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Publication:Times of India Mumbai;
Date:Jul 31, 2005;
Section:Times Life;
Page Number:43
NOTES TO MYSELF
She can ooze eroticism and tender emotion in just a switch of a tune. For close to six decades, she’s been the high-priestess of playback singing. Asha Bhosle hits the high notes as Jitesh Pillaai turns the mike over to India’s most accomplished singer
ON a wet Friday afternoon, the traffic on Mumbai’s Peddar Road is in slow-mo. Small mercies, the flyover hasn’t sprung up yet. So, the decibel levels don’t reach dizzying proportions. And as she talks, her honesty rises above the husky timbre. A multi-layered voice which has enthralled generations of music lovers. The septuagenarian voice reminds you of hot chocolate on a wintry day. A voice that has variously embodied the soul of a lover, a sister, a courtesan, a woman on the verge of rebellion.
Ladies and gentlemen, Asha Bhosle. Listen to her belt out Farida Khanum’s Aaj jaane ki zid na karo or Ghulam Ali’s Aawargi in her latest bestseller album, Asha. In the crucible that is her throat, the tunes go through several makeovers and emerge with a unique resonance.
On the cusp of 71, she is indubitably India’s most accomplished singer, with a warm-ascocoa voice purring out of the CDs. Since we don’t want to get ahead of the story, we must rewind to the Asha Mangeshkar of close to six decades ago, who left home to marry the man she perhaps loved at that time, Ganpatrao Bhosle. And thus, began a life less ordinary. And a marriage made in hell. The years older Bhosle tormented her, battered her, but he also did her a huge favour. He forced her to sing. She recalls, “Yes, I really have to thank him for that. If I hadn’t married him, I would have never been Asha Bhosle. Who knows, I would have continued to live in didi’s shadow all my life. But yes, I did break my mother’s heart by leaving home. That’s one regret I’ll always have.”
After enough bust-ups, Asha Bhosle decided to give herself one more chance. She chucked up a bad marriage, and returned home with two children in tow, and pregnant with the third. But, the film industry was not so welcoming. What Asha doesn’t articulate is that there was a shroud of conspiracy that surrounded her career for a long long time. Songs were few and far in the coming. While she got plenty of regional language songs, the Hindi film industry was divided. With characteristic candour, Asha states, “In those days, everybody loved people who conformed. Everything was done behind closed doors. I find an amazing honesty in today’s generation. The older generation was far more hypocritical. Also believe me, it’s far easier for a single woman today. Being a single woman with kids in the ’50s and ’60s was tough, very tough.” And then she segues into a more serious mode about her career. “Sometimes, my kids complain that I was not around when they were growing up. But then I tell them it was a do-or-die situation. I had to feed three s m a l l mouths. I took whatever assignments I got. Be it singing for the secondary characters or the vamps. No song was too small for me,” she says.
The grey clouds parted with BR Chopra’s Naya Daur in 1957. OP Nayyar’s songs like Maang ke saath tumhara, Saathi haath badhana and Uden jab jab zulfen teri ricocheted her to the big league. She recalls, “OP Nayyar used to record a lot with Geeta Dutt and Shamshad Begum. Then he called me for a film called Mangu. I guess my voice appealed to his style of composition, and we worked together for scores of movies. But yes, Naya Daur was the turning point in my life. I think for the first time, I got to sing all the heroine’s songs. I would like to add that whichever composer gave me work, it was because my voice was suited to his music at that point. No one musician did me any favour by asking me to sing for him.”
And then another cornerstone. RD Burman and Teesri Manzil. Asha smiles, revealing those lovely dimples. “Yes, with Teesri Manzil I almost became a pop crooner.” That also forged her unforgettable association with the magical Pancham, whom she would marry years later in 1980. “Music was the biggest common bond between us. We’d be listening to Jazz records or humming along with Shirley Bassey, Sergio Mendes or Santana. I called Pancham, Bubs.”
“He would create and nourish a tune, till it was crafted to perfection. My voice suited his compositions. Musically, we complemented each other. Pancham was not husband material at all, he was best friend material,” she says. The musical partnership lasted until Burman’s death. Asha says, “I feel sad when his songs are so badly remixed. I don’t have a problem with remixes, but bad remixes sung by sorry voices and finally made into music videos with nangi women is such a terrible thing. Even I got flak for my album, Rahul and I, but we retained the melody and the spirit of his original compositions. And I’d rather sing my songs than get some sorry versions of them.”
Past forward again. Asha recalls that as far as her career trajectory goes, the other two big milestones were when she crooned ghazals in Umrao Jaan for Khayyam, and when she coalesced her vocals with techno-whiz Rahman to belt out the knock-out Tanha Tanha for Rangeela. She laughs, “It’s all about perceptions. First they said I was a good cabaret singer, then they started calling me versatile. When I sang ghazals, they said Asha can even sing ghazals. And then they ran out of labels. But, I’ve no complaints, really.”
It seems petty at this point to probe into the much ballyhooed sibling rivalry with Lata Mangeshkar. In a burst of affection, Asha says, “ She’s my sister and my favourite singer. People did carry tales and try to create trouble, but blood is thicker than water. I remember, sometimes both of us would be at a function and some industry types would ignore me and interact only with her, as if to prove their loyalty. Later, didi and I would have a good laugh!”
What if her singing career hadn’t taken off? “I’d have become a cook. I would have cooked in four houses and made money,” comes the repartee. Asha Bhosle is the mother of all survivors. She rose and crooned to conquer. “Main bahut ziddi hoon. If I have to achieve something, I’ll do it, no matter what the consequences,” she says. And what about her irascible temper? She’s often said to be the quintessential mercurial diva. Asha laughs, “Earlier, I was quiet and shy. I’d never retaliate. Then I found people taking advantage of my reticence. They’d cook up stories and spread ghastly rumours. That’s when I decided I’d give back as good as I got. I can’t tolerate injustice. Main bahut moophat hoon. I’ve lived my life on my own terms. And I’ve always spoken from the heart. Maybe some people can’t digest that and call me mercurial.”
Right at this moment, her number for the Tamil film Chandramukhi and Lucky lips for the Salman Khan-starrer Lucky are buoying up the musical barcodes. In a deliciously ironic turn, the American band Kronos Quartet have re-recorded RD Burman’s compositions like Chura liya, Piya tu, Mera kuch saamaan... Divine justice for a composer, who was accused of flicking foreign tunes. Needless to add, Asha is the soul of the brand new album. In the past, Asha has recorded with International artistes like Boy George and the boy band Code Red. While recording for the Kronos Quartet, the grand-matriarch knocked off three to four songs in a day, leaving the phirangs stupefied. Come September, and she will wing off to the States for the album’s release. For someone, who self-confessedly hasn’t learnt the English language, how did she deal with the goras? Asha smiles, “These boys came to me and said RD was the Mozart of music, and wanted to pay him a tribute. I readily agreed. When we were recording Mera kuch saamaan, I’d explain to them it was the ‘luggage’ song. For Chura liya, I translated it as ‘you stole my heart’ song!”
For all her globe-trotting, Asha Bhosle’s home is where the art is. When she isn’t making music, she’s playing a constellation of roles. Being the classic mistress of spices, ladling out everything from crackling pickles to red-hot Hydrebadi biryani and pasanda, playing the restaurateur in her successful hotel – Asha’s – in Dubai. Yet another moment, she’s playing mother-in-law and grandmom to five grandchildren, sharing jokes with her teenage grandaughter, Aneka. And in a trice, she’s crooning a Duran Duran number. The world is, pardon the cliché, indeed her oyster.
And then she waves her hand regally, “I’ve seen a lot of sadness and happiness in my life. I’ve been singing for close to 60 years now. There’s really nothing I want more. I sing when I feel like, and I sing for likeminded people who respect me. Humne bahut raaj kiya hain.”
And then, she hums a long-forgotten RD number Roz roz ankhon tale. Time stops for a generous bout of gooseflesh. She hits the high notes one more time and the voice soars over the frenetic Pedder Road traffic. And then, gently melds into the waiting shadows of the evening.
Asha... many moods
Bhanwara bada naadaan (Sahib, Bibi Aur Ghulam) Ab ke baras (Bandini) Kaali ghata chhaye (Sujata) Shokh nazar ki bijliyan (Woh Kaun Thi) Jhumka gira re (Mera Saaya) Nigahen milane ko (Dil Hi To Hai) Abhi naa jao chhod kar (Hum Dono) Yehi woh jagah hai (Yeh Raat Phir Na Aayegi) Aaja aaja (Teesri Manzil) Raat akeli hain (Jewel Thief) Dum maro dum (Hare Rama Hare Krishna) Aao na, gale laga lo na (Mere Jeevan Saathi) Chura liya hai (Yaadon Ki Baraat) Ambar ki ek paak surahi (Kadambari) Man anand anand (Vijeta) Yeh kya jagah hai doston (Umrao Jaan) Aur kya ehde wafa (Sunny) Mera kuch saamaan (Ijaazat) Mujhe rang de (Takshak) Khallas (Company) TIMES NEWS NETWORK
