Film enthusiast Nasreen Munni Kabir was just about three years old when she moved with her family from the subcontinent to the United Kingdom and, surprisingly enough, in that foreign land she developed limitless

interest in Indian cinema, particularly its music. She has made documentaries and has had long interviews with many key figures, coming out with what may be termed as biographical books. She has had sessions with the likes (read: stature) of Lata Mangeshkar, Waheeda Rehman, Javed Akhtar and Gulzar. Her latest book is based on conversations with the tabla wizard — or, shall we say, percussionist par excellence — Zakir Hussain.

Zakir, whom this reviewer had the pleasure of interviewing in California, way back in 1994, comes across just as tehzeeb yaafta [refined] and modest in Kabir’s book. He continues to refer to his seniors with the suffix ‘sahib’ or ‘ji’, such as Vilayat Khan Sahib and Ravi Shankar Ji. He recalled his experiences and expressed his views with me just as articulately as he does here.

Based on interviews over two years, a new biographical book traces the beats of tabla maestro Zakir Hussain’s life

Zakir Hussain: A Life in Music is based on as many as 15 sessions of interviews held in London, Mumbai, Pune and Antwerp over the last two years. The volume sums up his life and career, as well as records his opinions eloquently expressed by him. As one finishes the absorbing book, one feels richer in the knowledge of music and musicians, not to speak of sound technology, which Zakir mastered in recent years and whose salient features he explains to Kabir in the simplest terms.

Zakir was born in what was then known as Bombay on March 9, 1951. While his mother was keen that he should get a proper education in a Christian missionary school close to his house, his father, the tabla virtuoso Ustad Allahrakha, was absolutely determined to embark him on the path where he himself had made a big name. He wanted his son to surpass him and to explore newer pastures, which Zakir did, and with admirable success. He didn’t disappoint his mother either.

Zakir accompanied several great instrumentalists, many outstanding singers and quite a few accomplished Kathak dancers. What is more, he became a much-in-demand soloist. To make ends meet he also occasionally played the tabla in orchestras engaged by Bollywood film composers.

In his late teens he went to the United States, where he joined the Ali Akbar College of Music as a tabla teacher; it was quite a rewarding assignment, though not so much in financial terms. It was at the college that he met Antonia “Toni” Minnecola, an Italian who was learning Kathak. They got married when he was 27. There were three ceremonies: first a civil marriage, then a church wedding and, a couple of months later, a nikah ceremony in Bombay.

As a performer, Zakir joined hands with a number of American and African percussionists. He formed a band called Shakti (a Hindi word meaning strength) with the English guitarist John McLaughlin and the accomplished violinist L. Shankar who was an American of Indian descent.

In collaboration with Mickey Hart, drummer for the band Grateful Dead, Zakir recorded like-minded rhythmists from Nigeria, Brazil and the Afro-Cuban traditions. The album, titled Planet Drum, was an astounding success. It won a Grammy Award in the newly introduced Best World Music Album category and topped the list of best-selling records for 26 consecutive weeks. “It is an out-and-out rhythm recording and as a percussionist myself, it is a well-deserved nod to the importance of rhythm,” says Zakir to Kabir. His short discourse on the difference in rhythmic patterns of north and south Indian music is also quite informative for lovers of music.

Zakir had a brush with acting as well. He appeared on the screen in some films, but acting was not up his alley. In this context he recalls that a Tamil filmmaker offered him a good sum to play the hero in a film. The good-looking virtuoso regretted that, for one thing, he couldn’t speak Tamil and for another he couldn’t act. “So what, as long as you can fight and dance, it’s fine. We shall have someone to dub for you,” was the insistent producer’s retort, but Zakir declined the offer. Interestingly, a nine-year-old Zakir had also come close to playing the younger Prince Salim in the 1960 film Mughal-i-Azam, but his father managed to extract him from the assignment because he wanted his son to become a musician, not an actor. Jalal Agha ultimately got the role.

In recording Zakir’s assignments and experiences as a music composer for Western films, Kabir vividly pens the episode of his playing for Bernardo Bertolucci’s 1993 film Little Buddha — after recording more than half the music, Bertolucci decided it didn’t feel quite right and went over budget to re-record the compositions using only a cello and a flute.

On the subject of film scores, Zakir regrets that background music is ignored by film composers, including some of the front-rankers. He thinks highly of John Williams’s score for Jaws, pointing out that “… the characters are talking and there is no music, and then suddenly the sound of a tuba announces the menacing predator.”

Zakir also makes fair and meaningful comparisons between musicians: Ustad Vilayat Khan and Pandit Ravi Shankar are a case in point. He says, “When Ravi Shankar Ji played, there was great emphasis on rhythm, but that’s not what I noticed in Vilayat Khan Sahib’s playing. He was more into exploring the sitar’s melodic element. The rhythmic element came into his playing, but did not appear to dominate.”

Zakir comes across as an interesting storyteller and often intersperses his discourse with absorbing narratives. A highly hilarious one in the context of his marriage was a ‘proposal’ made by an affluent Muslim beerri maker, who said that, since his two daughters were inseparable, Zakir should marry both of them.

He also talks about the difficulties that had been faced by court musicians after Partition. When the nawabs and rajas lost their kingdoms, the musicians had to look for alternative sources of income. For those who were used to miniscule audiences, playing for hundreds — if not thousands — on stage was, according to him, an unsettling experience.

Zakir’s younger brothers, Fazal and Taufiq, have done well too in their respective fields. The former runs the music school set up by their father in Mumbai and the latter gives lessons in playing Indian rhythms on the African drum called djembe. Their spouses and children are doing well, too. However, the story of one of his sisters’ death because of the negligence of a medical practitioner is sad and what makes it all the more heart-wrenching is Ustad Allahrakha’s passing away shortly after, as the shock had been too great for him to bear.

Kabir’s book is punctuated with photographs that serve as eloquent background music to the main narrative. What impressed this reviewer 24 years ago when interviewing Zakir was his ever-smiling face and that he retains that full-bodied smile when playing the tabla on the stage, even though he gives as many as 200 performances every year.

The reviewer is a senior journalist and author of four books, including Tales of Two Cities

Zakir Hussain: A Life in Music
By Nasreen Munni Kabir
HarperCollins, India
ISBN: 978-9352770496
185pp.

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, July 22nd, 2018