Aye Dilruba
Year: 1963
Film: Rustam Sohrab
Composer: Sajjad

It was in the late 1990-s that I started watching Javed Jaffrey’s Videocon Flashback on Channel V. It was obvious that beneath the comic exterior of the anchor, lay a very discerning listener who took pride and joy in presenting good songs, irrespective of their popularity.

In one such episode, he spoke about composer Sajjad Hussain. His talent and his tempestuous nature. His penchant for perfection & his abrasive views. And, his admiration for Lata Mangeshkar’s singing skills.

As the showcase song, Javed Jaffrey played ‘aye dilruba’ from Rustam Sohrab (1963). I was stunned beyond words.

Jaffrey described it as a ‘languid beauty’. He, aptly, pointed out that the song, picturised on a lady, appearing sad and listless on screen, had been rendered skilfully with an enunciation which did not stress on any syllable of the lyrics… with a sense of resignation to fate.

And yet, in this ‘held-back’ singing, there were subtle vocal ornamentations, so typical of the melodies of Central Asia, executed with stunning perfection.

To use a cricketing analogy, it was like VVS Laxman at Eden Gardens in 2001. The batsman was conscious that his knock needed to be a cautious, rear-guard action and yet there were those glorious drives through mid-wicket (against the spin of Shane Warne), using those silken wrists, with ball-bearings of steel embedded in them.

In ‘aye dilruba’, one can easily discern the might of expertise in Lata Mangeshkar’s gayaki even as the poignancy of the rendition envelopes our senses.

A few years ago, I had the insane luck to be at the right place, at the right time. Mrs. Lajwanti Gupta, Ustad Ali Akbar Khan’s affable daughter, has an apartment in Central Mumbai and her neighbour is Asha Bhosle. ‘Lajo-di’, as she is popularly known, invited my friend, Shankar Iyer, and me, very generously, to her cozy apartment for a tete-a-tete with Asha-ji.

It was an evening of dizzying joy in which I had the privilege of playing many lesser heard gems of Asha Bhosle, that surprised Asha-ji, pleasantly.

The session must have enamoured her sufficiently for her to summon us again (via Lajo-di), within a fortnight. This time, the music-playing session went on for over 4 hours. We primarily played, solos from her massive body of work. Asha-ji was very amiable, candid and felt comfortable with us and in the ambience.

Then, she made a sudden request, “abhi didi ka ek gaana sunaao… woh Sajjad-saab waala gaana.”

As the strains of ‘aye dilruba’ filled up the room (via a nice, portable, Bose speaker), Asha-ji shut her eyes to absorb the song.

After those magical 200-odd seconds, there was silence. All of us looked at Asha-ji for her reaction and comments. She opened her eyes, wiped the brimming tears off them and softly uttered just three words…‘Yeh hai didi’!

There has been no dearth of tributes that have been showered on Lata Mangeshkar. From heads of states, to ordinary citizens, across the length and breadth of this diverse subcontinent, everyone’s unequivocal views have been consistent… Hers is the voice to savour for ever.

Yet, in my humble opinion, those three words, uttered with gentle respect and deep affection, by her incandescently talented sibling (and most formidable professional rival), represent the greatest tribute to Lata Mangeshkar, ever.