I have no recollection of when I heard her name for the first time. Or when I first heard her voice. It was probably a lullaby, dheere se aaja ri ankhiyan mein, aaja ri aa nindiya tu aa or paach praNancha re paawa (Marathi). 

My mother was very fond of music, and she used to sing too. So I am assuming it was she who introduced me to her namesake, Lata Mangeshkar! 

For as long as I can remember, Lata was always there. As an invisible guest who I had never met, with a front row seat to my life. 

When I was younger than five years old, my father bought a tape recorder with a few blank cassettes on one of his visits to Germany. My mother painstakingly recorded her favorite songs on those tapes from the radio. The recordings often had background noise, sometimes even us whispering. I remember listening to the motley mix on quiet evenings, falling asleep to the strains of Mogara Phulala, or Ye Parbaton ke Daayre. 

At about the same time, a turntable became a part of the family with a slowly expanding collection of vinyl records. I remember getting home from school, and finishing with lunch and homework quickly. Then as my mother took her afternoon siesta, my sister and I would wear old dressy long skirts that were now knee length, and dance to mi dolkar, or vadal vaara sutala go. 

Ganesh Chaturthis always began with the record of her Aarti and two songs. We never had the elaborate Ganapati puja at home, but modaks and a nice festive lunch were an integral part of the day, and it was never complete without playing the record. Again, she was there even when she wasn’t. 

While I was about eleven, we bought a bigger record player which had two large speakers. As a promotion, we were told to pick six long playing records to go with it. The selection wasn’t the greatest, but among them, we picked a record for my mother. It was From Lata, With Love. The only song in the collection I knew then was Thandi hawayein from Naujawan. It was my first introduction to vintage Lata. The album had some real gems, like Jogiya se preet kiye dukh hoye and tumhare bulane ko jee chahta hai. The voice was mesmerizing. Very different from the one with a knife-like sharpness of tere bina zindagi se koi, which is breathtaking in its own sublime way.  

My mother had this habit of remembering songs and singing them whilst pointing to ‘this murki or taan she takes here is to die for’. She often voiced opinions like “Her voice is so sweet in sanwari soorat man bhayi re piya!” (which I actually got to hear only years later), “How ethereal has she and Talat made Seene mein sulagte hain armaan!” “See how playful she sounds in Hasnun Alaah Yaa Habbi Har nazar mein sau afsaane”, or “Haaye jhilmil jhilmil yeh sham ke saaye is so soothing”. Or she would quote nice anecdotes about Lata from articles she read in the print media. Needless to say, she was an ardent fan! She taught me to appreciate the finer nuances that would have otherwise been lost to an untrained ear. I was beginning to see the different facets of this diamond!

As I moved into my teenage years, the emotions she managed to convey through her words started to unravel. Though the real beauties were discovered much later. 

When the quality of music began to suffer mid eighties onwards, you could still catch an odd song in her unmistakable characteristic style. These were busy years for me personally.  Television was gaining popularity and radios were losing their battle in keeping audiences glued to them. I was caught up with life too, we moved continents, and were settling into a new routine. This was around the turn of the century. The world was ushering a new era of the internet! In my free time, I began to find the dear old music on the web that I thought was lost forever! There was no looking back after that. She was always present in these quests for songs. 

If I were to list the various genres she’s graced with her Midas touch, I’d be like Bubba in Forrest Gump listing endless varieties of shrimp. 

She was responsible for familiarizing ages old poetry written sometimes in a dialect not commonly used today, and therefore obscure, to scores of lay people. Meera, Dnyaneshwar, are a few examples. 

Over the next few years, I discovered many new gems with the help of some very knowledgeable friends. These songs were truly exquisite. Lata of the early fifties! tu ne kaisi aag lagayi, Allah bhi hai mallah bhi hai, Hansa sake rula sake woh pyar humse kijiye, jal ke dil khaak hua …. How many can I list? 

Finding unheard beauties sung by her in different languages, and moving from decade to decade for her Hindi film music became an enjoyable exercise. I find her Bengali songs irresistibly charming. O mon bihanga, Rangila banshite ke daake among so many other favorites! 

I figured out how subtly yet definitively she would emote from behind the microphone, and finding those heavenly moments were such a joy! If you listen to just the haaye in the line ‘haaye, ilteja baar baar kaun karein’ (Subah ka intezaar kaun karein- Joru ka Bhai)- you will know exactly what I mean! Such a loaded haaye!

It is fun comparing how sensuous songs changed over the decades too. For example, Haaye re meri zulfein uljhi hui (Burmah Road) and Baahon mein chale aao (Anamika). She delivers both just flawlessly. 

Prayers rendered by her are immortal. Allah tero naam is easily the best known among them, but when I heard O Palanhaare, sung by her much later in her career, it moved me to tears. Perhaps I was in a place in life where I needed support, and she was there for me through that song. 

Lata’s repertoire in Marathi is a delectable treasure that is hard to describe. The variety is amazing, so is the range of poets and composers she sang for, including herself. From ye javaLi ghe javaLi to naahi Kashi mhaNu tula, from raja saranga to airaNichya deva tula, ShraavaNaat ghana niLa to tinhisaanja sakhe miLalya…. The list is unending. How fortunate are the generations of people who were blessed growing up listening to music of this caliber! 

It was late in the day in February when I heard the news about her passing. I had had a restless feeling all day, and the inevitable had happened. I knew she wasn’t going to live forever, but the void I felt after she was gone is indescribable. Like a rock solid support who was always there was lost!

I cried, a lot. 

Days after her passing turned to weeks, and then months. Listening to her songs continued. Then one day, I listened to three stunners in Marathi. Ya chimaNyano parat phira, Kashi kaalnagaiNi, and Kase kase hasaayaache.. all heavy songs with deeply meaningful lyrics. I have listened to them countless times before. However, this time around, I felt a strange connection with her voice like it was coming from another place, reaching out to tug at my heartstrings from somewhere beyond the realm I was in. It was surreal… that’s who she was.. surreal!