Lata Mangeshkar ji came to the Mohun Bagan ground of my town, Burdwan, decades back. If I can use a slightly high-sounding word, it was really an epoch-making day for this small town where after nightfall dim lamps were switched on from badly outdated termite-eaten wooden lamp posts. I was then a school student. I watched the entire programme from a roof of a nearby building at Tarabagh. Almost over two and half hours before the programme, microphones were tested with ‘Halo’ ‘Halo’ which were interspersed with mild whining.
Lata ji took to mic 6.30 on the dot on an average February evening. Aaj phir jeene ki tamanna hay. Lata ji started. The moon shone up from behind the scattered clouds, removing any chance of norwester that was predicted by met office. Southern wind started blowing expected of a pleasant spring evening. The damp Mohun Bagan ground that was rain-washed just the day before, corroded metal roads that separated the building I stood the roof of which and the ground with puddles of water, the bushy trees that otherwise existed like ghostly creatures, the rows of dank buildings of Tarabagh looked melted in melody as Lata ji summoned the notes with characteristic ease while the overhead moon took the centrestage.
Na jeo na rajoni akhono baki. Lata ji moved to the middle of her musical journey of the evening. The lone night bird that was calling out afar had silenced herself and winged away over the horizon in her mute flight as the Nightingale was on song in the stage beneath. Dil diwana bin sajnake mane na she signed off for the evening with. The distressed soul of a love-lorn lass was laid bare by sixty plus lata ji with such intensity that rang in heart long after the programme ended. In the next couple of days this song would become the romantic anthem of the nation striking from Jammu-Kashmir to Konyakumarika and Gujrat to Bengal with a blast of melodic pang. Nation submerged in it. In an age of intricate space exploration, people were made to believe by Lata ji’s mesmerizing voice that kabootar could be the potent medium for sending across love letter avoiding public attention.
Well over half a century back, Lata ji made the entire nation sway to her spell-casting Mon dole mera tan dole…. . Nation surrendered to a voice that could hypnotise like a snake-charmer’s flute. It took time to cast off the spell until the length and breadth of country shed tears over Aye mere wattan ke logo in patriotic zeal. Tujhe dekha to ye jana sanam the nation hummed out in love to beloved.
From Madhubala to Preeti Zinta, spanning over six decades, Lata ji sang in her spotless white sari and a bindi on forehead with characteristic humility. The nation got a mother and a chirpy lady-love in her voice. She dwelt in everyone’s heart. Lata Mangeshkar became synonymous with Bharat( that is India).
Remaining as the dust on the paths of earth was, perhaps,Lata ji’s lone last wish: Dharoneer pathe pathe dhuli hoe pore rabo ei kamona, ar kichhu na…
The self-effacing Nightingale of India wanted that much for now. The rest she would say later (… in the other world):
Aj tabe eituku thak, bakee katha pare habe…