In memoriam: A man for all seasons

On the occasion of Pandit Rajeev Taranath's first death anniversary, noted tabla and sitar maestro Pandit Nayan Ghosh recollects his deep association with the sarod genius.

I always addressed Rajeevji as Rajeev Da. Although he was 24 years older than I, I regarded him as my elder brother, and he always treated me as his younger brother. We were great friends as well. When together, the age difference between us never mattered. 

Rajeev Da was a multi-faceted personality. My association with him began when I was a little boy in the 1960s.  Much later, the first concert I played with him was 40 years ago, in 1984, after which we performed over a hundred concerts all over the country and around the world. His sarod playing can be summed up in a single word — excellence. It was possible to feel his mastery even without any musical knowledge. The tonal quality of his sarod was almost identical to that of Ustad Ali Akbar Khan, considered one of the greatest instrumentalists of all time. 

My family, including my father Pt Nikhil Ghosh, the tabla maestro, and my uncle, Pannalal Ghosh, a well-known flautist, were closely associated with the Maihar gharana to which Rajeev Da belonged. My father played hundreds of concerts with Ustad Ali Akbar Khan and also with his father, Ustad Baba Allauddin Khan. What one notices is that Rajeev Da’s constant attempt was to play, in style and thought, as closely as he could to that of his guru, Ustad Ali Akbar Khan. His entire approach to music was traditional and true to his gharana, while his approach and thinking when it came to socio-cultural issues were radical and progressive! This sometimes reflected in his playing: a certain phraseology that he would suddenly come up with added that extra glow to his performance. This is why I looked forward to playing with him on the stage. 

Rajeev Da’s mastery over the sarod was accompanied by another great talent: his mastery over many languages, many of which he spoke fluently and with such astonishing authority. Plus, he was a great cook! It was easy to get intimidated by his frankness, but he had a great sense of humour. Those who knew him understood that his heart was in the right place. 

There are many fascinating anecdotes that I can think of about Rajeev Da. I often visited Bengaluru to perform with him and also to do my solos.

Once, I stayed with him for a week or more. We played several concerts. Then, he asked me, “Nayan, when are you going back?” I replied, “Tomorrow.” In those days, I travelled only by train. I had my ticket reserved for the next day. He told me, “Go and cancel the ticket. Book it for the day after.” He jumped onto his motorcycle and asked me to sit behind him. He rode to the Bengaluru railway station. There were no computers in those days. So, I had to go to the station and get the tickets changed.  I came out and told him, “Yeah, it’s done.”

We were returning home. He suddenly took a turn into a little lane. He stopped in front of a bungalow! We went in and knocked hard. An old gentleman opened the door and greeted, “Ah, Namaskar... Please come in... Sir, Namaskar.”  Rajeev Da asked straightaway, “Do you know this young man?” The old man replied that he did not. Rajeev Da introduced me, “He is Nayan Ghosh, a very renowned tabla player from Bombay. He always accompanies me in my major concerts. He is here today and tomorrow. Organise a concert tomorrow. We both will play.”

The old man murmured that their music circle had several committee members to be consulted. “I don’t care,’’ Rajeev Da answered in his characteristic manner, “do it tomorrow.” The old man kept saying that they needed to discuss and the matter had to be ratified—all this would take time, in fact, a few months. “You ratify, catify, or bandicootify it. But do the concert. Who are the members? Who is the president? Who is the secretary?” He made the man dial the number of a lady. Rajeev Da told her, “We must have this concert.” She asked in a perplexed manner, “How do we book a hall in a day?” Rajeev Da said, “Do it at your home.” 

So, it was done! We performed in their beautiful, old, aristocratic house with a lovely wooden floor and carved wooden pillars with sculptures. We also had a good audience. When we finished, that lady’s husband, who was older than Rajeev Da, came and patted him on his back. He also patted my back, saying, “Well done, young man.” He told Rajeev Da, “Rajeev, very well played, very well played indeed.” We packed our instruments and left. As we were going towards the car, Rajeev Da said, “So both of us have got those certificates.” On our way home, I asked, “But did you get paid?” He said, “No. I don’t think they are going to pay.” I told him, “This is what happens when you force a concert on someone.” Weeks passed. There was no question of payment.  Both of us said, “Forget it.” This was typical of him. He never cared for money. What mattered to him was music alone. 

The author is a noted tabla and sitar maestro. June 11 marked the first death anniversary of Pt Rajeev Taranath.