This article is included in the book.
The Music Teacher
It was the monsoon of 1973. I had
just joined IIT-Bombay. The campus appeared quite isolated in those days.
Except for weekends, we pretty much remained inside the campus. But it offered
something for everyone. I was thrilled to find out about a music club and the
fact that it had a piano. The romantic Hindi movies of the ’50s and ’60s had
presented the piano as a dream instrument, though it was something that most
Indian families could not even dream of.
I went to the music club and met
the music teacher Upendra Patnaik. I was impressed with his musical
credentials. He had received musical training from many stalwarts in the field
of Indian classical music. He had worked with many famous Bollywood composers.
Most importantly, he had been once part of Pandit Ravi Shankar’s troop. I
almost asked him what he was doing in a place like IIT. He was supposed to
teach a subject that was not compulsory. It was not even offered as an
elective. It did not fulfil any credit requirements. It must have been frustrating
for him to teach music to a handful of students who occasionally bothered to
peep into the music room. But I was glad that I was one of those students.
I did not know then that
Patnaikji (as we call him now) was going to be my musical mentor for life. Music
was just one of my hobbies at that time. But it was going to provide a more
elaborate foundation later in my life. A foundation for peace of mind in the
harsh corporate world of targets, numbers and deliverables. I was a little
disappointed that he was not a piano teacher. He was mainly a vocalist and a
percussionist though he was comfortable with other musical instruments.
His vast knowledge of Indian
music was available to us all the time. Though I was not regular in attending
lessons, I learnt many things from him ‘on demand’. IIT had annual inter-hostel
competitions, about which I was quite charged up. I wanted to win a prize in
Indian instrumental music, which would contribute a few points towards the
cultural trophy. I knew that the Indian classical music category would require
special effort from my side. I went to Patnaikji for help. I wanted to impress
the judges, within the limits of my musical talent. Patnaikji taught me a cheej
(composition) in raag yaman, a familiar melody. To make it sound a little
unusual at least among beginners, he set it to zaptal, a rhythm pattern with a
ten-beat cycle. I religiously practised that piece for the next two weeks. My
effort ultimately resulted in the few points I was so desperately seeking.
Patnaikji had amazing contacts in
the world of music. He was always there to guide us in dealing with celebrity
judges and artists. Once we wanted to invite a famous tabla player from
Varanasi. Patnaikji warned us that we could not ‘handle’ him. He also asked us
to be careful in dealing with some of the money-minded artists. For someone who
had a personal rapport with many stalwarts, how did he enjoy the task of
teaching half-serious and less-than-half-talented students? He once jokingly
expressed his regret to Ustad Zakir Husain: ‘In the process of teaching music
to the kids, I have become besura (unmusical).’
Patnaikji never had dozens of
students at a time learning music. But there were always a few diehard music
lovers who sought his guidance. He could not make a difference to the lives of
many students. But he made a profound impact on those few who had the
inclination and the time to learn music. Over time, the Patnaikji fan base grew
steadily. All of them remember the good old days of IIT prominently for his
music.
One day, when I was on the way to
Vikroli station on a bus, Patnaikji greeted me from the next seat. After the
normal exchange of niceties, he asked me, ‘Why don’t you stand for the post of
music secretary? People interested in music like you should contest.’ I had not
considered the idea until then and I was happy that he had suggested it. In
those days, the music secretary normally got elected unopposed. As one of my
seniors had filed his nomination, I decided to postpone my candidature to next
year. The tradition continued and I was elected unopposed the next year.
During my year as the music
secretary, I learnt many things through my direct involvement in organising
competitions, chamber music programmes by staff and students, and concerts by
professional artists, all with Patnaikji’s help. He emphasised the importance
of maintaining the music room and the instruments in proper condition. We got
adequate funds sanctioned for that purpose instead of rushing to spend money on
new purchases.
Patnaikji also called me on
several occasions to provide harmonium support to various solo and group
singers. Under his guidance, the staff-students’ choir was quite active. It was
not in his nature to be a taskmaster. But he had tremendous patience. He took
everyone along without demoralising the mediocre performers. It was amazing to
see the group performance level rising to newer heights. Finally, the many
enjoyable practice sessions culminated in our recording at All India Radio,
Mumbai. All that practice helped me while playing harmonium with the
participants of Mood Indigo.
In addition to the theory and
techniques of Indian music, Patnaikji taught us how to make the performance
lively with the energetic usage of tabla and dhol. We were also trying to get
professional artists to perform at IIT and our attempt was to get them at the
lowest possible cost or even free if possible. When he learnt about it,
Patnaikji told me something important: ‘Don’t take advantage of the good nature
of an artist. Respect the artist and the art and don’t deny a respectful
compensation.’
There were many occasions later
for me to work for non-profit organisations and the pressure to reduce costs
was always there. But then I remembered his words and tried to strike a
balance.
Indian classical music has never
had mass popularity. Getting a decent audience was a perennial problem, particularly
when IIT students were performing. He told us not to get disheartened and not
to cancel any programme under such circumstances.
For me, music was undoubtedly one
of the best gifts of my life. It provided me with opportunities to socialise
though it was also an engaging solo activity. I belonged to a team, as a member
of the staff-students’ choir, and later on in my life, being a part of
classical music concerts. Above all, music was the ultimate soothing factor
after a long day of harsh corporate realities. Years ago, I decided to play the
versatile electronic arranger keyboard, my favourite musical instrument now,
for at least ten minutes every day. Listening to music before going to bed has
amazing healing powers. Playing your own music takes the process to a higher
level.
Vivek V. Govilkar
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