As we alight on technology and the development of an international presence as the way forward, indigenous wisdom, art and cultural institutions honed over centuries, or even millennia, are being marginalised. Declining art forms may have aficionados; however, the groups of these art lovers are dispersed, their clout diffuse and weak. Institutions tasked with supporting these art forms are decaying. Almost adjacent is an ethical question: suppose one chances upon an exponent of a rare art form, what is our duty towards them? That question is beautifully answered in Sumana Ramanan’s book The Secret Master: Arun Kashalkar and a Journey to the Edge of Music. She came upon Arun Kashalkar through Ulhas Kashalkar, Arun’s sibling and a musical maestro. Arun, no less than a maestro himself, was living in anonymity and hard-fought peace.
In the course of her research on Hindustani classical music as a columnist for Mumbai Mirror, the author had been attending concerts when an invitation to a baithak brought her face-to-face with Arun Kashalkar. The man himself is at peace at the fringes of fame. “‘I have no regrets,” he told Ramanan. “I have never stopped investing in my music. My search has been artistic, like that of my gurus.” While those destined for fame have other immediate concerns, those who haven’t come by it are far luckier, for they can hone their art, observe, and refine their learning. “Flow partly reflects a singer’s control over rhythm. Without flow, a rendition sounds like a patchwork. Every style has mediocre musicians who produce such patchwork,” Arun says.
Unlike other biographies, this does not follow a linear model but weaves out of a whole bundle of events. Sometimes the path to understanding a musician is through other musicians and their music, to embody the traditional ethos he is part of. Layer by layer, the author deconstructs the structures that interweave into this almost-magical world. However, this is also about a man who’s bucked tradition; his concerts bring to life the styles of at least three gharanas—Agra, Gwalior, and Jaipur—at a time when most musicians are purists and stick strictly within the bounds of the gharana they are initiated into. “Arun did not expect most listeners to notice the minutiae of his many achievements, enhancements and innovations. He wanted them only to enjoy the overall effect when he marshalled them to create a fresh and dynamic soundscape,” Ramanan writes. What makes his music great is the seamless assimilation of these styles, though it leaves him stranded, almost homeless.
Unlike other biographies, the narrative does not follow a linear model but weaves out of a bundle of events. The author deconstructs the structures that interweave into Arun Kashalkar’s almost-magical world
A firsthand experience of Hindustani classical music is notoriously difficult to write on or about in English. The technical terms have no adjacent vocabulary to lean on. Much of the core ethos of this form of music is difficult to understand, far tougher to translate or transcribe. Namita Devidayal pulled it off with panache in the biography of Ustad Vilayat Khan Sahab in 2018. It is a difficult act to follow, though Ramanan holds her own and develops a form of intimacy with her reader right from the first chapter. It’s her open, honest style and incredible grounding in the art that shines perceptibly through her writing.
Deep, reflexive thought and impressive writing skills have made this a rare gem of a book. The author begins with the first principles of her journey into music and the discovery of a maestro in relative anonymity. Along the way, she alights on many great artists and their histories, as well as their contributions to Arun’s music and to their own musical journey. It is all woven together effortlessly, like we are listening to a recounting of the times and the great men who illuminated it. And it is true, in the arcane world of Hindustani classical forms, such myriad stories abound.
“The notes of a raga are like seeds. When you carefully nurture them, they flower forth and emit the raga’s fragrance. Each seed blossoms to a natural rhythm, which may be hidden but has nevertheless been working its magic,” writes Ramanan. The author also adds nuggets of information that educate the readers without alienating them—whether on the gharana styles, the saptak, the structures and nuances of the ragas, the concept of tala, avartan and sam, the differentiation between dhrupad and khayal, as well as transcription of compositions by the greats, or even a deep dive into the concert venue NCPA and other institutions’ histories. Make no mistake, this is an investigation into the mystique of this form. All the while juxtaposing with events of consequence in Arun’s life story.
A book to guide, entertain and preserve for posterity both the uninitiated and the expert, this is a labour of love. A wholesome tribute to an exceptional man who hones his craft unsung while unfurling the greater mystique of an almost-impenetrable art form he worships.