June 2006

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Shobha Gurtu

June 20, 2006 in Articles by Aneesh | No comments

This is an unedited version of an article that appeared in the Tehelka, October 9, 2004

Yesterday, we lost one of India’s finest voices. Yesterday, another window into the past was shut on us. Yesterday, I lost Shobhatai – more familiar to music lovers as Shobha Gurtu, the 79 year old thumri exponent who left an indelible mark on the hearts and minds of innumerable fans.

As a child, I heard Shobha Gurtu on television, and found myself immediately caught under the magic spell of her voice. Little did I know then that I would have the opportunity of accompanying Shobhatai on the tabla for well over a decade - an association that went well beyond a mere professional arrangement between a main artiste and an accompanying musician. I feel privileged to have been permitted entry into a space that is normally reserved for close family. But this would not have been so, had it not been for Shobhatai’s open-hearted manner, her ability to cross-over and connect with those several years her junior, in age and experience. It was perhaps this very quality that engaged her listeners across generations.

In many ways, Shobhatai remained a child at heart often remembering her childhood days. Though born in Belgaum, she would narrate anecdotes of her early initiation into music in Kolhapur where her mother learnt from Ustad Bhurji Khan, the youngest son of Ustad Alladiya Khan (founder of the Jaipur-Atrauli gharana). As a young girl, Shobhatai had a keen observation and could mimic compositions and other musical material that her mother was being taught. She soon became a favourite with Ustad Bhurji Khansaheb’s family and spent long hours in their company. Later, the Jaipur-Atrauli tie was strengthened when she studied with Ustad Alladiya Khan’s nephew Ustad Natthan Khan. But her musicianship flowered under the guidance of Ustad Ghamman Khan, who had been engaged to teach her mother thumri-dadra and allied forms. Ustad Ghamman Khan also taught young Shobha these forms during his stay with the family in Mumbai. After her marriage, Shobhatai received guidance from her father-in-law Narayannath Gurtu, a highly-placed officer in the Belgaum police force but a sitar player by passion.

Given the various musical streams that had influenced Shobhatai in her formative years, it was left to her to make sense of it all and develop a style that was unique to her. While focusing her attention on thumri-dadra, chaiti, kajri, and such other forms, she intelligently introduced in her thumri singing, taan (fast melodic passages) patterns and glimpses of jod ragas (compound ragas) like Basanti Kedar and achhop ragas (rare ragas) like Bahaduri Todi, which she had inherited through her Jaipur-Atrauli association. Not for a moment did this take away from the emotive aspect of her singing. In fact, her voice had an endearing quality that attracted the listeners even before she launched into a thumri. Though not a trained dancer like her mother, she would at times introduce adaa/abhinaya (gestures) to highlight a particular line from the text. While transforming herself from one singing of playful or coy Radha-Krishna dalliances to one yearning for union with the Ultimate, Shobhatai demonstrated her inimitable style of musically acting out each of these roles. This ability was seen even in the rare appearances she made as a singer for Hindi and Marathi film and non-film songs, and in the collaborative ventures heard on her son Trilok’s jazz albums.

Shobhatai’s unique style won her many fans round the world and brought her several awards, the Padma Bhushan coming as crowning glory. But despite all the public acclaim, Shobhatai remained humble right through. Her humility was evident in the manner she carried herself at concerts, interacting freely on and off the stage with accompanying musicians like eminent harmonium player Pandit Purushottam Walwalkar and me. She even looked forward to spending lighter moments with us, at times cracking jokes and at others talking about food and special recipes!

We will miss Shobhatai, but we will cherish the moments we spent with her. Her music will live with us through her recordings and through the students she trained over the years. She will long be remembered as one of the last vocalists to have specialized in and contributed to the thumri-dadra forms.

Her voice trailing off at the end of the Bhairavi bhajan with which she would often conclude her performances will continue to haunt me . . .

Saiyaan nikas gaye, main naa ladi thi raam

Ustad Allauddin Khan Sangeet Academy

June 20, 2006 in Articles by Aneesh | No comments

This is an unedited version of a piece that appeared in the Times of India, Mumbai, Februay 25, 2004

Renaming institutions to ostensibly bring back lost glory and to weed out foreign elements in Indian society has been a favourite pastime of the saffron brigade. The recent move to rechristen the Ustad Allauddin Khan Sangeet Academy, Bhopal, by Anup Mishra, Minister for Culture in the Madhya Pradesh BJP Government, therefore does not come as a complete surprise (TT 7/2/2004). The move prompted by the Minister’s grand discovery of the Ustad’s so-called Bangladeshi origins, smacks of ignorance and intolerance. Classical musicians across gharanas are angered by this total disregard for the respect that Ustad Allauddin Khan commands to this day. The Minister, who happens to be the poet Prime Minister’s nephew, has obviously not bothered to check facts before making this ridiculous demand. What could have prompted this ill-informed behaviour? Is it the mad race to win more votes in the next general elections on just about any agenda, is it a craving for cheap publicity, or is it part of a more sinister plot to change history to suit a sectarian and parochial view of Indian society much in the same vein as is being done through changes being introduced in school text-books?

The Minister for Culture in his haste to turn the issue into a contentious one has got his dates wrong. Bangladesh did not exist when Ustad Allauddin Khan moved from his hometown Shibpur to Kolkata, Rampur, and thereafter to Maihar in Madhya Pradesh. It is common knowledge that many people including reputed artistes residing in erstwhile East Bengal or present-day Bangladesh, moved to West Bengal before Partition. However, Ustad Allauddin Khan migrated to Kolkata much earlier to pursue his study of music. If the Minister for Culture had only consulted with the Sangh Parivar, he would have learnt that Ustad Allauddin Khan also studied music with Habu Dutt, the brother of Swami Vivekananda. Later, the Ustad spent several decades of his life as court musician in Maihar and died there a year after the formation of Bangladesh. The issue of his being Bangladeshi is therefore redundant.

Students of music and music lovers are familiar with the monumental contribution of Ustad Allauddin Khan to the world of sarod and to Indian music. His musical legacy has been popularised by eminent disciples Pandit Ravi Shankar, Ustad Ali Akbar Khan, Smt. Annapurna Devi, Pandit Pannalal Ghosh, Pandit Nikhil Bannerjee, and a host of others. The Maihar Band started by Ustad Allauddin Khan, incorporating Indian and Western instruments, was a milestone in Indian ensemble music. Indeed, Ustad Allauddin Khan’s genius has placed Maihar on the global music map, a fact that the Culture Minister should have realised before launching his tirade.

And if indeed Ustad Allauddin Khan was a Bangladeshi, why was the Padma Vibhushan, one of the India’s highest civilian awards bestowed upon him? Of course, BJP leader Pramod Mahajan would lead the chorus against this honour for different reasons. For, was it not Mahajan, who publicly denounced the bestowing of these civilian awards on musicians who he chose to denigrate as gaanewalas and bajaanewalas? If Ustad Allauddin Khan was indeed some run-of-the-mill “gayak” as the Minister for Culture chooses to describe him, why did the government issue a stamp commemorating the Ustad in 1999?

Ustad Allauddin Khan does not need certificates to prove his Indianness from anyone, much less from the Minister for Culture in the Madhya Pradesh government. Quite clearly, the Ustad’s deep respect for Islam and Hinduism prevented the Minister from playing the communal card. The Minister has for some inexplicable reason remembered the musical worth of Tansen and now wants the Academy to be renamed as Tansen Academy. One wonders whether we will continue to be mute witnesses when the Minister informs us in the years to come that even Tansen is not to be regarded Indian, because of his purported conversion to Islam and because of his service in the Mughal durbar.

Culture policy

June 20, 2006 in Articles by Aneesh | No comments

This is an unedited version of a piece that appeared in the DNA, Mumbai, February 18, 2006

Come January and arts’ circles are abuzz with rumours about possible Padma awardees.  Not before long, hopes and anxieties are met or put to rest, when the headlines carry the final list of awardees.  And the government makes its ‘commitment’ to the arts evident to the people of this country by way of yet another of these token gestures. 

Looking back though, one finds that national leaders in the past had shown a greater concern for the arts.  Classical or art music was supported during colonial rule by sections of the Indian intellectual elite.  This patronage was inspired by a larger agenda of bolstering symbols of national cultural identity that had stood the test of time and that could portray a rich heritage to counter the colonial racial antagonism.  Classical music became a symbol of the nascent national consciousness that rose against colonial rule.  Not surprisingly then, Dadabhai Naoroji, the ‘Grand Old Man of India’, frequently advised the Parsi Gayan Uttejak Mandali, perhaps the first formal music club in Mumbai. He was later made President of this club and held this office between the years 1885 and 1890.  While it is not certain from available writings, whether Naoroji was an ardent admirer of Indian music, it is clear that his acceptance of this position was a tacit approval of the Mandali’s musical activities.  The Mandali promoted music performance and education among families among amateurs, at a time when these activities were the sole preserve of hereditary musicians and courtesans.  That these families of musicians and courtesans had to bear the brunt of social stigma from some sections of society, is another issue and one that would demand a separate discussion.

But going further, enlightened intellectuals like the eminent jurist K.T. Telang and the scholar R.G. Bhandarkar took to learning music from the reputed vocalist Balkrishnabuwa Ichalkaranjikar, who had trained in the Gwalior gayaki and resided in Mumbai at the time. 

Moving on to the twentieth century, leaders like Lala Lajpatrai were admirers of vocalist and educationist Vishnu Digambar Paluskar, who set up the Gandharva Mahavidyalaya in Lahore to promote music education and popularize the art.  Later, Paluskar moved the headquarters of the school to Mumbai and Madan Mohan Malaviya, Sarojini Naidu, Lokmanya Tilak and Mahatma Gandhi visited the vidyalaya premises on various occasions. 

The importance given by national leaders to music in their personal lives will remain a mystery, but one can get faint glimpses from scattered references, naturally at the cost of these being biased.  M.R. Jayakar, a noted barrister and music lover, notes in his autobiography that he did not find many keen music lovers among the Congress leaders, other than Chittaranjan Das and Rangaswami Iyengar, though Mahatma Gandhi on occasions had shared with him his desire to enjoy music at Jayakar’s hometown.

Though the latter did not happen, it is equally true that Gandhi spoke in favour of music education and the need to make music a part of one’s life.  Gandhi’s insistence on making music a part of everyday life was influenced greatly by his urge to spiritually awaken the masses, and to that extent therefore, did not directly concern the promotion of music per se.  Consequently, he stated, “It is sad that the study of music is generally neglected in our country today.  Without it, the entire educational system seems to me to be incomplete . . . Music pacifies anger and its judicious use is highly helpful in leading a man to the vision of God”. (The Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi, Vol.37, p.2).  In pursuance of his ideal, he requested Paluskar to send a good musician to Ahmedabad for setting the Sabarmati ashram bhajans to music.  Paluskar sent his disciple Narayan Moreshwar Khare, who set several bhajans to tune and these were published without notation in a compilation entitled Ashram Bhajanavali.  Khare became an inseparable part of the ashram and was one of the prominent figures who accompanied Gandhi during the Dandi March.

Even later, the correspondence between some Congress leaders shows at times, a concern for the quality of music and its dissemination.  In a letter to Sardar Vallabhai Patel, the Minister for Information and Broadcasting in the Interim Government, Maulana Azad sent his comments on music broadcasts on the All India Radio.  He stated, “You perhaps do not know that I have always taken a keen interest in Indian music and at one time practiced it myself.  It has, therefore, been a shock to me to find that the standard of music of All India Radio broadcast is extremely poor.  I have always felt that All India Radio should set the standard in Indian music and lead to its continual improvement.  Instead, the present programmes have an opposite effect and lead one to suspect that the artistes are sometimes chosen not on grounds of merit.”  (The Selected Works of Maulana Abul Kalam Azad: Vol.III–1947-48, p.28).  Coming from a senior leader, this would seem quite out of place in the current scheme of things, where leaders at the highest level are far removed from the ground reality or then choose to simply neglect it.  The present state of music on the government broadcasting networks is abysmally low, what with the sharp decline in recordings and a constant need felt to raise TRP ratings in the face of competition from private networks.  That innovative programming can possibly raise TRP ratings is something that has perhaps not occurred to the bureaucracy and to those in power.  Meanwhile, artistes are left high and dry to locate potential sponsors for their broadcasts.

Jawaharlal Nehru also noted the importance that the arts needed to receive and it was during the Nehruvian era that the country saw the birth of cultural institutions like the Sangeet Natak Akademi.  The Indian Council for Cultural Relations sent delegations consisting of top-ranking artistes overseas to encourage cultural exchange between countries.  

But what has become of these noble ideals?  Are we to stop where we began, or do we go forward from here?  I am not for a moment suggesting that nothing of value has been done in the past decades.  However, we seem to lack a holistic view.  Government policy cannot rest on the enlightened outlook shared by a few individuals.  Also, recognition of personal talent and contribution to the arts is welcome, but cannot replace the need for a wider perspective.  The governments at the Centre and the State need to look at culture policy afresh, if indeed such a policy exists.  They need to come up with a policy that would be relevant to the rapidly changing situation in the country and across the world.  The examples from the past indicate the role that subjects like music education and performance had to play in public discourse at the time.  Naturally, reasons for laying a greater emphasis on the promotion of classical music need to be examined separately.  But for now, we could take cognizance of the lessons from history that direct us to the course that we need to take. 

The Reality of the Accompanist

June 20, 2006 in Articles by Aneesh | No comments

This article was first published in Economic and Political Weekly, Vol XLI No.21, May 27-June 2, 2006 

Lakshmi Subramanian’s article (EPW, April 8-14, 2006) on the role of the accompanist in the larger aesthetic of Indian music presented a fresh look at the issue, particularly so, after the now media-sensationlised and much-hyped ‘Shanmukhananda Hall’ episode.  Ironically, it took an episode of involving celebrity musicians to bring media attention to the role of the accompanist, and yet, the discussion that ensued over the next few days in leading dailies was restricted to trivia, without any attempt at understanding the dialectic in the music that has given rise to the current image of the accompanist.   Moreover, public memory being what it is, the episode remains but another anecdote for music lovers and musicians to be recounted over and over again, often with added masala, completely skirting the more important issue at hand.  Subramanian’s article was therefore a welcome change from all this.

Her piece focuses on the Carnatic music experience concerning the role of the accompanist since the nineteenth century. The broader framework of her argument, that of examining Carnatic performance practice and aesthetic in its social context is noteworthy, but as a tabla player interested in a similar study of Hindustani music in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, I would like to present a situation that may be at variance to the position stated by Subramanian.

It is indeed a truism that music does not take place in a social vacuum, but it is equally true that all musical trends need not always stem from the extra-musical situation.  In other words, factors like patronage certainly play a role in deciding the fate of artistic expression, but they are not solely responsible for the same.    Any assertion of the latter, would not only take away from the individual’s role in shaping the music, but would even paint musicians as a gullible bunch of performers, willing to be pushed any which way if only for a bit of patronage.  Meaning no disrespect to listeners, vocal compositions on the intelligence of the listeners or the lack of it are proof enough of the musical ingenuity of the performer!

As with most things related to the oral tradition in India, the evolution of musical forms and the reasons for the rise and decline in popularity of instruments are aspects often shrouded in mystery.  The lack of documentary proof and the prevalence of anecdotal references that are often tailored to suit the narrator’s purpose have made these aspects a problematic area of examination and analysis.  Even so, we can attempt at assessing the logic supporting phrases like “Uttam gaanaa, madhyam bajaanaa” – phrases that have been used in common parlance among Hindustani musicians.

Instruments in Hindustani music are used today in two formats – solo and accompaniment.  Until the eighteenth century, they were primarily used to accompany the dhrupad form.  The decline of dhrupad and the rising popularity of khayal and thumri, relegated the pakhawaj and been, rhythmic and melodic accompanying instruments to dhrupad, to the background.  Conversely, this led to the rise of tabla and sarangi, the rhythmic and melodic accompanying instruments to khayal and thumri. 

The aesthetic basis of khayal and thumri was significantly different from that of dhrupad, though all three forms adhered to the raag-taal paradigm in varying degrees.  This basis manifested itself in khayal through the vistaar or free-flowing melodic elaboration with percussion accompaniment.  Earlier, dhrupad had free-flowing melodic exposition of the raag in the form of an aalaap or a long prelude to the composition.  The elaboration of the composition was largely rhythm-bound, allowing and even demanding an anticipatory role from the pakhawaj player.  Thus, the dialogue between the singer and the percussionist was more overt and mathematical, interestingly, much in the same vein as the current Carnatic music aesthetic. 

There were different styles of khayal, some of which were more influenced by the dhrupad framework, and yet the emphasis on free-flowing melody with percussion accompaniment was quite evident.  Consequently, the demands placed on the role of the percussionist in this musical dialogue were different from those in the dhrupad form.  The need for a uniform rhythmic canvas was important for this free-flowing melodic exposition.  This had nothing to do with the presentation of a new ‘streamlined’ performance, nor does one come across a discourse among music-lovers, critics and scholars to this effect.  It had nothing to do with making the performance a more accessible musical experience for the listener.  It had more to do with the specific requirements of the musical form. 

It is well-known that certain Indian intellectuals influenced by a Victorian sense of morality labeling of women singer-dancers as being a ‘debauched’ lot led to the social stigmatization of these performers and by the same token of musicians in general, many of whom were associated with them as teachers or accompanists.  The shoddy treatment meted out to tabla and sarangi players even among the community of musicians was also due primarily to the condescending attitude towards thumri and its practitioners.  But this did not in any way tell upon the importance of tabla in a thumri performance.  In the latter case, dance played an important part of the rendition, with the result that the tabla player had to reproduce, anticipate and suggest rhythmic passages that were in tandem with the singer-dancer’s footwork.  This section known as laggi or laggi-chanti was once again a requirement of the form.  In fact, it became such an inseparable part of thumri that even when the dance element was removed from thumri, laggi continued to be played at the tail end of the vocal rendition to bring about a climax.

Concomittantly, changes in the construction of instruments like the sitar and sarod, and the creative genius of some musicians enabled some instruments to move out of their conventional roles like providing accompaniment to vocal music.  They established a solo status for themselves and developed repertoire that was specific to instrumental solo performance and in some ways different from the older dhrupad-based treatment.  Similarly, tabla players built on the language of their instruments and developed solo repertoire involving special forms that were influenced by pakhawaj repertoire and other percussion instruments used in folk music.  Undoubtedly, these changes would not have been possible without the patronage they received, but it would be difficult to map a direct correlation between patronage and other extra-musical factors on the one hand, and the larger aesthetic on the other. 

Also, the foregrounding of one performer from amongst the ensemble in Hindustani music has been and is as much due to the peculiar nature of the music as to the professional arrangement between soloist and accompanists.  Musical decisions of performance repertoire and general presentation may be taken by the performers if they consider themselves members of a team, but those of pitch and instant tempo changes are and have been the prerogative of the soloist.  This does not have anything to do with the status of the accompanist.  The social status of the accompanist is in fact determined by extraneous factors like the ratio and mode of distributing fees (in most cases, even to this day, payments are made directly to the main performer by the patron - whether corporate, government, or individual patron), or the publicity of the event (it is not uncommon to find huge advertisements with no mention of the accompanists).  This in turn colours the manner in which the accompanist is regarded by the general public, though musically the accompanist in many cases contributes much to the performance and is equally free to do so without any reproach on the part of the main performer.  Of course, there are those who feel threatened if the accompanist plays well and also receives applause from the audience, but that is something that does not even merit mention here.

We also need to take note of the fact that the early recordings of Hindustani music whether from the acoustic or electrical eras, used a single microphone, with the result that the main performer was seated closest to the device and the rest of the ensemble sat behind him or her.  The muffled sound of the accompaniment on these recordings, does not therefore represent the nature of the accompaniment in those times, and if at all only projects it as a secondary entity in the entire performance.  The disc jackets then and the CD covers even to this day rarely mention the accompanists’ names prominently.  Once again, these circumstances do not take away from the music or do not determine the nature of the accompaniment or the musical relation between the main performer and the accompanists.

Clearly, the musical reality is not always commensurate with the social and economic reality.  The flip side of the argument also needs to be discussed briefly.  There are times when lovers of Hindustani music swear by the music they had heard several decades ago, when the accompaniment was ostensibly less ‘noisy’ or when the tabla player did not ‘play the song’ on the instrument (meaning thereby that the tabla player did not anticipate the melody and text and reproduce it on the instrument – an element that is considered by many old-timers as a device only to cater to uninformed listeners).  Similarly, there are many who believe that the recognition tabla has received in the West in a variety of musical situations, has harmed the general tone of an art music concert, with the tabla player either straying into musical areas that are not customary for Hindustani art music or with him or her demanding louder amplification.  Leaving aside the subjectivity of such opinions, if indeed this freedom to place demands on the amplification and the music is considered an indication of the rising social status of the accompanists, then nothing could be further from the truth.  The attention is still focused on the main performer, though the accompanists may contribute equally in heightening the musical experience of the listener.

The musical inputs of the accompanists in Hindustani music may often be driven by the need to making a personal display of their talents, but there is no denying the fact that the inner dynamic of the musical forms also demands such inputs.  Such inputs may be guided by a need to cater to a larger and diverse audience, but this is not a ground rule.  While some accompanists may gain popularity due to their talent, their status as accompanists does not always change to their benefit. 

Finally, one also needs to remember that in the performance context, musicians often take spot decisions based on the relation they share with their co-artistes.  Today, the status or level of expertise of a tabla player is often judged by his or her ability to render solo passages while accompanying a vocalist or instrumentalist.  However, the aesthetic involved in accompanying Hindustani music has a much deeper intent and may involve but is not necessarily restricted to solo passages.  Even the most understated accompaniment can enhance the beauty of the performance, and once again, this is a decision that is not always guided by extraneous factors.