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Last significant pillar of India’s musical renaissance departs with Asha Bhosle
In her singing, there is longing, playfulness, boldness, and that innate human recklessness; a desire to cast everything aside
Veteran singer Ashatai Bhosle has passed away. In a couple of my speeches, and later in a conversation I had with her, I had said that “Lata (Mangeshkar) Didi and you are the Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo of Indian film music”.
When you look at Leonardo da Vinci’s work, you constantly feel perfection, meticulous precision, an incredible sense of stillness, and an almost immediate spiritual experience. All of this is felt in Didi’s singing, where everything sounds so perfect, so ideal.
On the other hand, Michelangelo’s work carries grace, intensity, playfulness, and even rebellion. At times, his sculptures seem eager to break free from the stone. The same can be said of Ashatai’s songs. In her singing, there is longing, playfulness, boldness, and that innate human recklessness; a desire to cast everything aside. All of it resonates through her voice.
These days, many people call themselves artists, and later “veteran artists,” saying things like “singing is my passion” or “acting is my passion.” But fate never granted Ashatai the luxury to say such things. At the age of 15, she had to stand on her own feet and support her family, armed with nothing but the natural gift of her voice. With just that as her capital, she began singing. At such a young age, she endured immense personal hardships. Yet, instead of letting sorrow consume her, she overcame it, and the courage that shaped her life found its way into her voice.
As I mentioned earlier, Lata Didi’s voice embodies perfection and remarkable composure. In the emotionally charged atmosphere after India gained independence, her voice felt like the voice of that era. In such times, to carve out one’s own identity and to patiently wait for songs that suited one’s expression, only she would know how much patience she must have had.
In ‘Piya Tu Ab To Aaja,’ there is a bold, direct invitation to a lover. In ‘Aaiye Meherbaan,’ there is charm and playfulness. In ‘Dil Cheez Kya Hai Aap Meri Jaan Lijiye,’ there is elegance and delicacy. In ‘Dum Maro Dum,’ there is rebellion and a fierce urge to break all boundaries. And the same Ashatai, in Marathi devotional music, sings ‘Mage Ubha Mangesh, Pudhe Ubha Mangesh,’ expressing with deep yearning that Lord Shiva, the eternal symbol of detachment, which pervades the universe and watches over everything.
At almost every stage of her personal life, she faced storms. Yet, she never broke down, never turned her pain into a weapon, and never allowed bitterness to take root. It was as if she had mastered the art of handling sorrow. That is why Didi (Lata Mangeshkar) always felt divine, while Ashatai always felt deeply human.
Just as I had the privilege of being in Didi’s company, I also had the good fortune of being with Ashatai. I consider myself blessed to have experienced the presence of both these sisters, who shaped the emotional landscape of this country for decades. For me, it is not enough to see Ashatai merely as a veteran singer, as hers was an extraordinary journey forged through music. It will remain with us forever, unfolding new layers with time.
I had said in my speeches, “If Lata Didi, Ashatai, and artists like them had not existed, if they had not immersed us in their emotional world, this country might have descended into chaos. They gave us the benchmark of what greatness truly is and where to look for it.”
Just as Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo, though seemingly contrasting, shaped the European Renaissance in their own distinct ways, similarly Lata Didi and Ashatai shaped the renaissance of Indian film music. A few years ago, Didi passed away, and today, Ashatai is gone. With her, the last significant pillar of India’s musical renaissance has departed.
(Translated from Thackeray’s post in Marathi on X)
