Last week my friend and Bollywood’s last movie moghul J.P. Dutta gave me one of the most precious gifts I’ve ever received in my life. Two unreleased songs of Lata Mangeshkar from JP’s shelved film, Sarhad. “It would’ve been my first film, and the first film to address itself to the Indo-Pak issue dispassionately. It was also special because it gave me a chance to direct my wife Bindiya. When the film was shelved I was shattered,” said JP as we settled down to listen to the most enchanting sound in the universe.

When the Sarhad producers, the Nadiadwalas, decided to shut down Sarhad, JP offered to buy off the songs and the shot footage. Though some money has exchanged hands Sarhad remains with the producer’s wife. What she intends to do with it is a mystery solvable by anyone who decides to do some serious research on canned films.

The situation reminds me of Gulzar. What on earth happened to his Shabana-Naseer-Raj Babbar triangle, Libaas? The producer refused to release this complete film. Blessedly the songs composed by R.D. Burman for Lata in Libaas are out in the market. In fact, a new collection honouring Gulzar, Mera Kuchh Samaan, is also unknowingly a tribute to Lata. A majority of the melodies in this historic anthology are by her as is bound to be when any personality, trend or landmark in Hindi film music is being honoured.

That Friday afternoon at JP’s office, Lata’s dulcet tones wrapped around Sahir Ludhianvi’s words, Ankahee dastaan ankahee reh gayee and Main kitni khush-kismat maa hoon?. All you Lata bhakts, you’ll have to live without hearing these two gems. They are available on no recording label. For all practical purposes, they don’t exist. Laxmikant is dead. Long live Pyarelal.

JP sighed, “I think I’m the last of the filmmakers to have worked with the true-blue legends of the music world ? Sahir, Laxmikant-Pyarelal (who did the music of all my films until Laxmikant’s death), Lataji?.” One feels sorry for generations of filmmakers who came in the 80s. They’ve no clue as to what they’ve missed out on. Fortunately for us, Lataji is around. In fact, she turns 76 at the end of this month [September 28].

It’s hard to associate any age with her. She’s as timeless as she’s timely. Every era in the film industry from 1949 onwards has seen her songs defining Hindi cinema. Even today an avant-garde film like Page 3 is defined by Lataji’s song, Kitne ajeeb rishte hain yahaan par. I’ve had the singular privilege of knowing her closely for the past 10 years. It’s easy to see why she is who and what she is. Lata never takes her success seriously. Though scores of people have used her indomitable name to further their careers and then burnt their bridges with her she has never become embittered by the strange and cruel volte-face that humanity labels ambition and practicality. “Why should people’s changed attitude affect me? I admit it does for a while. I’m the kind of person who thinks, broods, and agonises over the slightest of aberration?why did so and so speak so loudly with me?why did this singer not smile at me when I smiled at her? But after a point I let go. There was this music director (she names a bejewelled, boorish, burnt-out plagiarist) who had virtually grown up in front of me. In fact, I had held him in my lap when he was a child. Some time ago when I was unable to sing his song he told my secretary, ‘She should realise she’s no longer what she used to be.’ I’ve never claimed to be anything special, so why should I realise I’m not special?” Lata laughed in an unguarded moment. Arrey, kuchh khone ke liye use paana padta hai.”

So many musicians have come and gone, using her name fame and karma to further their career and then moved on?or worse still move next door to befriend the other sister. “This is one thing I don’t understand,” she told me one day during one of our long conversations. “Why is it presumed by people that they can either be friendly with me or Asha? We’re sisters, for God’s sake. And we love each other even if our homes are divided by a door.” Today that mythic Berlin wall has all but collapsed. Asha’s two adorable twin grandkids come and go freely into the ‘other’ territory. I’ve seen how putty Lata is in those two moppets’ hands. I’ve seen her at home when she’s totally relaxed?I still remember how and when I was introduced to her by my friend Sanjeev Kohli who’s like Lata’s surrogate son. Our first meeting never happened on the appointed day. Lata never showed up. But the very next day she sent a sorry message?and we met.

To generations of Indians she has given songs that we can hum until kingdom come. Not a day goes by when I don’t listen to her religiously. My mornings have to start with her songs. Or else the day goes wrong. Lata epitomises all that’s beautiful, graceful and cherishable in life. I know of no other person who is able to create a whole spectrum of emotions within one song. In Ankahee dastaan from the doomed Sarhad her voice trails across valleys and rivers of emotions creating visual pictures of a mass exodus across the border during the Partition.

The best thing about being Lata Mangeshkar is, she doesn’t know her own power. “Achcha? Did I really sing that song? You think it was well rendered. I don’t think so. I can see where I’ve gone wrong. You can’t,” she tells me about some of those numbers that have nourished my life. Sometimes she shocks me by dismissing some of her best songs. At other times she names one of her lesser gems as a personal favourite. It all depends on her mood, and her personal association of memories with a particular melody.