'My mother, who was a simple woman, retorted, "Aur main Indira Gandhi bol rahi hoon".'
'We had a good laugh over that one, you and I.'
On her second death anniversary, February 6, Subhash K Jha remembers his beloved Lata Didi.
Dearest Didi,
It will be two years since you left us, or did you?
Not a second goes by when you are not with us, your ardent devotees.
I have never known any other God except the one in your voice.
Hence, you are with me every step of the way.
What I miss is our conversations. Not once in my 30-year association with you -- though I have known you all my life, I wish I knew you longer personally -- did you say no to a conversation with me.
No matter how tired, no matter now disaffected, it was always a yes.
Not because I am some great bloke but because you didn't want to hurt your loved ones, even unintentionally.
This trait of yours, of caring so deeply for the feelings of those close to you, was seen as a vulnerability by some.
But it wasn't.
It was one of your greatest strengths.
It is because you cared so deeply about human feelings that your voice could capture the atom of ache in a song like Tum Na Jaane Kis Jahan Kho Gaye Hum Bhari Duniya Mein Tanha Ho Gaye.
I remember I would call at what I thought to be a safe time.
But sometimes, you would be asleep at an odd hour because you were getting old and weary (I never wanted to perceive to perceive you as old and weary) and you would answer the phone groggily.
I would be so mortified; I would stammer my sorry and hang up.
But you would call back saying it is fine.
This is what made you so wonderful, so great.
I feel my eyes brimming as I remember your graciousness.
Once, long ago, my mother had answered the landline phone. You said in that simple direct way, 'Main Lata Mangeshkar bol rahi hoon.'
My mother, who was a simple woman, for once retorted nastily, 'Aur main Indira Gandhi bol rahi hoon.'
Poor woman, she couldn't believe that the voice on the end was really Lataji.
We had a good laugh over that one, you and I. You were always open to hearty laughter.
Once when an off-key singer was being promoted by a composer, you had quipped, 'I had heard love was blind. I didn't know love was deaf as well.'
We laughed and laughed... that laughter gradually faded in your last years.
It was painful for me to hear you wither away.
I once asked you in-between sobs: 'What will the world be like without you?'
Your reply haunts me: 'Kuch nahin badlega. Aapki zindagi chalti rahegi jab tak Ishwar chahenge. Aapke dost hain, patni hain, aapki choti Lata hai (my daughter)...Unke liye aap khush rahenge.'
True, Didi. Lekin sach bataaoon? Jee nahin lagta. Aapke janaa iss terah se mujhe achcha nahin laga.
The other day, I requested an actor, who has suddenly become a name to reckon with, for an interview. He politely declined, excusing himself for being 'busy'.
I thought of you, waking up groggy and calling me back so that I don't feel hurt.
To answer my question, 'What would the world be like without you?'
Everything goes on. But the light is gone.
Every day I suffer mediocrity in my life and survive on your songs.
Missing you, but not missing you.
I can hear you but can't see you.
I feel your presence even now, gently rebuking me: 'Kya zaroorat yeh likhne ki? Aapki shradhha aapka sneh mere saath rahega. .Aur aap rona bandd karenge?'
I know, Didi. But I have always wanted to celebrate my feelings for you loudly. I always wanted the world to know there will never be another Lata Mangeshkar.
Subhash K Jha
