KK passes away: Remembering the humble singer, and voice of the '90s

The death of a celebrity can move you in surprising ways. It happened to me last night as I processed the news of singer KK dying in my beloved Kolkata soon after his last concert.

Almost immediately, I began to sing and tear up. What else but Yaaron, dosti badi hi haseen hai, yeh na ho toh kya phir bolo yeh zindagi hai! When I was done, I told myself: "This is how I would like to go, bringing joy to people until the very end!" The thought itself shook me to the core. It is a noble aspiration, Bodhisattva-like, but so out of touch with the way that I am currently leading my life. I didn't expect this realisation to be KK's parting gift to me.

I remember singing the same song from Nagesh Kukunoor's film Rockford (1999) with a class full of eighth-graders at Shishuvan School in Mumbai. We were nearing the end of a discussion on friendship, and what that meant to us. It seemed fitting to close with that happy, affirming song. Oh, I miss my days as a school teacher! Only once in a while though. 

Bollywood singer KK. Instagram

KK sang in a way that felt uplifting. If you needed a friend, and weren't lucky enough to have one, his voice became that friend. It was powerful and soothing at the same time. It held you as you untangled your mess, without asking questions or struggling to feel useful. It let you cry, rub your eyes, wipe your nose, and hide your face in a pillow for as long as you wanted to. It gave you the comfort of knowing that it wasn't going anywhere. It was right there, with you, beside you, letting you be, not asking you to dam up the emotional release you needed.

I had the good fortune of listening to him on a phone call many years ago when I was a cub reporter. I had been asked to interview him. Sooraj Barjatya's new film Main Prem Ki Diwani Hoon (2003) was about to release, so Rajshri Productions had organised interviews with singers Chithra, KK and Shaan, and music director Anu Malik. While I interviewed the others at the Rajshri office in Mumbai, KK could not be there in person. 

A phone call was set up.

Having KK on the other end of the line was magic. I was instantly at ease because the man was more down to earth than I had imagined. He spoke as if I was doing him a favour by being interested in his music. The kindness you offer to a young person when they are just starting out never goes waste. The fact that I still remember how KK made me feel is proof of that. He was a thorough professional but not in a clinical way. He had respect for people.

KK is a big part of what I cherish from that time, whether it is the theme song of Tony and Deeya Singh’s TV series Just Mohabbat (1996) or Nupur Asthana’s TV series Hip Hip Hurray (1998), or the amazing Chhod Aaye Hum Woh Galiyaan from Gulzar’s Maachis (1996), or the melancholic Tadap Tadap Ke Iss Dil Se Aah Nikalti Rahi from Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam (1999). 

KK’s departure comes soon after SP Balasubrahmanyam, Lata Mangeshkar, Bappi Lahiri, and Pandit Shivkumar Sharma. Their voices played a big role in the success of the iconic Hindi films of the 90s – Rajkumar Santoshi’s Ghayal (1990), Deepak Balraj Vij’s Sailaab (1990), Yash Chopra’s Lamhe (1991), Anant Balani’s Patthar Ke Phool (1991), Mani Ratnam’s Roja (1992), David Dhawan’s Shola Aur Shabnam (1992), Yash Chopra’s Darr (1993), David Dhawan’s Aankhen (1993), Sooraj Barjatya’s Hum Aapke Hain Koun (1994), Aditya Chopra’s Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (1995), and Mani Ratnam’s Dil Se (1998). 

All these people have gone during the COVID-19 pandemic. It seems brutal but this is the way things are. At least, we have the solace of listening to their songs and feeling grateful for all that they have given us and continue to give us through the music they have created.

When I think of KK, I remember milestones from my own life even beyond the 90s. I used to sing his Aankhon Mein Teri Ajab Si Ajab Si Adaaein Hain for someone I dated briefly on a university campus. The song is from Farah Khan’s film Om Shanti Om (2007). I also recall Tu Hai Aasmaan Mein Teri Yeh Zameen Hai from Sujoy Ghosh’s film Jhankaar Beats (2003), which seemed like a much-needed musical balm after the Gujarat riots of 2002.

In KK’s passing, I recognise something that I hadn’t considered earlier: perhaps we are what we hear. The soundtracks of our lives mean something to us. They give us comfort, they express our deepest longings, they shape us in ways that we learn to notice decades later. 

What a gift it is to make music, to leave the world richer from your having been part of it!

Chintan Girish Modi is a journalist, commentator, and book reviewer

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