Shehanshah of Shehnaai - Page 3

Life on his own terms SHANNO KHURANA

Technique and spirit blended to make Ustad Bismillah Khan's music immortal.

Photo: Anu Pushkarna

FOND MEMORIES Shanno Khurana in New Delhi. 'Sur bhi kabhi Hindu ya Musalmaan hua? Sur to sur hai.' I have heard this sentence from two great men, two of the greatest musicians of our age who have lived by that statement: my guru Ustad Mushtaq Husain Khan and Ustad Bismillah Khan. Their secularism was never a market-savvy, media or politician-friendly artifice, but a fundamental expression of their being. Bismillah Khan, who insisted on living in his beloved Kashi, bathed, with reverence, in the Ganga first thing in the morning, prayed in the local mosque and proceeded to a full day of riyaaz in a temple precinct, as a musician to the Vishwanath temple in Banaras, employed to play at the time of aarti. This man was a giant of our times, one of those true karm-yogis, saadhaks who have lived pure lives with moral integrity and strength, who have lived by the ideals we fought for to build a strong independent nation. He was proud of being a true Benarasi and often recounted how he had resisted offers to relocate to the United States. In fact, he was one of those rare artistes who had even resisted the greater opportunities and money that has driven the art exodus to cities like Delhi or Mumbai in order to live by his honourable ideals, to live and practice in his beloved hometown. It was heart-wrenching and a sad comment on our times when his pathetic financial condition was reported in the media in recent years. The maestro, whose shehnai had proclaimed and sounded the first note of a free India from the ramparts of the Red Fort in 1947, whose music is featured in 70-odd albums and lauded the world over, whose auspicious notes are played at every other wedding in middle-class North India, was lying ill without the financial resources to seek effective medical attention. Pleas for support had to be sent to the Prime Minister, Chief Ministers, foundations and philanthropists . Not enough royalties How was it that there weren't enough and steady royalties coming in for him? It drove home the point all too well in the artiste community that fame and talent can never assure fortunes, that record companies are driven by profit alone. If this is what happened to the mighty of our country, what must the plight be of the rest? Bismillah Khan had a wonderful quality of complete self-assured confidence and ease. A strong and vibrant man with irrepressible wit, it was rare that he lost his cool. But by all accounts, when he did lose it, it was a short, furious and valid outburst brought on invariably by his irritation at inefficiency or callousness. Organisers and technicians at concerts would be at the receiving end of his ire when, even after playing for 75 years to packed halls, he found the microphones close to his seat on the stage, as if he were a vocalist, rather than three feet away to pick up the sound of the shehnai. A commanding presence on stage with a relaxing and reassuringly frequent smile, always in a smart sherwani or a kurta, a rakish angle to his Nehru topi or turban and that earring in his right ear: we will miss him! His strength was also evident on the concert stage. He held his own, in jugalbandis and never inveigled his way into a dramatic moment in a piece. His music unfolded as if led by an innate and natural progression, always led by the heart, a universally popular lilt in his melody or rhythm that was immediately enticing. This immediacy was no doubt because of his attraction to thumri and its related forms: wherein he truly imbibed the spirit and charms of the Poorab ang. An old fashioned and true been-kaar who had perfect training in vocal music, he was a remarkable storehouse of rare old compositions of the Thumri, Kajri, Chaiti and Khayal forms. Impressive also was his supreme control over ragadari especially evident in mixed (or mishrit) ragas, combining an arduous or serious classical piece with a pleasing or lighter raga to create a balance between sombre depth and the lilting joy that is expected of the shehnai. His superb breath control (despite being a smoker!) enabled him to give many meends or glissando beautifully from one note to the next. His music was also marked by the assimilation of different gharanas: the gamaks of Agra, the soothing aalapkari of Kirana or the phoonk of the Dagarvani of the Dhrupad tradition. But in the end, these were all synthesised within a style that has come to be known as one of the diagnostic imprints of a Benarasi bouquet. Even though he had received every possible national honour and unparalleled fame, he lived a simple fakir's life, maintained his ideals in his thoughts and appearance, and the kuvvat (strength) of his riyaaz fell so softly on his entire personality that he would at once win your heart. Reminding us always that we are all, at the end, just simple worshippers on a journey of life, made all the more beautiful by the music we bear in our hearts.

(As told to Naman P. Ahuja)

Moments with a legend ALKA RAGHUVANSHI

A portrait of Ustad Bismillah Khan from the book "A Moment in Time with Legends of Indian Arts"

The shehnai is the most difficult instrument to master PHOTO: V. Sudershan

VARIED MOODS A file photo of Ustad Bismillah Khan. In my mind, Ustad Bismillah Khan despite his chronological age, will live on like the angry young/old man that he was. I can still feel the chill of that winter morning and the motorcycle ride as photographer Manish Swarup wound his way to the walled city... As I panted my way up the steep red sandstone stairs, I couldn't help wondering how he, at his age, negotiated his way up. The place was a modest hotel in Fatehpuri, the veritable end of Chandini Chowk. The person who had dragged me out of bed at an unearthly hour was the octogenarian shehnai maestro Bismillah Khan. "I am only free very early in the morning," he had warned me the previous evening, as he sat in the green room of the Siri Fort auditorium, tuning with his accompanists before a concert. With three concerts in three days and an award rolled in for good measure, he was certainly active for his age. The maestro was offering namaz, we were told. We waited. After half an hour he emerged — beaming. "Shall we sit in the sun," he asked. The familiar white stubble, a white and blue checked lungi and a tattered grey pullover were as natural as his eastern Uttar Pradesh lehja. The moment he started talking in that lilting Bhojpuri-Banaras accent, any illusions about his age were immediately shattered. For all his smiling, grandfatherly countenance, he could well be the archetypal angry young man. "The shehnai is the most difficult instrument to master and has the ability to dominate and override all other instruments. Other musicians are scared to let it grow," he crackled. . By this time, a small group had gathered around him in the courtyard. Like most musicians of the earlier generation, Bismillah too loved playing to this permanent gallery of admirers, though whether or not he did that in his music was another matter. When I persisted in asking why there were so few exponents of the instrument, he practically growled, "The easiest thing in the world is to ask a question. And you know what the most difficult thing is? To answer it." Suitably reprimanded, I still insisted on the answer. "How can there be growth? The shehnai is an instrument that finds takers only among the poorer classes, while a sitar or sarod player will invariably hail from the upper classes. So neither do they have the means nor the education to project themselves. That is why they languish unsung," declared the maestro. In fact, even in his own family, while two of his sons and a couple of grandsons practise the shehnai, one of his sons runs a grocery shop in Banaras. Bismillah Khan was farsighted enough to ensure that one of his grandsons learnt to speak in English. "So that when I go to America-vemerica I don't have any problem. Earlier when I took one of my grandsons to America, he lost his head and decided to stay there. Now I am training this fellow." The fellow in question seemed happy to hang on the fringes. No objections What about the women in the family? Did he allow any of them to play? "No. As for me, it has become my means of livelihood. But as it is forbidden in my religion, none of the women were allowed to learn," he had said. But he was also equally quick to clarify that he had nothing against women learning per se. "If it was permitted in my religion, I would have shown the world a thing or two," he had thundered. At one level he was a staunch Muslim, on the other hand he was a permanent fixture at the Vishwanath temple in Banaras, where he used to go practically everyday to perform when he was in town. Isn't playing in the temple against his religion? "Have I been going since yesterday? My ancestors and I have been playing in that temple for centuries. A temple is not the personal property of anyone. The gods belong to everybody. Music is one thing that brings the Hindus and the Muslims together. Why should it be used to divide?" he asked. It was perhaps this synthesis of tradition and culture in his creativity sans the divisiveness of any kind of fundamentalism that had led him to declare: "Human beings have to learn to become humane first. They are closer to the devil. Those who divide, cannot reach there," he had said, pointing heavenwards. "Maano to devta, nahin to pathar to hai hi — to a believer even a stone is God incarnate." How about the arrogance that is typical of half-baked knowledge, I wondered? "Like the proverbial tree laden with fruit, true knowledge is not lightweight. But in the quest for just that right note, a true artiste can forgo everything. For without that particular note, the musician goes through hell. It is like being alive when you want to die," he said intensely. For the maestro believed, "Ek sadhe, sab sadhe, sab sadhe sab jaye." How long does it take to master the shehnai? "One lakh years!" had come the pat reply, without skipping a 'taal'

"A Moment in Time with Legends of Indian Arts" is brought out by the Publications Division, Government of India.

A musical flow like the Ganga DEEPA GANESH

The legendary shehnai maestro Bismillah Khan is no more.But he has left behind abundant memories and lives on in them

Photo: Bhagya Prakash K.

ACT OF FAITH Ustad Bismillah Khan was a devout Muslim. But at no point were music and religion two separate entities for him Death is too final. What does one say about the legendary shehnai maestro Bismillah Khan who has journeyed into a world that transcends our understanding of living? And that too by way of summing up? The mind is at once frighteningly vacuous and overpoweringly crowded. Pity it is not divided into neat, chronological compartments that can be individually summoned just when you want it, like you would at the press of a key on a computer. Does one talk about the ever-so-many Ramanavami concerts of Bismillah Khan when he not just filled our eyes with his charming comportment, but also filled our beings with a music that was so stirring? Should one go back to the heady music of the landmark Kannada film Sanadi Appanna, when the Ustad spent over a month in Bangalore getting his flourishes right? Or does one pick from recent memory when he visited the city twice as a grouchy, frail, two-toothed, 89-year-old savant of the shehnai? Even as I assiduously carried on with my efforts at regimentation, it was one image that took the vanguard position: Bismillah Khan swimming in the Ganga, sitting on her banks every single day by the side of Balaji Temple and practicing his Shehnai. The two inseparable components of his life stuck in the mind — the Ganges and his Shehnai. But for brief moments of estrangement in a life that spanned nine decades, the Ustad adamantly refused to move out of Varanasi. Name, fame, riches were for him but the scum of the earth. G.N. Joshi of the recording house H.M.V. in his book Down Melody Lane records an incident that speaks of the Ustad's irreverence for all material acquisitions. Way back, Khan sahib and his group were on a Europe tour, and as was the case always, this time too, he mesmerised his audience. So much so that they wanted the Ustad for keeps. They offered him a plush car, a bungalow, servants, money, and even citizenship. At the end of it all, the Ustad had just one question to ask, which threw the organisers into a philosophical silence: "Ganga idhar bahti hai kya?" The Ustad's life was marked by a certain conviction; a faith that was music. And so, when others saw contradiction between his religion and music, he declared music was namaaz. In fact, an orthodox Muslim Shia maulana from Iraq made scathing attacks on him and dubbed his music blasphemy (haraam), a trap of the devil. As a reply, undauntedly, Khan sahib sang "Allahee, Allahee" to him in rag Bhairav. Of course, needless to say the maulana was left speechless. When India gained independence, it was Bismillah Khan's outstanding rendition of Raga Kafi from the Red Fort that greeted the nation. Yet again, when India became a republic it was the Ustad playing. It was his daily ritual to play at the Sankat Mochan and Mangala Gowri temple. He walked playing his shehnai to the Fatmeen qabristan every year for Muharram, to offer his tribute to the Karbala martyrs. All these episodes from his life, from different geographic locations, occupying distinct public spaces, to us may seem one cohesive effort at secularism of which the Ustad became the biggest symbol in post-independent India. But for him, each of these was a very private expression of his personal faith. Something that was intuitive and never deliberate. It went on to become great, simply because of the pluralistic, cultural context in which the Ustad lived. Which again, largely remained out of bounds for the Ustad. Can't help remembering how the Ustad had snapped in an interview. "All that I know is music. If we are here to talk nonsense, I'm not interested." Don't we know of the ambivalence that exists between an artiste and his relationship to a society? On that rainy evening in Bangalore, as I stood there in anticipation of the Ustad who wouldn't tire of adding his bit to the beautiful downpour with the so-many kajris and chaitis, which carried in them the fragrance of the Benarasi soil, his son Nazir Hussain Khan heaped me with advices. "Talk to him without mentioning the word 'interview'," he had warned. I stood there determined to ask him about Varanasi; the temples; how he slept with the shehnai next to him; all that I felt were topics after his own heart. "You listened to me, didn't you? I have nothing more to say what my shehnai didn't... " he said, quietening me. Now, as I try hard to put these fragmented memories together, it seems such an impossible task to separate Bismillah Khan's world from his worldview. For, they never were disparate. This devout Muslim's act of rebellion, as the world saw it, stemmed from his deep faith. For him, music was a spiritual act. In his physical death, as we follow him through his immortal music and its expressions, struggling to make him local, pan-Indian, global by turns... you realise that Bismillah Khan was rooted in an intangible way in his sur, in his implicit faith. Quite contrary to the usual practise of giving up things that you love most, the thousands of pilgrims who visit Kashi will have something to bring back: from every drop of his beloved Ganga, from the air that wafts from the temples he inhabited, from the streets he roamed on his favourite cycle rickshaw and the strains of shehnai that has filled every corner of the temple town he loved so dearly. Is this what T.S. Eliot meant when he spoke of 'life in death'? * * * Local strains Vijaya Reddy, director of the film, who lives in Chennai, recalls the heady days of Sanadi Appanna. He heaps praises on Khansaheb. "Only when you see him, you understand what dedication to art is," he exclaims. Dissatisfied with the shehnai player they had initially chosen, the team decided to ask Ustad Bismillah Khan. Producer Vikram Srinivas went all the way to Varanasi and stayed put at the maestro's house, determined to wear down his resistance. The initially hesitant maestro was impressed by the story. In fact, when he heard that Dr. Rajkumar was playing the lead, he was more than willing. The maestro came to Bangalore with his 10-member troupe and camped for one whole month. "The Ustad was highly disciplined. He sternly told us that we shouldn't cut short his renditions. 'You must allow me to play the ragas completely, and then you can use it the way you want'," he had warned us.

Like a devout student, the late thespian Rajkumar cancelled his shooting for a month, and carefully followed the Ustad's shehnai playing techniques.

Indian classical musician Khan dies

August 21, 2006

Ustad Bismillah Khan, a shehnai master and one of India's most celebrated musicians, died of cardiac arrest in Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh, India, at age 90.

Khan died Aug. 14 in Heritage Hospital following a long illness and was buried with full state honors, NDTV reported.

The Uttar Pradesh government declared a day of morning, closing all state schools and offices, the Times of India reported.

Prime Minister Manmohan Singh said Khan's music was imbued with divinity.

Khan grew up in Varanasi, a Hindu holy city on the Ganges River, where his uncle was the official shehnai player in Visvanath temple. At an early age, he was surrounded by various types of music from Uttar Pradesh, including thumri, kajri and sawani.

Khan was awarded the Bharat Ratna, the country's highest civilian honor, as well as the Sangeet Natak Akademi award, the Tansen award and the Padma Vibhushan.

He is survived by five sons and three daughters.

Sangeet Ratna Award,!!!!!!!

LUCKNOW: UP government has decided to set up a Rs 5-lakh annual award called Sangeet Ratna and a Sangeet Akademi with a capital expenditure of Rs 1 crore in memory of Shehnai legend Ustad Bismillah Khan, who died late last night following a prolonged illness in his home town Varanasi.

This was announced by chief minister Mulayam Singh Yadav in Vidhan Sabha, which met here for its Monsoon session on Monday.

The House on the occasion also adjourned for the day after passing obituary references to the departed soul. Paying rich tributes to the Shehnai maestro, Yadav said the void created by his death was difficult to fill.

"Ustad was not only a musician, but also an apostle of peace and communal harmony, who had left his indelible imprint on the minds and hearts of people both at home and abroad," the CM observed.

Recalling his contributions to classical music, the CM said that Bismillah Khan added new glory to shehnai and got it world recognition solely by his individual devotion to it.

The greatest quality of Ustad was that he remained simple despite his towering achievements and personality, the CM said.

Echoing similar views, leader of Opposition Lalji Tandon said the Ustad was an ambassador of Indian culture and civilisation in true sense. For his selfless devotion to music, Ustad emerged as a symbol of Hindu-Muslim unity and he virtually devoted his life to spread this message in the world through his music mastery.

The Congress legislature party leader Pramod Tiwari described his death as a great national loss. The House on the occasion also remembered two sitting members, Haji Mushtaq Solanki (Samajwadi Party) and Ram Swaroop Singh,(CPI-M) who had died recently.

When Ustad Bismillah Khan inspired Dr Raj Kumar R G Vijayasarathy

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Ustad Bismillah Khan August 21, 2006 18:19 IST Not many remember that Ustad Bismillah Khan, who died in the wee hours of Monday had played the shehnai for a Kannada film titled Sanadi Appanna (Shehnai is Sanadi in Kannada). The movie, which was based on the life of a rural shehnai artiste, was released in August 1977. It was the Kannada icon Dr Raj Kumar who played the title role in the film produced by Vikram Sreenivas, a confidant of Dr Raj Kumar. Jayaprada was his heroine of this film, and the late G K Venkatesh was its music director. Bismillah Khan flew down to the Prasad Studio in Chennai (it was Madras then) some time in early 1977 for the recording work of Sanadi Appanna. He was in the city for nine days all of which time he spent working for the film. "His shehnai rendering was recorded for one song, Karedaroo Kelade by singer S Janaki and also for some few important sequences in the film," remembered K C N Chandrashekhar, the then president of the South Indian Film Chamber of Commerce, who also helped in the production work of the film as a friend of Vikram Sreenivas. He was also the distributor of the film. The film celebrated a 100-day run in many centres of the state and the Ustad came to Bangalore to attend the film's centenary day function. Both Dr Raj Kumar and Ustad Bismillah Khan were the centres of attention at the function which was held at the Urvashi theatre in Bangalore in the last week of November in 1977. 'I just acted in the role but Ustad Bismillah Khan is the real soul of the film. He gave life to the character I played in the film,' Dr Raj Kumar paid tributes to the giant at the function. In reply, the Ustad was highly appreciative of the humility shown by Dr Raj Kumar when he came to the studios to do the recording for the film. During his stay in Chennai for the recording work of Sanadi Appanna, the Ustad also took some time off to visit the residence of Dr Raj Kumar, who was staying in that city at that time. Dr Raj Kumar was a regular visitor to the Prasad Studios on all the nine days just to listen to the Ustad rendering his shehnai for the film. He also wanted to watch the Ustad's facial expressions and body language closely so that he could play the character in the film convincingly.

Ustad Bismillah Khan: On the shore of the ocean of music

August 21, 2006 09:00 IST
Last Updated: August 21, 2006 15:13 IST

On India's first Independence Day, Ustad Bismillah Khan had enthralled audiences with a sterling performance from the ramparts of the Red Fort. But fate did not allow the shehnai maestro to fulfil his last wish, that of playing at India Gate.

The man who mesmerised generations of Indians with his mellifluous music wanted to make the performance a memorable one. But a concert at the venue, scheduled for August 9, was cancelled due to security reasons.

The 91-year-old Bharat Ratna awardee, said to be single-handedly responsible for making the shehnai a famous classical instrument, had earlier alleged he had been denied the opportunity to play at India Gate because he was a Muslim.

However, Khan was quick to point out he never faced any hurdles on account of being a Muslim.

"Music has no caste. I have received love and affection all over the world. The government has given me all the four highest civilian awards in the past five decades," he said.

Khan was born on 21 March, 1916. His ancestors were court musicians in the princely state of Dumraon in Bihar and he was trained under his uncle, the late Ali Bux 'Vilayatu', a shehnai player attached to Varanasi's Vishwanath Temple.

Where others saw conflict and contradiction between his music and his religion, Bismillah Khan saw only a divine unity. Even as a devout Shia, he was also a staunch devotee of Saraswati, the Hindu goddess of music.

During his long and fruitful career as an artiste, Khan enthralled audiences at performances across the globe. He was honoured with the Sangeet Natak Akademi award, the Tansen award as well as the Padma Vibhushan.

In 2001, Khan became the third classical musician to be awarded the Bharat Ratna, India's highest civilian honour.

He was also bestowed honorary doctorates by the Benares Hindu University and Shantiniketan.

The maestro played in Afghanistan, Europe, Iran, Iraq, Canada, West Africa, USA, USSR, Japan, Hong Kong and almost every capital city across the world.

In Khan's words, music was an ocean and he had barely reached its shores even after 91 years.

Despite his fame, Khan's lifestyle retained its old world charm and he continued to use the cycle rickshaw as his chief mode of transport.

A man of tenderness, he believed in remaining private and said musicians were supposed to be heard and not seen. He was critical of today's musicians and said they only craved instant success.

Bismillah Khan has often been credited with taking the shehnai from the marriage mandap to the concert hall.

He single-handedly pioneered the conversion of a mundane ceremonial instrument into one capable of expressing a range of human emotions and musical nuances.

His long career and eminence assured him of a busy performance calendar as well as the highest fees.

However, he was not very well off in his last days as his joint family of 60 members literally lived off him.

In 2003, he had to appeal to then prime minister Atal Bihar Vajpayee to sanction a gas agency to his grandson.

Life for an ailing Khan was far from easy. Hardpressed for money and after repeated pleas to the central government for financial assistance, Vajpayee granted him 'delayed aid' of Rs 5 lakh.

On August 3 this year, Khan was given a cheque of Rs 2.51 lakh on behalf of Prime Minister Manmohan Singh at Varanasi.

Four years ago, when he did not have money and resources to meet the cost of his needs, the then government arranged for his performance at Parliament Annexe, where Khan had to virtually give a charity show for his own benefit.

It was then that Delhi-based couple Neena and Shivnath Jha, who had launched a programme to protect musicians, academicians and artists who brought pride and laurels to the nation, thought of bringing out a monograph on the life and art of the Ustad to extend financial support to him.

Their movement gained a victory of sorts after the centre allowed Khan to play 'Tune India' from the India Gate to pay tribute to the 'unsung heroes of World War-I and for the global peace and security'.

However, the programme was cancelled due to security reasons.

His other wish, to perform at Darbhanga, where he had spent a considerable period of his early days, also remained unfulfilled.

The Ustad was identified with the shehnai but found the greatest fulfillment in singing bhajans to children. "The applause that I get from children when I sing the bhajan Raghupati Raghav Rajaram gives me the greatest fulfillment," Khan had said in 2004 while performing at a cultural programme in New Delhi to mark Gandhi Jayanti.

Khan said it gave him tremendous satisfaction to know that at least some of the children will remember the 'old man' for the song that he sang for them.

A true son of the soil, Khan was a flagbearer of communal harmony. The maestro remained firmly rooted to his roots and fulfilled his commitment to live and die in Varanasi.

The idea of shifting to large cities to enjoy worldly success never entered his mind; he was enamoured with the fragrance of the soil of the temple city and its unique cultural identity.

Born as the second son of his parents -- Paigambar Khan and Mitthan -- he was christened as Qamaruddin initially, before his grandfather uttered Bismillah after looking at the newborn.

The ustad took preliminary lessons of shehnai from his grandfather who used to take him to the courts of the Dumraon estate where the latter played the instrument to the scions.

Ustad Bismillah Khan gets aid, finally

Onkar Singh in New Delhi | August 06, 2003 15:16 IST
Last Updated: August 06, 2003 20:54 IST

Rajya Sabha member from Andhra Pradesh Dr T Subbarami Reddy presented a cheque of Rs 2 lakh to Ustad Bismillah Khan in New Delhi on Tuesday and said he would send his salary and allowances as member of Parliament to the Bharat Ratna recipient in Varanasi every month.

"Ustad Bismillah Khan has been a symbolic artist for Sarva Dharma Sambhav and has been a messenger of love for decades and deserves honour and respect. For the first time in the history of Parliament, the Ustad will give a performance for MPs on August 7 along with his adopted daughter Mrs Shoma Ghosh. This is a rare honour both for Parliament and the Ustad himself," Reddy, who has played a major role in organising the event, said.

Later, at a press conference the Ustad took his critics to task.

Some of the leading exponents of Hindustani classical music had ridiculed the Ustad for asking the government for a petrol pump.