The Orchestra Of A Lifetime
The National Museums most munificent donor isnt a nawab, a maharani or even from a royal house at all. When singer and collector Sharan Rani Backliwal donated 299 musical instruments to the Museum 18 years ago, it became the single largest collection on the Museums books.
It was also one of the most fascinating. There was a rare instrument called a saaz, a gift from a taciturn fakir, nestled next to a glass drum from Rajasthan. Then theres the 17th century Naagpani brass flute from Gujarat fashioned like a snake in motion. Visitors often stop before the Ravanhatha, the instrument which owes its origin to the mythical kings musical talent.
Theres the rare Dakshinavarta conch, with its clockwise spiral, the kidney-shaped chandra sarang, and instruments like the sursingar, sur bahar, dilruba, khol pakhwaj and all the others that have been gradually disappearing from stage.
The 70-year-old musician often drops by the museum to tune her children, as she refers to her musical instruments. And now, she is ready to put the story of a 45 year old collecting odyssey which took her down the musical bylanes and alleys of India into print. Backliwal had written the much-acclaimed The Divine Sarod in 1992, but her second effort should a lot more personal.
Her home in Delhi looks like a miniature museum itself Backliwal has another 200 instruments that havent gone to the National Museum. I would like to hand them over to the Museum, she confesses, but they dont have the space right now. I handed over the first lot simply because I was getting old and tired of personally cleaning them.
Her book, as yet untitled, is expected to contain a barrage of information about the instruments shes collected over the years. Several of them, in fact, have disappeared from the Indian musical scene, while others are on the endangered list.
Each instrument has its own story to tell. For instance, theres the rare saaz, one of the first pieces in her collection. The sarod maestro had gone to Srinagar to give a recital. After the show, a fakir left a cryptic message for her: Ask her to come home if she cares to see my saaz.
She did, and discovered that he lived in a treehouse that could be approached only by a rope stairway. Though she was in the middle of a difficult pregnancy, she climbed up. The fakir said nothing, but picked up the saaz a four-stringed instrument and handed it to her. The saaz cost her dearly, though: Backliwal lost the child a few months later.
That was just one instance of serendipity working in favour of a magnificent obsession. Backliwal launches into another story: Some 35 years ago, I saw a blind beggar on Lodhi Road. He was playing an ektara that I could tell was unique, even from the car. I called him across and offered him Rs 150 for the instrument. He was so thrilled that he forgot for a moment that he was supposed to be blind and opened his eyes!
One item in her collection that seems more like a symbol of war than of music is a bow-and-arrow pair. Everything is sound. A ghungroo on a goats feet sounds different from when its put onto an elephants feet, says Backliwal. The humming sound that the bow produces when you strike the arrow against the string could be the origin of the sarod.
Backliwals collection spills over geographical boundaries. The pick of the lot is definitely a phonograph made by Edison, circa 1894. Theres also a banjo from Japan; a pocket phonogram; Chinas open drum, resembling a pan and an extra-long chopstick and other assorted flutes, whistles, cymbals and gongs. The merely eccentric is also represented in the form of a harmonium from Paris that was designed to be played with the feet!
What would the effect be if they were all allowed to form an orchestra? Backliwal takes the question seriously: All the instruments have different pitches. It will be difficult to do it.
Beyond her collection, theres also Backliwals own story. The story of an ace sarod player who performed in every nook of the country, and went global way before Zakir Husain and Zubin Mehta made that fashionable.
Backliwal has also drawn much praise as a composer her several ragas include eulogies to Shiva-Parvati and Raga Radhika Priya, dedicated to her daughter.
Her first love, the sarod, was considered a mans instrument when Backliwal took it up.She was told that she wouldnt be able to hold the difficult sitting posture, or to manage the 8 kg, 25-stringed instrument devoid of frets. In short, playing the sarod was supposed to be an extremely unsuitable job for a woman.
It was 100 per cent more difficult since I came from a non-musicians family. Finding a guru wasnt easy because I was a woman. Look at history no guru ever taught his daughters or his wife. Earning money or being a professional musician was something that men did, not women. And I faced considerable criticism thanks to this, says Backliwal, her memories of her struggles unmellowed by age.
The National Museums biggest donor started off her career by strumming a sarod with a coin, which was the only thing she had on hand. She soon graduated to the java, the tongue-shaped plectrum made from coconut shell.
I have kept the sarod in my lap since I was a girl. It is like a child. After 60 years of keeping it the lap, I feel the child still has not grown, laughs Backliwal.
But her devotion paid off in the end. She was hailed as the Sarod Queen after a particularly good recital in Calcutta. The title stuck, and she went on to win several awards, including the Padma Shri and the Sangeet Natak Akademi award for music.
Backliwal was trained under the watchful eyes of Ustad Allaudin Khan and Ali Akbar Khan of the Senya gharana, so it comes as little surprise that her collection also includes several instruments played by great masters. There are two veenas that belonged to Laxmi Prasad Misir of Varanasi, the rabab of Jadu Bhatta, who was Rabindranath Tagores music teacher, Pandit Ayodhya Prasads pakhawaj, Venu Gopalla Reddys mukhveena, K S Narayana Iyengars gottuvadyam and several others.
Getting people to part with their instruments, she says, isnt as difficult as it might seem. Some rich people sometimes make a fuss at first, but after 10 years they show up themselves and hand over the instruments, she laughs.
The Backliwal family seems to make its donations on a grand scale. Sharan Ranis husband, Sultan Singh Backliwal, who founded the gemology institute in Delhi some 20 years ago, donated several hundred 11th century miniature paintings to the Arts Faculty of Delhi University some years ago.
These days, Backliwal is donating something slightly different her knowledge. Apart from giving performances, she has taken on five students. Infotech engineers Ranjit and Prabhat first came across Backliwals name in Sangeet magazine; they met her and have now been taking lessons from her for the last ten years. To the taped accompaniment of a tanpura, they settle down on the red carpet to render Karnatak Raga Shudh Karwani in front of their guru, after making the ritual obeisance to her.
To their left is the old fireplace that has been converted into a puja altar. So that no shoes can walk over the gods. Durgas face, festooned with marigolds, gleams in the light of the diya from out of a silver frame.
I wish I could help more people, says the sarod maestro. It is very important that they learn Indian music and not forget their culture. Outside, the midday sun sets off three of her apsos Lucky, Terry and Tracy. Theyre clamouring to get inside but fall silent as the recorded strains of the tanpura begin. Their names are the only western influence in this house, says Backliwal pointedly.