One day some concert organizers came to my father and asked if they could hold a jalsa where my father Deenanath Mangeshkar, a celebrated classical singer, would perform. I was standing nearby and overheard the conversation. I said, ‘Baba, I want to sing too.’

‘What will you sing?’ he asked.

‘You taught me Raga Khambavati, so I’ll sing that, and a song from one of your plays.’

He looked at me somewhat taken aback – perhaps my confidence took him by surprise. I was only nine years old. My father thought it over for a few minutes and agreed that I could sing with him on the stage.

Later that day, I put on a white frock with tiny patterns on it, styled my hair in a wave across one side of my face, and started to head towards the main door of the house when my mother stopped me . . .