‘Through his Fendi glasses, I could see kindest of gaze’: Singer Deb remembers Taz

Singer-songwriter Deb writes for HT about the time he met singer Taz and how he helped him. Taz died on Saturday at 54 years old.

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It was in 2012, at the Miss India Finale party. He was standing next to the dance floor, leaning on the bar, with Mark, his long-time manager. Decked in dazzle from head to toe, he looked like a prince. My partner and I were strugglers, desperate to make contacts in showbiz. Who didn’t know Taz? We grew up listening to his super hits in every bar and nightclub.

Daru Vich Pyar, Pyaar Ho Gaya, the list is long.

Even through his Fendi glasses, I could see he had the kindest of gaze. After we broke the ice, it was Taz all the way. He introduced us in superlative terms to everyone there, never mind that he hadn’t heard our music. At some point, Mark signalled that they had to go. They gave us their number. (Also read: Stereo Nation’s Taz, who sang Daru Vich Pyaar, Naachege Sari Raat, dies at 54; Jay Sean, Gurinder Chadha mourn death)

The following day, I found three missed calls from Mark and a text “Taz wants to meet.” The address was an apartment in Lokhandwala, close to where I stayed. We rarely value things when they come to us. We believe we are the best, that stardom is only an interview away. That such an invitation was a recognition of our talent!

Mark welcomed us. Taz was sitting on the sofa with his designer friend, wearing a black Ganji and shorts, whiskey in hand, and a tandoori chicken dish before him. Oh, what a man! He left all his work and went to chat. We had some demos we made in Kolkata; he listened to all of them. He was not stopping in between, not taking calls, just smoking like a chimney. He fell in love with one song: “Ore Piya Tu Jaane Na,” beautifully written by Arko.

Taz praised my singing and listened to the song many times over. We jammed together on G major. He revealed something inside me that would have taken me years to discover. That’s when I realised what a great songwriter he was. After that day, meeting Taz became an everyday affair.

He was always carrying loads of cash in his Gucci sling bag for no particular reason. “You never know; I might need it!” He was fighting his own battles. I would often hear him crying over labels stealing his music and not giving him credits. His family was the temple, and his daughters its deities. Something very pure emanated from him, and I felt deep gratitude towards him.

Soon he offered to manage us and asked Mark to conceive a road map for us. A day later, he said, “You must go to Delhi and work with a producer to record Ore Piya. That will be your first single.” His management booked the air tickets. He apologised for not flying us in business class. 

The producer in Delhi was a young lad who had some piano skills, but Ore Piya is a challenging song to produce. We were not satisfied with the result but didn’t dare to speak up. We returned to Mumbai on a late evening in July; the monsoon was in full force. Taz was sitting in the room with Mark. We reluctantly gave him the demo. He placed the CD in the stereo system and closed his eyes. Piano starts, he gets the vibe, my voice meets the cigarette smoke in the room. As the song ends, he stubs the cigarette. Doesn’t say a word. He takes the CD, puts it back in the jewel case, and smashes it against the door.

“That mofo has spoilt the song. This is not the arrangement!” Silence in the room. I never saw this side of him. I met Taz again some days later. He was leaving for the UK the following day. That was the last time we met.

We remember Taz as a role model for Indian performers. A creator of hooks and pure lyrics that will be heard for a long time. He was a kind heart who had an eye for talent and put his money on them. He instilled in me a confidence that I carry to this day. He was a natural performer who made me aware of that “switch” deep inside that separates good from great performers. His demeanour was so humble. I never saw him using his star status to berate others or misbehave with a woman at a party.

He was pure music—a hit machine.