Taranath at a concert.
Credit: Special Arrangement
Sarod maestro Pandit Rajeev Taranath turned 91 last week. Taranath and his music are inextricably linked to the extraordinary sarod player Ustad Ali Akbar Khan, son and disciple of Baba Allauddin Khan, founder of the Maihar Gharana. Taranath passionately articulates the strengths of this legacy and reverentially acknowledges that Khansaab, the Mount Everest of his music landscape, rests in his being, his playing fingers and his music.
The father-son space that Khansaab and Taranath shared was unique, comforting and assuring for both. Submerging his intellectual accomplishments, Taranath surrendered before the guru with a deep adoration and hunger for sarod music, leaving behind a brilliant academic career. Responding to Pandit Ravi Shankar’s advice, in 1982, he bid goodbye to distinguished assignments, making music his all-time preoccupation. Like Sufi practitioners, Taranath responded to his inner calling. Over the years, the maestro’s music has reflected his robust personality and his belief that the “essence of classical music knows no falsity or humbug.”
Taranath is not someone who remains aloof and disregards socio-political realities. He has publicly shunned elitist barriers. Students, fellow artistes and visitors throng his home. Intimidating at first sight, he gradually draws people closer by his genuine care, hospitality and frankness. It helps that he can speak articulately in multiple languages. His idea of a syncretic, plural, and thereby, culturally rich society is definitely endangered, which he finds deeply hurtful and disheartening. Indeed, Taranath’s love for Kannada and the state’s culture is bound to its inherent syncretism. His multifaceted personality, shaped by literature and music, lends razor-sharp precision to his own ‘Kannadiga-ness’, while also facilitating his outright expression and bold choices.
His is a mind fashioned by modernity but one that is engaging with an ancient art form steeped in tradition. He is an artist constantly searching for beauty and peace in a society where his cherished values are being threatened every day. Excerpts from an interview
Tell us about your childhood.
With no childhood schooling, my wholesome home-schooling included painting, music and literature. My father taught me vocal music and tabla, before I knew my left from my right, stressing the primacy of purity and emotion in music. I learnt elementary Ayurveda too. Many music scholars who visited us taught me. I still remember the ragas Jogiya and Multani that Panchakshari Gawai taught with love and patience. At nine, my singing of Bageshree at a Bengaluru concert brought me huge appreciation. Learning under Joshi Devagiri of Gwalior Gharana was the next stage. In fact, the day Joshi arrived home for teaching, my father had breathed his last, a few hours before. But my mother Sumati Bai ensured that Joshi’s mission, also my father’s wish, was fulfilled. My vocal-music training continued. I was performing in concerts as a teenager and at 19, on the AIR. My singing of ghazals and Hindi film songs during my college days impressed Talat Mahmood, the celebrated playback singer, who invited me to Bombay.
When did you first feel the pull of the sarod?
Strangely, the staccato sarod never impressed me during childhood. The melodious sitar felt like the king of instruments and Ravi Shankar’s concert in 1949 strengthened this impression further. The magic happened in 1953 at the Town Hall in Bengaluru where Pandit Ravi Shankar and Ustad Ali Akbar Khan arrived for a sitar-sarod jugalbandi. After the initial alaap of Raag Puriyakalyan on Ravi Shankar’s sitar, as the melodic sarod strains engulfed the auditorium, I felt electrified. I waited intently for Khansaab’s introspective playing at every turn in the duet and felt connected to the weighty sound of the sarod. Thereafter, Khansaab’s instrument, the splendid sarod, occupied my being for a lifetime.
Tell us about the evolution of the Maihar Gharana.
It practised no discrimination in teaching, unlike other gharanas that remained private and difficult to access. Baba Allauddin Khan was compelled to choose the sarod in a veena-dominated tradition that confined music teaching to its kin alone. Baba incorporated veena nuances into sarod-baaj, remodelling the sarod with his brother Ayet Ali Khan. Subsequently, the multi-instrumentalist also promoted the sitar, surbahar and sursingar. Maihar Gharana, which traces its lineage to Tansen’s daughter Saraswathi, was the only school that taught instrumental music to women during the 20th century.
Khansaab’s art had the strength and depth to transform a whole tradition and reinterpret Maihar Gharana compositions. His unique exploration of the instrument’s tonal quality and variety, combined with his distinctive vision of a raga, makes his sarod music magical.
What are your views about teaching music?
The teaching of instrumental music involves the teacher, learner and the instrument. The teacher reveals the secrets of the instrument and his own strengths. This is a kind of invitation to the learner to reside in the common world of music.