First Take: 2022— The year India lost its voice

It has been almost a year since Saraswati Mata, the Goddess Of Melodious Things, for many like me the raison d’etre to love the movies and life, not necessarily in that order, left us….Or did she really leave us? I don’t think her presence can ever be diminished, let alone deleted, in our lives. Every minute of the day, someone or the other in some part of the world listens to her sing. She lives forever through the innumerable melodies. I have listened to Lataji religiously—and I do mean that literally—for most of my life. An hour every morning is devoted to her songs. And I don’t listen to only her Bhajans. For me every word that has touched her lips, the Mujras, the love ballads, even the cabaret songs, are a hotline to God. From the age of six, I’ve believed that divinity dwells in her throat. I still do. For years, I wondered what she was like in person. Or did she even exist? In 1995, a mutual friend set up an appointment with her at the Shiv Sena Bhavan where she was rehearsing for a concert. I couldn’t believe my luck. But she was unwell, and had to miss our appointment. I consoled myself saying it was not meant to be. But the very next day, she was there in front of me: frail, warm… and real. She was full of jokes. Since then, I came to know one truth about the voice of divinity: humility comes naturally to her. It wasn’t put-on, like it is with many of our superstars. In 1999, when Lataji missed out on the Bharat Ratna in favour of Pandit Ravi Shankar, I commented on the unfairness of Bharat’s real ratna of Bharat being denied the highest civilian honour. “Aap aisa kyon sochte hain ?” Lataji admonished me. “You might think I am a big talent. But Panditji is far bigger than I have been or can ever hope to be.” Lataji lived, breathed, earned and yearned only for her family. Her world began and ended within the Mangeshkar clan of three sisters (Meena, Asha and Usha), her only brother Hridaynath, and their families. Iconised, and now canonised, Lata Mangeshkar is much more than just a singer. There was a time when composers like Sachin Dev Burman and Madan Mohan waited months to get her to sing. Sets were dismantled if she failed to record a song. Once, Asha Bhosle went up to Madan Mohan asking why she couldn’t sing more of his songs. “Nahin, jab tak Lata hai aur koi nahin (As long as Lata is here, no one else will do),” came the firm answer. It is the love of the latabhakhts , that swirling sect of melody worshippers, that overwhelmed Lataji. When she finally got the Bharat Ratna, she was in London for her annual holiday. When I called her to congratulate her, she had said, “I consider it the highest honour. It is all thanks to my parents and my listeners’ prayers. Bharat Ratna ke baad to ab kuch bacha hi nahin (there is nothing left after the Bharat Ratna). I don’t deserve so much recognition. There are many artistes far greater than me.” To have received the Bharat Ratna in the same year as Ustad Bismillah Khan was a matter of double joy for Lataji: “He was a sweet and simple soul, whom I have known and admired for years. Not only have I attended his concerts, he also performed at my father’s death anniversary.I’ve got so much love and appreciation . I must give some of it back to my country. I have never considered myself an extraordinary singer.” Now when I hear every other deceased actor or musician’s family and fans demanding a Bharat Ratna for their loved one, I feel sickened at the pit of my stomach. Do they even know what the Bharat Ratna means? After Lataji, it should be given to no one else from the entertainment world. And it hasn’t. Whenever Lataji heard her own songs being played, she would quickly rush out of the room, go into the kitchen and bang the pots and pans to drown her divine voice. How can you do this? I would ask her with shock hurt and disbelief. “Because I know what you don’t. I know where I made the mistakes when singing my songs.” No, Lata Didi, I don’t miss you. You are there everywhere , every minute. I miss talking to you . That laughter , those anecdotes, that rare care which you showred on the ones you loved. I miss that. I quote the maestro of Hindustani classical music who once exclaimed affectionately, “Kambhakt, kabhi besura gaati hi nahin (she never sings off key).” The songs of life, the melodies of love and longing, the cadences of the very core of existence, this is what your voice expresses. I am, because you sang. Subhash K Jha is a Patna-based journalist. He has been writing about Bollywood for long enough to know the industry inside out. Read all the  Latest News ,  Trending News  and  Entertainment News  here. Follow us on  Facebook,  Twitter and  Instagram.