5 min readApr 12, 2026 06:12 PM IST First published on: Apr 12, 2026 at 06:12 PM ISTThe passing of Asha Bhosle (September 8, 1933-April 12, 2026) is more than the end of a significant public presence. It marks the passing of an aesthetic protest against the straight-jacketing of performance styles in Indian popular culture. Asha Bhosle’s artistry belonged to a very particular cultural moment. This was a time – mainly the decades of the 1950s and ’60s – when debates raged about the most appropriate form of national culture for a newly independent republic. An important strand within it related to the forms of public culture that would best represent the nation’s civilisational ethos. These debates are in sharp focus right now; however, they have a longer history, and it is important to remember Asha Bhosle’s place within them. Fundamentally, her performative style questioned the making of a socially and culturally conservative national culture. Bhosle’s style contested the idea of the singularity of female public presence: That of the “pure” and self-sacrificing kind that had become such an important part of nationalist ideas of Indian womanhood. Interestingly, she lent her voice to both the “good” women of Indian cinema and the “bad” ones. In the 1966 Teesri Manzil, Asha sang both for the “respectable” Sunita (Asha Parekh in ‘Aaja, Aaja’) as well as the not-so-respectable nightclub dancer Ruby (Helen in ‘O Haseena Zulfonwali’). This was also a period when one part of the refashioning of Indian national culture related to sharply differentiating the heroine from the vamp: The former went on to marry the hero, whereas the latter either died an unnatural death or had to undergo “reform” to meet national standards of womanhood. On the one hand, Asha’s artistry complicated the relationship between “good” and “bad” women – Sunita and Ruby could have the same voice, so could they not be two sides to a woman’s personality? And, on the other hand, Helen/ Ruby also existed as characters who contested a national imagination of the woman as a dutiful member of the household. AdvertisementAlso Read | How Asha Bhosle forced herself to evolve out of sister Lata Mangeshkar’s shadow, spoke about their ‘quiet’ competitionIn different ways, Asha’s voice was that of public spaces: Streets, footpaths and nightclubs (particularly of the disreputable type, frequented by violent men and “forward” women). Her artistry was part of the process through which Indian cinema moved beyond the restrictions of exclusively presenting domestic life as quintessentially Indian. In the 1962 film Naughty Boy, Asha Bhosle gives voice to Kalpana Mohan (1946-2012) in the song ‘Ho Gayi Shaam’. In Shree 420 (1955), Asha sings a nightclub number for Nadira (‘Mud Mud Ke Na Dekh’), in Howrah Bridge (1958) for Madhubala (‘Aaiye Meherban’) and in Karwaan (1971), her voice redefines public spaces where a woman may (literally) breathe freely, something denied in the restrictions of the home. National life consists of multiple spaces, and Asha’s voice was instrumental in expanding the possibilities of their filmic representation. Just as importantly, her artistry was important for breaking the connection between publicness and maleness: the female characters she sang for were public women.Also Read | Asha Bhosle, whose range redefined Bollywood playback singing, dies at 92Asha’s style also expanded our engagement with musical genres beyond traditional Indian styles. In her various collaborations with RD Burman and others, her voice builds upon multiple musical traditions that are entangled with a multiplicity of instruments that, notwithstanding their foreign origins, emerge as being able to express Indian emotions. In ‘Ho Gayi Shaam’ (Naughty Boy), there are drums, an accordion and saxophone accompaniment. ‘Aage Bhi Jaane Na Tu’ (Waqt, 1965) opens with a Western orchestra and guitar music. In ‘Chura Lia Hai’ (Yaadon Ki Baaraat, 1973), Zeenat Aman strums a guitar. Asha’s style introduced us to the idea that the experience of emotions need not be territorially bounded: Indian-ness could be expansive. The passing of Asha Bhosle should remind us of an age of possibilities. Her artistry expanded the ways in which we could experience desire, hope, love, intimacy, sensuality and life itself. Her style – and its capacities to translate multiple expressive worlds into an Indian idiom – produced landscapes of sound and music that contested the limits of national identity. In this sense, Asha Bhosle allowed us to engage with an emotional life that is truly human. AdvertisementThe writer is distinguished research professor, Department of Anthropology and Sociology, SOAS University of London