Tape That

54-year-old Ghosh. Almost a quarter century after that first jolt, his eyes still grow owlish at the memory.

Today, with 1,130 films to his credit, Ghosh, or Hitu as he is known in the industry, is an old timer at Mumbai’s Raj Kamal Studios. From Sholay to Swades, this tall, thin, unassuming man with a salt-and-pepper beard has tweaked the sound of most of Bollywood’s blockbusters. ‘‘I never used to be short-tempered or tense but this place has changed my character,’’ he says of his years in the industry. ‘‘I’ve never regretted my decision to become a sound engineer,” says Ghosh.

‘‘In fact, I’ve never been unemployed because I started working on Shyam Benegal’s Nishaant one day after my final exams.’’ Benegal, who was Ghosh’s examiner at the film institute, was highly impressed with Ghosh’s diploma film Teevra Madhyam with Smita Patil in the lead, and hired him.

Ghosh worked with Benegal until 1987 during which time, he met Mangesh Desai, the undisputed genius of sound mixing. That meeting led to a collaboration with Kuldeep Sood on the sound effects of Sholay, which included the famous Bachchan coin-tossing sequence.‘‘Ramesh Sippy didn’t want background music while that dramatic scene unfolded, he just wanted the sound of the coin,’’ recollects Ghosh, who spent three days flipping coins in vain. ‘‘It just didn’t make a sound,’’ he says. Finally, when one dropped accidentally, the rolling sound of the coin on a mosaic floor made the cut, and went into the blockbuster. ‘‘When we took it to London, the recordist there refused to use this sound but Mangeshji insisted, even if it meant coining a new phrase called Mangeshophonic.’’

Soon after these trips to London to record on magnetic sound tape, a chudiwala (bangle vendor) who received audio tapes from London as scrap for recycling into bangles, brought a magnetic tape to Raj Kamal. ‘‘They didn’t exist in India and I decided to record on it,’’ reminisces Ghosh. You can still see the glee on his face as he recounts his second successful accident. ‘‘Once I told Mangeshji that we could actually record on this new medium, a recording machine was imported.’’

Ghosh, in fact, has many stories to tell. He remembers catching the legendary Satyajit Ray smoking in his studio. ‘‘No one’s allowed to smoke in the studio and Ray told me that he left the pipe in his mouth out of habit, but was actually inhaling the smoke,’’ laughs Ghosh who later squealed on Ray to his wife (who promptly dislodged the pipe from her husband’s mouth).

Sadly for Ghosh, there’s no one to carry on his legacy. ‘‘I’ve tried convincing my son,’’ he says with a wry laugh, referring to Kabeer who’s doing a management degree.

Then the old man of sound changes direction. ‘‘You know why so many films are flopping today?” he asks.

“There’s no emotion. Gone are the days when people used to say Maaro saale ko, aur maaro while watching a fight sequence.’’

His face twists animatedly and his fist punches the air as he speaks. This is why people love working with Ghosh. He brings with him emotion, and tonnes of sound sense.