Towards realizing a music dream

"Kehte hai, ke agar kisi bhi cheez ko dil se chaho to puri ki puri qayanaat tumhe use milaane ki koshish mein lag jaati hai." The dialogue from blockbuster ‘Om Shanti Om’ is, of course, quintessentially filmi and it was meant so in the film. But somehow I’m hugely fascinated by Shah Rukh’s stylish utterance of the dialogue.

Why? Because it invariably echoes in my mind whenever I chance upon something unexpected.

The last time the dialogue flashed on my mind was when I met Dhrupad exponent Manoj Saraf. It was a sheer chance meeting. I am a regular at a Herbalife health club at the LIG square since July this year. The club is like an extended family where all the young members adore me. Or, so they make me feel. The affection is, of course, mutual.

Manoj came looking for the club ten days back. He is a little obese and wants to shed some kilos of his fat body. Uncharacteristically, I immediately struck a conversation with him at the club. Normally I am rather reticent but in the club you can find me at my gregarious best. The company of the young arouses ebullience in me.

Within minutes of our first talk, I learnt that Manoj Saraf hails from Ujjain, learnt Dhrupad for four years in Bhopal under tutelage of Ustad Fariduddin Dagar, struggled for 12 years in Mumbai and is back now to settle in Indore and try his luck in property dealings.

His wife Sulabha Saraf (earlier Chourasia) turned out to be a cousin sister of Shobha Chaterjee, my friend Alok’s wife. Both Manoj and Sulabha fell in love while learning Dhrupad and married. Manoj and Sulabha live with younger brother Ajay whose wife Shivani is Sulabha’s real sister. What a happy and united family!

Their background inspired me to become their pupil. The long dormant desire to learn classic vocal music resurfaced. I urged Manoj to teach me Dhrupad. He graciously agreed.

Later, I also learnt that Manoj’s brother and sister-in-law too are into music. Ajay and his wife earlier used to accompany Sadhvi Ritambhara on her religious discourses and sang devotional songs. The foursome of the joint family is steeped in music and this is pretty evident in their home. A room is earmarked for music lessons. It has a synthesizer, Tanpura and other musical instruments kept on a corner. All four take classes in different times—Manoj and his wife on Dhrupad and Ajay and his wife on light music. 

The first day of Dhrupad learning was an exhilarating experience last week. How ‘Sa’ is different from ‘Ni’ in cadence, nuance and octave took half an hour to practise. But my devotion probably impressed Manoj. He appeared satisfied with my sincere efforts.

Only three classes so far and I am beginning to visualize the day when I will sing and that too classical. What a fortuitous meeting with Manoj has turn into me! Soon, I plan to buy a Tanpura to practice at home.

All through my long theatre years, I yearned to become a reasonably good singer but music always remained my Achilles Heel. I remember acting in Gogol’s play ‘Aala Afasar’ in which I played lead role. It was an adaptation in Noutanki style and I was supposed to sing my dialogues. Every thing else was fine as far as audience reaction went except singing part. I felt ashamed. All the encomiums for good looks and fine acting held no meaning for me because I felt I failed miserably in delivering the dialogues in expected tune.

Full throated but tuneful delivery is the soul of Nautanki. I was acutely conscious of the fact but couldn’t do justice to the role.  Lack of tunefulness always saddened me when in company of friends singing songs.

We in Vivechana theatre group in Jabalpur would often travel with plays in early eighties. While on train or bus, film songs kept us in high spirit. I had the little singing power to join the chorus that would reasonably hide my tuneless voice. But I would always be a little envious of Tapan Banerjee when he sang ‘Wanha Kaun Hai Tera’ or Rajendra Dani when he sang Hawaon Pe Likh Do Hawaon Ke Naam….. Such mellifluous voices, such soulful songs. Arun Pandey was ‘ Besura’ was it was hard to make him realize that. 

Perhaps I may have reconciled to being an unlucky Besura, if it were not Alok Chaterjee’s observation that my sense of musical notations is very good. All I need, he told me, was to hone the voice through practice. Being a gold medalist from NSD and a good singer himself, Alok must be telling the truth, I felt.

By coincidence, the person teaching me Dhrupad is Alok’s distant brother-in-law. It is just beginning and Manoj appears to be satisfied with my learning. Yesterday, when I went to his beautiful home in Simran tower opposite railway station, he was doing ‘riyaaz’. I quietly sat on the mattress in front of him. He was immersed in his singing. After 15 minutes he finished his riyaaz and putting the Tanpura aside, he remarked, ‘Rakesh Ji wait for one year. You will also be singing like this”. I was thrilled. Could I sing with a modicum of singing sense all those songs I love so much?  

Could I ever win applause in company of friends and colleagues by singing old melodies? I will. What is my age after all? At 54, it is just youth. Isn’t it?