By Aparmita Das
“Wish we could turn back time (oh)
To the good old days (oh)
When our mama sang us to sleep
But now we’re stressed out”
Amidst a torrential downpour, we found ourselves stranded in traffic while riding in a taxi. Despite the unfortunate circumstances, we couldn’t help but feel a sense of connection to the music playing on the radio – “Stressed Out” by 21 Pilots. Though soaked from the rain, we arrived at our destination just in time to witness the King’s performance, an experience well worth enduring the elements.
At the entrance of the St. Edmund’s College auditorium, a young man admonished us, “Kindly refrain from whistling.” I was initially taken aback, struggling to decipher his words. My friend, astutely perceiving my affronted demeanour, stepped in to alleviate the situation, assuring him, “Worry not, we are not in the habit of whistling,” and we proceeded towards the hall. Taking my place in the seventh last row, I found myself musing over the absurdity of the gentleman’s assumption that I, a cultured individual, would indulge in such uncouth behaviour at an event featuring a living legend of Hindustani classical music.
In the midst of my internal contemplation, a nagging thought began to gnaw at me – had I perhaps committed a sartorial faux pas? Despite my attire being smart and sophisticated, the incessant downpour had compelled me to don smart casuals, with every inch of my form respectfully concealed. My friend, noting my momentary lapse, ventured, “It may be the cut of my leather jacket that elicited such an unwarranted rebuke.” I laughed, dismissing the absurdity of the suggestion, postulating instead that our youthful visage may have inadvertently led the gentleman to erroneously assume us to be one of his own, a college student!
I eagerly opened the e-invite on my phone and gazed upon his picture and name. A name that had only been whispered in hushed tones would now perform live in Shillong, where classical music was fast becoming a rarity. The majority of the audience, including myself, were young individuals who had only discovered the legend’s music through virtual platforms.
The evening’s musical enchantment began with the performance of violinists Dr N Rajam and Dr Sangeeta Shankar accompanied by the tabla maestro, Mithilesh Jha. The violin has always held a special place in my heart, reminding me of the movie Titanic and its soulful soundtrack. As the artists played, the audience swayed to the melodious tunes and hummed along to a familiar song, “Ram Ratan Dhan Paayo”.
The event also marked the 86th birthday of the legendary violinist, N Rajam, and to our surprise, she did not look like someone who would be above 60! Her youthful appearance left us all awestruck, and if given the opportunity, I would have asked her not only about her passion for the violin but also her secret to staying so youthful at almost 90!
Finally, the moment had arrived. The time for The Man, the unparalleled Sarod virtuoso, Ustad Amjad Ali Khan, to grace the stage had come. It was almost surreal for me to be present in the same venue as the maestro, who was nothing short of a deity in the realm of music. I had never witnessed anyone playing the Sarod in Shillong, let alone someone of Ustad Amjad Ali Khan’s calibre. Dubbed as the “last of the great Ustads,” my excitement knew no bounds as I eagerly waited for the concert to begin.
Before Ustad’s grand entry, I quickly delved into researching more about him. To my dismay, I had never truly appreciated the brilliance of the Ustad until now. As I scrolled through an article by Shailaja Khanna in The Asian Age, referring to him as a “Rockstar,” I realised the extent of his influence and impact on music.
The moment Ustad Amjad Ali Khan stepped onto the stage, the entire auditorium underwent an inexplicable transformation. A hushed silence fell upon the audience, and the air seemed to become permeated with an ethereal quality. The power of The Man was undeniable. As he took his position, he appeared regal, flanked by his two tabla maestros, Pandit Shubh Maharaj and Pandit Mithilesh Jha, who seemed like his trusted bishops.
The first thing that struck me about the Ustad was his warm and infectious smile, which illuminated the entire hall. Given his unparalleled status, one might have expected him to be haughty or unapproachable, but he was anything but. His eyes shone with a youthful curiosity and happiness that was infectious. “I used to play at schools and colleges during my younger days, but now they don’t call me anymore,” he remarked, and the collective “aww” that emanated from the audience was palpable. The Ustad’s humility was truly remarkable, and it only added to the magic of the evening.
The event was an initiative by the Society for the Promotion of Indian Classical Music and Culture Amongst Youth (SPIC MACAY), honouring the unsung heroes of freedom. The first recital, the favourite bhajan of Mahatma Gandhi, “Vaishnav jan to,” transported the audience to a world of divine melodies. I took a moment to Google the song and discovered that it was written by Narsinh Mehta, a revered poet-philosopher from Gujarat, who lived four centuries before Gandhi.
The magic continued with Ustad Amjad Ali Khan’s soul-stirring rendition of raga Durga. As the tabla maestros, Pandit Shubh Maharaj and Pandit Mithilesh Jha, performed a jugalbandi, the crowd was left in awe. As Ustadji exchanged a glance with a tablist, the strings of his Sarod came to life, reminding me of a rockstar playing at a concert. Yes, Khanna was right; he was undoubtedly a rockstar.
The third recital had a special significance for me as a person with Bengali roots. Ustadji’s rendition of the iconic song “Ekla cholo re” by world-renowned poet Rabindranath Tagore brought tears to my eyes. The audience could not resist humming along with the haunting melody, and when the performance ended, we all rose to our feet in a standing ovation. We assumed it was the end, but Ustadji had more in store for us, as he mesmerised us with snatches of Punjabi folk songs, which once again left us spellbound. There was no need for “whistling”; admiration for the maestro filled the room.
As I watched him perform, I longed for the chance to interview the Sarod maestro, to ask him about his instrument, the dying art of playing Sarod, and the importance of knowing one’s roots. I was curious about his love story with his wife Subhalakshmi Barooah, who hailed from Assam, and his attire, interests, and views on music.
As much as I wanted to approach the organisers, I was put off by “that” volunteer’s remark, “Please do not whistle.” However, watching Ustad Amjad Ali Khan, dressed impeccably in black, perform at St. Edmund’s College, was a once-in-a-lifetime dream come true. I may not have mustered the courage to speak with him, but I can always say that I saw him up close and personal.