THIS ABOVE ALL
Lata’s tribute to the Gurus
Khushwant Singh

AMONG the treasured memories of my life is having heard Lata Mangeshkar record the Gurbani in a studio. It was over 30 years ago in Bombay. Surinder Singh (one of the Singh Bandhus), who was there as Income Tax Officer, asked me if I would like to be present. I jumped at the invitation. I arrived well before time. It was a one-word introduction with an exchange of namastes. They got down to work.

She went over the hymn written for her in Devanagari. Surinder hummed it in tune; she accompanied him. She nodded her head to indicate she was ready, and went to the studio, where the orchestra awaited her. After crooning softly to herself, she gave the signal. The orchestra played, she sang the hymn. It was all over within an hour. She refused to accept the fee; it was her tribute to the Gurus.

Another exchange of namastes, and she was gone. Some years later, I ran into her in the bookstore of Hotel Taj on Man Singh Road. She was browsing over a shelf of books. I greeted her. She acknowledged my greeting by naming me. I was flattered she remembered my name. She didn’t buy any books but stayed in the shop instead of the reception lounge to avoid people accosting her.

She has always been a shy person. Her escort, Raj Singh Dungarpur, arrived, and they went out for dinner. Thereafter, I only saw her from a distance but made it a point to hear her voice on the radio or the record player. Once it was in London’s Albert Hall. It was packed with Indians, Bangladeshis and Pakistanis. She sang Saavan ka maheena, pavan karey sore. The crowd clapped to keep in beat with the song. It was a thrilling experience.

I heard her sing Ai meyrey vatan kay logo, zara aankh mein bhar lo paani after the Indo-China conflict in 1962. It brought tears to my eyes. I heard her sing Allama Iqbal’s qawaali— Kabhi ai haqeeqat-e-muntazar, nazar aa libaas-e-majaaz mein—over and over again. It is one of the best qawaalis I have heard. My admiration for her went to the extent of making a special pilgrimage of the temple in Mangesh, Goa, from where this unusually gifted family comes. I rejoiced over the honours heaped on Lata— Padma Bhushan, Padma Vibhushan and Bharat Ratna.

Her life has been recorded in a beautifully produced book — Lata Mangeshkar`85 in her own Voice: Conversations with Nasreen Munni Kabir (Niyogi Books). It is a priceless collector’s item with pictures of her from childhood to the present day with innumerable celebrities who came into her life.

I have only two reservations. The compiler has not done justice to her sister, Asha Bhosle. If there is any singer who deserved as much acclaim as Lata got, including the Bharat Ratna, it is Asha Bhosle. She has been fobbed off with a few photographs without mention of her matching talent. The second omission is Raj Singh Dungarpur, one time on the board of selectors of the Indian cricket team, who has been Lata’s companion for many years, and is responsible for her abiding interest in the game.

Nehru’s poet

Urdu poet Josh Malihabadi was held in high esteem by Jawaharlal Nehru, largely because he wrote a lot of fiery patriotic verse, and came to be known as Shair-e-Inqilab— poet of the revolution. Shabbir Wasan Khan Josh (1898-1982) was born in Malihabad (UP) of Afridi Pathan heritage. For a while, he compiled songs for Hindi films and edited Aaj Kal Kalaam. However, in 1956, without telling anyone, he migrated to Pakistan—probably to find suitable matches for his daughters.

Panditji was very disappointed. Josh did not flourish in Pakistan; he fell homesick for India. A story goes that in the later years of his life, he started taking lessons in Punjabi. When questioned why, he replied: "I know when I die, I will go to hell. I am told Punjabi is the national language of hell". He died in Rawalpindi in 1982.

An incident little known to Josh’s admirers took place in Delhi. At the time he was without a job or any other income. He was famished, and went to the United Coffee House for a meal. Having had his fill, when the bearer brought him the bill, he said: "I have no money. I am a shair (poet), " and tried to walk out. The manager stopped him, and asked him to leave his sherwani as a token of payment. As they were arguing, Lala Kishen Lal Kalra, proprietor of the coffee house, came in, and Josh introduced himself. Lalaji gave him back his sherwani and took him to his home to be his guest as long as he liked.

It became Josh’s home in Delhi for almost nine years. Every December Kishen Lal organised a mushaira. Among the poets who came were Firaq, Sahir Ludhianvi, Kaifi Azmi and Mahinder Singh Bedi. Panditji made it a point to be present. Kishen Lal Kalra’s hospitality was generous— Premium Scotch and shami kababs were followed by a banquet. Kishen Lal died, leaving his estate, including Rajdoot Hotel, to his sons.

The photograph reproduced was taken out of his album by his son Prem Mohan Kalra. It shows Josh with Nehru next to him, and members of Kishen Lal’s family.

Postal index number

Shardagram, a small village in Gujarat, can claim to be the most attractive place in India. Look at its postal index number—36 22 25.

— (Contributed by Reeten Ganguly, Tezpur)