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A melodic take on the
master of bansuri Hariprasad Chaurasia:
Romance of the Bamboo Reed
Some years ago biographies of sitar wizard Ravi Shankar and sarod maestro Amjad Ali Khan appeared. The life stories of both musicians were written by their children; Shankar’s by his daughter Anoushka and Amjad’s by his two sons. The first book was titled Bapi and the second Abba. Both words mean "Dad". Malati Gilani, a pupil of Bade Ghulam Ali Khan, together with the famous author Qurratulain Haider, has produced a biography of the great vocalist. And there are some more such biographies. However, the problem with most of them is that they focus on their subject’s work, cataloguing his or her memorable performances, recapitulating the tributes paid and saying precious little about the personal life of the individual. Uma Vasudev, one of the earliest biographers of Indira Gandhi, who has also written two novels, has now come out with a competent and comprehensive biography of Hariprasad Chaurasia, the unquestioned master of bansuri (hence the title Romance of the Bamboo Reed), which covers both his professional and personal life. The book is rich content-wise. Besides having done painstaking research, Vasudev seems to have received the cooperation of the maestro and his family, including his wife Anuradha. The book begins with an account of a visit to the Chaurasia home in Bombay’s (sorry, Mumbai’s) Khar suburb on Janamashtami, the birthday of Lord Krishna, the first and supreme flautist in "Indian history and lore". Chaurasia and his disciples celebrate the event with a 48-hour musical offering to the Lord. Vasudev’s description of the devotional festivities is vivid and evocative; she has a keen eye for intricate detail even while painting the broad picture with big brushstrokes. As it happened, the man who was to mesmerise the world with his awe-inspiring virtuosity in playing the bamboo reed had begun his career as a musician at the age of five. He had stolen a flute from a boy of his own age who had made the mistake of putting his bansuri on a brick while drinking water from a municipal tap. An apt prelude this to the formidable hazards young Chaurasia had to face and the struggles he had to wage before his ascension to the pinnacle of his chosen art, which has made him a legend in his lifetime. His urge to play the flute was obsessive. But he could do so only when he was far away from the "watchful eye" of his father, a rather ferocious wrestler reasonably well known in Allahabad in the late 1930s when Hariprasad was born. Though the young Hari was lucky to find gurus willing to teach him, the training had to take place in complete secrecy. After finishing college, the young man had to start his working life as a typist in a small government office. But fate favoured him again. For he soon moved to All India Radio in Cuttack, which was to be his "spring board" for his leap into the world of music. The rest of the fascinating story is best read as Vasudev has written it, candidly and with verve. Of special interest are three sections. First, Hariprasad’s training under "Guruma", the "reclusive, demanding and strict disciplinarian" Annapurna Devi. Besides being a music icon in her own right, she’s an inheritor of a shining musical tradition as a daughter of the incomparable Baba Allaudin Khan, sister of Ali Akbar Khan and a former wife of Ravi Shankar. Second, the maestro’s "path-breaking" participation in film music orchestration, introducing a brave new dimension to film music composition. And the third speaks of the author’s forthright analysis of the issues arising from hordes of Hariji’s over-exuberant fans and the problems posed by the presence of Kamala, his first wife. Chaurasia has been deservedly showered with national awards and has carried the magic of his music to distant lands, receiving rapturous welcome everywhere. The first time I met him was at Brasilia, of all places. Vasudev has recorded all this in her distinctive style. But those who have printed and proofread her work have let her down more than somewhat. Altogether, the biography is worthy of both the subject and the author. |
THE art of writing
biographies is, alas, not a strong point of this country’s literary
tradition. This is not to say that biographies are not published here.
They certainly are, but the question is about their quality, not
quantity. Moreover, most biographies written here have so far
concentrated on politicians. Towering figures in literature, fine arts,
music, etc, are usually ignored.