HMV remixed Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan's Afreen Afreen

Subhash Ghai is swaying. In Mumbai's state-of-the-art Galactica sound studio, the podgy king of the masala marquee is rocking back and forth to a remix medley of songs from his forthcoming romantic drama, Pardes. Nadeem-Shravan's box-office-friendly tunes have been spliced, jazzed, and made dance-floor-worthy.

When the song ends - Pardes is the first film soundtrack to come with its own remix version - Ghai pays the quintessential Bollywood compliment: "You're all such creative peoples." It is a compliment pointed primarily at one 'peoples': a portly, bespectacled fellow with a nerd-contest-winner type of look, who's said to be at his most creative after his fourth whisky and whose nickname in the music jungle is The Ghosh Who Walks.

Ken Ghosh is a complicated fellow. No question. He abhors being typecast. That's obvious. Just being India's premier music-video maker wasn't enough. No, the former break dancer, who took 15 friends along for his honeymoon, seems to enjoy escaping definition. On Monday he's music producer - his first album, The Greatest Dance Mix, a techno rehash of the latest Bollywood chart-busters, was recently released by HMV and did brisk sales.

On Tuesday he's producing pop star wannabes VJ Luke Kenny, actor Ravi Behl and a two-girl band. On Wednesday he's putting together his weekly television show, The Real Countdown, which is aired on EL T V. And on Thursday he's shooting his first commercial, Yo Frooti.

Yet all this - the Phantom's new avatars - is secondary; the once-upon-a-time Steven Spielberg wannabe is what he is - rich and famous - because of his pioneering work in India in music videos. He more or less began this genre in India; now, having shot over 50 videos for a variety of singers, he dominates it.

So completely that someone should alert the Monopolies and Restrictive Trade Practices Commission and proffer this evidence. He's made approximately one-third of India's 150-odd videos. Two years ago, at the Onida Pinnacle Awards, all three nominations in the music-video category were Ghosh creations. Recently, Gulshan Kumar offered Ghosh the chance to produce a Ken Top Ten show, which would feature only his videos.

And last year four of the five top-selling albums, including Asha Bhonsle's Rahul and I, rode the charts on Ghosh's handiwork. No wonder Sweta Agnihotri, marketing manager for Hindi pop at HMV, says, "We experiment with other makers, but when it's a really important video, we fall back on Ken."

The Ken Ghosh video is not about attitude and rarely about style. There is little of the angst-ridden rebellion or even morbid sexuality so profuse in international videos. Ghosh's work is happy, peppy stuff - sort of popcorn art for popcorn music - designed, as Magnasound Director Atul Churamani says, "to put a glow in your heart".

And sell tapes (80 lakh cassettes so far, he says). His USP is twofold: he can effectively stretch budgets. In 1990 he shot Nandu Bhende's No way it's Bombay for Rs 10,000; in 1992 he made Jasmine Bharucha's Alone Now for Rs 80,000 when others offered to make it at Rs 2 lakh plus.

And he has killer market-instincts. HMV remixed Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan's Afreen Afreen on his suggestion - the song, propped by Ghosh's Lisa Ray, looking luscious in a desert video, sold over five lakh tapes. "Any record company will close their eyes and bet on him," says Colonial Cousin, Leslie Lewis. Simply, he's bankable, affordable.

But in an industry that thrives on being trendy, that's no compliment, Ghosh's work is often described as "pedestrian". Even Alisha Chinai, whose Made in India rode Ghosh's video to sell 22 lakh tapes - an Indipop high - turns her nose up. "I didn't want to use him because he does too much work. He's done one great video (Made in India) and the rest is trash."

Which is why artistes looking for more arty fare opt for other directors, even after Ghosh has delivered a hit with them. The Cousins, for instance, chose adworld cameraman Kiran Deohans despite Sa ni dha pa. "Basically new artistes use Ken," says Churamani, "but once they're established, they turn snooty. Ken is the music world's Govinda. No matter how many hits he delivers, he will never be Amitabh Bachchan."

The otherwise unflappable Ghosh bristles at the criticism. And points out that, unlike other music-video makers, he has rarely had the luxury of saying No. His Shadow Films - which he began in 1992 with Rs 500 and whose billings in 1996-97 were around Rs 3 crore - runs on videos and often it's simply a case of "choosing the least worst song".

Also, Ghosh's reputation as a "low-budget boy" has hurt him: "I'm expected to deliver on ridiculous budgets. People just take me for granted." Still, the dart has hit home. He's halved his work load and invested in state-of-the-art technology. But tease him about going high brow and he snaps, "It's easy to be arty. It's more difficult to make something that people like."

The soothing balm is that everyone - critics included - likes Ghosh. Even Alisha coos, "He's down-to-earth, willing to listen." There's no industry arrogance here; but then that wouldn't fit the laid-back image of this double-promotion student who went on to fail in college.
Only the motorcycle from his struggling days has been replaced by a chauffeur-driven Cielo, and as Indus Creed's Uday Benegal put it, "He used to be lean and hungry, now he is portly and satiated". Not completely satiated, it seems. Success, Ghosh argues, has not blunted his responses. Indeed, he is at work on his first feature film - to be produced by Polygram next year-and he wants to cast, who else, Govinda.

The Ghosh, it is clear, Still Walks.