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Kamani Auditorium, New Delhi. The spacious hall is filled with music lovers. Many are even seated on the floor.
The stage is all set. All accompanists are in place. Except for the singer. In comes Pandit Jasraj, the doyen of Hindustani classical music. His entry to the stage—his hands towards the sky folded in a Namaste—would be nothing short of a rock star’s. He’s attired in a flowing, starched dhoti, long silk kurta and angavasthram while several gold chains and rudraksha mala adorn his neck.
That entry would electrify the audience. Everyone at Kamani would stand up and welcome the “Sangeet Martand”. No one would sit until he gives the signal. Apart from the accompanists, music students are allowed to sit on the stage. And they don’t want to miss the once-in-lifetime kind of opportunity to listen to the legend from such close quarters.
“I see god in each one of you. You are my inspiration,” he would say to the audience as he takes his seat. “I am honoured.”
The next three hours or more would be an evening of sheer joy, a feeling of being transported to a different planet.
The magic of Panditji’s performance can never be described in words. No wonder former prime minister A B Vajpayee once described the musical virtuoso as “Rasraj”.
Incidentally, Panditji is the only Indian musician after whom a minor planet is named.
After rendering the first couple of bhajans, the maestro would invariably ask the audience if they want him to sing any particular bhajan. But by then, innumerable requests would have already made their way to the dais. He would oblige and sing a few favourites. As requests continue, he would remark: “Look at my age. You still want me to continue?” The audience would not take no for an answer.
At the concert, he remarked: “You know, as you make the request, I am reminded of an Amul advertisement. The Pakistan cricket team was touring India. Their ace batsman Zaheer Abbas had scored a double century and remained not out when stumps were drawn. The Amul ad said: ‘Zaheer, ab bus karo’. It should apply to me now!”
As Pandit Jasraj would sing bhajans of Lord Krishna, there would be hardly anyone whose eyes do not well up with tears. Such was the power of his voice.
As he ends the concert, there would be a long line starting from the dais, to seek his blessings. Not one student would leave without touching his feet. Panditji would talk to as many of them as possible.
This concert was one of the many that this writer was fortunate to attend.