Telling the story of her grandmother, the legendary Carnatic veena artiste Dhanammal, danseuse Balasaraswati used to recall how their entire neighbourhood would go quiet when Dhanammal sat down to practise – no clothes would be washed, vegetable vendors would not enter the road, and women would not even season their curries! That was the kind of seriousness that Dhanammal brought to her music. Kesarbai Kerkar (1892-1977), the unparalleled Hindustani vocalist brought a similar rigour into her music that is hard to believe. Her pursuit was divorced from fame, name, aspirations of an illustrious career – Kesarbai’s life was one of exacting sadhana , as an end in itself. She was haughty, and shunned even mighty institutions which she thought did not respect her music enough – Kesarbai believed that her music was above everything else in this world. In fact, she quite arrogantly declared: “For seven decades I have sung for the gods, if incidentally, I have delighted my listeners, then I am doubly fulfilled.”
The greatest of musicians (which includes M.S. Subbulakshmi, Bhimsen Joshi, Siddeshwari Devi and a host of others) and every single musicologist has declared her as the “queen” of music. In fact, as Susheela Mishra writers in her “Great Masters of Hindustani Music”, Kesarbai treasured what Rabindranath Tagore wrote in his dairy (1938) after listening to her at a private baithak: “I consider myself fortunate in securing a chance for listening to Kesarbai’s singing which is an artistic phenomenon of exquisite perfection… The magic of her voice with the mystery of its varied modulations has repeatedly proved its true significance not in any pedantic display of technical subtleties mechanically accurate, but in the revelation of the miracle of music only possible for a born genius”. The poet called her Surashree, a title that became so synonymous with her name — Surashree Kesarbai Kerkar. Interestingly, when this stunning artiste made such a lasting impact on Tagore, Kesarbai hadn’t even become an independent concert musician, she was accompanying her guru Ustad Alladiya Khan saab.
Bhimsen Joshi, had on several occasions declared how he was inspired by Kesarbai’s artistry and had tried to bring in several of her techniques into his music. Abhik Majumdar in his book, Bhimsen Joshi: A Passion for Music writes of an incident of how for one of Joshi’s concerts Kesarbai turned up and sat in the very first row! The curtains opened and Joshi shuddered to see her in his audience. He came into the auditorium, touched her feet and meekly said: “Bai…aap?!” In her characteristic bluntness: “ Haanh, haanh, kya kya chori kiya hai dekhne aayi hoon… jao gaana shuru karo .” Joshi says how for the first few minutes of his concert he felt he had forgotten his music, but gained form when he heard Bai’s appreciative wah s. Her only disciple Dhondutai Kulkarni says Kesarbai’s dedication to music has no parallel, and it remained unchanged even in her ripe old age. Dhondutai says Kesarbai’s music was like “Niagara falls”, forceful and dynamic.
Kesarbai seems like an unbelievable aberration in a world full of people madly pursuing fame. Born in the Keri village of Goa, Kesarbai was moved by the kirtans sung in the temple during her childhood. Any attempt to learn music got scuttled after short durations. She began her learning from Abdul Karim Khan, the founder of Kirana gharana, and from Ramakrishnabuva Vaze, and Bhaskarbua Bhakle. Though she did get to learn from great gurus, none of them lasted for long enough. But nothing could take her away from it. She went to the great maestro Alladiya Khan saab and begged him to take her as his disciple, he refused. After her persistent pleading, he took Kesarbai as his disciple and for the next 25 years she studied under Khan saab for a minimum of 10 hours every day. Khan saab knew that he had a priceless gem as his disciple but he ordered her not to sing until he gave her permission. Not even once did Kesarbai ask him if she could perform in those 25 years. It was only after his death that Kesarbai became an independent concert musician. The beauty of her music cast a spell on listeners across the country.
G.N. Joshi, who worked for Gramophone Company of India, in his book Down Melody Lane says Kesarbai was a musician of regal bearing. He writes: “At a period when other artistes hankered after publicity and were always willing to perform on the radio, or cut records, she never cared for the media.” He narrates an episode that transpired between the Company and Kesarbai and how without batting an eyelid withdrew all her recordings from them.
With all her quirkiness, one could not hold anything against her music. She was faultless and her music was a mesmerising blend of emotion and intellect. Musicologist Ashok Ranade sums it up beautifully: “It is not surprising that the cumulative effect of her music was the sense of immense authority she brought to bear on everything she did. Due to her kind of music making, one instinctively accepted the position that musically she could do no wrong.”
(This is second in the four-part series on women from the world of Performing Arts.)
