I remember watching Zakir bhai keenly when he used to perform with my uncle, Pandit Hariprasad Chaurasia. Because of the generation gap, I used to just keep admiring him from afar, always hoping that one day I would be able to play with him. I was about 16 or 18 then.
The dream was also to be able to experience the high of doing a solo with him on stage and that happened at a time when I was doing a lot of Bollywood recordings and accompanying a lot of artistes on stage. I remember a common friend in London telling me that when he asked Zakir ji about what he thought of me, he replied, “Haan, let him get in a serious mode in classical music.” So, that is when I decided to focus even more on classical music and began practising harder, because I realised that is what he wanted of me. And then, my dream came true when I got a call to play with him in Scotland in 2011. We were backstage, and I told him how long I had been waiting for this moment. All he said was, “No, no, I had my eyes on you, but I was just waiting, you know.” I asked, “Waiting for me to grow up or grow old?” And, he said, “I was waiting for you to get matured.”
I would always call him Ustad, but he never liked that. “Please don’t call me Ustad. My parents have given me a name,” he would say. “The more we become friends, the better our chemistry on stage. I don’t want that big, fat wall between us. Only if the two of us enjoy will our audience enjoy.” I think my relationship with him was different. I have high respect for all the great artistes I have worked with, but there was chemistry only with him. So, our first concert (solo) together went up to almost an hour and the entire time I played with my eyes closed because I couldn’t look into his eyes. So the first tip I got from him after the concert was over: “You need to show what you are doing. This is the west; people here will think you are sleeping on stage. Body language matters as much as the talent you showcase.” Nobody has and can give such crucial career-defining tips; he was a mentor to me.
All play: Hussain with Chaurasia during a performance.
I remember this show in Hyderabad last year. After one round, my flute cracked. He had the ability to see humour in everything, no matter how difficult the situation. So, even in that tense moment, he joked, “Arey, aise bajaya kyun ki fat gaya, thoda aaraam se bajao [why did you play it so that it broke, play gently].” I laughed. He immediately added, “Okay, you go to the green room if you don’t have another flute; just try to tape it.... I will handle the audience.”
Somebody asked me what gharana (school of classical music) will I place his music in and I answered he is his own gharana―the Zakir Hussain Gharana. When two artistes are playing on stage, it is akin to a game of chess. You are constantly making your moves, taking a cue from the other person, and when that other person was him, you had to be on your toes. Because he would keep throwing ideas without saying a word and we had to immediately pick it up and follow. You might go on a different path than what you are doing every day. He kept making you do different and so one had to be extra prepared and extremely well-rehearsed to be able to share the stage with Zakir bhai. He always went beyond the textbook and you had to always be on top of your game.
I remember, over the years as we played together, there had been so many goof-ups from my side, but he always handled them so beautifully for me. “Mistakes and uncomfortable situations should never reach the audience,” he would say. This attitude to have each other’s back is missing in this cut-throat, competitive field of ours, and Zakir bhai was a breath of fresh air.
Global collab: (From left) Hussain with double bassist Edgar Meyer and Chaurasia after winning the Grammy | AFP
One of the most important lessons I learnt from him was on how he interacted with the audience. “Take them along with you. Do not isolate them and don’t create a distance by flying in the air. Be grounded and enjoy the ride,” he would say. I remember his first response to any emergency, be it on stage or off it, would be, “Don’t worry, it will happen.” I have imbibed the life lessons I learnt from my interactions with him, and they hold me in good stead till date.
I remember travelling with him abroad, and it used to mostly be in buses and trains. Our schedules used to be super hectic, like 20 concerts in 22 days. And you won’t believe, all our interactions would be around music other than his. He was so tuned in to what was happening around and he would share notes on the latest piece he had heard and how much he liked it. So he was beyond the ‘god of tabla’. The entire world of music was in him―you talk about any genre and any artiste and he would have something to share. There were moments when I would tell him, “Zakir bhai, I cannot recollect that particular note,” and he would immediately sing and show. He would show how other singers and musicians sang or played that particular note in different ways.
His memory was super strong. I once went completely blank on stage. It was a morning concert. On narrating my ordeal, he said, “This happened with me, too, and I must tell you that maybe for a second or two, your ego got the better of you and God decided to show you your place.” The best part was that he never preached; he always spoke from his own experience. He was self-deprecating and admitted his weaknesses without any hang-ups. He once said, “There have been times when I have simply gone blank. But now I know it is normal for an artiste because our work is a creative one and you cannot be your 100 per cent every single day. But then you are also a performer and people have expectations from you. So then tweak the raag.”
To me, Zakir bhai is the damru (tambourine) of Lord Shiva. He was an all-embracing individual; he visited diverse places of worship and appreciated diverse cuisines. He is as international as he is an Indian. I always tell that from A of Allah Rakha (Hussain’s father) to the Z of Zakir Hussain, Indian music is all-encompassing. I remember we were in Pune and he performed his solo. It was hot at the time and so after his performance he went offstage to change his kurta. In the meantime, the organiser asked me to start playing, given the time was short. So I started the alaap (prologue). He didn’t come on stage while I played, and later told me, “Sorry, I didn’t join you because had I come at that time when you were in your zone, people would have clapped and you would have been disturbed. So I thought it was better to sit and listen to you instead, and it was meditative.”
He gave freshers and youngsters plenty of opportunities to shine. At times, he was even chided for “playing with young lads”, to which he would say, “I want someone to inspire me, too, else how would I grow?” In those early days when he played with me, he never played as if he was playing with a first-timer. He was at his own exceptional level and I had to match it. At one point, I told him I wasn’t understanding anything. And, he said, “Now that you have jumped in the ring, take the challenge. Even I have my audience, why should I play like you? If I am giving my 100 per cent, you have to give your 150. Then baat banegi [only then will it work].” He knew how to help you grow.
Once, while we were in Europe, we were running to catch a train. He was lugging two big tablas on his own. I kept insisting on helping him, but he said, “I know you are a bodybuilder, but if you insist then I won’t share the downbeat with you in the evening. I told him, “In that case, you carry my bag, too, please.”
He was very particular about his instruments. Whenever he was in India, he would himself check the tuning of his tablas. And mind you, his playing of the tabla was very different from the rest. It was as if he was playing a flute on the tabla―what it feels like when two instruments are playing!
Talking about our (2024) Grammy win, I will always be indebted to him for introducing me to Béla Fleck (banjoist) and Edgar Meyer (double bassist). It just happened that the three of them were to do a trial in the US, and Zakir bhai asked them if they would like to try one of his buddies who plays the bamboo flute. They said no, but Ustad ji said that I was nearby and that he could grab me from the hotel. He came over and shouted my name from below, standing on the road outside my hotel. That day we sat down for a session from 10.30am till dinner time, just jamming. That’s how it all began!
His music was therapy to the world, and now he is healing heaven.
―As told to Pooja Biraia
Rakesh Chaurasia and Ustad Zakir Hussain have played several concerts together. The duo was scheduled to tour India in January, performing their Grammy-winning album As We Speak.