It’s tough having the legendary Ustad Shahid Parvez Khan as your father. But it was tough love that brought out the prodigious talent in sitar maestro Shakir Khan, finds Suchismita Pai

Shakir Khan was home for the Eid holidays and, this time, he got to celebrate the festival with this father, Padma Shri Ustad Shahid Parvez Khan. That’s a rare treat for the young sitar maestro, on whose able shoulders rests the legacy of one of the world’s oldest and greatest classical traditions: the Etawa Gharana.

For the 34 year-old musician, home in Pune is a place filled with revelry and impromptu music sessions. It was Shakir’s great-great-grandfather Ustad Imdad Khan who founded the Etawa Gharana, which has focused exclusively on the sitar and surbahar, a variant of the sitar.

The eighth in an unbroken chain of musical talent, Shakir is very much his father’s son. He has spent years of rigorous training under his dad, and says his heart lifts at the very hint of praise from his reticent mentor. Trained initially as a Hindustani classical vocalist and on the tabla, Ustad Shahid Parvez Khan is recognised as one of the finest living sitar players in the world. Now his son is making him proud with his brilliant performances at some of the most prestigious music festivals across India.

Performing with his father and solo, Shakir has taken the joy and subtlety of the Etawa Gharana to audiences in the US, Canada and Europe, including a performance at the iconic Woodstock Festival in Poland in 2008.

He has also made a foray into international fusion, with performances with the European jazz ensemble, Taalism, and Indian bands Mukti and Soundscape. Indeed, from Ustad Imdad Khan, whose performance was lauded by Queen Victoria, then monarch of England, to the highly decorated Ustad Shahid Parvez, Shakir Khan has had rather large shoes to fill.

Excerpts from a chat with the young maestro….

I cannot remember a time when there was no music at home. It probably coursed through my mother’s veins and certainly my father’s. So I have listened to it in my mother’s womb. I have woken up to the stains of riyaaz reverberating through the house and have been lulled to sleep by music. I once fell asleep listening to music right in the middle of Laxmi Road, during the Dagdu-Sheth Ganapati Festival in Pune. My dad was playing at the concert and I wandered on to the stage as I was often wont to do. While everyone else was enthralled by it, I dozed off right next to him as comfortable as can be. I was four years old at the time.

It was my mom who would enforce the rigour. She would ensure we put in the requisite practice as mandated by my father even when he was travelling. She would be his eyes and ears. So I give equal credit to both my parents for making me who I am. My brother and sister play musical instruments but only as a hobby. I was the oldest and first to start learning from my father. I also ended up being the one who pursued it as a vocation. I chose to follow the musical legacy and the only pressure I feel is what I subject myself to.

My father handed me my first sitar at the age of four, when I could barely hold it, and I got my first lesson ensconced in his lap. Maybe it was the security of his lap that has cocooned me all along and helped me accomplish so much. Unlike teenagers who rebel, I was more than content to follow in my father’s footsteps. I never really thought of anything else. I was interested in math but it was a purely academic interest. I liked the idea of solving math problems and in some ways music, too, is about the right notes adding up.

I was raised in the gurukul system, where all my father’s students were treated as equals. I was a student first and son next, especially when it came to class. There were no special lessons, no extra attention just to push me ahead. We have all imbibed that from my father and believe privilege has to be earned, not inherited.

My father was never effusive with praise but if he said ‘theek hai’ [that’s okay], it was high praise and my heart would leap. He believes encouragement is different from tareef or praise. That is also a family tradition. His father held him to high standards of performance as he does me. I believe it is the highest compliment as it propels us to what is most pure.

He was more a guru than a father, perhaps also because no other child in school or around us had a teacher who was also their parent. It was unusual but I felt quite privileged.

My father has never used his reputation to help me get ahead. I have earned every public performance I have given as the organisers wanted me there. If they ever asked him, he would tell them to listen to me first and take me only if they liked what they heard. His philosophy was that you could get one performance because of your lineage but if you want to be successful, you need to prove your mettle through your talent. He did this for himself and expected nothing less from us.

I have forayed into international, fusion music and my father has never frowned upon my choices. He is a purist but not in the usual sort of way. He believes, and has inculcated in us the belief, that whatever we do, we must do it with dedication. Dedication and devotion are pure, whether you are experimenting with jazz, or flamenco, or any other form of music. There is so much to learn about music from every part of the world and he encourages me to give it my all while staying rooted.

I treasure many childhood memories of me and my dad. I was an avid cricket fan and player as a child. Once, when I was eight years old, I was practising music with my father even though I was to play a cricket match with my friends. I was distracted and my father noticed my lack of focus. Upon learning that my mind was on cricket, rather than chastising me, he got me kitted up with cricket togs and took me to the ground. He waited till the match was over, cheered me on and then took me home. Once back home, we resumed practice where we had stopped, as if it was the most regular thing to interrupt music practice for a game of cricket!

It is not always possible to coordinate our travel, performances and engagements, and that makes playing with my father all the more precious. At the Tansen Festival in Gwalior in 2007, we both reached the venue separately and met on stage. There were no preordained performance sets, and my father started on an impromptu note, inviting me to join in with a mere glance. I could tell he was happy with my performance as I matched him note for note; as it reached a crescendo, the music held not just the audience but all of us in its embrace. Playing with my father is exhilarating. He can, with a mere look, signal where the music is going and spur me on and help me evolve as a musician.

I idolise my father and always have. He is happy with where I am but there are miles to go before I fulfil my part in our musical legacy. My father and I both go where our music takes us but Pune is home. And when we meet, like this Eid, I treasure every moment. The love, laughter, conversation and strains of music… it is all in perfect harmony. What more could a musician want?

Photograph by Ravindra Joshi
Featured in Harmony — Celebrate Age Magazine
October 2016