I am a connoisseur of Hindi songs.
I collect them not in playlists, but in moods; carefully archived somewhere in the quiet corridors of my mind. And yet, like all fragile treasures, they often evade me when I need them the most. The right song for the right moment does exist but it arrives late, like an afterthought, when the moment has already passed.
But there is one song that never arrives late.
It lives within me rent-free, timeless woven into my mind, my breath, my being. If there is such a thing as a soul, and if it journeys beyond this life, I am certain this song will travel with me… and return with me.
That song is ‘In Aankhon Ki Masti Ke.’
Sung by the inimitable Asha Bhosle, written by the masterful Shahryar, composed by the genius Khayyam, and immortalized on screen by the ethereal Rekha under the delicate direction of Muzaffar Ali; this song is, on the surface, a poetic expression of allure, grace, and the quiet authority of beauty.
But for me, it is something far more intimate.
It is not just a song.
It is a state of being.
In the quiet anxieties of life when I sit among strangers, or face rooms filled with power and expectation, searching for words to define myself; I falter. I hesitate. And then, gently, almost mischievously, the song rises within me:
‘इन आँखों की मस्ती के मस्ताने हज़ारों हैं
इन आँखों से वाबस्ता अफ़साने हज़ारों हैं…’
And suddenly, I am no longer unsure.
I smile just a little and begin.
Because the song reminds me: you are not empty of stories; you are made of them.
When I am diminished, when someone attempts to belittle me, and silence becomes my only dignified reply, the song returns, not as comfort, but as quiet defiance:
‘एक तुम ही नहीं तन्हा उल्फ़त में मेरी रुस्वा
इस शहर में तुम जैसे दीवाने हज़ारों हैं…’
And in that moment, the burden shifts.
You are not my exception, you are merely one among many.
When I am asked what sets me apart, what my singularity is in a world brimming with excellence, my mind races, but my soul answers:
‘एक सिर्फ़ हमीं मय को आँखों से पिलाते हैं
कहने को तो दुनिया में मयख़ाने हज़ारों हैं…’
Yes, there may be countless taverns in this world.
But what I offer, my depth, my devotion, my way, is mine alone.
And when fear is wielded as a weapon, when I am warned, threatened, or made to feel small, I find myself smiling again, because the song has already spoken for me:
‘इस शम्म-ए-फ़रोज़ा को आँधी से डराते हो
इस शम्म-ए-फ़रोज़ा के परवाने हज़ारों हैं…’
Do you not know?
It is the flame that consumes the moth, not the other way around.
And just like that, the song becomes everything—courage, solace, rebellion, identity.
It is not merely music.
It is my quiet poison, one that heals as it intoxicates.
For me, this is not just another song by Asha Bhosle.
It is a personal inheritance, a gift from Asha Tai to a listener who has unknowingly lived alongside it, day after day, moment after moment.
This song is not just part of my life.
It is my lifeline.
And so today, I say I will miss you, Asha Tai.
But not quite.
Because every time I play this song, hum it under my breath, or let it rise unannounced in my thoughts; you will be there. In some small, sacred way, you will live on in me.
After all, artists do not die.
They dissolve into their art and become eternal.
Asha Bhosle was never just a singer. She was a woman of immense courage—one who lived life on her own terms, made difficult choices, endured pain, found love again, and above all, remained unapologetically herself. You may agree or disagree with her but her music transcends all such boundaries.
It is not ideology.
It is philosophy.
And as I return, once more, to that immortal refrain—
‘इन आँखों की मस्ती के मस्ताने हज़ारों हैं…”
—I realize this is not farewell.
Because in the words of her equally legendary sister, Lata Mangeshkar:
“नाम गुम जायेगा, चेहरा ये बदल जायेगा
मेरी आवाज़ ही पहचान है…”
And that voice…
will never fade.
Divya Dixit
Likes to follow political happenings in India & across the world. Cares for women & children. Concerned about poverty across the continents.
