Songs of praise
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Friday Times
Faiza S Khan
Despite being one of India’s iconic perfomers, Asha Bhosle’s true talents remain largely unheralded
Asha Bhosle is a woman whose remarkable talents have been obscured by her own popularity. The perennial underdog, trapped in the shadow of her conservative, classicist sister Lata Mangeshkar, Asha Bhosle, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, describes her position as that of “the nameless second man on the moon”
recently found myself with the pleasurable task of teaching High School students Keats’ “Ode to a Nightingale”, the poet’s homage to the immortal beauty of song. As always, this reminds me of the one soul, or rather, one larynx elevated enough for this spectacular accolade, the ever versatile and vastly underrated Asha Bhosle. It may seem odd to refer to one of Bollywood’s biggest earners and most sought-after performers as underrated, but looking past the platinum albums, Bhosle is a woman whose remarkable talents have been obscured by her own popularity. The perennial underdog, trapped in the shadow of her conservative, classicist sister Lata Mangeshkar, Asha Bhosle, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, describes her position as that of “the nameless second man on the moon”. Listening to Asha through the years has mystified, uplifted and inspired me more than words can say. I met the great lady once, at a charity benefit years ago and was utterly tongue tied when she addressed me. This article is my fan mail, some of the things I would have liked to have said to a woman who has brought about unimaginable pleasure through the depth of her exquisite expression.
Born to what must be the Indian version of the Bronte family, she was trained in childhood by her father, classical musician Dinanath Mangeshkar, while her elder sister Lata was already doing the playback rounds. Asha’s debut came in the film Chunariya in 1948, where she emulated the perky tones prevalent at the time. It was a small sweet voice, and at the time about as unremarkable as the movie. Talent and fame do not always the best bedfellows make, and unlike Lata, who attained legendary status whilst wet behind the ears, Asha crawled her way through the fifties, singing prolifically for undistinguished films. Her few A-list movie songs in that era came largely as supporting vocals to the lead singers, Geeta Dutt, Shamshad Begum and Lata. Personally, things weren’t going much better, with her husband forcing her to sing for their supper. Her daughter Varsha Bhosle recalls childhood memories of her mother sobbing, being beaten and eventually, on the birth of her brother Anand, leaving her home and everything in it to return to living with Mai Mangeshkar, Bhosle’s mother. The damp squib films she worked on in those days finally came to an end in 1957, when she caught the eye, or rather ear, of one of the most talented composers the film industry has ever known, O.P. Nayyar.
Realising that Asha’s honeyed notes would best suit his seductive lilting melodies, Nayyar gave Asha the breakthrough she needed, allowing her sing for the lead heroines in Tumsa Nahin Dekha and Naya Daur . Whilst Asha has worked with all the great composers — notably her second husband R.D. Burman — her relationship with Nayyar stands out, as he is the one man who never employed her elder sister. Asha benefited further from her sister’s shortcomings when S.D. Burman had a rift with Lata and chose to groom Asha’s relatively raw voice instead. Nayyar and Burman brought to her lively voice the wistful melancholy of Geeta Dutt, with a touch of sensuality all Asha’s own.
Once provided with the opportunity, the only way was up. From Howrah Bridge to Mere Sanam , the end of the fifties and the sixties saw some incredible vocal performances from O.P. Nayyar and Lady of the Lilt, including the dazzling Aankhon se jo utri hai dil se , Ye hai reshmi zulfon ka andhera, Parde main rehne do, and Jaiyey aap kahan jayenge ge . Sadly, her success led to her being typecast for sensuous, crowd-pleasing numbers, though the depth of emotion evident in her singing still remains unmatched. Asha became the one remembered for Raat akeli hai whilst her sister walked away with the more serious Piya tose naina lage re . This was also the time when Asha won her first Filmfare award, in the days when they were awarded on merit, for Chain se humko kabhi , also with O.P. Nayyar.
All good things come to an end, and Asha’s relationship with Nayyar was no exception, ending on an unpleasant note in 1971. If her fans worried at this division, their concerns were sorely misplaced; the jewel in Bhosle’s crown was yet to come. The rare coupling of a poet and his muse occurred when Asha started working with playback’s enfant terrible , the extraordinarily gifted musical deviant, R.D. Burman. Burman was to East-West fusion what Amir Khusro was to the qawwali, and with him Bhosle and the rest of the world discovered a different type of sound altogether. Burman is best remembered for his energetic, almost tongue-in-cheek cabaret numbers such as Piya tu ab toh aaja and Aaja aaja main hoon pyar tera , which took Asha to dizzying heights of fame, while Lata trudged along with more conventional hits. Bhosle’s distinguishing characteristic, her ability to act out the song in words, to embody the yearning sensuality of her heroines was a gift her sister never even attempted to emulate, sticking to her forte of prettily romantic ( Bindiya chamkegi ) or downright doleful ( Ab ke na sawan barse ).
Burman and Bhosle became the First Couple of dance numbers, whilst their canon of masterpieces, including gems like Phirse aiya badra bidesi from Namkeen and Honton pe beeti baat from Angoor remain unsung, so to speak. Some of Bollywood’s most groundbreaking offerings must include the magical combinations of R.D. Burman, Asha Bhosle and director Gulzar (the poet lyricist, aka the man Javed Akhtar wants to be) and R.D. Burman, Asha and Hrishikesh Mukherji. They are respectively responsible for the soundtracks of films Khushboo , Ghar , Ijaazat and Khubsoorat , amongst others.
In 1981, Asha got her first shot at singing ghazals , a form perfectly suited to her autumnal tones. The songs of Umrao Jaan , which she recorded for composer Khaiyyam, were a huge success, and the listening public was treated to yet another facet of this remarkably versatile artist. I’ve never had the opportunity of hearing her in concert, but I have a live recording where one hears Asha requesting her cabaret-hungry audience to allow her to sing something of her own choice, and then, clearing her throat to deliver a magnificent ghazal .
The last couple of years have seen Bhosle’s popularity soar, reinvented as India’s pop queen for a new whole generation who knows her only for V TV pop hits like Janam samjha karo . That Janam samjha karo and her subsequent pop is musical excrement means nothing to the V TV generation, and Asha finds herself in the Catch-22 of being ensnared by public expectations, reinvented as the reluctant diva. There are also her fusion numbers with artists like Boy George, which are frankly too awful to even mention, but what may be worth mentioning is that the entire pop TV music revolution is a result of Asha’s success in that arena. The TV music trend now encompasses almost a quarter of the entire Indian musical market.
What VTV remixed versions of monster hits Chura liya and Doh lafzon ki hai have achieved is bringing Asha to the attention of new composers who had pretty much forgotten her after R.D.’s death in the early nineties. A.R. Rahman has delivered some of his biggest hits Rang de and Tanha tanha through her gilded vocal chords, along with the upcoming Sandeep Chowta for whom she sang Kambakht ishq with great success earlier in the year. Listening to Kambakht ishq , it’s hard to imagine a sari-clad, 68 year-old matron behind the scenes. And perhaps that is her crowning glory, the ability to forget herself, thereby allowing others to forget themselves in the rapturous ecstasy of that voice.