Flute sellers, yoga enthusiasts, karaoke clubs: Lata Mangeshkar had a song for every class, every generation

Lata Mangeshkar has been in our private lives for over half a century. Every moment of our life has been framed and described by her songs. Who has not turned to her in times of trouble or in the spirit of passion? She was there to break the monotony of dish-washing and chapati-making for my domestic help, whose humming of ‘Aayega Aanewala’ was a better wish than ‘Apna Time Aayega’ was a promise. For the flute-seller on Colaba Causeway, Lata Mangeshkar ’s instantly-recognisable ‘Tujhe Dekha To’ from the movie _Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge_ , was both an opportunity to run scales as well as the sales pitch. Thane’s retired professionals, the early-morning yoga enthusiasts might treat themselves to a mehfil of ‘Aap Ki Nazron Ne Samjha’ and ‘Din Dhal Jaye’ after a challenging exercise routine. Lata Mangeshkar ’s ‘Vande Mataram’ is as much a staple in movie theatres as in the Independence Day and Republic Day functions of schools all over the country. She is the solid alternative to portraying freedom fighter Rani Lakshmibai for young girls in fancy dress contests. Lag Ja Gale’ and ‘Ajeeb Dastan Hai Yeh’ were the go-to picks in Bhandup East’s karaoke clubs. Shy, serious women were transformed into bravehearts as they fought to persevere in the face of cracked voices, missed beats, short breaths, and escalating pitches. Oh and the men might pitch in to alleviate a failure resorting to the use of a humorous falsetto. Lata Mangeshkar’ s soft-spoken nature, distinctively soprano voice, and sari-clad figure also made her the perfect persona to mimic for comics like Sugandha Mishra and Supriya Joshi. There was a contrast naturally present in her speaking voice and belting voice, and the chasteness of her presentation was a ready jumping-off point for comedians. Although as I see it, sometimes the mimicry must have been an excuse to sing. In my own family, Lata Mangeshkar was a style icon to my grandmother. Lata Mangeshkar ’s braids were fashionable in the 1950s. The story I have heard so many times goes, Amama wanted to wear two braids instead of one, the way Lata was wearing it. But her mother, strict and ever decorous, forbade her from changing it. That could not stop her. Amama’s favourite elder brother would do her hair as they walked to school every morning the way she liked. He smuggled with him a comb, some oil, and paper full of talcum powder for her daily makeover. And on the walk back from school, he would restore her hair to a single braid. They were never found out. When it came to Amama’s daughters, they could wear their hair any way they liked, and listen to songs on the radio as many times as they liked. My mother and her sisters’ after-school pastime was to sit and listen to the radio just to jot down the lyrics in a treasured notebook. They had to listen to ‘Kora Kagaz Tha’ at least five times to piece all the words together. Their lyrics book became a sort of scrapbook of their memories, and Lata Mangeshkar’ s songs still remind them of that time before the internet. When I was growing up in the aughts, I needed to be around my computer to listen to my preferred Avril Lavigne and Green Day playlist. But my companion during the walks from home to math tuition was a simple cell phone and Radio City. The back-to-school season coincided with the monsoons, and rain-themed songs like ‘Yeh Raat Bheegi Bheegi’ heralded it. Lata Mangeshkar brings up the nostalgia of my first phone without apps and streaming services, and of course, first crushes. When you have a discography of some 15,000 songs in 36 different languages, and a career almost as old as the independent country itself, numbers’ game logic suggests you might have something for everyone. However, her effect on us is more whimsical and subterranean. Lata Mangeshkar ’s legacy is apparent in her widespread and intergenerational appeal. She would perhaps be horrified if a remix of her music popped up on Instagram’s Reels audio but I cannot wait to see how a new generation might also find a way to own a part of her art. Lata Mangeshkar  once said in an interview, “When I sang a lullaby, I became a mother, when it was a romantic song, I was a lover.” As a legend, she is passed on through the voices of others. The way she will be remembered is intertwined with anecdotes about anecdotes, and sparks in our individual lives. Eisha Nair is an independent writer-illustrator based in Mumbai. She has written on history, art, culture, education, and film for various publications. When not pursuing call to cultural critique, she is busy drawing comics.