‘Dubbing for Lataji was the best learning phase of my life'

Indian Express

17-05-2025

Tu Hi Re, the simmering centrepiece of Mani Ratnam's Bombay, which just completed 30 years, has travelled well. A low, hesitant invocation, it moves towards a crescendo and hits high notes of a kind — ones that playback singer Kavita Krishnamurthy, 67, cites as music's non-existent 'Z scale'.
In the long arc of Krishnamurthy's five-decade career, the duet with Hariharan, was neither her debut nor her most-decorated song. Yet, it has stood the test of time. Just like so many others in the singer's oeuvre of over 25,000 songs across languages. From the sultry romp of Hawa hawai (Mr. India, 1987) to the intimate Pyar hua chupke se (1942: A Love Story, 1994), the playful Aankhon ki gustakhiyaan (Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, 1999) the powerful Dola re (Devdas, 2002) — her duet with Shreya Ghoshal — to her graceful renditions of Tagore songs and other devotional bhajans, Krishnamurthy's diverse journey has chronicled India's streaming soundscape.
The artiste will mark her golden jubilee in Hindi film music next year — her first Hindi song was a version of Lata Mangeshkar's Aayega aanewala in the Shabana Azmi-starrer Kadambari (1976), but her career as a playback singer began at least half a decade earlier. 'The first time I sang in a film was in Bengali (Shriman Prithviraj, 1971), and it was a duet with Lataji,' she says over a video conversation with The Indian Express. Krishnamurthy was just 16 at the time. 'But so many years later, music continues to give me a great sense of purpose,' she says.
While Bollywood gave her recognition, it is the Bengali music industry that is responsible not just for her foundation in music, but for also giving Krishnamurthy her name. Born as Sharada Krishnamurthy in a Tamil family that lived in government housing near Kali Bari on Mandir Marg in Delhi, life for Krishnamurthy revolved around 'Rabindra sangeet, Durga Puja, food and adda'. Her early exposure to music came from her mother, a Lata acolyte who'd sometimes get so engrossed in her melodies on the radio that 'rice would burn in the kitchen'. Formal learning began when her maternal aunt, Protima Bhattacharya, insisted that she learn Rabindra sangeet, eventually taking her to Mumbai to pursue a singing career.
She was 14 when she enrolled in St Xavier's College and met Ranu Mukherjee, daughter of composer Hemant Kumar, under whose baton Krishnamurthy made her Bengali debut. It was Kumar who insisted she needed a new name after she had to clarify to a concert audience that she wasn't the then musical sensation Sharada Rajan. Kumar told her aunt, 'Cholbe na. (This won't work). You'll need a new name.' And thus, Sharada Krishnamurthy was rechristened Kavita. 'I think the name proved lucky for me,' says the Padma Shri awardee.
It was around this time that family friend and neighbour, ad man and Guru Dutt's brother Vijay Dutt, asked her to sing jingles which helped pay for expenses in Mumbai. One thing led to another and Krishnamurthy plunged headfirst into the advertising world that had mavericks like Ashok Patki and Vanraj Bhatia at the helm. The result was iconic ads for Vicco Turmeric and Nirma that are still etched in memory. Her precision stood out. 'Jingles are done in many languages, so it helped with diction as well as sticking to the rhythm,' says Krishnamurthy, who went on to explore playback in several Indian languages. Her first original solo was in Kannada in Girish Karnad's Ondanondu Kaladalli.
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She also got help from Hema Malini's mother, Jaya Chakravarthy, who was close to her aunt and introduced her to composer duo Laxmikant-Pyarelal. Krishnamurthy's first assignment: to dub for Lata Mangeshkar. These were scratches — reference tracks — for Mangeshkar. 'When I'd record then, there was a lot of tension in the studio and you couldn't make a mistake since you were singing with a big orchestra and musicians like Shivji and Hariji (Pt Shiv Kumar Sharma and Pt Hari Prasad Chaurasia) were often a part of these. If you made a mistake, the whole song had to be redone. The musicians always had other recordings to get to,' she says. 'But dubbing for Lataji was the best learning phase of my life. Her range was much higher, so to hit those high notes, my voice opened up. And when that song came on the market, I could see her improvisations and learn from them.'
The learnings evidently came in handy more than she realised. About Hawa hawai, she says: 'Going by its scale, I think it was meant for Ashaji (Bhosle). When I saw the opening lyrics, I asked how was I to sing those words. But they said, 'Likhiye, chee ho wa honolulu', and I just followed. I wasn't worried. I knew it would be sung again.' But Laxmikant told her they were keeping her version. 'I told them a word was wrongly sung. They said Sridevi has lip synched it and it is wonderful.'
From AR Rahman, with whom she's recorded some of her finest pieces, she learnt how technology can be used well. 'He is a gentle music director. You go on the mic, sing something, sometimes repeat a line 10 times like I did in K sera sera, and come back home. But when that song comes on the market, I am always surprised. That said, tech will never replace the soul in music. We talk of AI, but it can't give people empathy. But when used intelligently, and I am hoping Rahman will use it in an optimal way, it can sound fantastic,' she says.
Krishnamurthy's self-effacing approach only amplified her credibility. She went on to sing popular numbers like Tumse milkar (Parinda, 1989), Aaj main upar (Khamoshi: The Musical, 1996), Pyar hua (1942: A Love Story), Mera piya ghar aaya (Yaraana, 1996), K sera sera (Pukaar, 2000) and Ishq bina (Taal, 1999). She won four Filmfare awards, although a National Award is yet to come her way. 'My entire focus then was to just work and do my best. That has stood me in good stead. I had no avariciousness of being number one. I didn't long for money and I didn't want fame. I hardly went to the parties and didn't like dressing up. I was a complete antithesis of everything that Bollywood wanted. But I am glad that I was allowed to be myself and work with legends like RD Burman, Khyyam saab and Laxmikant-Pyarelalji, whose only demand from me was to work hard. And I did work hard,' she says.
Our conversation is set in a time when Pakistani musicians are being removed from apps like Spotify and bans are being called for in the aftermath of the Pahalgam attack. Krishnamurthy says that it is time to be a nationalist and support the nation but that shouldn't turn our shared cultural heritage into disdain for artistes. 'I have always received love from the people of Pakistan. Our films are so vastly appreciated there. They adore Rafi saab and Lataji. And, we adore the music of Mehdi Hassan saab, Ghulam Ali, Noorjehanji and Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and will keep doing so,' says Krishnamurthy.