The Silent Song: RD Burman’s Childhood Home Stands on the Edge as City Looks Away

Kushinara M D

In a city that reveres its poets and filmmakers, where melodies from Tagore’s verses drift through every season, a house once filled with the heartbeat of Indian music is quietly falling apart.

Tucked into the lanes of South End Park, the two-storey home where both SD and RD Burman once lived now sits in decay. Walls that once echoed with the laughter of legends, with harmoniums and tablas keeping time, are cracked and crumbling. Kolkata, it seems, has chosen silence over song.

Over the past few days, nearly 4,200 voices have signed a digital petition to save this house at 36/1 South End Park—to breathe life back into it as a museum. But even as fans rally online, the authorities remain curiously quiet.

“This house should have been a sanctuary for music lovers,” says filmmaker Abhijit Dasgupta, nephew of Rahul Dev Burman, who launched the petition. “We were given promises—of plaques, of a museum, of remembrance. But all we’ve seen is cosmetic change. A renamed street. A few photo-ops. No preservation, no action.”

The street was renamed “Sangeet Sarani” in 2021. But beneath that symbolic gesture lies the neglected reality: peeling paint, broken pavements, and a façade slowly surrendering to time. The house once reflected a distinct Kolkata style—rounded balconies, curved lines, gentle Art Deco flourishes. Today, it’s barely holding itself up.

This was not just a home. It was a crucible of Indian music. Here, RD Burman spent his formative years, long after his parents moved to Mumbai. Here, musical titans—Allauddin Khan, Salil Chowdhury, Asha Bhonsle, Hemanta Mukherjee, Purna Das Baul—would gather in spontaneous, magical jamming sessions. Here, rhythms were born. Songs were whispered into history.

And now, the walls stand silent.

The Kolkata Municipal Corporation says it’s “exploring options” for preservation, a refrain that’s been on repeat for years. The property’s current owner, Nisheeth Kumar Totla, claims prior talks with officials fizzled out. “They stopped responding,” he says simply. “I followed up. No one got back.”

Even those in charge seem unaware. Swapan Samaddar, a key figure in the city’s heritage council, said he hadn’t seen the petition. “If it reaches me, I’ll act,” he offered, adding that he wasn’t in the role back when the original promises were made.

But heritage doesn’t wait.

The building is more than history—it’s architecture, memory, and music woven into brick and wood. Experts note its rare residential Art Deco features, once typical of post-war south Kolkata. Now, they risk being lost to rot and rain.

As each monsoon passes, cracks grow deeper. Neighbours say parts of the structure are on the verge of collapse. The only official trace of its past? A street name that mentions “music” but fails to name its makers.

Their songs still drift from radios, concerts, and hearts. But the home where so many of them began? That may not survive the year.