I do not remember the exact date now, but about 25 years ago, I heard that Pandit Bhimsen Joshi had come to Bangalore to perform and was put up in a hotel. I immediately went and met him. He was flanked by a few admirers. I introduced myself as the chairperson and founder of Spicmacay, Bangalore chapter, and requested with folded hands whether he would please agree to perform for us at the Indian Institute Of Science the following day.
“Not this time, professor,” he said. “I have other commitments. I shall make it some other time.” I was disappointed, but I thanked him for seeing me and asked him if I could tell him a brief anecdote before I left. “What about?” he asked, a little surprised.
“About my mother,” I told Bhimsenji who looked more surprised but I simply proceeded with my story. “Panditji, this was more than 30 years ago. I was in college. You had already made a name in Calcutta. My elder brother and I were having a hurried dinner one evening to go to a music concert where you were listed as one of the singers.
“Who is this Bhimsen Joshi?,” mother asked as she was pestering us to eat slowly.
“Would you like to come, Ma?” I asked. She got ready and I got a taxi. The programme started at about 10 pm. Hours passed, different artistes came, one after the other. Your programme was at around 4 am. You came and sat down, covered your knees with a shawl and started a khayal in raga ‘Jaunpuri’.
“This was my first exposure to the divine music that you render. In no time you had cast a spell and the crowd listened in hushed silence. We did not realise how time passed and when darkness had melted into dawn. After ‘Jaunpuri’ and ‘Ahir Bhairav,’ you started your Bhajans. As the last Bhajan in Bhairavi you rendered, “...Jo bhaje Hari ko sada, wo hi parama pada payega.”
I felt a churning inside that I cannot describe. I stole a look at my mother and saw tears streaming down her eyes. She gripped my hand and whispered to me, “He takes you straight to God.”
I felt a little embarrassed after recounting a very personal tale to this great artiste. Bhimsenji listened in silence and after a brief pause asked me, “Where is your mother?” I pointed my fingers upwards. He was quiet again and then said, “All right, Sen Gupta... I shall come to your institute tomorrow.”
I could not believe my ears. I rushed back to the institute and with the help of the others made all the arrangements: accompanists, tabla, tambura, the best sound system, the food for artistes and the lot. I do not need to describe how Bhimsenji held the whole institute crowd, overflowing into the foyer of the huge Gymkhana hall, spell-bound for three hours and when he started his inimitable bhajan, ‘Jo bhaje Hariko sada’ it was I who had tears streaming down which I did not attempt to hide.
After dinner, Bhimsenji brought out a ‘dabba’ and made a pan for himself and one for me, the most precious pan I have ever had. “Was the dinner all right, sir?” I asked him. “First class,” he said, “Mainay to panch rosgulle khaliya,” he said and started laughing showing his five fingers. And that was all that was needed to make him happy, Bhimsen Joshi, who could transport his listeners to heaven.