After Bhimsen Joshi, who?

Sunita Budhiraja offers a repertory of singers who are keeping Hindustani classical music alive.

During his morning walk, Sufi saint Sheikh Farid once met a disciple who asked him, “Can you tell me about God? How He looks and what He is.” Sheikh Farid promised to introduce him to God, but asked him to first bathe in the river nearby. It was a cloudy winter morning and the disciple cursed himself for having asked Sheikh the question. As he immersed himself in the icy waters, Sheikh Farid pushed him in as if trying to drown him. The disciple managed to free himself and came out gasping angrily, “Are you a guru? I asked you about God and you nearly killed me!” Sheikh Farid patiently asked him, “First tell me, when I was trying to drown you, what were the thoughts in your mind?” The disciple replied, “Thoughts? I had no thoughts. All I felt was that I should somehow get my head out of the water and breathe.” Sheikh Farid then said, “You have just been introduced to God. When all thoughts disappear and only a feeling remains, that is God.”

Bhimsen Joshi’s music had a similar effect on the listener. All thoughts disappeared and the only feeling left was that of being in complete spiritual harmony with oneself, of surrender. When he sang Jo bhaje Hari ko sada, Rasiya aao na, Ghoonghat ke pat khol, Vithala Vithala, or Naina bhaye anaath hamare, it was like a prayer. I have lost count of the times I felt this way as I sat through his concerts or listened to his recordings.

Lata Mangeshkar and her family have given this country a sureela kaan (ear for music). When Jasraj sings Om Namo Bhagvate Vasudevaya, even maulvis in Pakistan are compelled to say, “Panditji, aaj to apne is bhajan mein hamein Allah ke darshan karva diye (through this bhajan, you have given us a glimpse of Allah).” When Hariprasad Chaurasia offers Krishna prasad through the notes of his flute or when Bismillah Khan’s shahnai becomes a harbinger of good times, one thought comes to my mind: After them, who?

After concerts featuring upcoming and established artists, Jasraj often says that he hopes Indian classical music will live forever. Like him, I believe it will. Yet the passing away of Bhimsen Joshi leaves me very sad, and gloomy with a question to which I have no answer: Will there be another Bhimsen Joshi in my lifetime?

Yes, there is a Generation Next.

I have seen Rajan and Sajan Mishra perform more than three decades ago at Kal ke Kalakar Sammelan. When I introduced them to the audience for the first time, their music left me mesmerised. Now, they have a huge fan following. From the way they sing, I could make out that Diwaker and Prabhakar Kashyap are the disciples of Rajan and Sajan Mishra. When they sing Tore bina mohe chain na pade Braj ke Nandlala in Raag Kirwani, or recite Durga, for days together my ears refuse to listen to anything else.

Then there is Ajoy Chakravarty. I am not sure anyone else can perform Raag Gunakali the way he does. A true disciple of Bade Ghulam Ali Khan, when he sings Yaad piya ki aaye, it can shake you in your deepest thoughts. If you listen to Sanjeev Abhyankar when he accompanies Jasraj for a recital, it is evident that he has imbibed every nuance of his guru’s gayaki. I remember one of those concerts when Abhyankar sang Udho jog sikhavan aaye in Sindhu Bhairavi, and I could not stop crying.

Arati Anklekar is another vocalist who pulls crowds wherever she performs. Listening to her Jaunpuri or Tappa is an experience in itself. The fine notes transport you to Haridwar to the ghats where ‘Ganga Arati’ is being performed.

And about Rashid Khan, Bhimsen Joshi once said in him there is hope for Hindustani classical vocal music. The depth in Rashid Khan's voice makes him one of the finest vocalists of this generation. He is as comfortable with the upper notes as he is with the lower octave. He is also a delight for those who enjoy light music but want something different from Bollywood. I was never a tarana lover. But Rashid Khan’s rendition of Jhinjhoti made me enjoy a music form I had not appreciated earlier.

I am a great admirer of Gundecha Brothers, too. They have given a new meaning to Jugalbandi music and that too in the most difficult Dhrupad style of gayaki. Vocalists of our times do not attempt Tom Nom Aalap. But Gundecha Brothers just do that, taking you to a different plain. I have seen people go into a trance when they sing aalap. Possibly that was the music of Swami Haridas, the Dhruva Pada.

For someone who never tried her hand at singing, listening to the maestros has taught me to appreciate music. Ustad Bismillah Khan would often say, “Sur Maharaj to sabke hain aur Sur Maharaj kisi ke bhi nahin hain (Music belongs to everybody, but nobody owns music).” Yes, I am hopeful. There is Ulhas Kashalkar, there is Ashwini Bhide, Tripti Mukherjee, Rattan Mohan Sharma, Madhav Gudi, Shruti Sadolikar, Madhup Mudgal, Jayateerth Mevundi and many others.

Yet, the question remains unanswered: will I see another Bhimsen Joshi in my lifetime? He did not sing for nearly five years, he did not actively participate in Sawai Gandharva Festival, which he had founded, but his passing away has left a lump in my throat.

Nearly 40 years ago in Kolkata, some children were playing cricket in a lane. A boy, aged around 13 or 14, remarked, “Ai, bhishon shundor ball, ekhon lagchhe jaikhon Bhimsener taan! (How beautifully the ball has been thrown, as beautifully as Bhimsen's taan).” That was the impact of Bhimsen Joshi’s music. His swaras belonged to everyone. Will there be another living musician who will touch that emotional chord with millions of people? I am not sure.

(Sunita Budhiraja is a PR professional)