A back-up vocalist who helped the composer create a signature tune.

‘Who’s that girl?’ R D Burman asked his musicians.

He had just heard the James Bond theme-styled title track Gunmaster G9 from the film Surakksha on the radio. Music composer Bappi Lahiri was singing to funky disco beats. Synth pop, claps, sultry back-up vocals, the tune had all the elements for a hit sound. Midway between the marching beat, a woman warbled the hero’s codename: Gunmaster G9. It was a distinctly anglophone voice.

‘That’s Pinto, Annette Pinto,’ said the madal player sitting with Burman in his studio.

‘Like Bond, James Bond haan,’ Burman smiled. ‘She seems to be trained for opera. I’d like to meet her.’

A few days later, Pinto arrived at the Film Center recording studio in Tardeo. She was carrying a flask of hot water.

Burman immediately sensed that Pinto would not be able to sing.

‘Do you have a sore throat?’ he asked.

‘Sorry sir,’ she said, ‘Yes, but I gargle. It will be fine.’

‘Okay, gargle,’ he said.

She did as told. The hot water gurgled in her mouth.

Ga-gaa-ga-gaa-geee-gee-geee-gee-grl-grll-grl-grll-goo-go-goo-go

She carefully spat out in a cup and smiled awkwardly.

‘Even your gargle is musical, in teentaal,’ Burman said to comfort her.

She chuckled to contain her shyness.

‘Shall we start?’ Burman asked.

‘Actually, sir,’ she said, ‘I have sung for you before in The Great Gambler, The Burning Train.’

‘Oh,’ Burman said, ‘I don’t recall.’

‘I do back-up vocals mainly. So many of us girls come together, how will you notice,’ she said.

‘Then I must call you another time,’ he said.

She felt rejected and left without registering her displeasure. She thought she had spoken inappropriately about having sung for him. Back-up vocals never get to the front. The lead was reserved only for the sweet Indian voices of the singing sisters. Hers was the sultry voice of the moll, the vamp, the westernised voice of disco and cabaret, opera and gospel, sounds discordant with traditional Hindi film songs. Composer used her foreign voice as a siren’s call, to mislead, to open for an established lead singer. She wasn’t expecting a lead song today, but was now leaving, afraid that she was losing out on even those back-up sessions.

A week later, she was asked to sing along with Kishore Kumar.

‘Oh my god, I could never,’ she said to Burman.

‘Why not?’ he asked.

‘I mean sir, he is a legend and me?’

‘Why not?’

‘Okay, I’ll try. But I am very nervous.’

‘You won’t be when you read the lyrics.’

Pinto read the lyric sheet.

Chhodo sanam kahe ka gam, haste raho, khilte raho

Mit jayega sara gila, humse gale milte raho

‘The song is set in a club. You croon in your own style. And add your teentaal,’ Burman joked.

Pinto sang her two lines confidently and added the non-lexical vocables: Ai-yai-yai-yaa-ya-ya-ya-yaa-ai-yai-ya-yaa-ya-ya-ya-yaa.

Burman was pleased with her singing. She was paid more than a back-up vocal, though still less than Kishore Kumar. She did not object. It was a start.

The song did reasonably well on the radio but she did not get the solos she was expecting.

A year later, she ran into Burman. He asked how she was doing professionally.

‘The same sir,’ she said, trying to appear unfazed.

‘Why don’t you drop by tomorrow?’ he said.

She did.

He put the microphone before her, handed her a glass of water, and said: ‘Gargle.’

She laughed and did as he instructed.

‘It is still musical, only this time, more memorable,’ he said.

In the film Satte Pe Satta, the gargle was used effectively as the background score to mark the villain’s entry.

It is considered one of Hindi cinema’s most unique and terrifying sounds, so unlike Pinto, and once heard, never forgotten.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction or more formally known as real person fiction. It is not for any commercial use. Read more on Real Person Fiction here.