In 1977, HMV released a compilation LP record of a dozen songs of Asha Bhosle. All the songs were composed by Rahul Dev Burman and the original recording dates of these songs ranged from 1968 to 1976.
The LP record was such a raging hit that I can scarcely recall a Puja Pandal that did not play those dozen beauties, with monotonous regularity.
The outcome of this vinyl disc's monstrous popularity was that common listeners, assumed that this was the complete set of solos that Asha Bhosle had sung for R.D. Burman since 1968.
It was not so. R.D. Burman, from the very first disc of his collaboration with Asha Bhosle, started to experiment with melodies that revealed his deep love for western musc (especially jazz, pop, blues, etc.)
Four such solos were left out from the LP. One each from 1968, 1969, 1972 & 1973.
Asha Bhosle & R D Burman continued to record songs regulary, from the late 70-s all through the 80-s. Hence, the subsequent LP compilations had the more recent songs and these four old gems were relegated to relative obsurity.
Interestingly, all the four songs start with the same Bengali letter 'এ' ... the phonetic equivalent of the English letter 'E'
That was the phase when the composer was at his creative best & the singer could render just about every type of song, composed by any composer of the sub-continent.
These four lesser heard 'E'-songs are:
Ei... edikey esho (1968)
Elomelo katha (1969)
Ekti katha... aami je shudhu (1972)
Ekti katha... haay shey toh (1973)
Across these four songs, the singer displays the matchless sassy sensuousness of her singing style. All the four tunes were utilised in Hindi movies by R D Burman in subsequent years.
Song # 1:
Ei... edikey esho (1968)
Music: R D Burman Lyrics: Gauriprasanna Majumdar
Equivalent Hindi film song: 'aye dekho toh yahaan'
(This melody of the mukhda is a very deft adaptation of a popular Cuban song, Guantanamera. The antara-s are nicely crafted to match with the melody of the opening lines.)
Song # 4:
Ekti katha... haay shey toh (1973)
Music: R D Burman Lyrics: Gauriprasanna Majumdar
Equivalent Hindi film song: 'ruk meri jaan kidhar jaata hai'
Kishore Kumar - Bundalbaaz (1976).
This genre of singing was virtually an exclusive domain for her. While it suited Hindi movies, where the storylines demanded 'dance-club' situations, the Bengali audience was probably a bit startled to hear such unbridled oomph in non-film songs, specially during the late 60-s & early 70-s. :)
Interestingly my mother, despite having a conservative upbringing, was overtly fond of these songs.., just for the singing ability of this colossal artist.
'Ignore what she sings... just admire how beautifully she sings' used to be her comment about these four songs.
I ended up loving both the 'what' & the 'how'. :)
As the Durga Puja Season starts off, these songs cause a rush of nostagia. :)
In the late 1990-s, I started watching Javed Jaffrey’s Videocon Flashback on Channel V. It was obvious that beneath the comic exterior of the anchor, lay a very discerning listener, who took pride and joy in presenting good songs, irrespective of their popularity.
In one such episode, he had spoken admiringly about composer Sajjad Hussain... his talent and his tempestuous nature... his penchant for perfection & his abrasive views... and, his admiration for Lata Mangeshkar’s singing skills.
As the showcase song, Javed Jaffrey played ‘aye dilruba’ from Rustam Sohrab (1963). I was stunned beyond words.
Jaffrey described it as a ‘languid beauty’. He, aptly, pointed out that the song, picturised on a lady, appearing sad and listless on screen, had been rendered skilfully with an enunciation which did not stress on any syllable of the lyrics… with a sense of resignation to fate.
And yet, in this ‘held-back’ singing, there were subtle vocal ornamentations, so typical of the melodies of Central Asia, executed with stunning perfection.
To use a cricketing analogy, it was like VVS Laxman at Eden Gardens in 2001. The batsman was conscious that his knock needed to be a cautious, rear-guard action and yet there were those glorious drives off Shane Warne, through mid-wicket (against the spin!), using those silken wrists, embedded with ball-bearings of steel.
In ‘aye dilruba’, one can easily discern the might of expertise in Lata Mangeshkar’s gayaki even as the poignancy of the rendition envelopes our senses.
A few years ago, I had the immense luck for being at the right place, at the right time. Mrs. Lajwanti Gupta (Lajo-di), the affable daughter of Ustad Ali Akbar Khan, had invited my friend (Shankar Iyer), and me to her cozy apartment in Central Mumbai and she had generously organised a tete-a-tete with her famous neighbour, Asha Bhosle!
It was an evening of dizzying joy, in which I had the privilege of playing many lesser heard gems of Asha Bhosle, which surprised her pleasantly.
The session must have enamoured her sufficiently, for us to be summoned again, within a fortnight. This time, the music-listening session went on for over 4 hours. We primarily played solo songs from her massive body of work. Asha-ji was very amiable & candid in the comfortable & informal ambience.
Then, came a sudden request: “abhi didi ka ek gaana sunaao… woh Sajjad-saab waala gaana.”
As the strains of ‘aye dilruba’ filled up the room (via a nice, portable Bose speaker), Asha-ji shut her eyes to absorb the song.
After those magical 200-odd seconds, there was silence. All of us looked at Asha-ji for her reaction and comments. She opened her eyes, wiped the brimming tears off them and softly uttered just three words…‘yeh hai didi’!
There has been no dearth of tributes showered on Lata Mangeshkar during her lifetime. From heads of states, to ordinary citizens... across the length and breadth of this diverse subcontinent... everyone’s unequivocal views have been consistent… her's is the voice to savour for ever.
Yet, in my humble opinion, those three words, uttered with gentle respect and deep affection, by her incandescently talented sibling (and most formidable professional rival), encompass the greatest ever tribute to Lata Mangeshkar.