Top composer, 92, lives isolated and bedridden in his Napean Sea Road apartment
Khalid Mohamed (MUMBAI MIRROR; September 15, 2019)
Virtuoso music composer, Vanraj Bhatia, 92 — who scored the music for Shyam Benegal classics like Ankur (right) and Bhumika and TV series Yatra and Discovery of India — is in dire straits today.
Advanced age, a steady withdrawal from a busy work life, and reclusiveness find the Mumbai-born musician isolated and bed-ridden in his apartment at the Rungta Housing Colony on Napean Sea Road.
“Is it day or night?” he asks, sitting up for a while, when Mumbai Mirror visited him on Friday evening. The tastefully-appointed home, albeit mouldy and dust-smothered, was tightly shuttered. It was up to a neighbour to ring the doorbell repeatedly, to wake up the maestro’s domestic help who has been attending to him for the last decade.
Bhatia’s knees are in severe pain, he has to be helped to walk to the drawing room to watch the 9 pm news bulletins on television. Evidently there’s been a severe hearing loss and also extended bouts of memory lapses. No specific illness has been diagnosed since the composer is not in a condition to afford regular check-ups by a doctor, says the domestic help, Sujit Kamti, 27. The help points towards a tableful of British crockery which has been put up on sale to make ends meet.
An array of antique lamps, teakwood furniture and rare artefacts, which Bhatia had collected over the decades lovingly, stand on mutely in the commodious living room. “These he won’t part with during his lifetime,” Sujit states, adding, “Sir often tells me that he has lived exactly the way he wished to, surrounded by curios besides sheets and sheets of music notations, which must be around here somewhere.”
The composer intervenes, looks me in the eye, and wonders, “Who the hell are you? How old are you? No one comes to visit me, no one. Why should they? No one has use for me any longer. What do you want?”
When I identify myself and remind him of a shoot for one of my documentaries he had spared uninterrupted hours for, he retorts, “Hoga, hoga, how did I look in it? Do I look okay now?” and allows me for a split second to click a cellphone picture. Click done he laughs, “Tu paagal hai. No one wants to see photos of old men.”
Heartbreakingly, his breath breaks as he grouses, “I have no money, not one rupee left in my bank account.” When he’s told that according to an acquaintance of his, the account has depleted to Rs 5,000, he smiles wryly, “What are you, a spy? Leave me alone. I want to go back to sleep.”
Unaware that a bunch of his friends and admirers are striving to raise funds for his upkeep and medical care, Bhatia draws a quilt on himself – although the airless bedroom is hot and sticky – and dozes off, mumbling incomprehensibly.
Monthly sums of money donated by foundations and individuals do help in preserving the home, of which he has been a tenant. “At this point, the amount is hardly sufficient. I have a family in Bihar but have stayed on, since sir cannot be abandoned,” says Kamti.
Bhatia chose to remain single. His sister is settled with her family in Canada. There are a few relatives in the city, who do contribute their mite. As for Bhatia’s investments, he had ruefully commented during the documentary shoot that these were lost around the early 2000s by rash trading on the share market.
Stalwart film auteur Shyam Benegal, with whom the composer had collaborated on nine feature film soundtracks, laments, “I think unfortunately, Vanraj painted himself into a corner over time. Apart from financial needs, he doesn’t have friends who can match his intelligence, sense of humour and world view. He needs someone to talk to on a day-to-day basis. A tough call in this day and age.”
A majority of today’s millennials may not be as familiar with Vanraj Bhatia’s estimable oeuvre, as the earlier generations are. After graduating from Elphinstone College, he trained in western classical music in London and Paris. On returning home, he joined the advertising world, toting a record score of over 6,000 ad jingles, most famously the La laaala la refrain for a soap endorsement filmed by a waterfall.
With Benegal, he found his niche in parallel cinema, blending the western with the Indian classical idiom. Plus, he created the cherished soundtracks for Aparna Sen’s 36 Chowringhee Lane and Kundan Shah’s Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro, to cite just two from his wide array of work. His last work was an opera titled Agni Varsha which was performed in New York and was slated to be unveiled in Mumbai.
Among the armful of awards he has won, are the National Award for Best Music for Govind Nihalani’s TV series Tamas and the Sangeet Natak Akademi Award. He was conferred the honorific of Padmashri seven years ago.
Time, however, has come to a standstill at the composer’s apartment, where he has opted to seclude himself. Six months ago, he was shattered when his pet cat, Papsoo, his constant companion for years, was run over in a car accident close to the house.
Ever since Papsoo left, the household help says, “Sir went silent. I can often hear him calling out her name in his sleep.”
Alone And Penniless, Friends, Admirers Start Raising Funds For Vanraj Bhatia’s Medical Care
