‘There was joy, serenity and absolute security in the music of Lata Mangeshkar’: Sharmila Tagore

As I was leaving for our ancestral home in Pataudi on Sunday, the news of Lataji’s passing flashed on my phone. Before I could process the news and grasp the magnitude of this loss, I was confronted with a deluge of media interactions to discuss Lataji’s life and memory. There was so much to say yet nothing could do justice to her grand life. I had been in touch with her niece Rachna since her hospitalisation after COVID-19 and was convinced that Lataji would be home soon, that I would get an opportunity to meet her in Mumbai to receive the very prestigious Deenanath Smriti Prathishthan Award which she had been keen to bestow upon me since 2020. Unfortunately, the pandemic made it prohibitive for me to receive the award in 2020 and 2021. I hoped to receive this great honour from her, in person, sometime this year. But it was not to be and I am overcome with deep regret and sadness.

Lataji has been a part of my life since I was just a year old. My mother would sing her songs to me and her voice gradually became a looming presence in our house. As an adolescent, I found myself humming her songs; Aayega, Aayega Aanewala (Mahal, 1949) was an absolute favourite of mine. Little did I know then that a few years later, Lataji would be my voice in several films and I would actually have the privilege of knowing her, albeit from a revered distance. My husband Tiger (cricketer Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi) was a devoted admirer of Lataji’s. When I met him, he was absolutely unfamiliar with my work and his only gateway to the Hindi film industry was through (actors) Yusuf sahab (Dilip Kumar), Vyjayanthimalaji, and Lataji. Not one given to public displays of emotions, Tiger could be found gushing at the very mention of Lataji. Once, when he found out that Lataji was recording at Famous Studio, Tardeo, and there could be a possibility to meet her, he immediately seized the moment and rushed to meet his favourite icon.

When Lata Mangeshkar was born in Indore in 1929, no one could have known that she would, perhaps, become one of the most recognisable voices in the world. But the prediction came at an early age from none other than Madam Noor Jehan, who was so impressed by the young singer’s rendition of raag Jaijaiwanti and RC Boral’s Jeevan Hai Bekaar Tumhare from the film Wapas (1969), she instantly proclaimed that the little girl will be a successful singer one day and advised her to continue with her riyaaz. Several years later, in 1961, Lataji left Madam Noor Jehan spellbound as she performed Allah Tero Naam (Hum Dono, 1961) in front of her idol at Shanmukhananda Hall in Bombay.
In 1942, when she was 13 years old, Lataji started her career with the Marathi film Kiti Hasaal after her father’s early demise. But it wasn’t until 1948 that she got her first major playback opportunity from Ghulam Haider for the film Majboor. The song Dil Mera Toda O Mujhe Kahin Ka Na chhoda became an instant hit. Thereafter, Lataji’s rise was swift. She became a powerful presence. Music composers were in awe of her control and infallible intonation and queued up to offer her their best compositions.

In the 1950s and ’60s, Lataji was singing a range of wonderful songs. She eluded banalities with her buoyancy and interpolations. She sang many raga-based songs with Naushad sahab, sentimental hits of Salil Chowdhury, and the versatile songs for the commanding duo Shankar-Jaikishanji, some of which were even inspired by jazz, Western classical music and pop hits of The Beatles. Lataji’s eerie and haunting rendition of Gumnaam Hai Koi (Gumnaam, 1965) was influenced by ‘Somewhere My Love’ from Dr Zhivago (1965) and the Hawaiian-themed number Ajeeb Dastan Hai Yeh (Dil Apna Aur Preet Parai, 1960) was inspired by Jim Reeve’s ‘My lips are Sealed’. Shankar-Jaikishan got out the best in Manna De. Lataji proved to be a formidable match with him. Some of Lataji’s best music is with De — Pyaar Hua Ikraar Hua (‘Shree 420′, 1955), Chadh Gaya Paapi Bichhua (Madhumati, 1958) and Dil ki Girah Khol Do (Raat Aur Din, 1967) are just some of the many gems they gifted us. During this period, Lataji’s rebellious Pyar Kiya Toh Darna Kya from Mughal-E-Azam (1960) also achieved cult status.

India’s nightingale. (Photo: Express Archive)

Lataji was a protean voice. She set a gold standard for music against which singers continue to be measured. Lataji used her radiant, warm voice like an instrument emphasising virtuosity rather than arrogant conviction. Her singing was characterised by purity, an impeccable sense of rhythm, clarity, perfect diction, melody and an expansive vocal range. She had the uncanny ability to place the song just where it should be. She made the lyrics matter by lending them the right emotional depth. There was joy, serenity and absolute security in the music of Lata Mangeshkar.

On January 26, 1963 legends from the film industry like Yusuf sahab, Raj Kapoor sahab, Shankar-Jaikishanji, Madan Mohanji and Hemant Kumarji, to name a few, flew down to Delhi to see Lataji perform the music miracle Ae Mere Watan Ke Logo at the Ramlila Maidan. Lataji was initially hesitant to sing the song as she had very little time for preparation but conceded defeat to a very determined Kavi Pradeep, the lyricist of the song. Lataji was given time only on the flight to Delhi and the night before to memorise the song and render it before a packed audience at 3.30 pm the next day. We are well aware about the magic that followed. A misty-eyed Jawaharlal Nehru invited Lataji for tea to his official residence where she met Indira Gandhi, who without wasting a moment, introduced Lataji to her two “admirers” — sons Rajiv and Sanjay Gandhi. Since that day, Ae Mere Watan Ke Logo is regarded as an essential in the canon of Indian patriotic songs and Lataji became a beacon of hope, a symbol of national integration. She wore this badge of honour, conferred on her by millions of India, with utmost grace, humility and responsibility.

I once accompanied Shaktiji (Samanta) to Bombay’s Film Centre where Lataji was recording. She came dressed very modestly, greeted the members of the orchestra with a soft “namaskar”, stood in front of the microphone and matter-of-factly performed the song with great precision. Once the music started, Lataji tested the song’s resilience with startling verbal dexterity. She had the unique gift of trimming her powerful voice to suit everything from a soft and sibilant Kuch Dil Ne Kaha from Anupama (1966) or a gentle ballad like Lag Ja Gale (Woh Kaun Thi?, 1964) to the lively abundance of ‘Guide’s’ Aaj Phir Jeene Ki Tamanna Hai (1965).

Lataji crossed all barriers and borders of music and sang everything there was to sing with equal perfection. In a demanding and precarious profession like ours, Lataji successfully defied the law of diminishing returns. I feel that besides her extraordinary talent, her personality and her quiet abstentious life contributed to her longevity — her career spanned almost eight decades. Lataji never behaved like a star. She was shy, retiring and underplayed her tremendous success. During concerts, she conversed with her audience in a way that suggested a delightful humility.

Lataji was unique, unparalleled. She allowed us to escape from our moments of despair to experience something meditative, something almost other-worldly. She will continue to live in each one of us and will always command a special place.

The writer is an actor and former chairperson of the Central Board of Film Certification