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On the right note

Musical maestro Pandit Jasraj talks about his first love the tabla, that lost tarana, and his greatest influence his father.

The last few days have been very busy for Pandit Jasraj. Every time he is in Hyderabad for the Pandit Motiram Pandit Maniram Sangeet Samaroh, his schedule is fixed. “Every morning he visits the samadhi of his bapuji in the city and starts his day by talking to him,” says Durga Jasraj, as her father watches on. Then, the Panditji talks.

Panditji the cricketer
Panditji can sing, play the tabla like a dream and is also, apparently a great cricket coach. Durga says, “He has great knowledge about cricket and other sports. In fact, he was my coach. When we were younger, bapuji would encourage us to take up sports and would take time out to teach us the sport.”

The lost tarana
The maestro is known for his great photographic memory. And legend has it that he used to even dream about notations, and make music based on them. “I would wake up in the middle of the night, after I dreamt of a musical notation. Then, I would wake up Madhura (his wife) from her deep sleep and ask her to quickly write down the notations... poor thing she would always do so. But one day she was so sleepy, she told me that she just wouldn’t do it. Now, I couldn’t say anything to her and so I had to let it go... that’s how I lost a tarana,” he says and bursts into laughter.

Tabla, his first love
When the maestro started his tryst with music, he was an ardent tabla player. His love for it shone through the music he created. But, an incident with a famous musician pushed him to take up vocals. Though he doesn’t talk about it, his website too only says that a senior musician had ridiculed him for “beating a dead animals’ skin” and said that he was unqualified to talk about the finer points of music. It was then that Panditji decided to give up the instrument and take up singing.

“Despite all that, I will always love the tabla,” he says when you ask if he regrets his decision. “I used to perform for Salar Jung and I remember he used to have different lighting in different rooms where he would witness musical performances. After every performance, — sometimes that lasted up to six hours — he would give me a break. He was a true nawab,” he says.

The ardent son
Pandit Jasraj’s father, Pandit Motiram, passed away in 1934, five hours prior to a performance where the announcement of him being appointed as the Royal Musician in the Court of Osman Ali Khan in Hyderabad was to be made.

Pandit Jasraj was just three years old when the tragedy struck, but even today his love for his father is as strong. “I feel his presence every day,” he says. “His samadhi was built in 1965. Once during my visit, years ago, I was in a very emotional state. I asked him why he left me all alone. At that point, I was standing near the tulsi plant near the samadhi and I knew for sure there was no one around. Suddenly, I felt someone lift my hand and push it towards the samadhi. That day, I realised that my father had never really left me,” he explains.

On expectations
The turnout on the last day of the samaroh was great. People were scampering for place to sit, when you ask him if his expectations have been met, he says, “You can see the horizon, you can try to go closer, but the horizon will always remain far... expectations are like that... they will never be met.”

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