The Rediff Special/Mohan Nadkarni

He has loved and lived his life in all its romance and intensity, and sought to reflect it so eloquently through his music

Bhimsenji once told me that it was his first long-play disc that made known him abroad, for the first time, in 1964. Not surprisingly, his concert visit outside India have been quite frequent. He is also the first ever Indian musician to have publicised his concerts through a poster campaign in cities like New York, performing before a mixed audience of 2,000 listeners. What is more, no other Hindustani vocalist, by common consent, has gone abroad with an entourage of his own, comprising accompanists and members of his family.

Bhimsenji's appearance on Doordarshan's Mile sur mera tumhara devised to promote national integration, rightly earned him unstinted acclaim. But his teaming up with the eminent Carnatic vocalist, Balamurali Krishna, and the celebrated painter, M F Husain, in two separate extravaganzas, brought him more brickbats than bouquets.

His jugalbandi with Krishna was a state-sponsored show, and it formed part of a series of similar duets partnered by noted exponents of the two sister sangeet paramparas. Here, too, as in the Doordarshan's show, the object of staging such presentation was to promote the much-vaunted theme of national integration. In the eyes of the serious and ardent fan, however, the jugalbandi was a purely commercial gimmick.

Bhimsenji's joining hands with Husain was also widely publicised. The show, designed by its sponsors to emphasise the 'fundamental unity of the arts' attracted a phenomenal turnout of affluent, status-conscious connoisseurs. Although it was orchestrated as a charitable cause, debates continued to be raised for weeks on end on the question whether the stalwarts of the caliber of Panditji and Husain really needed to succumb to what were unmistakably mercenary considerations.

What is more, Bhimsenji's comment, soon after his participation in the March 1988 show was quite revealing. He said: "What do I understand of modern art? I sang for an hour, and M F Husain got up to put white paint on the huge canvas, and then, bright red." With disarming candour, he added: "But then, the work of a modern artist is difficult to appreciate unless explained by him."

Bhimsenji's oratorical abilities were evident, for the first time, at the trend-setting symposium organised by the Sangeet Research Academy, Calcutta, in December 1988. The event, attended by prominent musicians, dancers, research scholars and critics, was to review that classical performing art scene and discuss its problems in an attempt to reach concrete decisions and initiate follow-up action.

Panditji surprised his distinguished gathering by his gift of the gab. Speaking extempore in Hindi, he commended AIR's work in popularising classical music. But he also called upon artists to "strive to achieve eminence to a degree where AIR itself should be impelled to enlist them for its broadcasts."

When the five-day proceedings clinched one vital issue -- the role of the performing artists in perpetuating the parampara ideology by rearing a generation of worthy and comparable shishyas -- there was ominous silence on the part of Bhimsenji and his distinguished confreres. Small wonder, that!

For, most of today's leading lights seem to abhor the very idea of sacrificing their individual interests to fulfill the demands of traditional excellence through vidya daan (teaching). Indeed, this is precisely the reason why one finds that the more celebrated the performing musician, the less is the number of comparable disciples to his credit.

And Bhimsenji is no exception. Amid his unending concert tours, practically round the year, he evidently finds it impossible for him to groom worthy disciples. But, instead of giving them coaching at home in the parampara way, he takes them with him, by rotation, on his concert tours. The object is to give them enough scope to show their talent and skill even while they provide him vocal support on the concert platform.

How does Panditji view the contemporary musical scene? He frankly says that he is neither optimistic nor pessimistic at the prospect. He believes that a tradition that traces its origin to Vedic times and has evolved in the perspective of the country's social, cultural and political history, can never become decadent, much less die out.

Adds he: "Possibly, it is getting ready to take off into realms of melody and rhythm as yet unknown." Khayal-singing, in his view, may undergo changes in form, design and content. But what is crucial to its depiction is the right fusion of swara, laya and gayaki. It should be basically entertaining, he asserts.

Panditji is alive to the prevailing uncertain conditions and concedes that it is an equally risky proposition for any one to take to music as a full-time profession. Those who are determined to forge ahead should have the courage and strength to brave the odds, and relentlessly strive to reach the goal. "If they establish their individuality and also uphold the ideology of parampara, all will be well with them," as he once observed.

A man of many parts, he has been a yoga enthusiast, singing stage-actor, swimmer, football fan and connoisseur of the arts. He is also a self-trained automobile engineer. He is the moving spirit behind the mammoth annual soiree held at Pune in observance of the death anniversary of his guru, Swami Gandharva.

Year after year, the event continues to draw what is probably the largest audience in the country. It is a unique assemblage of musical luminaries on a common festival platform for nearly four decades. The event comes as a resounding vindication of the esteem and goodwill in which the maestro is held by his fraternity in a field which is otherwise so hopelessly riven with rivalry.

Being twice-married, Bhimsenji has had to undergo the travails and tribulations involved in managing two families. But he has been none the worse for the situation around him. The plenitude of honours, accolades and distinctions, which include the Padma Bhushan, do not make any difference to him. Nor does the acknowledged greatness attributed to him as India's Number One male Hindustani vocalist today.

Indeed, it is the complete identification of the man with his music that is what made him what he is today. Here is a man who has loved and lived his life in all its romance and intensity, and sought to reflect it so eloquently through his music. Be it the lay listener or the cognoscenti, it has the power to command and obtain the spontaneous surrender of his audiences.

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