Book: Lata: Voice Of The Golden Era
Author: Dr Mandar V Bichu
Publisher: Popular Prakashan
Pages: 416
Price: Rs2,995
“Buy me before good sense insists/You’ll strain your purse and sprain your wrists,” teases Vikram Seth at the beginning of his novel, A Suitable Boy. And this is the line that comes to mind with when you pick up Lata: Voice Of The Golden Era, by Sharjah-based pediatrician Dr Mandar V Bichu.
It’s good that the 416-page, 2.6 kg, coffee-table-size book comes in glossy art paper, considering it has many really old, rare, candid photographs of Lata Mangeshkar with fellow artistes and composers, not to mention special portraits by Gautam
Rajadhyaksha, Mohan Wagh, Dhiraj Chawda, Kanika Meyers and Prasad Sanwatsarkar, among others.
There have been other books on the Bharat Ratna awardee — by Raju Bharatan, Harish Bhimani and Nasreen Munir. Unlike both Bhimani’s and Munir’s books, which seem like they’ve been written sitting at her feet, Bharatan did bring some balance to his work. Unfortunately, the star-struck, and idolising tone of Bichu’s book gets annoying after a point. The cloying descriptions of the “feather-soft, nectar-sweet love songs,” “abidingly beautiful romantic softies” and “songs that simply won’t let go of your senses,” which at first make you smile indulgently, soon begin to grate.
The book covers the six decades Lata has ruled Hindi film music, with a chapter on each of the major composers, from Naushad and Shankar-Jaikishan to Khayyam and Hridaynath Mangeshkar.
Every chapter bears a title that signifies a milestone marked by the collaboration between singer and composer. While the chapter on her debut is called ‘Aayega Aanewalaa — The Lata Era’ begins, the one on Madan Mohan is called ‘Woh Bhooli Daastaan’, and the one on Roshan (Hritik Roshan’s grandfather, and the composer she had chosen over others to do the music for her eventually shelved musical, Bhairavi) is called ‘Rahein Na Rahein Hum’.
Bichu is at his best in his analyses of each of their maestro’s styles, but the writing fails to do justice to the rich content. For instance, about ‘Aayega aanewala’ (Mahal), he writes, “Now let’s try to go back in time and imagine the listeners’ reactions when the song was first played on radio. Breaking through the stillness of night, the grandfather clock strikes two. A superb blend of violin strains and piano bars creates a chilling, haunting atmosphere. Deepening that mist of mystery, an ethereal voice comes through, bringing with it a disturbing sense of solitude and pain.” And he translates two lines. “The cosmos is silent, even the stars are still /The world is resting but the lovelorn are distressed.”
The anecdotes around this song are far more interesting — the fact, for instance, that the final rehearsal started at 6pm and the song was recorded at 7am the next morning!Or how Mehboob Khan (who made Andaz, Aan and Mother India) while being treated for a heart attack in Los Angeles, called Lata late at night, and requested her to sing ‘Rasik Balma’ from Chori-Chori. Only when she obliged him was he soothed enough to sleep. From then on, till his discharge, Lata’s long-distance singing kept the troubled Mehboob in good cheer.
This volume is obviously a labour of love, painstakingly compiled, with lots of research and great photographs, but it is handicapped by the pedestrian writing. When you have to shell out nearly three grand on a book, you clearly expect better.
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