A noteworthy man : Amjad Ali Khan

Carrying forward a venerable musical lineage, Amjad Ali Khan has evolved a unique language for the sarod, giving the instrument a new dimension and recognition worldwide. Vatsala Kaul tunes in to his world of sound

Ustad Amjad Ali Khan has always been particular about tameez (manners). One episode the musician would like to brush away as a "bad dream" is his jugalbandi with shehnai maestro Ustad Bismillah Khan in December 2003. One hour into the concert at Science City Auditorium, Kolkata, Bismillah Khan stopped playing and hurled expletives at the organisers for bad acoustics. The sarod maestro stormed out, returning to perform solo for an hour after the 89-year-old shehnai player had left. He later called the senior musician "money-minded, with no respect for fellow musicians". Ayaan Ali Bangash, his younger son, says, "You don't have to be technically superb to be in Abba's good books. All you need to do is be punctual and show respect."

These days Khan saab is a changed person. He has learnt to hide his emotions better. "My face reveals nothing," he says. "Controlling emotions is also a sadhana (discipline)." Till a few years ago, Amjad Ali Khan was offended by being called anything but 'Ustad'. The musician's elder son Amaan says, "Abba can really be misunderstood. He is a very private person, and can also be abrupt. It sometimes makes people think he is arrogant. While he is not judgemental, he has a strong sixth sense. And most of the time he is right about people."

There's been another change in the musician. The number of hours he spends in riyaz (practice) is no longer important to him. "More than riyaz, it's preparing for a performance that counts," he says. "It's important to know how much intensity you create with each sur. If by mistake someone has chosen this line to make money, he will always be disappointed," he adds, heading for the basement of his Sadhna Enclave home in South Delhi. This is his 'den', with brown leather sofas and books. This is where he reads his newspaper every morning that he is home. Here is also a collection of nearly 200 LPs and photographs - the young Amjad and wife Subhalakshmi caught in expressive frames, and Amaan and Ayaan at concerts. Just before you enter the room, to the left of the marble staircase is the music room, a sanctum where music is invoked, worshipped and celebrated.

Music is what keeps Amjad Ali Khan going. In fact, it's the only thing that energises him, making him fly across continents to perform and teach for at least six months a year. Recently, on one such trip, he conceived the idea of opening an academy in Chicago. Nothing comes between Khan saab and his music - neither socialising nor entertainment. "I want to make the sarod as popular as the guitar," he says. "But I don't want to impose my concept of music on people. If people find my music appealing, they enjoy my world of sound."



It's been his world for a lifetime. Born on October 9, 1945 in Gwalior, young Masoom - his name was later changed to Amjad - learnt the meaning of responsibility early. His great-grandfather Gulam Ali Khan Bangash had modified the rabab - an ancient string instrument from Afghanistan - into the sarod. "It was always a struggle," he remembers. "My father was a man with no concern for a bank balance. Instead he lived by a deep faith in God."

Amjad's two brothers had followed the family's musical tradition, but somehow couldn't cross the barrier. It depressed his father, Ustad Haafiz Ali Khan, because his contemporaries' sons had all made their place in the musical world. At the age of six, he gave his first performance and by the time he was 12, Amjad performed solo at the Sadarang Musical Festival in Kolkata.

In 1957, Amjad Ali Khan's family moved to Delhi and the music continued. "I became a buzurg (senior) very early in life," he says wryly. The heir of the Senia Bangash gharana has received innumerable awards over the years - including the Padma Vibhushan in 2001. He has also played at almost every prestigious venue in the world, including Carnegie Hall and the Royal Albert Hall. Yet, he considers singer Begum Akhtar's refusal to perform after him at an AIR concert in Srinagar, in the 1960s, the biggest accolade - the musician who performs last is considered the best.

Khan saab 'sang' through the sarod - dhrupad, khayal and even bhajan and folk music, something no one had attempted before. "I was able to give a new dimension to the sarod's tonal quality, get it to express a human voice." When his children were young, he even regaled them by playing nursery rhymes on the sarod.

Amaan is now 27 and Ayaan, 25. Inheritors of the legacy, both are musicians in their own right. Ayaan recalls how it was strange as a child to draw a father with a sarod, rather than a briefcase. "Abba was the lenient one, Maa was the one who made sure we did well at school," says Ayaan.

Khan saab believes his wife should be awarded for keeping the family together. "I tell Amaan and Ayaan that whenever they perform, they must introduce themselves not just as my sons, but the children of Subhalakshmi and Amjad Ali Khan. In India, everything ends at the father, but the real guru is their Maa. I feel sad for women who are scared of their husbands."



Subhalakshmi Khan, 59, is definitely not one of those. "Khan saab has never stopped me from doing anything," she says. "The problem is that he finds it difficult to express himself."

He first saw Subhalakshmi in 1974 - her Bharatanatyam performance followed his recital. He had a sour relationship and an incompatible marriage behind him. She was a beautiful Assamese danseuse and they married in 1975, despite her family's apprehensions.

Subhalakshmi is the woman behind the Bangash men's stage settings and splendid kurtas and shawls - he, however, chooses his own pens, with which he signs autographs, and watches; he loves collecting them and the Rolex is his favourite. "The three go to concerts, they look lovely, play good music, but a lot goes behind it," she says, laughing.

The Bangash men now invariably perform together, and Khan saab has been often accused of promoting his sons. He counters, "People want to know how my sons play, just as they want to know how Amitabh Bachchan's son acts."

Off stage too, the family enjoys quality time together. They love to go to movies and take time off while performing overseas to sight-see. "Keeping your family happy is also a form of worship," says the musician. And then there's his original way of worship - his sarod. "I speak through it," he declares. "When I am alone, I suddenly start humming. The melody comes to me through a cosmic power. I accept it and give it a name." Among these melodies are 40 new ragas he has created. The one that stands out is 'Subhalakshmi'. "It's the only raga I have composed for a person who is alive," he says.

"I used to tell Amji," says Subhalakshmi, using the endearment only she is allowed to use, "I do so much for you. Why don't you compose a raga for me and call it Jwalamukhi? When he released the raga and called it 'Subhalakshmi', I was so embarrassed.

Amji. What does he call her? "He doesn't call me anything," she smiles. "Once Ayaan came back from school, saying everyone laughed at him because he told them that his mother's name was 'Listen'! That's what Khan saab calls me."

Besides his family, Amjad Ali Khan is close to only two other people. One is Arup Sarkar of the Anand Bazaar Patrika group, whom he met while they were in their teens. The other close friend is Dr Nirmal Mattoo, whom he met in the US in 1997. Says Dr Mattoo, from Old Brookville, New York, "I respect his concern for preserving musical traditions."

This concern has found expression in many ways. The ancestral Bangash house in Gwalior has been converted into a museum. And the Ustad Haafiz Ali Khan Memorial Society founded by the musician works to propagate classical music in India and abroad.

"I feel music is like a garden and everyone can blossom," he says. "But for centuries, there has been competition amongst gharanas. Perhaps that's why we have never been able to create orchestras like Western musicians."

Featured in Harmony Magazine
March 2005