JOIN US“Music is prayer. It is not for name or fame. When ahamkara comes, Saraswathi goes away. Simply surrender to Her and sing.”
This is not a quotation from a book. It is a simple statement by that master of a three-stringed musical instrument called the sarangi.
Faiyaz Khan is not only a sarangi player. He is a superb vocalist whose rich tenor makes his music one of a kind. Above all, he is a philosopher musician, whose devotion to his art has a religious zeal that goes beyond the stage and the spotlight.
“I do not go there to seek awards,” he says. “I am neither happy nor sad if they come or if they don’t. In music, the ‘I’ and ‘Me’ should completely disappear.”
Stringing songs
This eighth generation descendant of a great musical heritage — the Kirana Gharana — has positive ideals where his music is concerned. When they ask him for a list of his awards, he simply tells them he has no portfolio of his travels or recognition.
His music is his only certificate. As a result, Khan confesses that he does not get many opportunities to play the sarangi. “It does not matter,” he adds. “I can always sing for my survival.”
And, can he sing! His powerful voice, added to his intense manodharma, makes his singing a rich experience. Trained in vocal music by his father, Ustad Abdul Quader Khan, and inspired by his grandfather, Ustad Sheik Abdulla Khan who was a renowned court musician in the palaces of Mysore and Hyderabad, this scion of a grand heritage of classical music was compelled to turn to the celluloid world to earn a living.
When I asked him why, his one line answer was touching: “To survive!” He adds, “There were no caretakers or godfathers to promote me. My father died when I was young. I had a family to support. I was not highly educated. This is my story. Without programmes, how could I live?”
Maybe, his own hard life has influenced his music. He approaches it with reverence. Competent on the tabla and sarangi, both of which he learnt from eminent teachers like Basavaraj Bendigeri and Pandit Ram Narain, Khan started accompanying reputed artistes. He mentions Bade Ghulam Ali, Mansur Ali Khan and Bhimsen Joshi — “they were khalifas” — whose likes have disappeared.
He feels they were rishis who lived only for music. Unfortunately, opportunism, fame and the glamour of money have destroyed the transparency of music today, according to this purist who does not believe in jugalbandhis where “artistes become wrestlers trying to defeat each other in a concert” or the lure of instant fame that has driven promising youngsters into fusion music in foreign lands.
“But it will come back, the pure classical tradition. It has to come back. After all, it’s only a kaala chakra …….”
Future perfect
His advice to aspiring musicians is simple. “Sing without any expectations and sing without ego. The minute your ego surfaces, remember, Saraswathi will go away from you.”
His two sons, Sarfaraz and Farhaz, whom he hopes will carry on the torch from his forefathers, are already being trained in the sarangi and sarod. Perhaps, his own life with its many tragedies and struggles have made him a philosopher musician whose passion for music negates everything else. The sarangi, a humble cousin of the violin or sitar, is his first love.
With just three notations of Sa-Pa-Sa, Khan can coax magic out of this fretless apparatus. Playing the sarangi needs several complex skills which he has mastered. These skills, handed down from father to son, has made the sarangi a melodic marvel among musical instruments.
No wonder Yehudi Menuhin called it the only authentic Indian stringed instrument “which reflects the very soul of Indian feeling and thought.”
Khan is, perhaps, one of the few surviving exponents of the beauty and sound of this legendary musical tool which belonged to folk tradition. He has composed ballets on it for kathak dancers.
Directors like A R Rahman have used his talent liberally. Although none of these has altered his persona. When he sang at the end of this interview “Jo bhaje, Hari, ko sadhaa” — that divinely beautiful piece in bhairavi — he was not striking a pose. He was simply being himself. A splendid musician with a passion for his art.