It was a strange moment at Ustad Rashid Khan’s concert, as I sat listening to him, I felt nostalgic for the maestro, a musician I cherished deeply. The past kept winding its way into the present moment, of the days when the Ustad had to barely hit the first note and the listener was sucked into his music. Those were the days of AIR sangeet sammelans, audio recordings and far fewer live concerts. As a great admirer of this remarkable musician, I cannot remember missing any of these. Coming from the illustrious Rampur-Sahaswan gharana and trained by the legendary masters, Ustad Rashid Khan occupied a place that no maestro of his tradition did, his musicianship was marked by an intense emotional self, for a style that was otherwise marked mostly by technical expertise. That evening at the Aadi Anant concert, organized by Citi and NCPA Mumbai, when he tuned his swaramandal to the raga Shree, the cover of the 1994 Saregama recording became the backdrop in my mind for everything that was unfolding before me.
The ensemble was fairly large – two students (Nagesh Adgaonkar and Krishna Bongle) provided vocal accompaniment, tabla by the extraordinary Shubankar Banerjee, the most sensitive Ajay Joglekar and Murad Ali on harmonium and sarangi respectively. For a good length of time, the Ustad settled into the lower octaves, plumbing the depth of every single note. The pauses came often, Ajay Joglekar and Murad Ali took charge from the very beginning, filling in with complex, yet such understated elucidations. At leisure, the contours of the vakra notes of this raga were explored, so much so that it seemed as if he had musically suspended into a no-movement state, holding a note in eternity. One enjoyed the silence and the broad expanse that it created – but did it soon move into an over exposition of the lower octaves? What a poignant bandish he chose, “Saanjh Bhayi”! For a pastmaster like him the reflective personality of this tough raga was hardly an impediment. But don’t we know that emotion is the most slippery creature -- that evening, much as he tried, the melodic remained unattainable. The meends that form the core of Shree disappeared without even making a feeble presence; he instead went on a journey of virtuousity. He paid conscious attention to swar vistar and harqats , waiting for his disobliging voice to come to form. My mind – moving back and forth – was replaying the Shree of back then, when the Ustad’s music was sculpted in marble. It could so fortunately become the embodiment of the character of the raga itself; in which skill and emotion so effortlessly synthesized into each other. The spiritually haunting “Hari Ke Charan” (Why did Paluskar’s unparalleled rendition tease memory?!) vanished into the trap that speed laid. That evening, Shree bestowed only her external structure to this great Ustad.
The tarana in Behag was vibrant in patches and the plaintive thumri “Yaad Piya Ke Aaye” was drowned in din. Improvisations leaning strongly on proficiency seemed incongruous, also overcrowding meaning. This concert surely has to be handed out to the top notch artistes who accompanied the Ustad. The dividing lines between the main artiste and accompanists began to blur early on, but by the end it was clear that they carried the concert on their able shoulders.
This concert, a part of the Guru Shishya series, opened with the demure disciple of Ustad Rashid Khan, Nagesh Adgaonkar. The first thing that took control over the senses was his sonorous voice that was so completely one with shruti. His music manners was so much like his guru of yore – the refreshing voice, a deep inward musical self, the brooding intensity and reflective texture of music. It seemed the raga Madhuvanti was made for him. Sensuous and touching, the raga gained a richness as Nagesh interpreted it in a manner most unhurried and pensive. To sing it at the pace at which Nagesh sang takes a lot of courage and conviction, something that his guru exemplified two-three decades ago. It becomes more significant particularly at a time when music is coming to be defined by speed and skill. Completely rooted in the Rampur-Sahaswan gharana, Nagesh wove a tapestry of bold and profound strokes. He sang the two bandishes made famous by his guru “Tore Gun Gao” and “Unso more lagan” – his musical outlook sincere, the elucidation of taans crystal clear and lucid. The crowd received him with generous affection, gave him a thunderous applause that he richly deserved.
When I turned up at the auditorium that evening before the concert, there was a big crowd, long-winding queues, and connoisseurs desperately trying to get a ticket. It was a warm feeling of how society, unfailingly, supports, appreciates and nurtures the artiste and his art. Walking away from the concert hall that night, I realised the fragility of creative art -- the winds of the world are too strong for it.
I have brought out my entire collection of Ustad Rashid Khan, and haven’t stopped listening to it since the concert.
