Zakir saab epitomised grace, humility

AS the world, and not just India, mourns the loss of tabla maestro Zakir Hussain, I am reminded of my first and only meeting with the iconic artiste. In the early 1990s, as a college student, my ‘patriotism’ had made me passionate about Indian classical music rather than the more-in-fashion Western music, while my young heart would flutter at the sight of these virtuosos. Ustad Zakir Hussain topped the list, as his ringlets swirled with every beat of his tabla.

The percussion artiste had come to Ludhiana to perform at an event. The local glitterati was in full attendance. Despite all my desperate efforts, I could not meet him backstage after the event. But what kind of a fan gives up easily? Well, I persisted and pestered a family friend, who was a senior journalist, to do something. Challenged about his professional jugaad, uncle was able to find out where the ustad was staying.

Next day, at 7 am sharp, we were at the guesthouse where Zakir saab was putting up. Uncle barged straight into the bedroom, where the ustad was sleeping, while I hovered hesitantly at the door. Uncle introduced himself to the person under the covers. A sleepy voice, courteous to a fault, not perturbed by this intrusion, asked us in a gentle tone, “Can you give me some time?”

The attendant showed us to the drawing room, serving us tea, which apparently the ustad had asked him to. Sometime later, dressed in purple silk kurta and lungi, the maestro emerged, water dripping from his curls. For a young fangirl, the moment and sight were beyond what she had hoped or wished for.

For the next 40 minutes or so, uncle spoke to Zakir saab for an interview for his paper, while I pretended to take notes, my eyes never leaving his face for a moment. Used to such adulation, the ustad, who had been voted the ‘sexiest man’ by the readers of Gentleman, must have guessed my adoration.

Later, when we were leaving, I extended my diary for an autograph. Smiling, he obliged and said, “Be good, don’t be naughty,” leaving my uncle giving me puzzling looks.

“Why did he say that?” he asked. I laughed sheepishly, giving some feeble excuse, keeping my ‘motives’ for the meeting secret.

Whatever were my motives or motivation, I later wrote an article and sent it to a leading newspaper, not expecting much. Some weeks later, I saw a half-page spread bearing my first byline. That meeting, by hook or crook, had become the start of a professional journey.

Over the years, I have met and interviewed a number of celebrities, many not even near Zakir saab’s stature, but almost no one has measured up to his humility or kindness, or his talent. I wonder, if by any means a fan or a scribe would now be able to barge into a celeb’s room like this and if he/she could, will they be treated with the same courtesy and gentleness? His passing is truly the passing of an era of grace, of adab.