mughal-e-Azam soundtrack (the award went to Shankar-Jaikishen’s score for the Kamal Amrohi-produced Dil Apna Preet Parayee). I cannot forget how insulting that was, it was a slap on the face.”

The Purist’s Perspective

I was stonewalled. He talked endlessly about the deterioration of film music but did not acknowledge the merits of some of the young composers, except for A.R. Rahman. The maestro made it clear that he detested remixes and the MTV ethos. He would rather cherish the memories of the artistry of Ghulam Mohammed, K.L. Saigal and Noor Jahan.

Trade talk had always buzzed with the canard that he had ‘detested’ Kishore Kumar and had never used him as a playback singer except for a duet written by Anand Bakshi with Asha Bhosle – Hello, Hello, Kya Haal Hai – at the producer’s request for the forgotten film Sunehra Sansar (1975), featuring Rajendra Kumar, Hema Malini and Mala Sinha. However, it was edited from the final print allegedly at Naushad’s insistence.

Worse, there were careless whispers that he had earlier coaxed Suraiya’s grandmother, Badshah Begum, to reject Dev Anand’s proposal of marriage to the actor-singer. The composer was accused of being ‘communal’.

Clarifications and Convictions

When I had brought that up, he had responded with equanimity, “If that’s true at all, bring those who’re maligning here. This is pure mischief sparked by an interview given to a highly circulated magazine (The Illustrated Weekly of India). The fact is that Mohammed Rafi’s voice suited actors like Dilip Kumar. Moreover, if I had any prejudice, I wouldn’t have assigned songs to Manna Dey, Mukesh, the Mangeshkar sisters, Uma Devi and someone whom I respected highly, K.L. Saigal.”

As for the Dev Anand–Suraiya break-up, he had remarked, “It’s below my dignity to comment on such a delicate subject. Suraiya and her grandmother were mature people who must have taken the decision for their own reasons, certainly not mine. Perhaps Dev Anand made me a scapegoat. Look, as we all know, we have worked in a secular industry right from the silent movie era. So do you and so do I. My faith is mine, I don’t let it affect me professionally at all.”

Before seeing me off at a taxi at Ashiana’s gate, he had added, “Please listen to my bhajans from Baiju Bawra, Amar, Mela, Bada Bhai and Shabab before ever bringing up such questions of faith.”

A Lifetime Without a Lifetime Achievement

The Filmfare Lifetime Achievement for Naushad Ali was never to be. By the year he passed away, I had moved on to another media group, to suggest a posthumous award.

The composer had lived his last years in quietude, emerging occasionally on a wheelchair to talk of the music that was. His closest friends were Dilip Kumar, Johnny Walker and Ifthekar. His Bandra house had several of their sepia-tinted photographs and stuffed tigers, reminiscent of their love for shikar. 

Tall, lithe, spotlessly dressed – black sherwanis suited him the most. Naushad Ali was so at home conjuring tunes on a piano that he almost seemed to be glued to its 52 black and 32 white keys, on which his slender fingers moved magically.

As pointed out by music expert Sharada Raj, “The first instrument he ever learnt to play in his life was the harmonium, after which he mastered the piano. In fact, his career kicked off with a job as a pianist for the songs of Samunder (1937) for composer Mushtaq Husain.”

Where is the Documentary?

Today, on streaming channels (primarily Netflix), I’ve been watching the documentaries on the making of the anthemic track We Are the World (The Biggest Night in Pop), besides an extremely insightful take on conductor-writer-arranger Quincy Jones who was responsible for the fantastic quality of Michael Jackson’s best-seller albums Thriller and Bad, to name just two. It’s a shame, then, that the streaming channels or documentary outlets have not come up with an updated, comprehensive, technically polished documentary for the ‘now’ generation on Naushad’s invaluable contribution to popular cinema’s soundtracks, which still resonate on playlists despite altering tastes and fads.

Perhaps, there’s that inevitable obstacle to secure his songs’ copyrights and other bureaucratic wrangles. Surely, the official safekeepers of our musical heritage archives could overcome the hurdles. However, who knows? This could be easier suggested than realized.

A Legacy of Evergreen Soundtracks

Chronicles maintain that from 1942 until the late 1960s, he was one of the top music directors in Hindi films. He scored a total of 65 films during his lifetime, 26 of them being silver jubilees and eight golden jubilees.

Doubtlessly, we all treasure our different Naushad favourites.

Subjectively, I can merely have the audacity to list my all-time evergreens in no particular order: Tu Kahe Agar and Uthaye Ja Unke Sitam (Andaz, 1949); Suhani Raat Dhal Chuki (Dulari, 1949), Aaj Gawat Man Mero (Baiju Bawra, 1952), Pyaar Kiya Toh Darna Kya, Beqas Pe Karam Kijiye, not to forget the rare renditions of two songs in Raag Mohini by Bade Ghulam Ali Khan, and Mohe Panghat Pe (Mughal-e-Azam, 1960); Nain Ladgaye Hain and Do Hanson Ka Joda (Ganga Jamuna, 1961); Chale Aaj Tum Jahaan Se (Uran Khatola, 1955); Dil Ki Mehfil Saji Hai (Saaz aur Awaaz, 1966); Apni Azadi Ko Hum (Leader, 1964); and Nazariya Ki Maari (Pakeezah, 1972).

He had completed the soundtrack of Pakeezah since its original composer Ghulam Mohammed had passed away, besides designing its exquisite background music. The last film which Naushad composed the music for was Akbar Khan’s period opus Taj Mahal: The Eternal Love Story (2005).

The Final Note

Naushad passed away on 5 May 2006 in Mumbai following a cardiac arrest at age 86. He was survived by six daughters and three sons.

During his lifetime, the Maharashtra State Government had sanctioned a plot of land for the Naushad Academy of Hindustani Sangeet. Now and then, he would write poems which have been published in a book titled Aathwaan Sur (The Eighth Note). A private album, Aathawan Sur – The Other Side of Naushad, with eight ghazals is a rare collectible.

Perhaps his songs of sorrow were his calling card, drenched in the melancholia of the black-and-white era, even though the 1950s are considered the optimistic Nehruvian era.

Naushad was not a pragmatist. His semi-classical style of music as in Baiju Bawra and Mughal-e-Azam hadn’t found buyers in the fast-approaching instamatic age. He would, at times, take a year to compose a film’s score; other upcoming composers already had 200 tunes ready in their `banks.’

Even before the upsurge of snappy, ya-ya composers, when it came to getting his just dues, the maestro had been a victim of show business politics. In private as well as published conversations, he would neither forgive nor forget the fact that awards were doled out to less deserving composers.

During our afternoon conversation, the Lucknow-born son of a clerk had briefly flashbacked to his jobless days, of how he had once slept on the footpaths of Dadar opposite the Plaza cinema. When one of his films premiered at the Plaza, he had laughed, “I have just crossed the road. I will never forget that as long as I live.”

Whichever the millennium may be, Naushad Ali will not be forgotten by the connoisseurs of film music. Ashiana lives on gloriously. So does the music composer and the man.