By JENERALI ULIMWENGU

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Last week I found myself joining India (and a great part of the world) in mourning a monument, in the person of the legendary singer Lata Mangeshkar, who had passed at the young age of 92.

I use the adjective young because the legacy this girl leaves behind her is forever juvenile and evergreen, so much so that she qualifies to be used in that famous expression “Death be not so proud,” by John Donne.

For, indeed, when you consider the work of this most illustrious diva, how can you not agree that even those that “poor death” believes to be able to “overthrow” do not in reality die.

What one achieves in those few days allowed by life offers enough span in which one expresses oneself as one wills to do and to expire only when one is assured of having done one’s duty to humanity.

I came into contact with the “Nightingale of India” in high school, via the kind intervention of an “Indian” fellow student (I think his name was Akberali if I remember well) who taught me one of her famous sons, Mera Saya and soon I could sing it more or less well, and learnt what it meant: Wherever you go, my shadow will always follow you. I came to encounter that song many places I visited, until it soon became clear to me that it was a song that mobilised a lot of sentimental energy.

Of course, visiting India was such an occasion, but the song was in so many other places, including ones where I had not expected such a huge Indian artistic influence, such as when I visited Morocco for the first time in the 1970s, and found out, to my utter surprise, that Indian music was very much in vogue there.

Much has been said about Lata in the wake of her departure, but one thing remains incontrovertible. It is not only the longevity of her life that made her fame, for individuals abound who live as long as Methusellah but in the end leave only memories of disgust and bother, while some live only brief “candle in the wind” existences but upon death leave the world disconsolate.

The obvious example here is the Hollywood goddess, Marylin Monroe who got that title from Elton John, and others can be cited.

Longevity came in handy for Lata, yes, but she was helped by the fact her work as an artiste accompanied her nation in joy and sorrow, serenading a new and confident India at the dawn of a difficult and thorny independence, through the tribulations of the early years of the Cold War (a disastrous war with a no-less-assertive China), the imperious rule of a number of prime ministers including Indira Gandhi.

It could be said to have been decided by fate rather than her own volition, but every time her country were in dire need she was there to pride solace to sinking spirits and healing for bruised souls. No wonder, then, that most commentaries dwelt on the 1962 Indian disaster when it is aid that when she sang, Jawaharllal Pandit Nehru, the father of Indian independence, could not contain his tears.

Such women – they tend to be all female – can be found throughout history, as recent examples will show us. A quick search will tell us of the French icon, Edith Piaf, the Egyptian Oum Kulthoum, the American Joan Baez, the Cuban Celia Cruz, the South African Miriam Makeba, the Lebanese Fayrouz and others.

A nation is made up of so many elements, some of them even inimical to each other. In the case of India, a nation that was colonised by the British at the time that it was, saw itself sliced into two right at independence, and has ever since rekindled its aggressive antipathy to this day, so much so that the worst is feared every time flareup is reported in that zone.

Of course, it has never been all conflict, strife and war. Even the most fearsome warriors find a time to pause and engage in tournaments and festivals to allow themselves a breather. It is during those moments of respite that we experience the expressions of the beautiful representations of the human spirit, including sentiments of non-platonic love and the pursuit of sensual pleasures.

The combination of this and the patriotic fervour expressed when countries, nations and societies are faced with existential threats is what makes people like Mangeshkar immortal. They become the embodiment of a people when that people’s very existence is denied – like Makeba under Apartheid; or Joan Baez under Richard Nixon, or Kulthoum under Israeli occupation; or Celia Cruz under the American embargo on Cuba; or Fayrouz amidst Israel’s pulverization of Beirut; or Joan Baez during America’s carpet-bombing of Vietnam.

To all these women of courage laced with beautiful voices, I raise my goblet to you: Meera saya, saathu hooga!

Jenerali Ulimwengu is now on YouTube via jeneralionline tv. E-mail: [email protected]