The Rudra Veena, an ancient and almost forgotten Indian musical instrument, is believed to have been created by Lord Shiva while contemplating the perfect beauty of his consort Parvati. Its association with Shiva, whose Vedic name is Rudra, made it a beloved instrument of yogis and ascetics, who used it as a means to unite ritual and meditation.
In an era where the Rudra Veena is considered rare, very few musicians are dedicated to preserving its nearly lost sound. Carsten Wicke, originally from Germany and now based in Kolkata, is one of them. His journey into Indian music began in the 1990s, driven by his fascination with Dhrupad and a deep spiritual connection to Indian classical music.
A disciple of Ustad Asad Ali Khan, Carsten has mastered the Khandarbani style of the Rudra Veena and has worked tirelessly to both preserve and promote the instrument's tradition, even crafting his own Rudra Veenas to ensure the sound and soul of the instrument are passed down through generations.
Excerpts
What drew you to India and its classical music?
I arrived in India in the ’90s. At the time, I was studying at university, living with a partner, and also working as a DJ in nightclubs. My partner attended meditation classes, and after one such session, a few people stayed over and left behind some tapes and CDs. One of them featured Zakir Hussain playing the tabla. I was stunned by his speed — it seemed almost impossible for a human to do such magic with just one’s fingers. That intrigued me, and I was drawn to the music like never before.
The next day, I joined my partner for another meditation class to see what the buzz was about. I was fascinated by the bhajans being sung, and that experience deepened my desire to explore Indian culture. In that pursuit, I had a calling — something within me kept saying that my life was about to change. When the Berlin Wall came down and the world was finally accessible, I dropped everything back home and headed to India. I stayed at an ashram in Delhi for a while.
As someone born and brought up in East Germany, did India present a culture shock?
Surprisingly, I found both regions to be quite similar. At that time, both societies were somewhat closed off. East Germany was, of course, isolated due to the closed borders. For the people living there, opportunities and exposure to different lifestyles were limited. Life was simple. When I came to India, I felt a sense of familiarity because the full impact of materialism and development hadn’t yet permeated the region, much like in East Germany before reunification. When the Berlin Wall came down, everything suddenly became accessible. When that becomes a way of living, there’s no special feeling — the magic is lost. I returned to a simpler way of living that I had known, and along the way, I discovered a true treasure — the Rudra Veena.
You had started your Indian classical music journey by training in tabla under Pandit Anindo Chatterjee. What made you take up the Rudra Veena later?
Before I immersed myself in music, I encountered the meditative side of India. I was taught that Indian classical music has the power to calm the mind. And through meditation, I became even more curious about the music itself.
During my second visit to India, I decided to study tabla and went to Kolkata, where I met Pandit Anindo Chatterjee. Being in Kolkata, India’s cultural capital, I became deeply engrossed in the city’s music culture. I found myself drawn to semi-classical and Dhrupad styles. During that period, through recordings, I was introduced to the Rudra Veena.
I was fascinated by its unique sound and went in search of the instrument. However, to my surprise, finding a Rudra Veena in the 90s was almost impossible. I soon realised that the instrument was so rare that I might be more likely to find it in a museum than on a stage. I even visited museums to learn more about it.
One day, I met Peter Hennix, a Swedish disciple of Ustad Zia Mohiuddin Dagar, who had come to Kolkata to repair his Rudra Veena. Through him, I met my guru, Ustad Asad Ali Khan, in Delhi. He accepted me as his disciple. I somehow managed to find a Rudra Veena — one that was in a poor condition — to start my training.
Isn’t it ironic that an instrument as ancient as the Rudra Veena faded into obscurity within the country of its origin itself?
Yes, absolutely. The decline of the Rudra Veena tradition can be attributed to several factors. After the passing of Beenkar (school of music) stalwarts like Ustad Zia Mohiuddin Dagar, there was a lack of genuine interest in the instrument. There was an absence of a dedicated audience as well. Veena manufacturers began to close down, and many skilled artisans failed to pass their craft down to the next generation.
For example, Murari Mohan Adhikari, the last of the traditional veena makers from Kanai Lal & Brothers on Chitpur Road in Kolkata, made a few instruments for me, blending traditional and modern elements. After his passing, there was no one left to continue the craft. Even if you take a Rudra Veena to other instrument makers for repairs, many avoid doing the work due to superstitions surrounding the instrument. It’s believed that without proper puja, bad luck or even death might follow.
This scarcity led me to take up the task of manufacturing Rudra Veenas myself, to create the sounds I aspired to make. I wanted to include elements of the Dagarvani Dhrupad tradition in the veena, alongside the Khandarvani Dhrupad style as taught by Ustad Asad Ali Khan.
Why do you think Indians failed to sustain the tradition?
See, we do have a handful of Rudra Veena players in India, but that’s not enough. It was in the ’50s and ’60s when classical music was widely embraced by the West. It took the West’s acceptance of the tradition, especially the Dhrupad tradition, for the Indian audience to become interested in something that belonged to them. Sadly, traditions are often undervalued in their own land until they are appreciated abroad.
You once stated that if you had known only western music, you would have been anything but a musician. What did you mean by this? Couldn’t that statement be seen as dismissing one culture over another?
Not at all. In my view, both cultures have aspects that make it difficult for musicians to adapt. Both are rich in their own way.
As a child, encouraged by my mother, I learned the violin. In western music, especially on the violin, you are playing what is already composed — it’s a fixed piece. There’s little room for improvisation. Sure, there’s freedom of interpretation, but one is still bound by the composition.
This contrasts with Hindustani classical music, where there’s much more room for improvisation. In Dhrupad, for example, we have beautifully structured compositions, but even a single line from a composition can be explored for half an hour in various ways. I was swayed by this freedom when I started learning Indian classical music.
Also, in India, I found it fascinating that vocal training comes first. The voice is considered the most important instrument, and I was amazed by that approach.
Many believe that music can be a spiritual experience. You, too, appear to be quite a spiritual person. Did your Rudra Veena journey lead to spiritual awakening?
The earliest preserved portrayals in temple architecture from around the 5th century show the Rudra Veena as a simple, one-stringed instrument consisting of a bamboo cane with a gourd as a resonance body. It’s clear to me that this early form wasn’t intended for performance or entertainment. Rather, the instrument has always been about connecting with the sound and with oneself in a deeply introspective way.
There is something uniquely natural about how the Rudra Veena leads the artist to a space of liberation — one that transcends the basic acts of survival, like eating and sleeping. It takes you into a state of being that goes beyond mere existence.
I have never aligned myself with any specific religion, but I was drawn to meditation for the inner light and sound it offered. In Indian philosophy, there’s aahat (struck sound) and anahat (unstruck sound) — the latter being the divine sound, the source of creation, attainable only through deep meditation. Connecting with the divine sound of ‘anahata naad’ is rare, but through the Rudra Veena, I have been fortunate to discover and share this sacred sound.
Given that the Rudra Veena is such a rare instrument — some refer to it as a ‘dinosaur’ of an instrument — how do you manage your life and career around this?
Playing the Rudra Veena feels very much out of time. There was a period when Indian maestros travelled overseas to perform, but by the late 1990s, this had declined. In the realm of Indian classical music today, professional organisers rarely conduct large-scale concerts. Instead, people arrange private concerts purely out of love. These events may not be professionally managed, and there is hardly any financial reward, but when you sit with an audience of 50 or 60 truly dedicated listeners, it makes up for everything. In those moments, you realise why music is played — it is for this deep connection.
I often experience these moments more in the West, but they are beginning to emerge in India as well. Auroville, in particular, has become a significant place for me — so much so that I even bought a piece of land there. Now, I am in the process of shifting my base from Kolkata to Auroville. Kerala, too, offers a similar experience. I will be performing on Saturday at Nisarga Art Hub in Angamaly. When I attended a concert there, I was struck by how the audience sat attentively for three full hours.
Choosing the Rudra Veena can be a daring choice. Money is an important factor for survival. I often quip to my students and those interested in learning the Rudra Veena that there is no better way to commit professional suicide! It goes against every rational decision in today’s world, which is driven by economics and where one's value is determined by financial success.
Most people who learn the Rudra Veena today do not intend to pursue it as a performing career. There is interest among younger generations, but for many, the instrument becomes something to hold on to — a means of self-development rather than a profession.
How will the future of the Rudra Veena and Indian classical music be within India and in the global context?
I do not dare to predict the future. The Rudra Veena will be appreciated by those with a meditative mindset, as it demands deep listening and introspection.
In Indian classical music, there is a tendency to mimic past maestros, which can sometimes restrict true musical exploration. While there are still highly talented individuals seeking depth, the commercial market often pressures them to become more ‘marketable’. This contradicts the true purpose of the music. At its core, Indian classical music is spiritual. Its potential goes far beyond being categorised as just another genre of world music; it possesses depth and refinement that stand apart.
When it comes to popularising a particular art form, the concept of fusion is often in demand. What is your perspective on fusion music?
I am often asked whether I would blend my cultural background with Indian classical music. Well, I do not feel the need to. Indian classical music is ever-new and complete in itself. Many pursue fusion because organisers request it, but often, this comes from a lack of understanding of the depth of the tradition.
For me, there is no urgent need to create fusion. Most fusion music today lacks balance and fails to do justice to either tradition involved. The music of the Rudra Veena is an endless ocean. I have avoided fusion so far, not because it cannot produce something interesting, but because I do not feel the necessity. If the need arises, I might explore it — not for popularity or branding, but as a means to keep the art alive.