|  |  Biography 
              There is something about his eyes. It is difficult 
            to break contact as Lucky Ali tries to reach with in you. His debut 
            album, Sunoh, written off by some as 'sugary pop', has found plenty 
            of listeners. BMG Crescendo, the label under which Sunoh has hit 
            the market, claims that the album 
            has already sold over 100, 000 copies. It did especially well in 
            Delhi and Calcutta, with a predominantly female fan  following. 
            It helps that Lucky is an extremely attractive man. Reserved, but 
            not unforthcoming, he does not behave like a sex symbol. Nor does he 
            come across as someone who wants to be one. "Women," according to 
            Lucky, "are proving a better audience because they are quieter and 
            gentler than men. Which, perhaps, is why they are better able to 
            respond to my music." He makes a big deal of the fact that he sings 
            not in English or Urdu or Hindi - the three languages he is 
            comfortable with otherwise - but in Hindustani. "Hindi is," in 
            Lucky's opinion, "a Sanskritised and sanitised version of 
            Hindustani." Most of Lucky's songs are lilting melodies and the 
            lyrics - though not as meaningless as other pop stars. What Lucky 
            does instead is to sing lighthearted, pretty songs that are upbeat and reflect the 
            new found hope and peace that he feels in his life 
            today.
 Lucky, born 
            Maqsood Ali Khan, is the second of Mehmood's eight children. He also 
            happens to be the nephew of Meena Kumari, one of the great actresses 
            to grace the Indian screen. Half-Bengali and from a family that has 
            been in the industry for years, he did not lack the requisite 
            opportunity to make his debut as an actor. "As far as doing 
            something was concerned," says Lucky, "I always assumed I would be 
            an actor. As did the people around me." And act, he did. First, in 
            Shyam Benegal's Trikaal, where he played Erasmo, the young 
            Portuguese doctor who comes home to get married. He worked with 
            Benegal again in Discovery of India, in which he played Ashoka's 
            brother Tissa, who was instrumental in drawing him towards a path of 
            non-violence.
 In more recent 
            times, he also acted in the television serial, Zara Hatke. "I didnot 
            enjoy the experience, though," confesses Lucky, "because of 
            production hitches, delays and other problems on the set." Ali is 
            not an actor in the sense of someone who pretends to be something he 
            is not. "I have always played myself on screen; this has always been 
            reflected in my choice of roles. When I played Tissa and Erasmo, I 
            was at a stage in life where I could identify with both these 
            characters." Shyam Benegal remembers Ali as keen and hardworking. He 
            not only acted in Benegal's projects, but also assisted the director 
            when he was making Susman. "Lucky," recalls Benegal, "was a good 
            actor but could not get into Hindi commercial cinema because, in 
            those days, he had one leg in movies and one in music." Lucky, 
            apparently, used to sing on the sets but was never taken 
            seriously.
 Though he has been 
            keeping a low profile about his famous father, Mehmood is not as 
            reticent about his second-born. Lucky's drug abuse problem, and his 
            consequent feeling of helplessness, apparently led Mehmood to wrote 
            the script of his film -- Dushman Duniya Ka (Enemy of the World). 
            The movie stars Ali's youngest brother, 21-year-old Manzoor. Then 
            called Lucky Boy, it is the story of the degeneration of a young man 
            -not surprisingly called Lucky - as a result of his drug addiction. 
            Mehmood saw only one suitable ending for the movie: Lucky debases 
            and destroys himself and everyone he loves for the fix he needs. 
            Eventually, he even kills his mother whom he loves very much. Lucky 
            Ali was furious with his father's vision and refused to act in the 
            movie. "I felt the story lacked hope," says Lucky. Mehmood, however, 
            felt that any other ending would weaken the impact of his 
            message.
 Meanwhile, Lucky 
            worked on a horse farm and an oil rig, acted in films and 
            television, and ran a carpet-cleaning business cleaning carpets with 
            his friend Aslam. The latter, incidentally, penned the lyrics for 
            Sunoh. All these activities kept Lucky on the move. As he talks of 
            himself, Lucky's eyes compel you to understand that this is not just 
            the story of uncertain talent waiting to find recognition. It is, 
            rather, an expression of the realisation that it is only too easy to 
            sit back and accept a life of mediocrity.
 This may have 
            been the reason Lucky ran away from his home on his father's farm in 
            Bangalore every once in a while. "But I would return," recalls 
            Lucky, "frustrated, again and again, because the answers were not out there but within me." This 
            search led Lucky Ali to a horse farm in Kentucky, to Bombay during 
            the riots, to literature - Kant and Nietzche and various religious 
            texts - to religion - he was a Jehovah's Witness for four 
            years.
 He is back home now and 
            seems to have found some measure of peace in the religion of his 
            birth. It is this faith that he reiterates in the S D 
            Burman-inspired song, Tum Hi Se in his album. Perhaps the seeds of 
            acceptance of orthodox religion were sown in him during  his 
            early years at a Catholic boarding school in Mussoorie where he was 
            sent when he was only two-and-a-half years old. This is also what 
            made his eight year association with marijuana a guilt 
            trip.
 He calls himself a 
            social smoker on hindsight and, yet, he suffered guilt every time he 
            smoked. This, in the day and age, when the president of the United 
            States can admit to having smoked a reefer or two. Lucky attributes 
            the guilt to intent. "Smoking was," he says, "more of an act of 
            rebellion, than of recreation or escape." On the whole, the 
            experience confused Lucky and caused him to withdraw more and more 
            into himself.
 Marriage,  proved to be a stabilising influence. His wife, 
            Masoom, who features in the video of his first released song O Sanam, is a NewZealander who, it 
            seems, has embraced Islam and the purdah with equal fervour. Lucky, 
            today, is a keen Muslim and his faith is apparent in his choice of 
            name for his son Ta'Awwuz: I seek protection in Allah and a girl 
            named Tasmia. He is now settled in Oakland, New Zealand, where he 
            farms potatoes in between working on his new 
        album.
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