Kavita Paudwal: Singing Under Her Mother’s Watch

How her playback-singing career was nipped in the bud.

It was Kavita’s eighteenth birthday.

Her mother Anuradha Paudwal took her to the recording studio and said, ‘Yaad hai bachpan mein maine tumhe yahan ek khaas tohfa diya tha.’

‘Yes,’ Kavita said. ‘With Lata ji and Kishore uncle. In Tohfa, my first song.’

She sang from her memory.

Ringa-ringa roses, pocket full of poses, hasha-busha, all fall down!

They laughed in sync. It sounded like a mother-daughter duet gone awry, one in a high pitch bellow, the other a low giggle.

‘Ab tum badi ho gayi ho. Aaj tumhara pehla solo recording hai,’ said Anuradha.

‘Oh Mummy,’ Kavita said. ‘You are the best.’

‘Hmn, theek hai beta, thank you, tum bhi ho jaogi best, dheere-dheere, bas meri tarah bano.’

‘Who’s the heroine?’

‘Bhatt saab ki beti, Pooja.’

‘Oh wow. Pooja Bhatt. I love her. She is my favourite.’

Composers Nadeem-Shravan greeted Kavita, rehearsed a few times and asked her to step into the recording booth.

She sang without a hiccup.

Tu mera meherbaan
Yeh jaan gaye sab
Main bhi hoon teri jaan
Yeh jaan gaye sab
Tu mera meherbaan

The song was ready by lunch.

‘Mummy, my friends have organised a small pool party at Sun and Sand. Can I please go?’ Kavita asked.

‘Ghar mein pooja hai beta, aur family ke saath…’ said Anuradha.

Music producer Gulshan Kumar piped in. ‘Jaane do na, ab woh bacchi thodi rahi.’

Anuradha looked sternly at Kavita and said: ‘Par barah baje se ek minute late nahi.’

The rules were made from fairy tales Kavita read to her mother as a child.

‘Thank you mummy. My favourite mummy.’

As if she had more than one.

As Kavita was leaving, she opened the gift box Gulshan Kumar had given her.

‘Yeh kya hai?’ she asked.

It was a bright red organza saree.

‘Tumhari pehli saree,’ he said.

‘Thank you uncle ji,’ she said dejectedly.

‘Yehi pehen ke jaana,’ Anuradha said.

‘Mummy it’s a pool party, jungle theme hai.’

‘Kya matlab?’

‘Matlab western dress.’

‘Kya? Woh chhote-chhote knicker pehnogi?’

‘Two piece,’ Gulshan said.

Anuradha stared at him to exhibit her irritation.

Kavita fumbled with the saree that evening. Anuradha counted and folded eighteen chunnats, ruffles in the six-yard cloth to secure and fasten Kavita’s modesty, adding safety pins to lock the drape to her full-sleeved blouse.

‘Kuch galat karne se pehle athra baar sochna,’ Anuradha gently tucked in her morality.

‘I can hardly walk in this,’ Kavita complained.

‘Dheere dheere, meri tarah, sab seekh jaogi,’ Anuradha smiled and assured her.

She sent Kavita to the party with the driver.

After she left, Anuradha telephoned Gulshan and confessed, ‘Mujhe toh darr lag raha hai. Kahin woh saree na utaar de.’

‘Arre, tum toh khamakha, chalo hum jaa ke dekhte hain,’ he said.

They went to the venue. They were handed animal masks at the door. Inside, everyone wore one. They spotted a lion, a tiger, a wolf, a cat, a bear, a dog, a monkey, and several other wild animals but no reptiles around the pool.

Anuradha got an elephant mask. Gulshan wore a horse face. They hid in a corner to spy.

‘Woh rahi,’ Gulshan spotted Kavita in a deer mask. Her saree was still the untouched gift she was neatly wrapped in.

Her friends were dancing around the pool. Some were dressed in animal costumes. Kavita looked like a regal doe-faced queen in a stuffed toy shop.

‘Mata rani ka laakh laakh shukar hai,’ Anuradha heaved.

They noticed Kavita’s friends were requesting her to sing. She announced how she had just recorded a song in the afternoon. They cheered and asked her to sing it. She took the microphone from the live band that was playing and sang.

Pyaasi raat din tadapu tere bin
Door na ja abb dilruba
Kya hai bebasi kyun hain berukhi
Aa zara tu mere paas aa
Mere sanam teri kasam
Raaj-e-dil mujhko bata
Dhadkano ki jubaan jaan gaye sab

‘Kaafi accha gaa leti hai live bhi,’ Gulshan said.

‘Meri beti hai, mujh pe hi gayi hai,’ Anuradha said.

A young boy wearing a tiger mask got close to Kavita, following her lyrics as invitation.

‘Yeh kaun hai?’ Gulshan asked.

Gulshan tried to step forward to intervene.

‘Abhi do minute baaki hai.’ Anuradha looked at her gold watch and stopped him. ‘Gaana poora gaa lene do.’

Kavita sang and danced.

Ho raat chaandni chhede raagini
Baahon mein mujhe thaam le
Kya haseen sama hum bhi hain jawaan
Husn ka mere jaam le
Jeene na de yeh bekhudi
Betaabiyaan na badha
Pyaar ki daastaan jaan gaye sab

The young man holding a drink, grabbed her in his arms.

The aroused tiger kissed the deer.

Kavita reacted by pushing him into the swimming pool and sang the last lines: Tu mera meherbaan, yeh jaan gaye sab.

The drummer played the final four beats to a dramatic treble effect.

Her friends clapped. She kept the mike, thanked her friends, looked at her watch and rushed out, past her mother and uncle, not identifying them in masks. She was following her mother’s rules.

‘Iska gaana bandh kar dein kya?’ Gulshan asked.

‘Nahi, uska passion hai, sirf genre badal denge,’ Anuradha said.

Since then, Kavita has been singing only bhajans. Prolific, never popular.

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.