Does anyone know if this project took off?
New project in town
Keith Fernandez
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February 1, 1998
Music buffs have a new reason to rejoice. If all goes as scheduled, a new music school, part of the newly established Vrindaban Charitable Trust, is to be set up in Versova, Mumbai. To be operated on the lines of the gurukuls of yore, the school will teach all kinds of music. However, what will set Vrindaban and its students apart is the man behind the effort -- renowned flute maestro Pandit Hariprasad Chaurasia.
A follower of the Maihar gharana, the flautist has given a tremendous amount to Indian music. While his insistent use of the bamboo flute resulted in the instrument being accepted into the classical family, he is perhaps far better known for his sheer versatility as a musician. He worked extensively as part of Shiv-Hari, with Pt Shivkumar Sharma, he has worked on film music, with Kishori Amonkar and Balmurali Krishna, popularised the jugalbandi, and with John McLaughlin, Jan Garbarek and artistes of other nationalities, he has made World Music a household term.
The Vrindaban project, then, he tells you on a rainy winter afternoon at a downtown Mumbai hotel, has long been a cherished dream. "What I want to do is rebuild the traditional gurukul, which has not really been in existence for the last 150 years. If we lose that system, we're losing everything," he bursts out. The school will cater to all forms of music and Chaurasia himself will be the main guru, with other resident and visiting teachers.
In ancient India, the gurukul was the only way to learn. Students would leave their homes and families and come to live with the guru, working to take care of his every need. In return, the guru would adopt the student, take care of his basic needs and teach him everything he knew about the subject. The disciple, having lived and breathed his art, would thus be an embodiment of the guru's work, more so after his death, a way of keeping the guru's work and name alive. In many cases, the guru-shishya bond was so strong that the disciples even replaced the guru's own children in his affections.
Today, most musical education is through schools, colleges and private teachers all over the country, which function as and cater to a part-time interest. Here you enroll yourself, pay the requisite fees, and go to lessons twice or thrice a week as you would with a Bonsai or ceramic class. These, however, do not usually produce even mediocre performers, unless, of course, the student himself is exceptionally talented.
Like Protima Gauri, who established modern India's first dance gurukul at Nrityagram outside Bangalore, Chaurasia's gurukul will accept only those willing to prostrate themselves at the feet of their art. "Anybody with the basic knowledge of swara and laya can learn, but they must be willing to surrender themselves for music," he elaborates. Interestingly, there will be no fees. "We're not looking to make money," he continues. "We won't have 500 or 1000 students -- even five dedicated minds are enough."
And as with the ancient schools, the students' every need will be taken care of. Indeed, says Chaurasia, if there are promising students whose families cannot afford to let them go -- for monetary support and other considerations -- Vrindaban will adopt these, too. "The idea is to make the students feel at home, completely at ease with themselves and their environs, and absolutely unencumbered in their pursuit of music," he says, indicating that it will be a full-time lifestyle.
"It's not about one or two or even eight hours of time off. Students at Vrindaban will be totally involved in their music, sometimes practising until midnight, attending other concerts at times, doing their riyaaz, playing for other students and their families every month, reading about music, working with studios and sound systems, and so on. Students who pass out will not be given certificates -- they will be their own certificate."
Let alone quality, with complete styles and forms of music dying out, he adds, gurukuls are the need of the 21st century. Those Vrindaban graduates who don't make it to performer level have a range of options available to them as teachers, musicologists, composers and score-writers.
Chaurasia's own motivation, he admits unflinchingly, are similar to those of the ancients. "When an artiste grows old and knows he hasn't got much time left, he looks for someone to carry on his work and name. Likewise, I too want somebody to continue my parampara and keep my art going. I have left a body of work behind on CDs and cassettes but what about the sheer joy of live music? Who will fill that need after I am gone?" Ergo, he will be cutting down on and taking time off from his busy schedule to tend his flock. "When you start planting a small garden, you need to take care of it, whether you're busy or not, you need to tend your plants lest they wither and die -- the very thing you're trying to prevent by planting a garden in the first place," he smiles, begging off to go to a sound check.
Does that mean even musicians turn to gardening in their retirement?