Bappi Lahiri: Old is Gold

When the man with the Midas touch let go of 500 million dollars for a REMIX of his song.

(thread)

Disclaimer: Sold is gold. https://medium.com/@manishgaekwad/bappi-lahiri-old-is-gold-70ae7bd3bd42

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 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.

‘Chittu,’

Bappi called out to his wife.

Bappa placed a hand on his father’s shoulder, adjusting the ornaments as if readying him for stage entry.

He handed his father a DVD: ‘Dis eez aargent baba.’

Bappi walked to the television, inserted the DVD into a player and slapped the remote on his thigh to operate it.

What appears on the screen is the video of a man’s naked back decorated in tattoo. It is strategically covered to display ink in an arabesque pattern.

Lata Mangeshkar’s soothing voice hovers in the background.

Camera pans out: several hands spiral up in the air, women dressed as tantalising houris begin to cavort.

More music trickles in; beats, rhythm, melody, chorus, rap.

An African-American woman shimmers and pouts.

She talks a little and shakes her rump every now and then.

A rapper in tracksuit walks in and shakes the camera.

The song segues in and out of crotch vents as dancers try to glue their bodies into one.

Lata warbles 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, stomps his feet, stumbling into his bathroom.

He returns to grab the receiver from Bappa, flying into a rage, ‘Hello, Mister Biswas, aami sui korbo, sui.’

Bappa gently taps on his father’s jewelled shoulder, ‘Sui nei baba, su-su-su,’ repeating his syllables.

He wants his father to utter the correct pronunciation for sue.

Bappi scolds 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 moves away and returns after he sees his father put the receiver down.

Fidgeting with his China-silk gown belt, Bappi announces:

‘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 gleams.

His eyes twinkle with dollar signs, his jewels bling in morning rays streaming through the windows.

Bappa’s eyes widen in disbelief, he cannot believe their poor days are soon going to be over.

He thrusts his pelvis, and sings, ‘I am a disco…’

Bappi interrupts him, ‘Ei ta dance kore time nei' (This is no time to dance).

The father-son duo land in America, take the music label to court for using one of Bappi’s songs for a number on Billboards Top Ten.

Bappi quarrels in court, demanding his name be mentioned on Billboards across all highways in foreign countries where the song is charting.

The music label pleads with Bappi Lahiri to settle the case out of court for the sum he is baying for.

The defendant sings paeans of his musical genius, extolling of his showy wealth and generosity.

Bappi’s shiny heart of gold melts.

The Los Angeles court says no music CDs should be printed without Bappi’s name in credits.

The case is settled out of court for an undisclosed amount.

Bappa is not in favour of the settlement.

He wants 500 million dollars, since talent is in short supply in their house.

Bappi believes he had done the right thing, 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 sign me for Hollywood picture,’ Bappi triumphs, trying to console his frumpy son.

He decides 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 walk into the cultural shopping district, brimming to have found Indian curry in tiny shops on the pavements.

Along the road, they do 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 asks the attendant, ‘How much, kitna tola?’

A wall mounted television starts streaming 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 stretches his arm up to lower the loud volume but Bappi gestures him to not do so.

Bappi stands in rapt attention, approving, ‘Bhalo gaan, wah-wah, khoob bhalo ta gaan.’ (Great song.)

It is the video he had seen back home some days ago.

He is pleased to see it again.

The attendant hesitantly nods 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 caresses 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.

And the original tune.