June 29, 1998

The market-savvy Daler Mehndi lands a Rs 2.75 crore contract, the biggest in the business.

By Sudeep Chakravarti

Oh, Puh-lease," Joe cracks up, "give me a break." The charged four-hour show at the Taj Palace hotel, as much part of a glitzy wedding between two big business families as the wedding itself, is over. Amarjot Singh Batth, Joe to the world and em-cee to anybody who will hire him, is retelling to the band a story from five minutes ago in the toilet. About how a guest standing in the stall next to Daler Mehndi tells him in all seriousness: "Now I can tell everyone I took a pee with Daler." Daler laughs, checks for calls on his Nokia -- the only time it ever leaves him is when he trades the mobile phone for a microphone -- and tucks into some left-over butter chicken.

He has just seen off a string of children accompanied by simpering, diamond-bedecked mothers. "Param really likes your music, and he's only 17 months old. Beta, say balle balle." Param grins, Daler grins, the mother grins, everyone grins. They talk to him in English, he answers in Hindi. They keep asking him for autographs and he keeps signing. They go away Dalerious, and he cools off with some vanilla ice cream.

It's 1:30 a.m. Time to hit the road for a three-hour drive to Moradabad for a public show at the Railway Stadium the same day. It's light years away from the hotel, but in exactly the same universe as far as Daler is concerned. It's an audience, they pay for his shows, they may buy his music and they have a blast dancing when he performs. Daler "straddles the classes and the masses", as Channel V's Mandar Thakur, head of music and artist relations, puts it. That cross-over universe must surely seem like a better place these days. Two days before this show, on June 15, Daler's label Magnasound announced that it was paying him Rs 2.75 crore for two years for two albums and videos, the biggest ever single deal for a singer in India's music history, film music included.

The man who contemplated suicide because of a downhill career 10 years ago is, at 30, an industry bench-mark. He rode on buses, now he owns the latest Land Cruiser-Prado and Space Wagon. He couldn't pay a monthly rent of Rs 200 in the late '80s. Now he owns a sprawling house in west Delhi's Vikaspuri area, a large farm, a swank office in Lado Sarai near painter Satish Gujral's. From less than Rs 100 a shot he now reportedly averages Rs 10 lakh for one performance.

Daler gets up, looking more like a moneyed, trendy Punjabi businessman than a star. A slick pair of black, square-toed calf-length Harley Davidson boots, black Guess jeans -- at other times, it's a Versace -- and T-shirt. Two gold chains round the neck, leather briefcase, the other thing, along with the Harleys, that travels with him everywhere. Into a waiting limo and on to Moradabad.

Ask Magnasound boss Shashi Gopal why he bet so much money on one man and he just says, "We pay this kind of money for this kind of a guy." For Gopal, it's four major album hits in four outings with Daler, Bolo Ta Ra Ra Ra, Dardi Rab Rab, a Best Of compilation and last year's Ho Jayegi Balle Balle, all selling between five lakh and 12 lakh each. That consistency is unprecedented in India's still fledgling pop business, and betters the label's one-time star Alisha Chinai, who moved to rival label EMI last year after scoring hugely with 24 lakh tapes of Made In India. Alisha has reportedly signed a deal for Rs 1 crore with EMI, about the same that A.R. Rahman signed with Sony. Gopal thinks he's on a winning streak with Daler, putting as much money in one act that could have bought him 10 smaller ones, including recording fees, videos, cost of cassette, marketing, everything. "You bet so much on one guy when you know you're on to something."

The competition acknowledges it. Though wary about the signing amount, Harish Dayani, vice-president (sales and marketing) with HMV, which has the rights to distribute and market Alisha on behalf of EMI, comes straight out and says, "We'd love to have someone like Daler with us."

The bonus with Daler, they say, is that unlike most others, this man realises the value of tirelessly promoting his songs and his albums. He is on the road whether they want him to or not -- he wants to be there. This obsessed-with-success singer and his 10-man band -- brothers, cousins, family friends -- have done more than a thousand public and private shows each in the past seven years. That's two shows in less than three days covering every part of Punjab, most parts of India, Indian-heavy enclaves in North America, UK, the Gulf -- even Pakistan. "What Magnasound is giving me is a little of what they made from me and will make from me," says Daler, helping himself to some dhokla -- this man will eat practically anything, anywhere to keep his energy levels up -- at his host's house in Moradabad, barely half an hour before he gets on stage.

There's nothing without planning for Daler. And nothing without fierce ambition. He polished his raw image with the help of some mentors and worked his way up the networking ladder, being noticed, referred to as a singer for functions. Then being picked by Magnasound on the prowl for Indipop artists in the wake of the techno bhangra boom imported from the UK. A deal followed in 1995 -- Gopal picking him from a clutch of hopeful auditioners for a signing amount of Rs 50,000. Even then the savvy showed, says Gopal; others would be happy with a signing amount and push off, Daler negotiated for royalty payments as well.

Around his still rustic core, he is building up a slick outer shell. Call DM Entertainment expecting a haan-ji, and you do get a heavy Punjabi accent, but one that says "Yeah?" Look for a clumsy personal assistant and you walk into a cell phone-toting, smooth-talking lady. In Moradabad, his pointman has some years in advertising and marketing behind him. Ask Daler for an autograph and it's likely he'll open his briefcase, take out a business card and sign on it.

Daler Mehndi is pure market. Artists get slammed for being repetitive. Daler is packaged in such a way that people want more of the same. "This guy is severely focused," says Thakur, "he has relentless enthusiasm, and a complete sense of commercial reality." That comes from a past rooted in berserk schedules for pure survival, one in which not performing meant not eating. That energy, mixed with a sense of performance, says Mishal Varma of MTV, is what makes things tick. "He's a brilliant performer," says Varma, "and there's this ability to provide a number that people can swing to and sing along with."

It's like Macarena, he says, no deep thought. The hits are just catchy dance tunes merging Punjabi folk rhythms with punchy techno overtones ("... Pritpal Singh on lead dhol, Shivender Singh on lead guitar ..."). This song savvy is what gives Daler an edge. It brings him a turn with Amitabh Bachchan in Mrityudaata. The movie went nowhere but Daler gained mileage. In August, he's looking at the audio release of a song from Khauf, a drum-punched Ankh ladti hai to ladne de which he sings with Asha Bhosle and picturises with Raveena Tandon.

How long will it all last? "You think I have a battery that I can tell you how long?" Daler snorts, "I am where I am because I work hard and I give people what they want. I will change if I have to. I always have." He gets up, ready to rock Moradabad, a show which even the police gatecrashes. On the way out, he runs into a small mob of slum children. "Balle balle," they scream. "Chakde, phatte," Joe mouths. "Let it roll."

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