When I first came to Mumbai, I had two dreams: The first was to do a song with Gulzar Saab and the second was to have Lata ji sing a composition of mine. The first dream was realised in 1992 when I composed a song that was penned by Gulzar Saab – the Jungle Book song ‘Chaddi Pehen Ke Phool Khila Hai’.

To realise my second dream, I had to wait for some time as Lata ji had become particular about the songs she chose. On one occasion, Gulzar Saab spoke to her on my behalf about a song that I had composed and she asked him to send the song on tape to her. After listening, she called me personally to tell me that the song was beautiful and that she would sing it. Although the film was eventually shelved and the song remained unreleased, this was the beginning of my relationship with her.

I had worked with almost all the big singers of the time except Lata ji and I was amazed at our first recording session. For this first song of mine, she was so well prepared – she had learnt and prepared the entire song and had it written by hand. Her homework was excellent and this was something rare.

By that time, the multitrack recording system had come into play and singers would sing maybe 1-2 lines at a time but never the full song in one go as they would not be prepared. (Today, the singers sometimes do 1 word at a time.) However, Lata ji came fully prepared and did the full song in one go.

In our first recording session, I was overwhelmed by her and very nervous. So she called me to the recording booth and asked me to relax and treat her like a newcomer. This was the greatness of Lata Mangeshkar. To give confidence to a newcomer, she became one herself. In a recording session, first she would sing a little away from the mic and when she came to the mic to sing, it was pure magic. She even had a very unique way of appreciating the composer and his composition.

Every song has a special section which makes it unique. Lata ji instinctively recognized this section and when that section would arrive, she would smile so subtly that only the composer would understand that gesture. She was a very precise artist, totally dedicated to her craft. Every syllable and word was well-measured before being delivered. So once she had sung the song, and you asked for one more take, she would bring her reading glasses down to the tip of her nose, stare penetratingly at you and ask “Why?”, a stare that would rattle even stalwarts.

After I had gotten to know her better, I asked her about her infamous stare. She explained that once she had delivered her best, she needed to know what was missing in order to do another take.

I came to know her better as a person as I continued working with her and soon came to know that she had a great and sharp sense of humour. We used to look forward to her recordings because she would always come with two great jokes every time. One joke before the recording and one joke after the recording, both of which would crack us up for half an hour at least.

Another signature of hers was the keychain, the chaabi ka guchcha, that would hang on her saree and would chime with the slightest movement of her hand. Initially, in mixing the song, we would filter it out but later, I realised how musical and mysterious it made the song sound so we stopped filtering it out from the song.

What separated her from all the rest was that she was not just a playback singer there to do a day’s job. She had an acute understanding of the drama of the song, the mental state of the character. This allowed her to contribute beautifully to the music.

A year back, I chanced upon a goldmine where I found the long-lost tape of a recording of Lata ji, which was done 26 years ago. The film was shelved and the song remained unreleased. It was a multitrack recording and we were able to retrieve her voice. I rearranged the song and planned to release it on her 92nd birthday in 2021. Before doing so I had to get her approval and in the process, I had a chance to speak to her after a very long time.

She heard the song, titled ‘Theek Nahi Lagta’ and immediately called me. She started by saying that the song was very good but the lyrics were wrong. I was baffled as I had no way of altering her voice or the lyrics. I asked her what was wrong in it. And she replied – “The song is very nice so why am I repeatedly saying ‘Theek Nahi Lagta’?” I cracked up, But she didn’t stop at that. She had a bouquet of jokes ready for me.

Her sense of humour had gotten even sharper with age. She was going to be 92 a few days later but she sounded like a 9-year-old. There was a child in her that never lost her innocence. And that’s why she remained so full of life till the end.

She remains with us every day on all occasions – no matter whether we are sad or happy. Recently, I discovered another dimension of the Nightingale. On shoots, when things are chaotic and everything is going crazy, I put on my headphones and listen to one of her songs. I am immediately transported to another world and even though I am physically in the chaos, I am still completely disconnected.

For us, Lata ji is a goddess. Without her, Indian film music wouldn’t have sounded the same, the actresses wouldn’t have looked so beautiful on screen and the stories would have remained insipid. And that’s not just because of her voice or training or the craft but because of her soul, which she poured into the song along with her technique.

Science says that there are billions of suns in our galaxy, but our Earth witnesses only one. Many singers may come and go but this Earth will only witness one Lata Mangeshkar.

I feel so fortunate that I lived in the times in which Lata Mangeshkar lived. And I know I can be with her whenever I want, through her songs. And that makes me say today, “Tere bina zindagi se koi, shikwa, to nahi … tere bina zindagi bhi lekin, zindagi, to nahi.”