Let me start with a standard cliché. Like all cliches, it is also true. Lata Mangeshkar was the nation's voice and the singer for four generations of film music lovers. In an era when the only way to listen to songs was on the radio, that too through the famous Radio Ceylon broadcasts, it is but natural that her voice emerged as THE voice – the voice that expressed your inner thoughts when you fell in love or fell out of it, the voice that told all human emotions of the spectrum and went straight to your heart if not your soul.

For anyone born between 1950 and 1980, the voice was usually associated with the whiter than white heroines of that era. Even if there was a grey character like Rosie , from Guide (more of that below), the expressions weren't necessarily grey but brighter.

My earliest conscious memory goes back to seeing Guide at Alankar cinema around 1966 or 1967. I distinctly remember seeing the posters of Jewel Thief in the cinema lobby. So, this experience must have been around 1967. My maama (mother's younger brother), a huge Rafi and Dev Anand fan (then and now), took my older sister and me to the cinema. I have seen Guide since then as an adult at least 6 to 8 times, but that early memory is of three songs – one Rafi solo, one Lata-Kishore duet and one Lata solo - the incredibly picturised marathon  Piya tose naina lagey re .

As a child, I didn't know why I liked it over the much breezier and more energetic "kaaton se kheench ke ye aanchal". An "adult" review of the song gave various reasons, including that this is one of the few songs in a beat of 7 – roopak taal in the Hindustani system (Mishra Chaap Taalam or Tisra Triputa Taalam in Carnatic system).

The song perfectly captured Rosie's onscreen success and rising fame along with her relationship with Raju, the Guide of the title. That is, of course, a "grown-up" analysis, but at the age of six, this was the song that appealed to me much more than the other two Lata solos, which were equally good and captured Rosie's feelings very well onscreen. Rosie will soon grown bored with Raju but at this stage, her ascent is clear, and the song shows her steady rise. As an aside, this is one of the few dance songs , where the heroine effortlessly dances to a beat of 7, not usually found in Hindi films.

In my school days, Hindi film music was looked down upon by my father, stating it as being of no value. Music had to be heard clandestinely. Radio Ceylon was a hard-won concession by my elder sister. Sometime around 8th or 9th standard, one of our family friends, passing through Bombay onwards to their hometown in Kerala gifted us a pocket transistor. You have to remember that in the 1960s and 1970s when the radio was a cumbersome beast that sat in a corner, operated only by the master of the home, the battery-operated portable transistor was as much a symbol of freedom,  being "hep” and “modern".  Some 1960s films visibly stated this by showing a character listening to the “transistor radio”.

The pocket transistor and its earphone largely contributed to my musical knowledge while I clandestinely listened to all the AIR radio programs after the stated lights out time of 10.30pm. It was probably around that time that I gradually became acquainted with Lata's voice going back to her earliest mega-hit Barsaat and onwards with various music directors. The subsequent explorations of her range have made it almost impossible to pick any “favourite”.

  Yet here goes a list of few favourites in no particular order  (it is essential to state that – I don't want to start a war! )

Beiman torey nainva, nindiya na aaye : Sometimes, the song can convey what's happening on the screen, and in the pre-Chaya Geet era, I somehow thought that this song was probably about the heroine singing a lullaby to the hero. After watching the scene, I was stunned by the onscreen view of Madhubala gently stroking Dilip Kumar's hair, an almost erotic affirmation of love in an era where eroticism was looked down upon. Yet many directors somehow sneaked it in, and this one surely ranks as one of the most beautiful declarations of love..This gentle song is perfectly sung and, in my view, probably remains underappreciated.

O mere pyaar aaja, banke bahar aaja : The echoing effect in the song gives a haunting effect to the song from the film Bhoot Bangla. R.D.Burman's third outing as music director showed that he had a firm grip on the overall view of the song, yet it was Lata's singing as much as the picturisation that brought out the beauty of the song. The antras are in a high pitch, but she effortlessly ascends it and brings out the sparkling feeling of the song. Tanuja's bubbly charm had many Lata solos later, but this early one is perhaps the best of the lot.

Na jaane kya hua jo toone chhoo liya : One of my pet peeves is that most Music Directors gave high pitched songs to Lata – except for Khayyam, who had most singers – male or female - sing at lower pitches. This is a song that should be on the list of Lata's "erotic" numbers though that is a feeling that is usually not attributed to her singing. The blooming flower is used as a simile for the heroine's awakening, which is perfectly captured in this song. To me, the song came across like an oasis in the middle of the noisy 1980s. Khayyam repeated the same erotic effect with Lata singing yet another dulcet underappreciated song  Khwab bankar koi aayega in Razia Sultan.

Kuchh dilne kaha kuchh bhi nahi. It was a song that was not played much on the airwaves but had to be really explored and dug out like the gem it is. It is impossible to talk about this song without thinking of superlatives. Kaifi Azmi's writing perfectly catches the heroine's feelings of being cooped up in a room and, when set free, wondering about life. This is one of the few songs where everything comes together perfectly, and it is impossible not to talk about Lata's contribution to expressing the heroine's character, an oppressed girl finding freedom among nature, thru the songs.  

Dil jaley to jaley gham paley to paley : The radio usually used to play the famous Talat number jaaye to jaaye kahan, so I was unaware of this song until I saw the film sometime in the 1980s. The VCR print was terrible, and there were squiggly lines across the heroine and Dev Anand's face, but the voice came through clearly articulating the dilemma faced by the taxi driver hero. It is partly philosophical, teasing, even partly despondent – all simultaneously, yet talks about singing the song of life; in other words, live with whatever is available. It is impossible not to fall in love with this particular song, and at times it does come as a boost to me.

To describe the "golden era" of music, I have a pet example/parallel – handcrafted goods versus mass-produced utilitarian goods.

The songs of that era were handcrafted, taking into account the song situation, the lyrics, and the artists on whom it was picturised. Her passing denotes the final passing of the music of the handcrafted era. That era will never come back. Naturally, there will never be another Lata.