Once Upon A Cinema: The life and death of Aadesh Shrivastava

Once Upon a Cinema is series which will illuminate the dark, unexplored crevices of Indian cinema. In it, the writer will showcase stories and faces long forgotten, share uncommon perspectives about stars and filmmakers, and recount tales that have never been told.

Aadesh Shrivastava was outside his home, playing with his son. He looked toward the porch and noticed the tree was missing. This confused him. That tree had been there for years. Where could it have vanished? Did we cut that tree down, he asked his son. “It’s right there, dad!” But Aadesh just couldn’t see it. As if by impulse, he covered one eye, and the tree reappeared before him. Something was very, very wrong. He needed a doctor to take a look at him.

Aadesh was born in September 1964 to a railway employee and his professor wife. He was the youngest of five siblings. Parents, especially those that work, often find creative ways to keep their children out of trouble. The Shrivastava way was to keep them busy with music. Much before it became a passion, music was a hobby for Aadesh and his family. Before long, word got around and the family was often requested to perform at social gatherings and functions.

With the coming of uncles Pereira and Bernard, Aadesh first got a whiff of the direction his life might take. While Pereira played the saxophone, Bernard was a wizard with the drums. Bernard once came home with his drums, and Aadesh went into raptures, watching him practice. As luck would have it, Bernard left the drums behind that night. Little Aadesh played drums throughout the night, sparing no time for sleep. He was so small, his feet didn’t even touch the foot pedals. With the first light of the morning, Aadesh told his father he needed a new drum set to practice. His feet still didn’t touch the pedal, so he played standing up instead of sitting down. But he kept playing like a possessed young man, often throwing his stick up in the air, catching it right on time for the next beat.

A state-level, inter-school music contest had been announced, in which Aadesh was representing his school Model High. The composer team of Sapan-Jagmohan (consisting of Sapan Chakraborty and Jagmohan Bakshi) was judging the contest. Aadesh’s assured performance made them assume he must be a professional hired by the school. How can a schoolboy play with this much sophistication? Their reaction provided encouragement and validation.

But even in his late teens, the thought of a career in music hadn’t occurred to him. Unlike most such stories, Aadesh was good at studies. He always scored well, but even with 84% marks, he found himself on a waiting list which was long like life itself. It seemed like too much effort without much coming out of it, except for a certain amount of clarity. The clarity that music did provide a simpler and more credible alternative. Around late 1978 or early 1979, a 15-year-old Aadesh Shrivastava set foot in Bombay. But in a world dominated by men, who would hire a boy still in his teens? Besides, this was an era when giants were roaming the Bollywood forest. Legends were composing music and singing songs. Nobody had the time to gauge a youngster’s talent and hire him. He got to know R.D. Burman was recording at Film Centre Studio. He landed there but the guard shooed him away with disdain. It was then that Uttam Singh came to the rescue.

Uttam was then the music arranger for Sapan Jagmohan and a host of other composers. He was also the violinist for R.D. Burman. Uttam took notice and helped him meet music directors for work. Some work trickled down to him. Most of it was to perform on stage rather than bona fide film composition, but work was work. He did shows with Mahendra Kapoor and then with Tabassum. Then came a time when the likes of Kishore Kumar and Asha Bhosle were on the stage singing, and Aadesh was on the drums. It was like a delirious dream come true. He even got to perform with R.D. Burman, O.P. Nayyar and Rajesh Roshan.

The year was 1982, and the illustrious Laxmikant-Pyarelal were to conduct their first stage show at Calcutta. They were looking for a drummer. A friend of his recommended Aadesh to the duo. When Laxmikant Kudalkar and Pyarelal Sharma heard Aadesh play, they were fascinated. The next ten years were spent working with Laxmikant Pyarelal. He worked on the background score for Sailaab (1990), with Bappi Lahiri on board as music director. That’s when the first opportunity came his way - his first work as an independent composer. H.N. Singh’s Khatra (1991) was an unofficial adaptation of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, with Rajesh Vivek playing the reanimated corpse. H.N. Singh had been the cinematographer on many Basu Chatterjee projects. The film and its music sank, only to resurface on online forums and social media cultmongers. In a similar vein, Kanyadaan (1993) didn’t find takers, but he did record with Lata Mangeshkar and Udit Narayan. Jaane Tamanna (1994) wasn’t even released, but Aao Pyar Karein (1994) turned the tide. Haathon mein aa gaya jo kal and Chaand se parda kijiye, both sung by Kumar Sanu, were hits. He had spent over a decade and a half in the industry now.

Aadesh didn’t have to look back. A slew of hits followed, including Joru ka Ghulam, Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham, Chalte Chalte, Babul and many others. He was one of the few Indian composers who were deft at almost any musical instrument thrown at them. He was also among the few music directors who have never been accused of lifting tunes. By the 2000s, Aadesh was counted among the first-rate composers. He had jammed with the likes of Akon and Shakira. Creatively, Aadesh Shrivastava was in his prime but there was still a lot to do. And that’s when it happened. One morning in 2010, he realised he couldn’t see the tree on his front porch with one eye closed. The doctor said he must have pressed the wrong nerve while sleeping. The explanation seemed satisfactory for a moment but sometime later, there was another, more intense episode. Aadesh rushed to the hospital and handed himself over to the doctor.

The diagnosis was ominous. He had multiple myeloma, a form of blood cancer. Chemotherapy was initiated. But even in that state, Aadesh was in the studio wearing a mask, recording music. This was also the time Akon was in India, and shot the video with him. Aadesh fought and won. He seemed to be in remission. Five years later, there was a relapse. The fight begun afresh. But he was still undaunted, undefeated. While on chemo, Aadesh appeared - and performed - at the Mirchi Music Awards. But the cancer had spread. He had to give in. On 5 September 2015, just a day after his 51st birthday, Aadesh Shrivastava passed on, leaving behind an inconsolable family, and a wealth of musical experiments.

Amborish is a National Film Award winning writer, biographer and film historian.

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