Annapurna Devi : Lady shrouded in mystery - Page 5

Originally posted by: guess_gallery

thakur saab where is you avi......

Not visible again 😕😆

Koi baat nahi aa jayega thori der baad.

Originally posted by: soulsoup

Qwest Bhai just a small clarification

annapoorNa pictures mAngalyabalam ( 1959 )

This is written by Ashapurna Devi - what's the correlation with Annapurna Devi? 😕

Am I missing something?

Anol Da, Yes you could very well correct was send to me by a buddy of mine,Will do some follow up with him and get back to you.

Thanks all.

cont...

After Ravi Shankar's programme, Annapurna began playing on the surbahar till late in the night in her room upstairs. The grave, sombre tone of the surbahar, the unhurried pace of the alap and the seamless jod reverberated through the empty courtyard of the house. Baba Allauddin Khan lay silently listening to the music. The faint moonlight filled the house. In the middle of this playing Subho suddenly asked his grandfather, "Is this the raga of sadness, Dadu?"

Baba could no longer hold back. He burst into tears: "Yes child, sorrow and suffering. My daughter's life is full of sorrow..."

Proud moment: Ravi Shankar and Annapurna Devi with Subhendra

Subho's training and talim continued in full swing under his grandfather, mother and father. But in the midst of all this there came a change in his artistic life. This was when Ravi Shankar admitted him to the J.J. School of Art in Bombay in 1961 to learn painting. This sudden change in his life severed his ties with his natural world of music.

That Subho should give up music and learn painting astounded Annapurna. She asked him, "What happens to your sitar now?" And he said, "But, Ma, what will happen with music alone? After I finish painting I can go for a career of my own... I am not going to give up the sitar completely. Father is by my side. I have plans to go out of India."

Annapurna wanted to protest, "Ours is a musical heritage. Painting is just a hobby for you." But she said nothing. Her dream of moulding Subho into a great sitarist crashed before her eyes...

Breaking loose
'First of all you work in a liquor store and then you tell me you want to marry that American. Shame on you Subho.' His father had thundered when Subho informed him of his plans to marry Linda. 'You have such a wonderful heritage in music. You should have chosen an artist to pursue and further your career as a musician.' Subho was completely fed up with the constant refrain of maintaining tradition. 'The sitar. The surbahar. The music. The solemn Indian tradition. I have been caught in the melee. I have been caught between two duelling egos. One vocal, shouting from the roof tops, the other quiet, eloquently silent like the smouldering cauldron, ready-to-burst lava in a volcano...'

An appendage no more
Ravi Shankar was to give his Golden Jubilee concert in the beautiful and prestigious Barbican Centre, London, in 1989... In a chocolate-coloured kurta and an ever-present tilak on his forehead, Ravi Shankar looked resplendent. He was relaxed and jovial. Subho sat by his side. He had been with his father in America for about ten years though they lived their own lives. He was wearing a kurta of almost similar colour... Subho listened... here was a person with a masterly stage presence and polished presentation. And he had mastered more than one European language. So photogenic. If he spoke you were bound to be under his spell. No wonder Chinnama (Kamala) compared him to a flame. If you saw him you had to get your fingers burnt. Not that he captivated only women. Even Subho was spellbound. He wanted to be like his father, absolutely irresistible. But not everyone could be a Ravi Shankar. Why everyone? There could be only one Ravi, or sun, in the sky...

As Ravi Shankar played on, small beads of perspiration appeared on his face, Subho just played second fiddle. He tried to fill the gaps in the sounds. Nothing more. He did not know why he felt so despondent. "Nothing interests me now," he thought...

The end
Those closest to Subho reveal that his last days were very painful. He had cut off all links with his father, rarely answered the phone or the messages left on the answering machine...

In the patient's ward in a US hospital Subho lies on a bed of white linen. The dehydrated face spots a few unshaven gray hair and is contorted in pain. His lungs are full of mucus and water. The inevitable end of an indisciplined life. Subho is almost unconscious in pain.

But even when he is half awake, memories are afloat. Lying on the sterilised bed he recollects everything though faintly. He remembers the face of his son Som Shankar, about fifteen, and Kaveri, about ten years old. Subho remembers all of them. His eyes are filled with tears. He is sure his days are fast coming to an end. He has slowly killed himself by his own indiscretion. His life had become anchorless after he had given up the sitar, he remembers. Maybe, he is a bit repentant now. Who knows if this self-mortification is a way of self-purgation for him?...

Subho wants to lift his head from the pillow. But he is too weak to do so. He lies sprawled on the bed. A tear trickles down on the spotless white linen bed. 'You are crying?' Linda tries to comfort him as she enters the room. Subho stares at his son, Som Shankar. Here is someone who is the inheritor of the rich Maihar-Senia heritage; but the little boy is not aware of this. How would he know? Even his father has not been able to do full justice to the legacy. Subho, the richest yet the poorest inheritor of the Maihar parampara, dies a tragic death at 4 p.m. on 15 September 1992 [aged 51].

Wow...what a gem of a thread.I had missed it the first time round ! There is so much to read.