The Harmonium -- A Prelude

I doubt that I would be far from the truth if I assumed that few in this community have had the good fortune of listening to S.D. Burman singing some of his immortal creations from a distance of five meters or so. I happen to belong, however, to the rare breed of human beings who managed to achieve this distinction. Serendipitously so, I must admit at the very outset. My father (See here for my father if you are interested.) came from a musically inclined family and it is no wonder that his niece and my first cousin, later Meera Dev Burman, took to music. She was a lovely singer and had training under the best possible gurus. It was probably at one of these gurus’ school of music that Meera-di met SD. I am not really too sure about this. It could well be that SD himself was Meera-di’s guru at some point of time.

Meera-di’s mother, my paternal aunt was a great deal older than my father. Consequently, it shouldn’t be a surprise that my mother and Meera-di were around the same age. On the other hand, SD himself was far too old to marry the nubile Meera-di. I have even heard my relatives claim that he was only a little younger than his would be mother in law. As can be expected, the match, when announced, led to great furore. But Meera-di was quite adamant and, as far as I know, she had her mother’s support too.

These events occurred before I was born. So all this happened a long many years ago and you can guess reasonably well how the marriage was welcomed by the conservative society of those days. In case you are wondering how Meera-di’s father himself reacted, you need not waste your time over the matter. Meera-di had probably never even seen her father. Not because he died young, but because he was a totally worthless person who tortured his wife physically to such an extent that his own father decided to bring his daughter in law back to her father’s home and leave her there. Legend has it that my aunt was pregnant and her husband kicked her in the abdomen when he returned home in a state of inebriated bliss. His father, whose bravery was no match for his son’s, was so upset and scared that he admitted to my aunt’s father (i.e. my grandfather as well as Meera-di’s, who was Chief Justice of Dacca High Court during those days) that he was not in a position to guarantee that his daughter in law would live long enough in his own house to deliver the child she was carrying.

It was a miracle that Meera-di was not stillborn. It was no miracle though that she never found the opportunity to go back to what could have been her own home. She was born and brought up in her maternal grandpa’s residence in Dacca. As I have already said, I don’t think she ever saw her father. In my living memory though, neither did I see my aunt wearing anything other than the white saree of a Bengali widow. So, the chap must have died at some point of time and that should have been well before I arrived on earth. In fact, I not only missed Meera-di’s wedding festival. Her own son Rahul too preceded me by around two and a half years. Rahul (i.e. R.D. Burman) was my nephew, but it was I who always called him “mama” (maternal uncle), he being older than me. I have happy memories of him from my school days. He lived in Calcutta with his grandma (my aunt) attending school because SD and Meera-di did not think that the film world in which they lived in Bombay was particularly congenial for the upbringing of an adolescent.

I have heard stories from my parents that the wedding was a grand event. Two stories remain embedded in my mind. First, since S.D. hailed from the Tripura royal family, he arrived attired in the bridegroom’s dress carrying the family sword! This must have been a thrilling sight, especially when you recall that he was never known for a Salman Khan physique. The other story relates to Ali Hussain Khan who played the shehnai for the occasion. He was rendering some raga or the other sitting inside the Nahabatkhana, when he heard a voice nearby singing mellifluous tanas in accompaniment. He looked around in surprise and saw that the singer was no other than Bhishmadev Chatterjee, one of the greatest classical singers Bengal has produced. (He was unfortunate not to reach the height he should have reached, having lost his mind for a variety of reasons.) Ali Hussain climbed down from the Nahabatkhana and dragged Bhishmadev up with him. Those who attended the wedding were then treated to a magnificent jugalbandi.

But as I said, I was not there to witness this fairy tale. I was too small when S.D. migrated to Bombay. By the time I became somewhat aware of his genius, I was already in my teens. And this is where my story starts.

No, this story has little to do with SD or Meera-di or RD. It’s actually a story about a harmonium. It resides in my home today and the only reason why I had to drag all these people into the picture is that it would not have arrived into my possession had it not been for them. None of them are living now. Even when they were alive though, they had no idea about a little child’s emotions, emotions that crystallized into a longing that was strong enough to procreate the simple tale I intend to unfold. And this story calls for their presence only by way of a prelude.

As I was saying, I sat facing SD in my uncle’s home in South Calcutta, listening open mouthed to SD rendering “rongila, rongila, rongila re …” for a family gathering. I think I was around thirteen years old. Rahul sat behind his father whispering into his ears the parts of the many lyrics he had difficulty recalling. If I am not totally wrong, he was accompanied on the tabla by his favourite percussionist Brajen Das. Amongst other things, Brajen Babu was a totally blind person.

I have always been a music lover, having inherited the love from my father’s family I believe. So, I was completely mesmerized by what I was experiencing. I don’t think I shall ever be able to forget the scintillating music to which SD treated us on that far away afternoon.

But there was something else I saw on that day that I have remembered through my life. It was the look of the scale changing harmonium that SD was playing.

[To continue]

 

Thank you Ambika. I doubt that many here will want to read the story as it unfolds. But, I have decided that I shall write it all the same. I need to get it out of my system.

Best wishes.

oj

 

My story will touch few hearts here. Nonetheless, I think I will finish the story. However irrlevant my thoughts may sound to the community, I will probably recite them anyway. As any village idiot would. I thank you for reading me.

oj

 

Dear Sundarusha:

I don't know if I shall live up to your expectations. I am writing this up because I feel I can't leave it alone. But I am almost sure to revise it a lot.

oj-da

 

Dear Kamal:

Yes, I did tell you about RD. A very large hearted person he was. Sad that he died so young.

oj