Will the Shehnai have to reconcile to the fact that there may not be another Bharat Ratna Ustad Bismillah Khan? The son who was his successor is dead; the others are struggling, and there’s little other than memorial concerts to keep the tradition going. Puja Awasthi reminisces of the time when there was hope…
Ustad Nayyar Hussain Khan “Bismillah” passed away following respiratory problems at a Varanasi hospital on December 17, 2009. To me, he had begun to fade away in July of that year itself, when, as I got up to leave that baithak plastered with photographs and awards (including the Bharat Ratna) of his father the late Bismillah Khan, he thrust a couple of brochures (titled Music Represents Soul) and visiting cards in my hand and said, “Kaam dilwao. Koi bhi kaam chalega. Shaadi aur party mein bhi bajayenge.” (Get me work. Any work will do. I will play at weddings and parties.) I did not fail to notice that the Ustad’s name was bolder than Nayyar’s on the card. And that here was a man aged 70, the second son of a legend who had put a simple wind instrument to his lips and coaxed such sweetness from it that it ceased to remain an accompaniment to flashier ones, begging for work. The Ustad would neither have understood nor approved.
But when like Nayyar Khan, you live with four brothers, one sister and 30 children and grandchildren, in a lane that’s named after your father in a narrow, white house with 10 rooms, you have responsibilities you cannot shrug. And Nayyar Khan, being the successor to his father had to bear them all.
Such is Varanasi’s association with the Ustad that when he had passed away in August 2006, there were many who lamented “Bharat Ratna chala gaya” (The Bharat Ratna has gone). To his own family it was as though life had been sucked out of all those who had been left behind.
“My Abba had a generous heart but a sharp tongue. Nobody who came to our home would leave without a meal. After a concert, the cooks would work overtime to cater to those who came to congratulate him. Some had even named our home Bismillah hotel. But after him, the staunchest of his well-wishers have disappeared. There is just the occasional phone call. Yes, there are problems,” Nayyar had said going on to detail how he even had to haggle about the number of musicians he could take in his group for a performance. No one would of course have dared to make such talk to the Ustad. Yet, Nayyar was looking forward to a tour of the USA this year. “Before every performance, I tell the audience that they should listen to me as Ustad Bismillah Khan’s son, not as the Ustad himself and grant me some grace,” he had said.
Ustad Nayyar Hussain Khan “Bismillah” passed away following respiratory problems at a Varanasi hospital on December 17, 2009. To me, he had begun to fade away in July of that year itself, when, as I got up to leave that baithak plastered with photographs and awards (including the Bharat Ratna) of his father the late Bismillah Khan, he thrust a couple of brochures (titled Music Represents Soul) and visiting cards in my hand and said, “Kaam dilwao. Koi bhi kaam chalega. Shaadi aur party mein bhi bajayenge.” (Get me work. Any work will do. I will play at weddings and parties.) I did not fail to notice that the Ustad’s name was bolder than Nayyar’s on the card. And that here was a man aged 70, the second son of a legend who had put a simple wind instrument to his lips and coaxed such sweetness from it that it ceased to remain an accompaniment to flashier ones, begging for work. The Ustad would neither have understood nor approved.
But when like Nayyar Khan, you live with four brothers, one sister and 30 children and grandchildren, in a lane that’s named after your father in a narrow, white house with 10 rooms, you have responsibilities you cannot shrug. And Nayyar Khan, being the successor to his father had to bear them all.
Such is Varanasi’s association with the Ustad that when he had passed away in August 2006, there were many who lamented “Bharat Ratna chala gaya” (The Bharat Ratna has gone). To his own family it was as though life had been sucked out of all those who had been left behind.
“My Abba had a generous heart but a sharp tongue. Nobody who came to our home would leave without a meal. After a concert, the cooks would work overtime to cater to those who came to congratulate him. Some had even named our home Bismillah hotel. But after him, the staunchest of his well-wishers have disappeared. There is just the occasional phone call. Yes, there are problems,” Nayyar had said going on to detail how he even had to haggle about the number of musicians he could take in his group for a performance. No one would of course have dared to make such talk to the Ustad. Yet, Nayyar was looking forward to a tour of the USA this year. “Before every performance, I tell the audience that they should listen to me as Ustad Bismillah Khan’s son, not as the Ustad himself and grant me some grace,” he had said.
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leaders. It started with Mahatma Gandhi in January, 1948 and looks be on a brief ‘pause’ mode since December, 2007 when Benazir Bhutto was sacrificed at the altar of South Asian history. In between, in the late 1970s, her father Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto was ‘judicially’ assassinated by a military strongman called General Zia-ul Haq who himself died mysteriously in a plane crash in 1988. No country has been spared the trauma; no ruling ‘family’ has been spared the agony and the despair. Even as you read this, India is paying tribute to yet another victim of assassination – Indira Gandhi whose grandson Rahul Gandhi is preparing himself to become Prime Minister in 2014.
of Indian classical dance remains one of India’s greatest assets. From the sculptured elegance of Bharatanatyam and the ebullient spring of Kuchipudi, to the gentle sway of Manipuri and Odissi, the endless twirls of Kathak and waves of Mohiniattam, Indian classical dance offers the performer and the viewer a path to transcendence. The newly inducted Sattriya of Assam also joins her sisters in the mutual goal of evolved rhythm and imaginative poetry to portray the range of human experience.