Bappi Lahiri: Old is Gold
The man with the Midas touch let go of 500 million dollars
Son Bappa ran into father Bappi Lahiri’s bedroom early one morning.
Bappi was snoring steadfast. Breathing in, the chiming music of gold chains fettered to his chest gave him the appearance of a child lulled into deep sleep by the harp sounds of pram rattle. Breathing out, a humpback whale song snorted in dreamland.
‘Baba, otho, otho baba (Wake up dad),’ Bappa rubbed his palm on his father’s fleshy thigh.
Bappi felt a tremor rising up his body. His bed tumultuous, like an over-crowded dinghy on calm waters. Bappi woke up with a start.
‘Ki, ki jinis Bappa, aamake keno dishtarb korcho, aami ghumate chaee, I am lissning new tune, ektu disco track I am dreaming baba, aami mujhik ta copy korte chai, pleez leabh me aa-lone, goh away, I will diss-cuss vith eww later. (What, what business Bappa, why are you disturbing me, I want to sleep, I am listening to a new tune, a disco track I am dreaming, I need to copy the music, please leave me alone, go away, I will discuss with you later.)’
‘Uff baba, tumi jaano na, ki hoiche ki (You don’t know what has happened),’ Bappa’s speech slurred into babble.
Bappi rubbed his eyes in despair. ‘Chitra,’ Bappi called out for his mediator wife.
Bappa placed a hand on his father’s shoulder and began to adjust the ornaments as if readying him for stage entry. He handed his father a DVD and said, ‘Dis eez aargent baba.’
Bappi walked over to the television cabinet and inserted the DVD into a player. The television set was turned on and a remote was slapped on Bappa’s thigh to operate it.
What appeared on the screen was the video of a man’s naked back decorated in tattoo. It was strategically covered to display ink in an arabesque pattern. Lata Mangeshkar’s soothing voice hovered in the background. Camera panned out: several hands spiralled up in the air, women dressed as tantalising houris began to cavort. More music trickled in; beats, rhythm, melody, chorus, rap. An African-American woman shimmered and pouted her big, glossy mouth. She talked a little and shook her rump every now and then. A rapper in tracksuit walked into the party and shook the camera. The song segued in and out of crotch vents as dancers tried to glue their bodies into one. Lata warbled along to these people, inchoate, but on full bass.
Bappi was shocked. ‘Ki ascharjo, eei toh amaar gaan,’ (What nonsense, this is my song) he excoriated, adjusting morning phlegm in his throat.
‘Ebar ki korbe baba? (What will you do now father?)’ Bappa collected his words like small change.
‘Phone ta ghoomao, HMV record office, Mister Biswas, haan, tei, Mister Biswas ei songe amaar kotha korao. (Make a call to HMV record office, Mr Biswas, yes that, Mister Biswas I want to speak to).’
Bappi, roused from his sleep, stomped his feet, stumbling into his bathroom, marching orders to his son. He hated being woken before noon.
He returned to grab the receiver from Bappa, flying into a rage, ‘Hello, Mister Biswas, aami sui korbo, sui.’
Bappa gently tapped on his father’s jewelled shoulder, ‘Sui nei baba, su-su-su,’ repeating his syllables without a pause. He wanted his father to utter the correct pronunciation for the word sue.
Bappi scolded him, ‘Ki susu-susu korcho? Jao okhane susu kore esho! Amaar hoye geche (What su-su are you doing? Go there, pee and come back! I am done pissing.)’
Bappa moved away and returned after he saw his father put the receiver down.
Fidgeting with his China-silk gown belt, Bappi announced, ‘US return ticket book koro, amraa du jon Amrika jaabo, sew kore taaka niye aashbo (Book US return tickets, we two will go to America, will return with compensation money.)’
‘Koto taaka, Baba? (How much money, father?)’
‘Five hundred million dollars!’ Bappi gleamed, his eyes twinkled with dollar signs, his jewels blingy in morning rays streaming through the windows.
Bappa’s eyes widened in disbelief, he could not believe their poor musical days were soon going to be over. He thrusted his pelvis and sang, ‘I am a disco…’
Bappi interrupted him, ‘Ei ta dance kore time nei, (This is no time to dance).
The father-son duo landed in America, taking the music label to court for using one of Bappi’s songs for a number that had made it to Billboards Top Ten.
Bappi quarrelled in court, demanding his name be mentioned on billboards across all highways in foreign countries where the song was charting.
The music label pleaded with Bappi Lahiri to settle the case out of court for the sum he was singing throatily in court for. The defendant sang paeans of his musical genius, extolling of his showy wealth and generosity.
Bappi’s shiny heart of gold melted.
The Los Angeles court judge ruled that no further music CDs should be printed without Bappi’s name on the song credits. The case was settled out of court for an undisclosed amount.
Bappa was not in favour of the settlement. He wanted 500 million dollars, since talent after senior Lahiri was in short supply in the house.
Bappi believed he had done the right thing by taking a negligible token amount for his fame that will hence stun the western world.
‘Don’t worry Bappa, very soon this english peepals vill come to our house to sign me for Hollywood picture,’ Bappi triumphed, trying to console his frumpy son. He decided to take his son to Little India — the city of Artesia in the south east of Los Angeles, which has the largest Asian-Indian population in California.
They walked into the cultural shopping district, brimming to have found Indian curry in tiny shops on the pavements. Along the road, they did not avoid stepping into a glittering jewellery store — it is the most natural thing for Bappi to do anywhere.
Weighing precious gold metals in his chubby palms, Bappi asked the attendant, ‘How much, kitna tola?’
A wall mounted television streamed the music video of Addictive, a song by the artist Truth Hurts in which playback artist Lata Mangeshkar is heard singing in the background. The song is Kaliyon Ka Chaman Jab Banta Hai, composed by Bappi Da. The attendant stretched his arm up to lower the loud volume but Bappi gestured him to not do so.
Bappi stood in rapt attention, approving, ‘Bhalo gaan, wah-wah, khoob bhalo ta gaan.’ It is the video he had seen back home some days ago. He was pleased to see it again. The attendant hesitantly nodded in agreement, shaking his head left-right like the famous Indian head bobble.
One of the lines in the lyrics is, ‘Heere moti jadhte hain, thoda sona lagta hai.’
Bappi caressed the lustre of the yellow metal in his hand, making it sparkle even more than usual, admiring his own Midas touch.
Trivia: On September 12, 2002, the Indian music company Saregama filed a $500 million lawsuit against Universal Music Group, and filed an injunction to prevent further performances or broadcasts of the song.
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.
