Khali without its sam

The ninth beat of the 16-beat rhythm cycle teentaal is called a khali. It is often the point of tension and anticipation that is resolved with the following sam, i.e., the beginning of the next cycle. The unexpected passing away of Ustad Zakir Hussain on Dec 15 feels like a khali without a corresponding sam. An emptiness, a void that will never be fulfilled. Such is the profound loss felt by the music world. 

Very few musicians achieve such a stature that they become synonymous with their instruments. Zakir-bhai was one such. You cannot think of him or the tabla without evoking the other. Will Hunting, trying to explain the mind of a genius, said that when Mozart sees a piano, he just gets it; he can just play. Zakir-bhai and the tabla would have had a similar relationship. Technical prowess and tayyari were incidental to the aplomb with which he performed on the tabla. He just played. 

He learnt tabla from his illustrious father, Ustad Alla Rakha, and belonged to the Punjab gharana. He was a complete tabla player—a wonderful soloist and an accompanist par excellence for vocal, instrumental, and dance. He imbibed the best from other baaj traditions, e.g., judicious use of the open or resonant strokes from Banaras, and incorporated them into his unique style. 

I first saw him at IIT-Bombay’s cultural fest Mood Indigo in 1986 and then again in 1989 when he graciously interacted with students, signed autographs, etc. His performance that evening had been flawless, and his hearty smile, kindness, and humility won many hearts. Subsequently, I have seen him many times. Two memorable performances were with Pt Shivkumar Sharma and Pt Ravi Shankar. The latter was in the National Cathedral in Washington. The serenity and majesty of the venue was matched by the music. That image will be forever etched in my memory. 

Tuning of percussion instruments is unique to Indian music and has fascinated many great minds, including C V Raman, whose iconic paper about it is worth reading. Zakir-bhai paid very close attention to the tuning of the tabla. He also emphasised the balance between the bayan and dayan, as well as the wazan required to produce the perfect sound. The sweetness, wholeness, and power this lent to his tabla playing is evident in his performances and recordings. 

He relished the rhythms that we are perpetually surrounded by. He enjoyed emulating them through tabla bols and his playing. He would reproduce train sounds, the gait of a deer, the cadence of human speech, and so forth. He made this into an art form that always delighted audiences. He loved interacting with his listeners, and they loved him right back. He was one of the most charismatic performers of Indian music. The precision of his layakari mathematics and his mesmerising improvisational upaj were always couched in pure and unadulterated joy, as if saying, “Look how much fun this is,” rather than, “Look what I can do”. This was priceless.

Zakir-bhai’s contribution to fusion and world music genres is well-known. He co-led the Shakti band with John McLaughlin and has won a number of Grammys over the years. He has won practically every major award given by the Indian government, including the Padma Vibhushan in 2023. 

Apart from contributing in the music department, Zakir-bhai also acted in the Merchant-Ivory production Heat and Dust. His acting and compositions for Sai Paranjape’s film Saaz were noteworthy. The song phir bhor bhayi jaaga madhuban sung by Devaki Pandit is quite lovely. He collaborated with Ustad Sultan Khan to compose the music for In Custody, another Merchant-Ivory film. Faiz’s words dil thahar jaayega in Suresh Wadkar’s voice are very evocative. He also sang a couple of his own compositions for Aparna Sen’s Mr & Mrs Iyer. 

Perhaps without intending to, Zakir-bhai became a style icon of sorts. His appearance in the famous ‘Wah! Taj’ TV commercial and the Doordarshan short video Desh Raag (alongside his father) are still vivid in the public imagination. His signature hairstyle and a rock-star-type head toss were aped—consciously or otherwise—by two generations of young musicians. He wore this mantle lightly and strove to use his influence to bring his beloved tabla to an ever larger stage. He taught a number of students, who carry forth his tradition, and definitely inspired thousands more. 

The 1987 Films Division documentary Khayal was anchored by Zakir-bhai. He was his usual charming self as we walked the viewers through the provenance and progress of the major Khayal gharanas. It is a must-watch for lovers of Hindustani music. In the latter part of the film, he says, “If swara is the mother of Indian music, then taala is definitely the father.” His sudden passing is akin to the loss of a parent. It will be deeply mourned for a long time, and yet his musical legacy will be forever cherished.

(The writer is a technologist and a music enthusiast with a keen interest in Hindustani classical music and old film music)