‘She’d never leave the studio till the composer was happy’: Rocket Mondal on working with Asha Bhosle
Telegraph | 17 April 2026
The world calls him Rocket; Asha Bhosle called him Rocky.
Guitarist-arranger-composer Rocket Mondal has shared both stage and studio space with the legendary singer, even directing her during recordings. Even today, the memories feel vivid.
A resident of the Metropolitan area off the Bypass for three decades, Mondal first saw Bhosle as part of Bappi Lahiri’s orchestra. “I was the regular guitarist in Amit Kumar’s shows, but I would occasionally play for Bappi da’s shows too,” he recalls.
Those were the days he would travel near and far, be it a show in Malda or at the Netaji Indoor Stadium. “Ashaji’s stage presence was electric. From slight gyrations to effortless interaction with the audience, she brought every show alive,” says Mondal.
What struck him equally was her regard for fellow musicians. “I had a solo piece in Eena Meena Deeka. After I played it, she would beamingly turn to the audience and announce, ‘Dekho, this is Rocky from Kolkata’.”
Even on a Bappi Lahiri night, Bhosle would slip in R.D. Burman classics like Piya Tu Ab To Aaja. Among Lahiri’s numbers, one song recurring on her songlist was the melancholic Aar Koto Kal Eka Thakbo from Chokher Aloy.
For years after, their paths did not cross, though Mondal continued to arrange songs for her for composers such as Mrinal Banerjee, Ajay Das and Kanu Bhattacharya. “I would prepare the track and send it across, and she would record her voice in Bombay,” he says.
They reunited in early 1993, when Mondal turned composer for a film directed by Nitish Roy, Tobu Mone Rekho, starring Tapas Paul and Debashree Roy. The song was the playful Prem Je Amar Kulfi Malai, picturised on Roy.
The recording, however, came in the shadow of the Babri Masjid demolition, which had triggered unrest across the country. “We had booked a studio in Worli. She was anxious and kept asking, ‘Beta, kaise jayenge? Abhi toh bahut tension hai!’ But she still made it, and we completed the recording,” Mondal recalls.
What stayed with him was her humility. “Despite working with the greatest of composers, she was like a student eager to learn. Sitting at the console, I could hear her from inside the booth asking, ‘Rocky, yeh jagah thik hai na? Humko batana, kahin sur se hil na jaye.’ Who was I to correct her? Yet that was her dedication,” he says, contrasting it with what he sees as a reluctance among some contemporary artistes to push for another take.
Bhosle had told him she would not leave the studio until she had delivered exactly what the composer wanted. “That was a huge lesson — especially coming from her,” he says.
Their next collaboration came much later, in 2012, for an AIDS awareness project for a Bangladeshi producer. Mondal also visited her Peddar Road home for rehearsals. This time, she suggested recording at Yash Raj Studios, saying the recordist understood her voice best. “She spoke to him in Marathi and introduced me,” Mondal remembers.
Through it all, one thing never changed. “She always addressed me as ‘beta’. There was so much affection in that,” he says.
Her passing, he adds, still feels unreal. “It is a shock how quickly she left us after just a day’s hospitalisation.”