【环球时报-环球网报道 记者 李艾鑫 郭媛丹】菲律宾智库“人民良政”中心主任鲍比·图阿松(Bobby M.Tuazon)日前接受《环球时报》采访时表示，菲律宾现任政府极其重视加强与美国的军事关系，一大原因是受到了美国“捐赠不再使用的旧船和旧驱逐舰”的诱惑。

B |     There are people whose lives unfold quietly alongside history. They do not interrupt it, do not demand attention, and do not ask to be framed as milestones. Yet, when you pause long enough to listen, you realise they have been present all along, shaping the texture of the time they lived in.Usha Mangeshkar belongs to that rare category.For over seven decades, her voice has travelled through Indian cinema, devotional spaces, regional theatres, private listening rooms, and beyond. It has sung celebration and surrender, playfulness and prayer. It has adapted, endured, and remained relevant without ever seeking to dominate the frame. In a family where sound itself became legacy, she learned early that presence does not require volume, and significance does not require spectacle.Born into a household where music was both inheritance and discipline, she grew up listening not only to compositions but to silences between them. Her father, Master Deenanath Mangeshkar, a classical vocalist and thespian of his time, passed away when she was still a child, leaving behind unfinished compositions and an atmosphere where music became memory, responsibility, and continuity. What followed was a life shaped by listening closely to mentors, to siblings, to her own hesitations, and responding with patience rather than urgency.Her career spans Hindi, Bengali, Tamil, Assamese, and Marathi cinema, devotional music that reached millions, playful popular songs that became cultural markers, and collaborations across languages and generations.          At ninety, Usha Mangeshkar does not speak of milestones. She speaks of moments. Of learning how to stand at a microphone. Of recognising when a note needed more breath or less force. Of choosing restraint over ambition, and instinct over comparison. Listening to her is not an exercise in nostalgia. It is an education in how a life is built when attention remains firmly on the work rather than the applause.I first met Usha aunty, as I fondly call her, years ago in circumstances that were professional but gradually became personal. I had entered her home not as a chronicler of her life, but as someone still learning how to observe a life honestly. What struck me was not the weight of her career, but the lightness with which she carried it. She spoke without embellishment, without rehearsal, without performance.Over time, our conversations deepened. They were thoughtful, humorous, occasionally searching, always grounded. On the occasion of her ninetieth year, I returned to those conversations with a different intent. Not to recount achievements, but to understand how one builds a life when comparison is inevitable, recognition is uneven, and legacy exists before one has even begun.          What follows is not a catalogue of success. It is a record of endurance, clarity, and quiet authority.You grew up surrounded by music. Did that environment shape you naturally, or did you have to carve your own relationship with it?Music was part of the air I breathed, but every relationship with art is personal. I listened far more than I sang in the early years. Sitting in the recording room and listening to Didi (Lata Mangeshkar) was a learning experience every single time. Listening teaches you proportion, balance, when to step forward and when to hold back. We learned the art of breathing into the microphone, when to release a phrase and when to sustain it. Nothing was rushed. I never felt pushed into music. I felt I was being prepared for it, slowly and properly.Was there a moment when you realised that music would not just be an inheritance, but also your life’s work?That understanding came gradually, and I am grateful for that. When things come slowly, they settle deeper within you. I never woke up one morning deciding to become a singer. Singing simply stayed with me year after year. My father was a great singer, so were Didi, Asha Tai, Meena Tai, and Hridaynath as a composer. My surroundings were not only inspiring, they were also demanding. We were constantly learning, constantly evaluating, and we were all honest critics of each other. That honesty shaped my journey more than encouragement ever could.In a family of strong musical personalities, how did you understand your own place?Every voice has its own nature. I learned early that comparison is unnecessary when clarity exists. We each had our own individual style of singing, and there was never a sense of competition among us. I focused on understanding my own voice, its colour, its strengths, its temperament. Once you understand that, your place becomes very clear. We were never trying to overtake one another. We were always helping each other grow.          You have always shared a very close bond with your nieces and nephews and often speak of them as your own children. What does that bond mean to you?Yes, my sisters’ children, my own nieces and nephews, have always felt like my own. This closeness did not start recently; it has been there since they were toddlers. We shared so many moments together, simple joys that became lasting memories. I would take them to restaurants, beaches, forts, picnics, even safaris. We laughed, we explored, and over time, a truly special bond formed.I remember one little incident with Rachana, Meena Tai’s daughter. She had long hair, and I took the liberty of giving her a fringe. Even now, forty years later, she keeps that style. It makes me smile, but it also reflects the trust and love we share. They respect me deeply, value me, and have always been a part of my life in ways that go beyond words.Even today, whenever I need support, they are my pillars. Adinath takes care of so much, and there are Radha, Bingo (Baijnath ), Yogi (Yogesh), Anand, and everyone of them. Their children also continue this circle of closeness. It is a gift, a joy, and a responsibility I cherish every day. Their love and presence in my life have been as profound as any melody I have sung, steady, enduring, and deeply grounding.Audiences often noticed similarities between your voice and Lata Mangeshkar’s. How did you view that association?Similarity is not something one manufactures. It simply exists. What matters is what you do with it. I was always conscious that sincerity is more important than distinction. If the intention is honest, the voice naturally finds its own identity. I never tried to sound different deliberately. I tried to sound true.          Did carrying such a well-known surname ever feel like a responsibility?Responsibility, yes. Burden, never. It reminded me to maintain standards at all times. In a family where work is taken seriously, casualness is not an option. We were taught that ethics, culture, and devotion are the foundations of any career. Our work was always seen as an offering to our parents, to the Almighty, and to the audience. When you see your work that way, you cannot treat it lightly.Your repertoire moves easily between devotional music and popular songs. How did you maintain that balance?Both require the same foundation. Whether a song is light or contemplative, it demands understanding its nuances. Devotional music asks for surrender, while popular music asks for timing and restraint. I enjoyed moving between these spaces. I also believe learning never stops. We are all students for life. I kept observing changes, trends, and new expressions. That curiosity kept my work alive.Your devotional songs became deeply embedded in people’s lives. Did that surprise you?I never thought about reach. I thought about truth. Devotional music responds to sincerity, not strategy. Perhaps people felt that the voice was not performing belief, but resting within it.          You have sung in many languages and musical traditions. What did that diversity give you as an artist?Perspective. Every language teaches humility. You listen more carefully. You respect the word, the emotion, and the culture it comes from. That awareness keeps an artist alert and grounded.Your bond with Pandit Hridaynath Mangeshkar is often spoken of with admiration. What defined that for you?Trust and ease. We understood each other without explanation. He knew I would be honest, and I knew he valued clarity over agreement. Those are rare conditions, and they make creative work deeply fulfilling.You have also expressed yourself through painting. What does that medium offer that music does not?Silence. Painting slows thought down. It allows you to sit with an idea without sound. I have painted interpretations of Ghalib, of Meera, of emotions that do not need words. Painting complements music because it asks for contemplation rather than expression.When you look back at your career, what gives you the greatest satisfaction?Continuity. The ability to work steadily, to adapt without losing myself, and to remain curious over decades. Longevity requires care. It does not respond well to urgency.Did you ever feel the need to chase recognition or redefine your image?No. I trusted the work. Recognition follows its own rhythm. I preferred consistency over restlessness.Many artists struggle with self-doubt. How did you maintain confidence over such a long journey?Confidence comes from preparation. When you know you have done the work sincerely, doubt finds very little space to stay. I believed in readiness more than reassurance.Your life has included both joy and deeply personal moments. How did you maintain balance?By understanding that life does not demand commentary at every turn. Some moments ask for expression. Others ask for stillness. Balance comes from knowing the difference.          At ninety, how do you see the arc of your life and work?With calm and satisfaction. I did what felt true to me. I honoured my voice, my family, and my values. That feels complete.What would you say to younger artists who admire your journey?Pay attention. To your craft, to your instincts, to the people you work with. Excellence grows quietly. Let it.As the conversation draws to a close, there is no sense of finality in the room. At ninety, Usha Mangeshkar does not speak like someone summing up a life. She speaks like someone still inhabiting it fully. There is no dramatic pause, no attempt to crystallise wisdom into slogans. And yet, as she continues, something settles into place with unmistakable clarity.What becomes evident is that her genius was never performative. It lay in precision, in restraint, in the long discipline of showing up prepared when no one was watching. In an age that rewards immediacy, she chose patience. In a world quick to measure success by visibility, she measured it by integrity. Her voice did not seek to rise above others. It learned instead how to arrive exactly where it was needed.Listening to her, one understands that endurance is not accidental. It is built through thousands of small decisions made correctly. The decision to listen more than speak. To practise before performing. To remain curious rather than defensive. To let recognition come, but never let it lead. Her journey reminds us that greatness is not always loud. Often, it is exacting, consistent, and quietly uncompromising.When asked what remains essential after all these years, her answer does not point outward. It turns inward.“Stay honest with your work,” she says, almost gently. “If you do that, everything else finds its place. The moment you start performing for approval, something becomes fragile. But when you perform out of understanding, it lasts.”There is something profoundly instructive in that calm certainty. Here is an artist who lived alongside legends, who witnessed eras change, technologies shift, tastes evolve, and yet never altered her core. Her voice adapted, but her values did not. She did not hurry to define herself, nor did she resist change. She simply stayed attentive.That attentiveness, sustained over seven decades, is her true genius.For younger artists navigating a world that demands speed, comparison, and constant reinvention, her life offers a different map. One that values preparation over publicity. Depth over display. Continuity over noise. It suggests that it is possible to build a life in art without exhaustion, without bitterness, without erasure of self.As the conversation ends, there is no sense of conclusion. Only continuity. The feeling that some voices do not belong to a moment, or even to a generation. They belong to a discipline. To a way of being. To the quiet confidence that comes from knowing one has honoured the work fully.Usha Mangeshkar’s life …..It asks to be understood. And once understood, it leaves behind something rare and enduring: the reassurance that a life built with clarity, humility, and unwavering commitment does not fade. It settles. It stays. And it continues to teach, long after the song has ended.Also Read: Usha Mangeshkar Recalls Winning Her First Filmfare Trophy at Filmfare Awards Marathi 2025。但有关南海问题的争议应由中国和菲律宾来解决，美国的参与和干涉只会让局势更加复杂、更紧张。

图阿松认为，美国对菲律宾马科斯政府支持的潜在目的，是维护其地区和全球霸权。“历史事实表明，这个菲律宾的前宗主国维持他们在此处的军事基地，主要是为了捍卫美国的安全利益，而不是菲律宾的安全利益。

C | ”

菲律宾智库“人民良政”中心主任鲍比·图阿松 资料图

2022年9月，美国总统拜登在与菲律宾总统马科斯首次会晤时称，美国将为菲律宾提供坚如磐石的防御保障。“这种言论明显是针对中国，拜登将马科斯视为代理人战争的工具或傀儡。

D | ”图阿松认为，当前中菲关系紧张升级有三方面因素：首先，马科斯是美国坚定的铁杆盟友，利用与美国的防务联盟来对付中国；其次，军方在菲律宾政治中的话语权颇大，“由于历史渊源，菲律宾武装部队及国防部实际上都是美国的工具，甚至在某种程度上是‘美国代理军队’，而菲武装部队在菲律宾政治架构中的实力非常强大，总统也需要通过划拨大量预算经费支持其与美军的联系。”第三，菲总统受到了美国“捐赠不再使用的旧船和旧驱逐舰的诱惑”，这些旧舰艇被作为“礼物”送给菲律宾海军和海岸警卫队。

E | 此外，每年都有很多菲律宾初级军官获得奖学金，在美国某些军事部门参加特殊训练。

在采访中，图阿松对《环球时报》反复提及，中菲两国于2017年曾建立了南海问题双边磋商机制，双方应该通过该机制解决争端。然而，现任总统马科斯并未用好这一磋商机制，而是以牺牲外交为代价，利用与美国的防务合作来对付中国。

“美国不希望与中国发生任何（直接）战争，而更喜欢通过菲律宾等国家搞代理人战争。这很危险。一旦发生这种情况，菲律宾将输掉战争，但美国却会很高兴。许多菲律宾人没有意识到他们的国家正在被总统出卖。”他表示。

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图阿松称，无论是马科斯还是未来的总统继任者，菲律宾政府都应该用好2017年建立的中菲南海问题双边磋商机制。小马科斯政府应该意识到，中国是对菲律宾最友好的国家之一，过去数年中国一直是菲律宾最大的贸易伙伴，从菲律宾进口了大量榴莲、香蕉等产品。

这名菲律宾学者表示，历史上，中国也屡次为菲律宾提供帮助。“在中菲建交之初，中国以非常低的价格向菲律宾出口石油和大米，当时菲律宾不仅正面临石油危机，农业收成也不好。”这些积极因素应该为推动两国关系健康稳定发展发挥建设性作用，两国应致力于通过外交手段解决争端。

“菲律宾的粮食安全一直处于危险之中，但美国向菲律宾提供子弹、火药、大炮和导弹，却没有提供任何食物，这是悲哀的。”图阿松表示，此外，“当前的气候危机也让菲律宾面临挑战，马科斯政府应该向中国政府学习如何应对气候危机，而不是（向美国学习）如何射击和如何开火。”