Goodbye, Zakir bhai. You will forever remain our guiding light Premium

Aristes recall their bond with Zakir Hussain

The master-percussionist made the tabla his own in a way that the modest drum set meticulously followed his instructions and was ever willing to roll out his experiments. But his music was not just about him; he constantly worked to set up a close-knit family of artistes. Over the years, the family just kept growing. Most of its members were promising enthusiasts, who, taking a cue from their Zakir bhai, wanted to engage with a music that shunned labels and despised divides. So, from a prolific and avant-garde performer, Zakir Hussain turned into a compassionate mentor, powerful influencer and a guiding force. His passing is not only being mourned by his family, collaborators and admirers, but also by a huge and formidable line up of young musicians determined to keep alive his creative vision. 

Whatever I am today is all because of him. Had he not met my ghatam virtuoso-father Vikku Vinayakaram and decided to make him a part of Shakti, our family of musicians would have never been on the world stage. My father and I are exponents of instruments, which in Carnatic parlance are referred to as upa pakkavadyam (secondary accompanying instruments). Zakir bhai pulled us out of our allotted space behind the main artistes in a kutcheri and placed us alongside international stars in cross-genre ensembles. Since then, we have never looked back.

Selva Ganesh, Kanjira

I was seven when the Taj Mahal tea jingle, which introduced Zakir Hussain to many in the South, aired on television. Despite being in Madras, a city soaked in Carnatic music, the sound of Ustadji’s tabla ruled my idea of sound.

My self-learning journey started by listening to his recordings on loop, and reproducing them through trial and error. My ears were the only learning tool. I had no way of ‘seeing’ his playing, except when Doordarshan telecasted his concerts.

Two years later, I was part of a children’s group performing before Ustadji’s concert with Mandolin U Shrinivas at The Music Academy. I saw him pay attention to my playing, while his hands kept the beat. Later, he spotted me in a corner, and lifted me in his arms. “From whom are you learning the tabla?” he asked. I pointed towards him. His eyebrows went up, and he told my mother: “Bring him to Bombay and my father and I will personally teach him.” Our family could not take that up, but his words became my inspiration.

A decade later, dancer Chitra Visweswaran and her husband took me to Bombay for a concert, and then to his house. I told him why I could not move to Bombay then, and he said: “Sound is the greatest teacher. You don’t need to see me. I will always be your guru.” Ours was a manaseega (from the heart) guru-sishya bonding.