Lata Mangeshkar

Remembering the Nightingale

Countless times have I found myself swinging down the silken trapeze of a deceptively simple meend, lost in the intricate filigree of a harkat or grasping at an impossibly fast taan that escapes like a kite-string cut loose in the wind. The delicate timbre of her voice belies a strength that was forged in a divine crucible; perhaps, in another lifetime.

Despite the vivid mental image, thanks to the many accounts that I have read, of her standing on a raised stool, barely reaching the microphone to record her first song; I cannot imagine a world that was not mulled in the richness of her voice.

A voice that defines for me, and I suspect for innumerable others - whimsy in mora gora ang lele, romance in lag ja gale, frolic in chaddh gayo paapi bichhua, angst in kaise din beete, sensuality in aa jaane jaan, devotion in Allah tero naam and affection in mere ghar aayi...The examples are endless as are the emotions she so effortlessly conjured.

Her music is like home, akin to resting, unperturbed, on my mother's lap. As I try to fathom a world without her physical presence, I can only thank her for leaving us with infinite moments of comfort, cradled in the warmth of her sur.

lata