International Women's Day: The legends Nishiwale, Choodiyaan Wale

Krishnaraj Iyengar

Adding ‘feminist’ to one’s social media bio is highly fashionable today. However, in a stringently patriarchal 19th-century India, two tabla legends set outstanding examples of feminism.

In Rawalpindi of undivided India was born a towering figure whose powerful tabla style stunned audiences across the subcontinent. Today, his legacy is spread over both India and Pakistan, leaving even modern tabla players awestruck by his genius. His name was Feroze Khan ‘Nishiwale’. While filmmaker Sanjay Leela Bhansali made news in the late 1990s for appending his mother’s name as his middle name, it is believed that more than a century before him, Ustad Feroze’s surname was actually derived from his mother’s name, ‘Nishi’.

Often addressed as ‘Nishiwale Khan saheb’, more so in Pakistan than in India, this pillaring figure of tabla’s Punjab tradition still remains a subject of mystery and intrigue in both the countries. “Khan saheb’s mother was a great vocalist of her time and raised him single-handedly. She left him a massive inheritance back in those days, which he spent on taleem under several great ustads, including the venerated Miyan Meeran Baksh Gilwale,” says London-based veteran music scholar and historian Balbir Singh Kanwal.

Noted Kolkata tabla maestro Pandit Gobindo Bose echoes his words. “Ustadji’s mother was a renowned and wealthy Baiji (courtesan) of her time, who blessed him with an inheritance to the tune of Rs 7 lakh. Can you imagine what that would be worth today?”

The story of this woman’s undying sacrifices for her son Feroze’s upbringing are poignant. In his comprehensive Urdu book ‘Sur Sansaar’, Prof Shahbaz Ali quotes renowned Pakistani writer Afzal Parvez on how Nishi wanted her son to attain great heights as a tabla stalwart and spared no pains in enabling him to attain the finest training. According to Parvez, “Right from the time when Feroze was a child, she offered khidmat (humble service) to the great Ustad Meeran Baksh Gilwale, hosted him at their home and even presented to him her gold bangles and rings as nazrana (offering).”

Another heartwarming story is that of Miyan Imam Baksh Choodiyaan Wale of Farrukhabad gharana. Having failed to study under this tradition’s founder, Ustad Haji Vilayat Ali Khan, he humbly approached his wife, who happened to be the daughter of Lucknow gharana pioneer Miyan Bakshu. In a largely male-dominated field, Begum Haji saheb was a great female tabla maestro of her time.

And she groomed the young Imam Baksh meticulously with maternal affection, shaping him into one of tabla’s most towering performers and composers. Late tabla exponent Ustad Ata Hussain Khan of Rampur once explained the story behind the maestro’s unusual laqab (nickname) during a Mumbai mehfil: “Usually, the guru ties a ganda thread on the disciple’s wrist, pronouncing him as a rightful torchbearer of his tradition. However, since she was a lady, she placed her bangles on Miyan Imam Baksh’s wrists, and thus he came to be called Miyan Choodiyaan Wale.”

Ustad Balu Bhaiyya Rukdikar, alias Ghulam Hussain, went on to make his mark as an outstanding tabla player. He was the son of Khalifa Haidar Baksh of Hyderabad, Imam Baksh’s son. It is said that Rukdikar, like Nishiwale, was raised by his mother, whose Maharashtrian last name he appended as his own.

Kanwal says that while tabla has been a staunchly masculine musical form, India has also produced noted female tabla maestros. “While the historic songstress Mushtari Bai of Agra would put many a tabaliya to shame with her dexterous playing, revered scholar and author late Dr Aban Mistry of Mumbai has been a recent example of the unforgettable female contribution to tabla,” he shares.

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