Jasraj ji’s face lit up. “Accha woh: Oh, that one. Let me sing it for you.” And there and then, with the plane at 30,000 feet, and passengers sitting around, he sang full-throated, without the slightest inhibition, the entire bandish. Who could object to such a wonderfully mellifluous voice? People around listened in pin-drop silence, and air-hostesses stopped their service. After he finished, there was a standing ovation.

Then, there was that memorable evening with Begum Farida Khanum in Srinagar, where she had a performance. The beauteous Dilshad, sister of actors Feroz Khan and Sanjay Khan, invited her, and my wife and I, for dinner at her lovely home. The evening started listlessly. Naturally, we wanted Begum to sing a little but she was reticent. I told her that there was a ghazal she had sung whose words and tune were unusual. Curious, she asked, “Which one?” I provided the words, “Tum aur fareb khao bayane raqib se, tum se tau kam gila hai zyada naseeb se: You can get more deceived by my rival in love, my regret is much less with you than with my destiny.”

Suddenly, she seemed to shed her sombre mood. “That’s a beautiful ghazal. Its tarannum (tune) is not easy,” she said. And, then she began to sing it. The evening took a completely different turn. After that, there was no stopping her. It was an intimate mehfil, and gradually she warmed up to the generous and genuine appreciation. The climax, of course, was when she sang her most popular ghazal: Aaj jaane ki zid no karo: Don’t insist on leaving today.

Sometimes writers are surprised when minute knowledge about their work comes from a completely unsuspected source. Gulzar Saheb was staying with me in Bhutan where I was India’s ambassador. The king of Bhutan, Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck, was at my home one evening. He was an admirer of Gulzar’s writings, and I had given to him my published translations of his poems. His Majesty asked Gulzar to recite a few of his poems. Gulzar turned to me to ask what he should read. I suggested one that I greatly liked, Budhiya Re, Old Woman. His original, and my English translation, was published in our book, Selected Poems. Not sure of the page, Gulzar was searching for it, when His Majesty, without the book in his hand, quietly said: “Page 39”. We were both left stunned!

Outstanding artist, the late Satish Gujral, had a terrific sense of humour. Since he was deaf, his speech was a little impaired, but not the least his wit. One of his jokes, which he loved to narrate, was about another famous painter and dear friend, Jatin Das. Apparently, Jatin was having an exhibition in Dubai. Most of his works were nudes, and when they arrived, he was called by Dubai customs. When he went, he was told that his paintings could go through, if he made some changes. Jatin asked, what? “Put some clothes on them,” the customs’ officer tartly said!

And to me, when instead of wearing my trademark kurta-pyjama in the evening, I was wearing a bandhgala suit, Satish quipped, “Aaj kapde pehan ke aaye ho: You have worn clothes today!”

Pavan K Varma is author, diplomat, and former Member of Parliament (Rajya Sabha) Just Like That is a weekly column where Varma shares nuggets from the world of history, culture, literature, and personal reminiscences with HT Premium readers

The views expressed are personal