m the audience, "Asha-taiiii, please sing a Marathi song. We've come a long way for it." Aai softly hummed, Naach-naachuni ati mi damale... the opening lines which roughly translate as "I'm so very tired of this endless dancing, oh Lord..."
I have yet to accept what happened in that flash. Perhaps, it was a case of putting mind over matter. Or, perhaps she heard, understood and experienced the words like never before. Or, maybe the Great Conductor in the sky decided that she had been tried enough. Her eyes closed, and both hands clenching the microphone, she crooned or belted out the stanzas as the mood gripped her. The notes and words seemed to swirl in a lazy vortex around the stage, gently eroding even the mildest defence in their path, till all was one pristine, homocentric entity. I remember crying unashamedly, and a moist-eyed Suresh hugging me whilst murmuring things like, "There will never be another like her; how can she conjure up such magic against such odds? How does she do it?"
There was absolute silence when the song finally ended. And then, very slowly, as if gradually awakening from a stupor, the claps and encores started, gradually building up to such a crescendo that the auditorium virtually erupted. I was in shock -- after all, it wasn't a predominantly Marathi audience. But, that's the power of music. It's the last remaining frontier where complete harmony exists amongst people of all religions, castes and languages. From that point of time, the concert gained a momentum all of its own: we could do nothing to curb it, and Asha Bhosle could do nothing wrong.
What did happen to the colitis, fever, etc? Back home, Aai was in bed for a full month, recuperating from overexertion. But that was afterwards... After ALL ..... |
