Mohammed Rafi and Sid Ruined My Weekend Plans
Caught between love and loyalty, the author faces a hilarious dilemma after a spontaneous visit with friends leads to a last-minute change in weekend plans—all thanks to a Mohammed Rafi tribute concert.
Well, here we are, and let me tell you—I’m none too pleased with Sid right now. The man’s really landed me in a right pickle, and all because he couldn’t resist showing Sam that blasted poster. Thanks to his daft enthusiasm, I’ve now got to rearrange our entire weekend, reschedule flights from Delhi to Calcutta, and watch my wallet get lighter in the process. Yes, it’s all because of Sid… and, would you believe it, Mohammed Rafi.
To give you the full story, let’s rewind a bit. Sam and I were winding up a fabulous holiday in Manali, snow-capped peaks, misty mornings, and all that jazz. We’d had our fill of trekking, tea, and tales by the fire. Our itinerary had us heading back to Calcutta this Friday, the 8th of November, with a short stop in Delhi to catch up with our old friend Sid Ghosh—my “brother from another mother,” as we call each other. It was to be a quiet little visit, nothing fancy, just a cuppa and a natter with Sid, his wife Annu, and their little lad Agastya, who has just discovered that ice cream exists and thinks it’s the finest invention known to humankind.
So, there we were yesterday, settled in Sid’s living room, sipping tea, munching on biscuits, and basking in that warm, homely vibe you only get with old friends. All was well with the world, and then Sid, in his infinite wisdom, decides to flash this poster at us. “What a pity you’re leaving on the 8th!” he exclaims, his eyes glinting mischievously as he waves the thing about. “You’ll miss this smashing programme my mate’s hosting on the 9th. It’s a tribute to Mohammed Rafi!”
And just like that, Sam’s eyes lit up like a child spotting a mountain of Christmas presents. The mere mention of Rafi had her as giddy as a schoolgirl. Now, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it, but Sam is a huge Mohammed Rafi fan. You’d think she’d been personally serenaded by the man in a previous life. I caught her eye, and that was it—the look. The look that says “I want this, and there’s no way out of it, mate.” My heart sank as I realised that our cosy Tolly Club plans for Saturday would have to wait, and I’d be reaching for my wallet faster than you could say “Ye duniya, ye mehfil.”
I tried one last-ditch effort. “Sid, I thought you were a die-hard fan of Kishore Kumar?” I said, clutching at straws. “What’s got you so chuffed about a Rafi tribute?”
“Oh, I am! Don’t get me wrong—Kishore’s my man. But Rafi was a legend too, wasn’t he?” He grinned sheepishly. “And besides, this event’s put together by my mate….” Before he could finish, the doorbell rang, and in walked the very mastermind of this whole debacle.
A middle height gentleman stepped in, dignified and unhurried, exuding this air of quiet confidence. He had an understated elegance, like an old-world aristocrat who’d swapped his silk sherwani for a kurta but retained every bit of his poise. His salt-and-pepper hair and thoughtful expression only added to his aura. There was something about the man that immediately commanded respect.
“Ah, Kausar Bhai! What a coincidence, I was just speaking about you,” Sid said, waving him in with a grin. “Meet my dear friends, Somashis and Sam.” Turning to us, he added with clear pride, “This is Kausar Firdausi, my friend and ex-colleague from India Today. Kausar’s now a freelance journalist with Outlook, a passionate singer, and perhaps the biggest fan of Mohammed Rafi saab I know. It’s he who’s organising the programme.”
After the introductions and a bit of small talk, Sid resumed his little sales pitch. “To be honest, when Kausar mentioned this event last year, I thought it was one of those grand plans that never actually take off, but here we are!” He chuckled, clearly proud to be part of his friend’s scheme.
“Tell me, Kausar,” I said, the journalist in me itching to get some backstory, “what inspired you to put on this event?”
“Well, this year is Rafi Saab’s centenary,” he explained with a glint of pride. “It’s a tribute to not only him but also the musical geniuses of his era—Suman Kalyanpur, Mubarak Begum, Geeta Dutt, and many others who graced that golden age of music.”
Sam’s eyes sparkled, and I could see she was practically starry-eyed at the prospect. “Did you know Rafi even acted in a film with Dilip Kumar?” she asked, unable to contain herself.
“Jugnu, right?” Kausar nodded, matching her enthusiasm. And just like that, I was outnumbered. It was as if they were speaking a secret language, leaving me behind in the dust with my faint knowledge of Rafi’s discography.
Kausar went on to share anecdotes about Rafi that I could tell Sam was devouring, word for word. “Did you know Kishore Kumar had a portrait of Rafi and K.L. Saigal in his living room? Big fan, he was,” Kausar noted, with Sid nodding along, grinning.
By now, I’d resigned myself to the fact that I’d be emptying my wallet to make these last-minute changes. As if reading my mind, Sid nudged Kausar with a grin. “Come on, mate, give us a taste of what’s in store for tomorrow night!”
“Oh, you’ll have quite the line-up!” Kausar replied, looking pleased with himself. “We’ve got Indu Thakur, Azhar Firdausi, Rehan Najmi, Sajid Answari, and the well known Rafi Voice from Mumbai Jugal Kishore, who’s also known as popularly known as ‘The Rafi of North’, and of course, myself.”
“Oh, so you sing as well?” Sam asked, eyes wide with newfound admiration.
“Why don’t you sing something for us?” I suggested, figuring I might as well make the most of this impromptu ticket purchase.
Kausar shot me a smile, and before we knew it, he’d launched into an impromptu concert, right there in Sid’s living room. As he sang, Sam sat mesmerised, and even I found myself swaying along despite myself. His voice filled the room, pure, clear, and tinged with the sort of nostalgia that takes you back decades. It was as though Mohammed Rafi himself were there with us, sitting cross-legged and nodding approvingly. Well I missed recording the songs, but let me share some from Kausar’s Youtube channel.
When he wrapped up with a heartfelt rendition of Mere Mehboob, there was a respectful hush in the room, like a spell had just been cast. Even I had to admit, maybe rescheduling our flights wasn’t such a dreadful idea after all. Sam was practically in tears, clutching my arm with a look that said, “See? Totally worth it.”
So here I am, recounting the tale of how my carefully laid plans for the 9th took a complete detour, all thanks to a poster and a song. Sid and Sam are over the moon, and I suppose I’m along for the ride, as the reluctant yet willing passenger. I’ll be sure to report back on the big event after the 9th—till then, cheers!
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