MANY years ago there lived a family of Muslim barbers in Kotla Sultan Singh village, not far from Amritsar. The father went to the city every day to dress men’s hair and shave them in his tiny saloon facing the bus stop. He returned to his village home every evening. He had six sons, and to the youngest, born on December 24, 1924, he gave the name Mohammed Rafi.

Rafi went to the village school where he was taught Urdu, mathematics, history and geography. He could have learnt his father’s trade and spent his life clipping men’s hair and shaving their beards. But there was a fakir who went around the village every day begging for alms in the name of Allah. He had a mellifluous voice that so enchanted young Rafi that he began to follow him around and sing like him. His elder brother Hamid Rafi decided the boy would make a good singer. He sent him to Lahore when a fledgling film industry was coming up. Music director Shyam Sunder engaged him to sing a song in Punjabi. It was an instant hit.

Mohammed Rafi realised that if he had to make a career as a playback singer in Hindi films he had to have grounding in classical Hindustani music. He did that under the guidance of Jeevan Lal Matroo and Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan. He made his debut in Bombay films in 1944.

Not being much of a film-goer, I was not aware of how Mohammed Rafi had won millions of hearts with his voice. I first heard one of his songs sung by a young sardar at a small party given for me by Indian residents of Rangoon. It was Chaudhveen kaa chaand ho, yaa aafataab ho, jo bhii ho tum khudaa ki qasam, laa-javaab ho (You may be the full moon or the sun, whatever you are, you are beyond comparison). Hammy words but beautifully rendered without any musical accompaniment. Back home in India, I got hooked on Mohammed Rafi. For 35 years he dominated the world of male playback singers as the Mangeshkar sisters reigned over female singers. He died in Bombay 20 years ago on July 31, 1980. He was only 55.

It is a pity that Rafi’s songs are not aired on TV or radio as often as they should be. They mean a lot to my generation. So I was very excited when I heard pianist Brian Silas would devote an entire evening to playing Rafi’s best-known songs at the Habitat Centre on his 20th death anniversary. The idea was that of Brian’s promoter and companion, Ravi of Rainbows. As usual she managed to pack the hall to capacity and had to turn back many would-be gate crashers. On the stage was the grand piano; behind it a large screen made up entirely of strings of jasmine flowers. The hall was filled with a heady fragrance. Ravi’s sister Sherry was to enlighten me about tunes which had faded out of my memory. My favourite Silas rendering is Jab jab bahaar aayee, aur phool muskraye, mujhe tum yaad aaye (whenever spring came and flowers blossomed into smiles, I thought of you). Again, a hammy verse beautifully sung by Rafi and as beautifully rendered by Brian Silas. I had no problem identifying Ishaaron ishaaron mein dil leyney vaale; others Sherry had to help me out with a mild reprimand: "How could you have forgotten this one?" A surprise item for the evening was Brian singing a ghazal while he played the piano. He got a lot of applause. I was not among the clappers. His voice is no better than mine. And mine is not very melodious.

The highlight of the evening was Brian’s rendering of Madhuban mein Raadhika nache re. He played it with superb skill with his tabla accompaniment making it into a delightful jugalbandi. Months of practise must have gone into it to make it the most fitting tribute to Mohammed Rafi.

Ravi is planning to arrange concerts for Brian in Hyderabad, Bangalore, Chandigarh and other cities. People who have not heard him play have certainly missed something very precious.

There was a time when no sooner sons of the Muslim elite were over with their schooling, they enrolled themselves in Aligarh Muslim University (AMU) set up by Sir Syed Ahmed Khan, to provide higher education for Muslims. Sir Syed was loyal to the British and kept his distance from the Indian National Congress. His ideas permeated among teachers and students of the university. However there was a small band of teachers and students who felt uneasy in the exclusively Muslim atmosphere and wished to be in the mainstream of Indian nationalism led by men like Mahatma Gandhi, Hakim Ajmal Khan, M.A. Ansari and Maulana Azad. So within the campus of AMU itself seeds of a nationalist Muslim university, Jamia Millia Islamia, were sown as early as 1920. Among the leading spirits was young Zakir Husain, son of a lawyer practising in Hyderabad. He was elected President of the students’ union. After taking his degree from Aligarh, he proceeded to Germany for higher studies. He returned to India after three years to resume his patriotic career. In 1928, he along with like-minded Muslims decided to set up Jamia in Delhi. A barren waste of land was acquired along the banks of the Yamuna near Okhla. A group of dedicated teachers joined them, including Professor Habib and his brother Mujib, Saiyidain and my own Urdu teacher Maulvi Shafiuddin Nayyar. The university survived on a shoe-string budget because the staff agreed to take no more than the barest minimum to feed and clothe themselves. It met with bitter criticism from supporters of the Muslim League and its demand for Pakistan. Maulana Azad was roughed up by AMU students at Aligarh railway station, Zakir Husain barely escaped with his life when a mob attacked him in Jalandhar in 1947.

Zakir’s triumphal years began after Independence. In 1948, he became Vice-Chancellor of Aligarh Muslim University. He was nominated Member of the Rajya Sabha for two terms and awarded the Padma Vibhushan. In 1951, he was appointed Governor of Bihar; five years later became Vice-President of the Republic and was given the highest honour, Bharata Ratna. On May 9, 1967, he became Rashtrapati. Two years later on May 3, 1969, he died. He was buried on the Jamia campus.

Zakir Husain had a multi-faceted personality. Basically he was a teacher: he put Gandhi’s ideas on basic education into practise. He was an essayist, a writer of short stories and an orator. Wherever he went, he was always the centre of attraction. He lent his ear to everyone and gave advice to anyone who sought it. His memory is enshrined in a college, a highway, a township named after him. Above all, in Jamia Millia Islamia whose foundation he laid.

It was fit and proper that a compilation of selection of his speeches, articles, stories and impressions of people who knew him be published in book form. Though somewhat delayed, this has now been done under the auspices of the Indian Council for Cultural Relations. Zakir Husain: Teacher who became President (Har-Anand) has been edited by K.G. Saiyidain’s daughter, Dr Syeda Hameed. Having taught English literature in Canada, she wrote a couple of books before she was nominated member of the Women’s Commission from which she retired a few months ago. She has done a painstaking job, compiling all the material available, including some rare photographs of Zakir’s younger days. She had many hurdles to cross with the ICCR and her publisher before the book took final shape. She has done a creditable job.

Kaun Banega Crorepati?

Banto accompanied her husband to the show Kaun Banega Crorepati. Among the 10 contestants, it was Banto who gave the fastest answers and was chosen to play the game with Amitabh Bachchan. Before starting the game, Amitabh asked Banto: "Madam, with whom did you come here?"

"With my husband," she replied.

Amitabh again asked, "Who is your husband?" Banto kept mum. Amitabh repeated his question twice, but Banto kept mum. Amitabh asked "Madam, why don’t you reply?" Banto said, "You give me four options, I will reply."

(Contributed by J.P. Singh Kaka, Bhopal)