A salute to his siddhi

Vocal maestro Bhimsen Joshi achieved a rare distinction recently with the launch of Siddhi. This collector’s item, featuring certain long-forgotten ragas recorded from stage recitals between 1940 and 1990, was brought out by music lovers of Mumbai in what is billed as a "tribute to a musical giant", says Srikant Bhatt

AWARDS and accolades are part of every musician’s life. But how many of them can claim a commemorative album to their name, which covers recordings of live performances spanning half a century?

Vocal maestro Bhimsen Joshi achieved this rare distinction recently with the launch of Siddhi. This collector’s item, featuring certain long-forgotten ragas recorded from stage recitals between 1940 and 1990, was brought out by music lovers of Mumbai in what is billed as "tribute to a musical giant".

At 78, Joshi suffers from the usual old-age problems. He is hard of hearing, has failing eyesight, a weak heart, an arthritic knee, a benign brain tumour... Yet, the spirit is alive as ever and his eyes sparkle with excitement as he reflects on some of the recordings compiled for the latest album.

Trudging back on the memory lane, the maestro says that the secret of success in any of the arts is good health. "If you are sickly and lethargic, you will not have the initiative to listen to different kinds of music round the clock," he explains.

"Above all else, you would lack the commitment to your art 24 hours a day. After all, music is life. It is like the air we breathe, the food we eat, the water we drink. People think that we can learn music at the feet of master who drops in every evening like the milkman. It does not happen that way."

Aman of few words, Joshi can startle the interviewer with colourful metaphors: "Music is not about technique or restricting yourself to the confines of a certain gharana. Getting the grammar right does not make good poetry. All great musicians have moved beyond their school of learning, drawn from elsewhere and created their own unique styles."

Brought up on 78 RPM recording of Ustad Karim Khan, the legendary vocalist of the thirties, Joshi dropped out of school when he was barely 11 years old. By then he had realised that he was only wasting his time as his real interest lay elsewhere. On a minor tiff with his mother, he left his home as well and went out in search of a guru.

From Dharwad, Joshi travelled to Bijapur, Pune, Gwalior, Kharagpur and Calcutta — even worked as a servant for actor Pahari Sanyal for some time. Having saved some money in two years, the prodigal son returned to his home state, Karnataka, and started training under one of the greatest gurus of the kirana gharana, Sawai Gandharva.

In 1944, the Gramophone Company of India produced his first album — a 3.5-minute recording. Two years later, he gave his first public concert. Shortly after that, Joshi began making headlines for his stage performances across the country. His popularity spread across the globe and before long, he was christened Hawai Gandharva for his jet-setting lifestyle.

"In those days, musicians did not jump on to the stage the moment they learned two ragas," narrates the master. "They had to prepare themselves in every possible way. It was a slow process, much like the ripening of mango. You cannot predict when it will happen. One fine day, the musician realises he is ready!"

But then, he also concedes that people could afford to attend to the finer elements of the arts. "These days, everybody is so busy trying to make a living from music that it’s a case of khayal in the morning, ghazal in the afternoon, thumri in the evening and Bharatanatyam in the night."

If he has any complaint though, it is about the vulgarisation of Hindi film music. "From a time when Hindi film songs drew upon classical music, we have reached a stage when anything goes. I can understand that no matter what you sing, you try to reach the listener’s heart. But to what extent must you compromise your art is what I fail to understand."

Questions such as these have left Joshi with the feeling that he has become irrelevant to the world of music. He leads the life of a recluse and rarely stirs out of his Mumbai house. As he says, he would rather disappear into oblivion than hog the limelight by turning into a celebrity showman. (MF)