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C R VYAS
Reluctant MasterHe never sought it but recognition came to this vocalist in
the evening of his life.
By S
Kalidas
The occasion is not without its nuances of anachronism and irony. In the
otherwise dog-eat-dog world of classical music, this week Mumbai's Nehru Centre is the
venue for a rare gathering of musicians of all hues, persuasions and generations. Stars
and stalwarts including Kishan Maharaj, Hariprasad Chaurasia, Shiv Kumar Sharma, Gangubai
Hangal, Allah Rakha Khan, Amjad Ali Khan, Jasraj and film music director Naushad Ali are
going to publicly felicitate Pandit Chintaman Raghunath Vyas on his 75th birthday. They
honour on that day not only the simple man and his many fine qualities as a vocalist and
composer but, in the process, also some six decades of single-minded devotion to all that
is authentically traditional in the field of Hindustani classical music.
"In our time we did not think of earning either fame or
money through music," says the ageing yet ebullient and sprightly Vyas, who held a
white collar job in ITC for 34 years. "Our aim was primarily to learn and master as
much as we could. Earning a livelihood through music was too risky." Indeed, although
musicians of Maharashtra had always known of Vyas, national recognition came only after he
was 63 and that too when star instrumentalists like Shiv Kumar Sharma and Zakir Hussain
projected him on the concert circuit. Even earlier, a host of younger vocalists led by
Jitendra Abhisheki had been learning from Vyas and singing his compositions in concerts
for a long time. But popular success had eluded this modest and sincere pupil of the
khayal whose quest for traditional compositions and gayaki (singing style)
spanned three major gharanas or schools of khayal singing.
Despite being firmly placed in the top league with all the
awards, recordings and concert engagements, Vyas remains essentially a musician's
musician. His voice is not "sweet" in the generally accepted sense of the word
nor is his vocalism alluring in keeping with the current trends. So what makes Vyas worthy
of such celebration? "A combination of guilt on the part of reigning celebrities for
having devalued classicism and the renewed value that some of us younger musicians are
placing on re-learning tradition," says sarod player Biswajit Roy Chowdhury who,
after mastering the sarod, sought out older vocalists like Mallikarjun Mansur and
Balasaheb Poonchhvale to learn traditional bandishes (compositions). No wonder Vyas'
faithful fans are musicians of this generation like Lalit Rao, Shubha Mudgal and his own
sons, santoor player Satish and vocalist Suhas. For Vyas today is undoubtedly one of a
fast vanishing band of old masters who are repositories of the old khayal tradition.
However, Vyas neither comes from any old gharana (traditional
lineage of khayal singers) nor limits himself to narrowly following any one particular gayaki.
"I wanted to learn music not gharanebazi (gharana politics)," he
asserts. Born in a family of Sanskrit pandits and keertan (devotional music) singers in
1923 at Osmanabad in Maharashtra, Vyas plumbed the depths of three gharanas to arrive at
his charmingly eclectic yet traditionally authentic style. His first teacher was Govindrao
Bhatambrekar of the Kirana school. Vyas learnt from Bhatambrekar for nearly a decade and
was already singing in concerts by the time he arrived in Mumbai as a young man of 21.
"But I was not satisfied with my music and wanted to learn more when a well-wisher
advised me to learn under the Gwalior teacher Rajarambua Paradkar," recalls Vyas.
For the next 20 years Vyas led the life of an urban yogi.
Living in a 270 sq ft accommodation in a Matunga chawl, the day began before dawn with riyaz
(practice), then came the job at ITC, then straight from work to his guru's house for
tuition which often lasted through the night. Life was not easy but Vyas was oblivious of
worldly comforts. His three sons and a nephew were brought up by his silently supportive
wife, Indira, who never once complained about his complete absorption in music. Even
today, as you sip tea in his small but comfortable Chembur flat, Vyas is all music. You
can't talk of his lifestyle, clothes, cars or house or family. You have to talk about
music and the musical values he so assiduously cultivated through his long and difficult
life. When you try and gather trivial details about his life and times, he bursts into
song. "Kaahe ho..." he sings, an 18th century composition in raga Gaur
Mallar, "This is the Gwalior style that I learnt from Rajarambua," he says.
Just when he had mastered the Gwalior idiom, Vyas stumbled
upon yet another muse. One day he heard another eclectic master by the name of
Jagannathbua Purohit and was so smitten by him that he resolved to become his disciple.
Purohit belonged nominally to the Agra gharana. Traditional repertoire aside, he was a
major composer and it is to him that music owes a modern masterpiece like the raga
Jogkauns. Of all his gurus it was with Purohit that Vyas had the most special
relationship. And it is well known that after Purohit, if there is any one with a flair
for composition in that mould it is Vyas. Even his guru was so impressed by Vyas' talent
for composition that their whole relationship was based on a musical exchange of bandishes.
Purohit composed, Vyas sang. Vyas composed, his guru answered through another composition.
When they were apart they exchanged their thoughts through letters written in musical
notation. Over the decades, Vyas has composed scores of bandishes in old ragas and new
ones which have been sung by his many disciples and published in book form too.
At the dusk of his musical journey, Vyas' only fear is that
the raga which has been the mainstay of Indian music for a good 2,000 years may not
survive the turn of the century. "The way things are going raga sangeet as we learnt
it may not see the next millennium," he laments. The real tribute to Vyas will be for
musicians to espouse and emulate his love and respect for tradition, if not for his simple
and uncomplicated lifestyle. |