Asha Bhosle in Dubai: A legend who carried greatness lightly, loves hard work and an occasional party

Dubai: “I love the people of Dubai… they work very hard and they party harder.” That was India's legendary singer Asha Bhosle, wry, observant, and completely at ease, when I met her ahead of her concert in the city. It was such a perfect, unfiltered read of Dubai, delivered with that trademark glint in her eye.

But my first memory of this wonderfully warm, graceful and diminutive icon goes back to the Dubai International Film Festival (DIFF days).

It wasn’t a formal interview setting. It was more relaxed, almost intimate chat done at a terrace of a restaurant over-looking the Burj Al Arab —and what struck me then, and stayed with me, was this unexpected, almost childlike glee.

She wasn’t weighed down by her own legend and aura. If anything, she seemed to float above all those superlative labels and was fascinatingly curious, amused, fully present. Her voice, almost child-like, defied her 81-year-old frame at that time. She was in the city to accept the Lifetime Achievement Award bestowed on her during the 11th edition of the Dubai International Film Festival. She told us about how work was sacred for her.

"Work is work. I had to sing day and night. I worked day, night and used to work from 7am till 3am. That why I managed to sing more than 13000 songs. When the Guinness World Book of Records recognized me as the world's most recorded artist: I just thought it was my life's work." When it came to hustle, she seemed to be the queen of it!

So when I met her again months later, that same energy was intact. At that point in November 2018, she was 84 and was even worried if she would be able to pull off a live concert.

“Let’s consider ourselves lucky that the concert is happening,” she said. “It has been so many years since I have performed… He could call us in anytime. That is how life is.”

She said it simply, without drama.

“This could be my last concert… but I may come back again if I am invited next year too. I will surely come.”

There was something disarming about the way she held both thoughts at once: an acceptance of mortality, but also a quiet insistence on continuing.

And then, just as quickly, she shifted the mood. Back to Dubai. Back to people. Back to that lightness.

“I love the people of Dubai…”

When someone asked her to sing, she didn’t hesitate. A few lines, effortlessly delivered. No build-up, no performance of a performance. Just instinct.

Her approach to work was equally no-nonsense.

“I have never really thought about what’s my inspiration or passion. I just work… I sing songs as if it were my first song. If I don’t sing it well, my name will be ruined.”

And she didn’t pretend to have all the answers either.

“There are many songs that I have not been satisfied with… but they became big hits. We never know.”

Even now, she said, she couldn’t predict what would work.

On discipline, she was blunt.

“I stay away from cigarettes, liquor, cold drinks… because I need to retain my voice. It’s not easy… but I do it.”

There was a brief pause when she spoke about the greats—Kishore Kumar, Mohammed Rafi, Mukesh.

“Their voices were rare… they aren’t to be found nowadays.”

But she didn’t dwell in nostalgia.

“I always keep laughing,” she said. “And I always walk with humility.”

And that’s how I remember her across both meetings—at DIFF and in that Dubai press room.

Not just as a legend, but as someone who could hold a room without trying too hard. Someone who could talk about life and its limits, then laugh a second later. Someone who carried her greatness lightly—and that, more than anything, is what stayed.