Our appointment was fixed for 5pm at close friend Padma Sachdev’s apartment. Padma Sachdev, renowned for compering classical music concerts in the 70s, was Lata Mangeshkar’s comfort-compere at most of her stage performances.
She walked in on the dot of 5, in a white saree draped demurely over her shoulder. It was the classic Lata Mangeshkar look that will be the enduring image of the lady with the immortal voice.
That moment also exemplified Lata Mangeshkar’s other virtues of punctuality and discipline. She gave interviews very rarely but once she agreed to meet you, she gave it total attention, willing to take on any query that was respectfully addressed to her.
Speaking woman-to-woman, I asked her about her love for perfumes and diamonds. And she happily admitted in that famous girly voice that she was fond of diamonds. And that Madame Rochas was her favourite perfume.
The picture of composure and perfection in her sur, and one who had concerts sold out on mere announcement, I also asked her if she ever experienced stage fright.
“Yes, I do,” she had admitted like a sport. “I’m always nervous before a concert. But the moment I start my shloka, I’m fine.” Lata Mangeshkar always began her concerts with a few devotional lines.
I’m not a fan of the language he apparently used but maestro Bade Ghulam Ali Khansaab is said to have commented in an interview, ‘Sasuri, besuri bhi toh nahi hoti hai kabhi.’ It was actually the highest compliment he could pay another artiste – that you couldn’t find a false note in her.
The Prime Minister flying down to pay his last respects to her, national mourning for two days, state honours for her farewell and the cricket team wearing black armbands for the first ODI match against the West Indies on February 6, befit the legend who loved food, cricket and photography. In her lifetime, she was as comfortable watching a cricket match at Lords as she was before a mike in the recording rooms.
Alongside her dedication and professionalism, she was a fun person too, enjoying a trip to Disneyland, to the casinos of Las Vegas, the safaris of Africa and sightseeing all over the globe. I was at one of her recordings with Gulzar and R D Burman, one of the many teams she enjoyed working with. I forget the film or the number that was being recorded but there was a line in it that went, ‘Din dhal jaaye…’ (Editor’s Note: ‘Ab ke na saawan barse’ from ‘Kinara’). Between R D and Gulzar, they came up with the idea of using just that one line in the same tune as the iconic song, ‘Din dhal jaaye’ in Dev Anand’s Guide for which S D Burman had scored the music. That tune had nothing to do with the song which was being recorded for Gulzar that afternoon. But Lata was game and she seamlessly sang only the words ‘Din dhal jaaye’ exactly like it was in Guide before flowing back to the song that was being recorded.
In the irreverent 70s, before Lata Mangeshkar attained untouchable holy cow status, it was de rigueur to write about what was then called ‘The Mangeshkar Monopoly’. Quoting the examples of singers like Suman Kalyanpur and Sulakshana Pandit, these pieces contained much criticism against Lata and younger sibling Asha Bhosle, alleging that the two sisters had closed ranks to stonewall the entry of any new female singer. It was something both sisters denied with vehemence in separate interviews with me.
But Lata soon reached a position where she truly was above it all, bowing out of the Filmfare awards and keeping her appearances in the recording rooms to the bare minimum, thereby throwing open the doors to as many new voices as the music companies could introduce.
It is testimony to the stature she’d attained that even though an unabashed Hindu and a staunch Modi supporter, those who hurl stones at anything saffron refrained from targeting Lata Mangeshkar on any platform. That’s the kind of awe and respect she commanded.
Governmental authorities too tread carefully, never wanting to disturb the legend at her Prabhu Kunj residence on Pedder Road. When the idea of a flyover was mooted to ease the congestion on the road during peak hours, she and her sister had protested. That her privacy would be invaded, motorists would get a glimpse into her home, certainly into her building. Whatever the other reasons for it, in her lifetime, the flyover was never constructed.
Five decades ago, actor Om Prakash had remarked, “If every Indian were to give just one day of his life to Lata Mangeshkar, she will live to be a minimum of 100.”
Perhaps those blessings brought the cricket lover close to the figure of a ton.
As age crept up, she drew away from meeting any of her friends and colleagues, preferring conversations over the phone and WhatsApp chats to keep in touch with those she cared for. Doctors said that all the years of riyaaz and singing with feeling had made her lungs so strong that even in her 90s, she could withstand the occasional bouts of pneumonia that saw her in the ICU at Breach Candy Hospital. Hospitalisation was prescribed only to ensure isolation and well-sanitised surroundings.
Ever since Covid-19 threw lives out of gear, the Mangeshkars of Prabhu Kunj had strictly observed all protocols, with nobody allowed to go up to her floor.
However, the inevitable did happen as a mild attack of Covid managed to get to her, requiring one last visit to the ICU.
Often described as a singer who had Goddess Saraswati lodged in her voice, Lata Mangeshkar passed away fittingly just after the auspicious day of Saraswati Puja. Om Shanti.
The writer is a senior journalist and author
