Tuning into pain: How Begum Akhtar channeled her struggles into art

Book review of Akhtari: The Life and Music of Begum Akhtar

With the news cycle churning out horri­fic images of people succumbing to Covid-19, it has been difficult to catch a br­eath on most days. I have, on a few oc­c­asions, tried calming myself with music. It dawned on me that listening to Begum Akhtar (1914-1974) can do wonders for the heart. The famous ghazal singer of yore app­ears to have had this effect on many before me.

“Her voice was so imbued with pat­h­­os and rhythm that at one time the pain in her voice echoed the pain of every listener. Anyone who had suffered heartbreak and betrayal in life found refuge in Begum’s voice,” writes Yatindra Mishra in the introduction to his edited volume Akhtari: The Life and Music of Begum Akhtar (2021), which inspired me to immerse myself in her music.

Writing about an accomplished performer who is known as Mallika-e-Ghazal and has been awarded the Pad­ma Shri and the Padma Bhushan — apart from the Sangeet Natak Akademi Award — is no easy task. It is fitting that someone with Mishra’s credentials de­cided to take this up. He is a poet, editor, and scholar of music and cinema. In the past, he has written books about thumri singer Girija Devi, she­h­nai maestro Us­tad Bismillah Khan, dan­cer Sonal Man­s­i­n­gh, and playback sin­ger Lata Mangeshkar.

Putting together this book was such a humbling experience for Mishra that he adds a disclaimer: “This book does not claim to an­alyse or understand Begum Akhtar in enti­re­ty. Her personality was so vast that even after covering this much there remains regret that much has yet been left out…there is an enormous need for more re­se­arch, study, and serious conversation on her music.”

Akhtari: The Life and Music of Begum Akhtar

Editor: Yatindra Mishra

Translator: Maneesha Taneja

Publisher: HarperCollins India

Pages: 268   Price: Rs 699

Before she married Ish­tiaq Ahmed Abbasi from the family of the Nawab of Kakori, Begum Akhtar was known as Akhtari Bai Faizabadi. Central to her story is the role of her mo­t­her, Mushtaribai, a courtesan who reco­gnised her talent and groomed her to stand out among her peers. She raised Akhtari on her own because the father, Asghar Hussain, didn’t want to be in­v­o­lved. He was a lawyer belonging to the ranks of Lucknow’s elite, and Akhtari was born when he consorted with Mushtaribai.

In an absorbing essay titled “Begum Akhtar in Lucknow” included in this book, Saleem Kidwai writes, “Despite her modest means, she (Mushtaribai) worked hard to give her daughter the finest education and training in music available under several renowned ustads. They first moved to Gaya and then to Calcutta for Akhtari’s training and debut as a performer in the 1920s.”

The book emphasises that Begum Akhtar had people eating out of her hands, not merely because of her brilli­a­nce as a vocalist but also her unders­tanding of poetry. She sang the poems of Mirza Ghalib, Daagh Dehlvi, Mir Taqi Mir, Momin Khan Momin, Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Kaifi Azmi, Shakeel Badayuni, and Jigar Moradabadi among others. She be­came a force to reckon with for her ghazal singing as well as her skillful mastery over other musical forms such as th­u­mri, chaiti, dadra, kajri, hori and baramasa.

Iqbal Rizvi’s essay “Begum Akhtar’s Filmy Journey” captures the iconic mo­ment when poet and freedom fighter Sarojini Naidu was so mesmerised by the singer’s voice that she gifted her a sari. The occasion was a public concert to raise money for the Bihar Relief Fund after a major earthquake in 1934. Fam­ous singers of the time who had promi­sed to sing at the event did not show up, so Begum Akhtar was asked to fill in for them. The audience loved her. She held them spellbound for nearly two-and-a-half hours. Incidentally, this was her first public performance. And there was no looking back.

Begum Akhtar acquired a massive fan following by singing for All India Radio and the Bombay film industry. She also acted in some Hindi films. Mishra’s book includes a delightful recollection from singer Lata Mangeshkar, who was fond of the radio show “Aapki Farmaaish” and once sent a request for Begum Akhtar’s ghazal Deewana ba­nana hai toh deewana bana de. She was “ecstatic and on cloud nine” when the song was played, and her name was read out along with Begum Akhtar’s.

Moments like these make the book worth reading. It also features Mishra’s int­er­view with Shanti Hir­a­nand, a singer who was Begum Akh­tar’s disciple. Hira­n­and says, “She always got gifts for everyone from wherever she went. She loved beauty. She wanted whatever was beautiful.” Apparently, once when Begum Akhtar visited Afghanistan, she brought back many “pretty” brooms as presents, and distributed them among people living in her neighbourhood.

Mishra has managed to assemble contributions from a range of voices, all touching upon different aspects of Begum Akhtar’s life and work. Culture critic Kunal Ray, for instance, draws attention to the singer’s brief appearance in Satyajit Ray’s film Jalsaghar (1958). He writes, “Begum Akhtar doesn’t play herself in the film but appears as a professional singing woman who is being paid for her performance. Do we see traces of a life left behind? Is it also a reminder of life before her marriage?”

The book also addresses the challenges she had to face with her husband and in-laws. The “respectability” attached to her transit­ion from Akhtari Bai Faizabadi to Begum Akhtar came at a price. She had to mould herself according to what was conside­red acceptable in the new household. She had to sneak out if she wanted to smoke, drink or meet friends at leisure. Her spirit could not be crushed by patriarchy but fighting all the time was exhausting.

These hardships were channeled into song. In an essay titled “You Have to Sing for that Pain”, singer Shruti Sadolikar writes, “She gave me meaning. She gave me words to live by. One does not sing to make someone happy. One has to sing for the pain. A voice that does not reflect pain is useless.”