Variations Of The Same Rhythm

WHERE Bombay's Napean Sea Road narrows into a crooked lane stands the old-fashioned Simla House. One of its first floor flats is tabla maestro Ustad Alla Rakha Khan's, where tradition and modernity coexist in blissful harmony. And where the globetrotting first family of tabla is bound together by intricate, innovative rhythms. It's a humid Bombay morning and the Ustad, very much the patriarch, sits on a sofa dressed in a simple white vest and lungi. He has just returned from a tour of America, informs son Fazal Qureshi, who has also returned from a tour of Europe. Though pushing 80, it's apparent that the Ustad has not lost any of the dynamism with which he popularised the tabla, creating new rhythmic patterns out of the old, both within the country and abroad.

Much like he raised his three talented sons—Zakir, Fazal and Taufiq—on a strict regimen of riyaz without stifling the trio's creative energies. "Even when I am not playing, my mind keeps on working," says the Ustad, flexing his magic fingers as he speaks. "To create new things, one has to think, and think 24 hours a day. Otherwise, how can one deliver new cheez to one's pupils?" The 34-year-old Fazal, a lesser-known but promising tabla player himself, nods in agreement and adds: "My father and I will be leaving for Israel with Zakir in a couple of days on a concert tour."

The eldest and best known son, Zakir Hussain, who lives in the US, is on a short visit to India. It's almost 11 am but the 43-year-old eclectic tabla wizard is nowhere in sight. Having returned from a late night engagement, the superstar is sleeping. "Even I returned from a practice session at 5 o'clock," says a freshly bathed Fazal. It's obvious that the household's peripatetic pundits don't have much time to spare, living as they do out of suitcases. But the old world adab surfaces when their mother gently interrupts the conversation, saying: "Zakir has gone to take a shower. Would you like some chai or would you rather have something cold?" No poker-faced houseboys here sent in with an uninviting cup of coffee.

One chooses to wait without either, preferring to browse through an intimidating array of photographs and awards crammed into the huge solitary showcase in the living room. It certainly showcases the lives and times of a family steeped in a classical tradition to which they have succeeded in lending an element of glamour, style and novelty. Alla Rakha, the pioneer, who ran away from home at the age of 12, all the while honing his art by playing with wandering theatre groups; Zakir, the maverick innovator, who demolished the traditional image of a tabalchi with his showmanship and unchallenged wizardry; Fazal Qureshi, the fusionist—he has been actively involved with Mynta, a Swedish fusion band, and the Indian rock group Indus Creed even while accompanying stalwarts like Pandit Hari Prasad Chaurasia; and the youngest Taufiq, 32, nonconformist, a sessions musician specialising in rhythm programming. Between assignments with music directors ranging from Anu Malik to Dileep and Sameer Sen, Taufiq assists Zakir in the composition of albums like Space or the motion picture Muhafiz (In Custody).

Holding a huge mug of tea and wearing starched kurta-pyjamas, Zakir enters and slips into the sofa next to his father, grinning brightly in greeting. He still retains his impish, youthful looks which had made him the hearthrob of hundreds of hysterical teenagers. Zakir displays perfect ease with three different styles of conversation: immaculate English once, Bombaiya Hindi thereafter, and then, addressing his father with a courteous "aap".

What is he doing in India? The reply is typically Zakir: "I am working on something which will come to a theatre near your house." He is talking of Saaz, a Shabana Azmi-starrer, which captures around three decades in the life of a singer. "The singer goes through various phases in terms of collaborating with music directors with varied styles," the tabla player explains his role. "The artiste works with conservative directors first, those who changed the face of Indian popular music next, and, finally, modern directors. Mine is a role that belongs to the third phase."

Without question, Zakir is a rarity in the firmament of Hindu-stani classical music. And, armed with the wisdom of traditional training and encouraged by a supportive father, his brothers are following suit. "One needs to expand one's musical horizons," Fazal chips in. "Father appreciates that, and encourages that as long as what we are doing is good." Remarks Taufiq: "Earlier, he was a little apprehensive. Now, he likes it, realises that his son is trying to make a name for himself, even feels proud sometimes."

Operating at his own level, and in constant quest for that one notch ahead, each brother's natural talent is accompanied by complete dedication to music. So, it is only on rare occasions that they manage to get together at Napean Sea Road. Says Taufiq, who has shifted to another flat: "Whenever Zakir comes, we wait for him so that we can dine together. There are times when father suddenly begins talking about the tabla at the dining table, and this continues till mother asks all of us to finish our dinner first."

 Inevitably, music is the sole indulgence of every living soul in the house. When Zakir speaks to Alla Rakha, the conversation centres around a baaya (the left drum) which he has procured recently; one thing Alla Rakha and Fazal discuss passionately are the former's pupils at the Shivaji Park school; when Zakir, Fazal and Alla Rakha are requested to pose for a photo session, Zakir's eyes sparkle as he remarks: "Tabla...it's great to play it."

Sitting on a divan with the two tabla-playing brothers barely a couple of feet away, Ustad Alla Rakha evolves beat structures around teentaal. With his sideburns glistening and his shock of hair as ruffled as ever, Zakir goes through the motions in a characteristically charismatic manner. Fazal complements his brother's belligerent approach with laid-back interpretations.

It is a brief riyaz after which Zakir is scheduled to leave to complete his shooting for Saaz. After all, he has just two days in India at his disposal. "I have little breathing space in the coming months," he says. It's easy to see why.

Following his Israel stopover, he leaves for the US where he has been signed up to compose the music for the Atlanta Olympics. His co-composers: Mickey Hart, the drummer of rock group Grateful Dead, and Philip Glass, one of the pioneers of minimalism in western classical music.

Apart from the Atlanta affair, he also has a 'Mystery Box' tour scheduled during the same period. Co-composed by Mickey Hart, Zakir's 'Mystery Box' tour numbers are popular scores with the back-up of world music. Appreciative of his brother's innovative musicality in the 'Mystery Box' essay, Taufiq remarks: "I have heard some of the stuff. They are groovy." Few would question Zakir's ability to sound groovy—even when he is going through the paces of a routine riyaz. But while he rattles off one bol after another, he is visibly restless. "Getting late for the shoot. Must leave," he almost pleads and leaves after a hasty "thank you".

As one leaves minutes later, escorted to the door by Fazal, faint strains of some recorded music can be heard in the background. Clearly, despite tight schedules and individualistic approaches, this family has its own rhythm. Music and tradition's discipline hold them together even when the eldest performs in America, the second in Europe and the third in Bombay. For they are variations of the same beat—that of Ustad Alla Rakha Khan.