Friday Review
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The light that led
RAVINDRA YAVAGAL
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Ustad Bale Khan who passed away recently was one of the greatest sitarists of Karnataka. This musician who had an air of quiet about him, was deeply committed to his art
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Photo: courtesy M. Shreedhara Murthy
FROM THE DEPTHS OF HIS BEING For all those who grew up listening to his meditative-scholarly playing, it was difficult to listen to anyone else play the sitar
I first met Ustad Bale Khan when I was about eight years old. He had come to “Gayatri Gayana Shaale” in the cotton market, Hubli, a music school that was run by the well-known tabla exponent Veeranna Kamkar, my first guru. I soon learnt t
hat Khansaheb, was my teacher’s guru too, and that’s what had brought him to the school. Kamkarji was learning the sitar from him. I, a mesmerised eight-year-old boy, sat speechless before the two experts, watching their grand journey of music. My chance meeting with Khansaheb, a name that was already synonymous with the sitar, was just this much. Little did I know then, that he would be my guardian angel.
In the later years, I started learning tabla from Pt. Sheshagiri Hanagal, of Dharwad. In order to intensify my training, my father admitted me into a school in Dharwad for a couple of years. He rented a small house in Dharwad, and my father and I began to stay there. This arrangement proved to be difficult in the coming days and we had to go back to our home in Hubli. This meant that I had to commute between Hubli and Dharwad everyday. Once a week, we had morning classes and that was really difficult on me.
In the meanwhile, it so happened that my father took me to “Bharatiya Sangeet Vidyalaya” which was run by Ustad Abdul Kareem Khan (Bale Khan’s father) and Khansaheb himself. Since I was musically inclined, my father wanted to introduce me to their musical family. During the conversation my father spoke about my difficulty in commuting, particularly when I had my morning class. Rajabi (one of Bale Khan’s brothers), who was present in class, instantly said that I could stay in their school whenever I wished to. I took the offer and would either stay back in the music school or at my guruji’s house.
This brought me very close to Khansaheb’s family. They, as a family, were extremely soft spoken and gentle at heart. I remember how, with such grace Ustad’s father would keep me out of their dining room on days they cooked non-vegetarian. Even Khansaheb, in all my years of close association with him, never once forced me to change my food habits. Not even when others in the group did. He respected every individual’s personal practises and very consciously kept out of it.
Khansaheb belonged to the league of great artistes. If he sat with his sitar, there were times when he would stay put all night. Such was the rigour of his sadhana. For all those who grew up listening to his meditative-scholarly playing, it was difficult to listen to anyone else play the sitar. Music existed for its own sake for Khansaheb. His engagement with his music was so deep that he never felt the need to chase money, name or fame. He was happy and contented with whatever he had. Khansaheb was so unlike other artistes, and not once have I seen him making a bitter remark.
I haven’t seen anyone gentler, more mild than Khansaheb. He spoke very little, but was extremely democratic in nature. His students could confide in him anything, he was a willing listener. Young or old, beginner or advanced learner, Khansaheb’s treatment to all of them was with equal commitment. I remember how he would start his lessons as early as 6 a.m. in the morning and it would only end at 11 p.m. Apart from a quick tea or lunch break, he wouldn’t take any breaks. His patience was something that left me constantly surprised! Khansaheb was incapable of having enemies. Whoever came in contact with him loved him deeply and had great respect for him.
After learning the tabla for several years and gaining considerable expertise, I didn’t know what to do. I was recognised as a child prodigy, played a few solos here and there, in competitions and small baitaks, but nobody was invited me as an accompanist. If I had to establish myself, I could do it only as a good accompanying artiste. It was Khansaheb who took the risk of taking me as his tabla player. He took me to all his performances – to Calcutta, to Indore and to Pune, for the Sawai Gandharva festival. So true to his personality, he was best at playing the gambheera prakruti ragas like Darbari, Parameshwari and Miyan Ki Malhar. Thanks to his confidence in me, I later had the good fortune of playing with all the big stalwarts of the field. In retrospect, I wonder what course my life would have taken if Khansaheb hadn’t held my hand in those crucial years.
I can’t not remember those days when he would stand in the recording studio of AIR, Dharwad, encouraging me to play better. Khansaheb’s deportment would be the same whether I was playing for children’s programme or for youth programme.
My father, my teacher (Pt. Sheshagiri Hanagal), Akka (Gangubai Hanagal), and Bale Khan sahib occupy a very special place in my life as a musician.
To the mortal world, he’s gone. But with me and in my music he will live on.
(The writer is a leading tabla player of the country. He is on the staff of All India Radio, Bangalore)
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Friday Review
Bangalore
Chennai and Tamil Nadu
Delhi
Hyderabad
Thiruvananthapuram
|
