古剑奇谭

据中央气象台此前预报，今年第12号台风“梅花”预计于9月14日夜间在浙江嘉兴到上海浦东一带沿海再次登陆，为确保铁路运输安全，铁路部门继续调整9月15日至16日赣闽两省始发、终到往返上海、无锡等方向，以及途经赣闽两省前往广州、成都、六盘水等方向部分旅客列车运行方案。为防范台风“梅花”对铁路线路带来的影响，中国铁路南昌局集团公司龙岩、福州、永安、赣州等工务单位严格落实“防、避、抢”工作要求，深入开展防洪防台安全隐患排查，通过无人机航拍、3D建模等方式甄别潜在安全风险。同时，做好片石、平板车料具和应急抢修队伍的储备，确保台风期间的铁路线路安全畅通。    There are people whose lives unfold quietly alongside history. They do not interrupt it, do not demand attention, and do not ask to be framed as milestones. Yet, when you pause long enough to listen, you realise they have been present all along, shaping the texture of the time they lived in.Usha Mangeshkar belongs to that rare category.For over seven decades, her voice has travelled through Indian cinema, devotional spaces, regional theatres, private listening rooms, and beyond. It has sung celebration and surrender, playfulness and prayer. It has adapted, endured, and remained relevant without ever seeking to dominate the frame. In a family where sound itself became legacy, she learned early that presence does not require volume, and significance does not require spectacle.Born into a household where music was both inheritance and discipline, she grew up listening not only to compositions but to silences between them. Her father, Master Deenanath Mangeshkar, a classical vocalist and thespian of his time, passed away when she was still a child, leaving behind unfinished compositions and an atmosphere where music became memory, responsibility, and continuity. What followed was a life shaped by listening closely to mentors, to siblings, to her own hesitations, and responding with patience rather than urgency.Her career spans Hindi, Bengali, Tamil, Assamese, and Marathi cinema, devotional music that reached millions, playful popular songs that became cultural markers, and collaborations across languages and generations.          At ninety, Usha Mangeshkar does not speak of milestones. She speaks of moments. Of learning how to stand at a microphone. Of recognising when a note needed more breath or less force. Of choosing restraint over ambition, and instinct over comparison. Listening to her is not an exercise in nostalgia. It is an education in how a life is built when attention remains firmly on the work rather than the applause.I first met Usha aunty, as I fondly call her, years ago in circumstances that were professional but gradually became personal. I had entered her home not as a chronicler of her life, but as someone still learning how to observe a life honestly. What struck me was not the weight of her career, but the lightness with which she carried it. She spoke without embellishment, without rehearsal, without performance.Over time, our conversations deepened. They were thoughtful, humorous, occasionally searching, always grounded. On the occasion of her ninetieth year, I returned to those conversations with a different intent. Not to recount achievements, but to understand how one builds a life when comparison is inevitable, recognition is uneven, and legacy exists before one has even begun.          What follows is not a catalogue of success. It is a record of endurance, clarity, and quiet authority.You grew up surrounded by music. Did that environment shape you naturally, or did you have to carve your own relationship with it?Music was part of the air I breathed, but every relationship with art is personal. I listened far more than I sang in the early years. Sitting in the recording room and listening to Didi (Lata Mangeshkar) was a learning experience every single time. Listening teaches you proportion, balance, when to step forward and when to hold back. We learned the art of breathing into the microphone, when to release a phrase and when to sustain it. Nothing was rushed. I never felt pushed into music. I felt I was being prepared for it, slowly and properly.Was there a moment when you realised that music would not just be an inheritance, but also your life’s work?That understanding came gradually, and I am grateful for that. When things come slowly, they settle deeper within you. I never woke up one morning deciding to become a singer. Singing simply stayed with me year after year. My father was a great singer, so were Didi, Asha Tai, Meena Tai, and Hridaynath as a composer. My surroundings were not only inspiring, they were also demanding. We were constantly learning, constantly evaluating, and we were all honest critics of each other. That honesty shaped my journey more than encouragement ever could.In a family of strong musical personalities, how did you understand your own place?Every voice has its own nature. I learned early that comparison is unnecessary when clarity exists. We each had our own individual style of singing, and there was never a sense of competition among us. I focused on understanding my own voice, its colour, its strengths, its temperament. Once you understand that, your place becomes very clear. We were never trying to overtake one another. We were always helping each other grow.          You have always shared a very close bond with your nieces and nephews and often speak of them as your own children. What does that bond mean to you?Yes, my sisters’ children, my own nieces and nephews, have always felt like my own. This closeness did not start recently; it has been there since they were toddlers. We shared so many moments together, simple joys that became lasting memories. I would take them to restaurants, beaches, forts, picnics, even safaris. We laughed, we explored, and over time, a truly special bond formed.I remember one little incident with Rachana, Meena Tai’s daughter. She had long hair, and I took the liberty of giving her a fringe. Even now, forty years later, she keeps that style. It makes me smile, but it also reflects the trust and love we share. They respect me deeply, value me, and have always been a part of my life in ways that go beyond words.Even today, whenever I need support, they are my pillars. Adinath takes care of so much, and there are Radha, Bingo (Baijnath ), Yogi (Yogesh), Anand, and everyone of them. Their children also continue this circle of closeness. It is a gift, a joy, and a responsibility I cherish every day. Their love and presence in my life have been as profound as any melody I have sung, steady, enduring, and deeply grounding.Audiences often noticed similarities between your voice and Lata Mangeshkar’s. How did you view that association?Similarity is not something one manufactures. It simply exists. What matters is what you do with it. I was always conscious that sincerity is more important than distinction. If the intention is honest, the voice naturally finds its own identity. I never tried to sound different deliberately. I tried to sound true.          Did carrying such a well-known surname ever feel like a responsibility?Responsibility, yes. Burden, never. It reminded me to maintain standards at all times. In a family where work is taken seriously, casualness is not an option. We were taught that ethics, culture, and devotion are the foundations of any career. Our work was always seen as an offering to our parents, to the Almighty, and to the audience. When you see your work that way, you cannot treat it lightly.Your repertoire moves easily between devotional music and popular songs. How did you maintain that balance?Both require the same foundation. Whether a song is light or contemplative, it demands understanding its nuances. Devotional music asks for surrender, while popular music asks for timing and restraint. I enjoyed moving between these spaces. I also believe learning never stops. We are all students for life. I kept observing changes, trends, and new expressions. That curiosity kept my work alive.Your devotional songs became deeply embedded in people’s lives. Did that surprise you?I never thought about reach. I thought about truth. Devotional music responds to sincerity, not strategy. Perhaps people felt that the voice was not performing belief, but resting within it.          You have sung in many languages and musical traditions. What did that diversity give you as an artist?Perspective. Every language teaches humility. You listen more carefully. You respect the word, the emotion, and the culture it comes from. That awareness keeps an artist alert and grounded.Your bond with Pandit Hridaynath Mangeshkar is often spoken of with admiration. What defined that for you?Trust and ease. We understood each other without explanation. He knew I would be honest, and I knew he valued clarity over agreement. Those are rare conditions, and they make creative work deeply fulfilling.You have also expressed yourself through painting. What does that medium offer that music does not?Silence. Painting slows thought down. It allows you to sit with an idea without sound. I have painted interpretations of Ghalib, of Meera, of emotions that do not need words. Painting complements music because it asks for contemplation rather than expression.When you look back at your career, what gives you the greatest satisfaction?Continuity. The ability to work steadily, to adapt without losing myself, and to remain curious over decades. Longevity requires care. It does not respond well to urgency.Did you ever feel the need to chase recognition or redefine your image?No. I trusted the work. Recognition follows its own rhythm. I preferred consistency over restlessness.Many artists struggle with self-doubt. How did you maintain confidence over such a long journey?Confidence comes from preparation. When you know you have done the work sincerely, doubt finds very little space to stay. I believed in readiness more than reassurance.Your life has included both joy and deeply personal moments. How did you maintain balance?By understanding that life does not demand commentary at every turn. Some moments ask for expression. Others ask for stillness. Balance comes from knowing the difference.          At ninety, how do you see the arc of your life and work?With calm and satisfaction. I did what felt true to me. I honoured my voice, my family, and my values. That feels complete.What would you say to younger artists who admire your journey?Pay attention. To your craft, to your instincts, to the people you work with. Excellence grows quietly. Let it.As the conversation draws to a close, there is no sense of finality in the room. At ninety, Usha Mangeshkar does not speak like someone summing up a life. She speaks like someone still inhabiting it fully. There is no dramatic pause, no attempt to crystallise wisdom into slogans. And yet, as she continues, something settles into place with unmistakable clarity.What becomes evident is that her genius was never performative. It lay in precision, in restraint, in the long discipline of showing up prepared when no one was watching. In an age that rewards immediacy, she chose patience. In a world quick to measure success by visibility, she measured it by integrity. Her voice did not seek to rise above others. It learned instead how to arrive exactly where it was needed.Listening to her, one understands that endurance is not accidental. It is built through thousands of small decisions made correctly. The decision to listen more than speak. To practise before performing. To remain curious rather than defensive. To let recognition come, but never let it lead. Her journey reminds us that greatness is not always loud. Often, it is exacting, consistent, and quietly uncompromising.When asked what remains essential after all these years, her answer does not point outward. It turns inward.“Stay honest with your work,” she says, almost gently. “If you do that, everything else finds its place. The moment you start performing for approval, something becomes fragile. But when you perform out of understanding, it lasts.”There is something profoundly instructive in that calm certainty. Here is an artist who lived alongside legends, who witnessed eras change, technologies shift, tastes evolve, and yet never altered her core. Her voice adapted, but her values did not. She did not hurry to define herself, nor did she resist change. She simply stayed attentive.That attentiveness, sustained over seven decades, is her true genius.For younger artists navigating a world that demands speed, comparison, and constant reinvention, her life offers a different map. One that values preparation over publicity. Depth over display. Continuity over noise. It suggests that it is possible to build a life in art without exhaustion, without bitterness, without erasure of self.As the conversation ends, there is no sense of conclusion. Only continuity. The feeling that some voices do not belong to a moment, or even to a generation. They belong to a discipline. To a way of being. To the quiet confidence that comes from knowing one has honoured the work fully.Usha Mangeshkar’s life …..It asks to be understood. And once understood, it leaves behind something rare and enduring: the reassurance that a life built with clarity, humility, and unwavering commitment does not fade. It settles. It stays. And it continues to teach, long after the song has ended.Also Read: Usha Mangeshkar Recalls Winning Her First Filmfare Trophy at Filmfare Awards Marathi 2025。已购买停运列车车票的旅客，可于乘车日期起30日内(含当日)持购票时所使用乘车人的有效身份证件原件到车站窗口办理退票手续；通过12306网站、12306手机APP购买的铁路电子客票，如未打印报销凭证或使用非现金方式支付的，可通过12306网站或手机APP直接办理退票；如旅客使用现金方式购买或已打印报销凭证的，自网上办理退票成功之日起180天( 含当日)，凭乘车人身份证件到铁路车站指定窗口办理退款手续，均不收取退票费。台风登陆期间，中国铁路南昌局集团有限公司将密切关注台风动向和影响范围，并结合风速雨量实际情况，采取限速、停运、迂回、折返、加开、恢复开行等措施，动态调整列车开行方案。同时，将加大铁路设备巡检以及铁路外部环境安全排查，确保旅客出行安全。铁路部门提示，旅客朋友可通过关注12306铁路客服平台，或车站大屏幕、广播、公告等发布的信息，及时了解列车开行情况，合理安排行程。（总台记者 殷一元 杜曦晨）