A tabla maestro who transcended all boundaries
This was in 2017, and undoubtedly, he was the most well-known and best tabla player on the planet.
This was in 2017, and undoubtedly, he was the most well-known and best tabla player on the planet.
This was in 2017, and undoubtedly, he was the most well-known and best tabla player on the planet.
It was a cold afternoon in Oslo. Zakir Hussain was sitting at a table in a nice restaurant in his elegant tabla playing costume close to the National Theatre of Norway. I got off the Oslo Metro train, rushed to his table, and introduced myself, “Hello Zakir ji. I am Aswin. I am a student of tabla”. He instantly replied with his characteristic childlike smile: “Aswin, I am Zakir Hussain, and I am also a student of tabla”.
This was in 2017, and undoubtedly, he was the most well-known and best tabla player on the planet. Yet he always liked to think he was still a humble student of the instrument. That level of modesty and charisma instantly impressed me. People who knew Zakir Ji knew he was a man with almost zero ego. He used to go out of his way to make other people feel comfortable, accepted, and appreciated.
That was what happened during my lunch with him. I was working as a scientist at the University of Oslo in 2017, and during those days, I used to write the weekly science column ‘KnowHow’ for a Kolkata-based newspaper.
Earlier that year, I had the fortune of meeting the first Fields Medalist of Indian origin, Manjul Bhargava (the youngest full professor at Princeton), during the Abel Prize Ceremony hosted by the Royal Family of Norway. The Fields Medal is like the Nobel Prize in Mathematics.
Interestingly, Bhargava was a student of Zakir Hussain, and they both learned math and music from each other. My conversation with Bhargava that day gave me the idea to write a column connecting math and music.
I learned from Norwegian media that Zakir ji will perform a concert for Oslo Mela the very next day. I emailed my uncle Shaji N Karun to ask if he could introduce me to the maestro so that I could try to do a short interview with him for my science column. This was short notice because he was supposed to return the next day.
Shaji N Karun promptly emailed him, introducing me and putting in a kind word for me. I knew they both worked together and liked each other. I remember my uncle telling me about his delightful interactions with the legend during the making of his celebrated movie ‘Vanaprastham’.
Zakir ji readily agreed, and we had a productive one-hour chat.
Zakir Ji spoke about the importance of resonance on stage and in the sky. He related how the musicians on stage tuned the instruments to reach a resonance, almost like different orbits falling into resonance in our solar system.
He said that in certain slow compositions, one can find vast empty spaces between ‘bhols’ like vast spaces in outer space. But with those empty spaces, one has a lot of scope to improvise, explore new pathways, and reach new islands of music. He compared this to aimlessly scanning the sky and suddenly finding a new star or galaxy we never considered seeing before. He exclaimed that the excitement of a discovery, whether on stage or in the sky, is similar.
His childlike curiosity and deep insights into music and rhythm were both crazy and crisp. And best of it all is, he said, staying crazy and childish helps make new discoveries because many others are too much chained by traditional compositions alone.
Zakir Ji radiated the vibe of an explorer and researcher of music more than a typical hard-core trained musician. Hence, it was no wonder that Zakir Hussain was appointed the Professor of Music at Stanford and Princeton. He had researcher genes in him, for sure!
The best scientists in the world say that more than the technical details, one needs to know the subject's larger philosophy. That is what Zakir Hussain was. He saw music from a cosmic perspective of cycles, sub-cycles, symmetrical patterns, etc. He did his magic by playing with those patterns in fresh, innovative ways.
By the end of lunch, I offered to pay the bill because he spared an hour just for the sake of my science column. He rejected that offer and said: “It is an honour for me to host a lunch for Shaji Karun’s family and I am a little senior to you. So forget it buddy”. He graciously paid the bill and didn’t even allow me to keep the tip for the waiter. He found some left over 100 Swedish Kroner from his previous night concert at Stockholm.
The young Norwegian waitress said she cannot accept Swedish notes in Norway. Zakir Ji instantly took his American credit card and gave her a generous tip. His friends would tell you that he was a man with hands of generosity and had a large heart. We both left the hotel and clicked a pic together.
I asked him, "Do you need any help finding the metro to his hotel back?”. He giggled and asked me: “When were you born?” I replied: “1985”. He replied in jest: “I have been to Oslo before you were born. So don’t worry about me losing my way in this city!”
His last words to me that day was: “Good luck with your thesis and always be a student of tabla!” Little did I know that I would never see him again.
I remember seeing Zakir Hussain live in action for the first time in the late 1990s. It was a grand concert at Palakkad featuring the legendary violinist Kunnakudi Vaidyanathan, Ghatam expert Vikku Vinayakram, Ghanjira exponent Selva Ghanesh, and the Tabla maestro himself.
Their jugalbandhi was an electrifying experience for a schoolboy like me back then. My grandpa, K Sethumadhavan, was also there with me for the concert. I asked him if I could go and meet the tabla star and convey my excitement. Those days, I played tabla at my school and various Sahodaya CBSE school competitions, and Zakir ji was a great inspiration for countless young tabla students like me worldwide.
My grandpa was a retired TTE from Southern Railways, and he asked one of his contacts to talk to the organisers so that we could reach near him after the concert, but it didn’t work out. All I could do was to see and admire this great man from a long distance amidst the milling crowd at the grand Fort of Palakkad in the late 1990s. Later in life, I was fortunate to interact with him more closely by meeting him and occasionally exchanging interesting messages on WhatsApp and so on.
In the case of some of our heroes and idols, you start losing that warmth and charm once you get to know them better. In the case of Zakir Hussain, it was exactly the opposite. You admire the man even more if you meet him in real life.
The simple reason is: Left to himself, he never considered himself more than being the student of the instrument. He never had any delusions of grandeur himself about owning the whole instrument legacy on this planet; although for the outside world he was pretty much the name and face of the instrument ‘Tabla’ for the whole planet.
Most native Norwegians didn’t know a thing about many other Indian musicians. But Zakir ji was a star even in the Nordic part of the world. He transcended all boundaries with his magic of international collaborations far and wide.
Having a musical lunch graciously hosted by Grammy winner Padma Vibhushan Ustad Zakir Hussain remains one of the most memorable moments in my life. I am grateful for the Vanaprastham-Cannes connection!
May Zakir ji continue entertaining and educating the audience (both mortal and celestial) with his magical fingers forever from the sky! Wah Ustad!
(The writer is an Indian astrophysicist and science writer)