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Editors Take: The Dignity of a Golden Voice Celebrating The Life of Suman Kalyanpur
Veteran playback singer Suman Kalyanpur passed away on May 31, 2026, at the age of 89.
Known for her timeless voice and unforgettable melodies, she lent her vocals to iconic songs such as Aaj Kal Tere Mere Pyar Ke Charche, Na Na Karte Pyar Tumhi Se Kar Baithe and many more. With her passing, an era of golden Hindi film music comes to a close. Filmfare’s Editor-In-Chief Jitesh Pillaai writes about the noted singer.
In his words:
It’s like two sides of the same coin. Talent is a boon, it’s also a curse. Ask a sibling who has got his or her due. Ask a singer whose likeness to a reigning singer made her pale into obscurity. Suman Kalyanpur became an angel today. But her angelic voice remains.
Word goes that Lataji was present at Suman’s first recording for the film Mangu and gave her blessings. It’s another matter that the music director of Mangu was replaced by another music director, and the song never made the cut.
The music room stories are apocryphal and don’t bear repetition. Suman came into her own with her Marathi Bhavgeet and also songs like Na Na Karte Pyar, Aaj Kal Tere Mere Pyar Ke Charche, and the Rahe Na Rahe Hum duet. The solo Rahe Na Rahe Hum was sung by Lataji. Kalyanpur sang one of her first Marathi songs for Yashwant Dev at the age of sixteen.
Kalyanpur’s lack of airs and unnecessarily dramatics in her voice made her a popular singer, and it is said that a renowned music director like Jaikishan promised her a solo song in every film and even kept his word.
In the later parts of her life, Kalyanpur kept herself busy with stage shows and performances.
Sumanji’s voice, which was well-trained, had an uncanny resemblance to Lataji’s, and perhaps music directors felt that when they could work with the original voice, there was no need to record with another singer. There is also talk that Kalyanpur had rehearsed a song with OP Nayyar, but that song never made it to the recording studios.
Sumanji, as luck would have it, reaped heavily when Rafi and Lataji were estranged for three years over a royalty issue, just as Ashaji had when Dada Burman was estranged from Lataji for 3 years.
Kalyanpur sang a lot of duets with Rafi. She sang with almost all the popular music directors of the day, including Naushad, Shankar-Jaikishan, and Laxmikant-Pyarelal. Her final song was Zindagi Imtihan Leti Hai for Naseeb under Laxmikant-Pyarelal until she was phased out.
Never one to complain or call out people, Kalyanpur did talk about the mysterious disappearance of her songs from the film or the records, or her name left out in compilations that featured even lesser-known singers.
Kalyanpur, in all her Filmfare interviews, dismissed any hostility with Lata Mangeshkar and even mentioned they had recorded a duet together, Kabhi Aaj Kabhi Kal, for the film Shart.
She would often say that Lataji would even drop her home sometimes from a recording. Some of Kalyanpur’s best remembered songs include Na Tum Hume Jaano (Baat Ek Raat Ki), Bujha Diya Hai (Shagun), and Tu Juhi Ki Kali (Dil Ek Mandir). Some of her more scintillating duets include Ajhun Aaye Balma (Saanjh Aur Savera), Mera Pyar Bhi Tu Hai (Saathi), Parvaton Ke Pedon Par (Shagun), and, of course, Rahen Na Rahen Hum (Mamta).
My personal favourite duet of Kalyanpur is Tum Jo Pyar Se from the eminently forgettable B-grade film Sakhi Robin.
Indeed, Mamta’s duet Rahen Na Rahen Hum could be not just her theme song, but the story of Hindi cinema’s valiant struggle to keep the memories of music alive. I hope the angels will sing to her tonight and she will trill back a dulcet melody. The heavens will never be wanting in rhythm anymore. Rest in peace, Sumanji.
