Writer Sumana Ramanan’s The Secret Master explores the life of Hindustani classical great Arun Kashalkar, uncovering Mumbai’s hidden music culture across suburbs like Mulund and Dombivli
Pt Arun Kashalkar with his wife, Dhanashree (extreme right) and Pt Bhimsen Joshi (centre). Pics Courtesy/Sumana Ramanan
You can live all your life in a neighbourhood, and not discover its secrets. Coming across the names of Dombivli, Thakurli, Mulund, in a book about a Hindustani classical great was both a surprise, and a delight. Writer and journalist Sumana Ramanan’s part-biography, part-anthropological journey, The Secret Master: Arun Kashalkar and a Journey to the Edge of Music (Context) is as much a discovery of the music culture running through the working-class suburbs, as it is about a non-pareil practitioner of Hindustani music.
The book follows the journey of Pandit Arun Kashalkar, a student of the famed Pandit Gajananrao ‘Gajananbuwa’ Joshi. The eldest of six brothers, four of them musicians, Kashalkar’s adept control, expertise of khayal gayaki, and command of the Agra-Gwalior-Jaipur gharanas is common knowledge among the art’s highest echelons, but not to the mainstream audience. Over seven years, Ramanan followed, and learned from Pandit Kashalkar to write about the life, times, and milieu of this artiste.
Excerpts from the interview.
How did Pt Kashalkar catch your attention? Take us back to the moment of discovery...
I had been a concert-goer all my life, and yet I had not heard him. It was in 2016, at a private baithak that I stumbled upon his singing. The experience was quite transformative for me.
Pt Arun Kashalkar at a performance with his guru, Gajananbuwa Joshi (centre)
Was this impression purely technical?
Firstly, in Hindustani classical music, you have the alaap and the taan. The norm is for vocalists to sing a slow alaap, and move to taans. But he [Kashalkar] had a grand middle section where he kept increasing the tempo slowly, and before you knew it, he arrived at the taans. He elaborated that section with lyrics, what we call ‘bol ka kaam’ in Hindustani which is like ‘neraval’ in Carnatic music. Secondly, his control of rhythm was exceptional.
The highlight was the Darbari Kanada, where he did the grand nom-tom. And when he proceeded to the traditional composition of ‘Hazrat Turkman’, I felt like I was back in Akbar’s court.
Pt Arun Kashalkar
Throughout the book, he appears more interested in learning, rather than performing. Why?
Secret masters like him nourish the roots of the art form. Performing musicians sometimes worry about being relevant to the market. For him, it was more an aesthetic and philosophical search.
He was not unknown to musicians, though. Kishoriji [Amonkar] once said, “If you want to understand the role of rhythm in Hindustani music, go to Pt Arun Kashalkar.’
Sumana Ramanan
The book offers detailed insights into the technicalities of Hindustani music, the gharanas, and khayal gayaki; not the easiest for some readers.
To write about Pt Kashalkar, I had to analyse why he was marginalised, and understand the ecosystem that caused it. I knew these were complex elements. Therefore, I included explanations to help the reader as much as I could.
The book is also a discovery of the invisible cultural thread beyond South Mumbai, in far-off suburbs like Mulund and Dombivli.
I grew up in South Mumbai, speaking fluent Tamil, Hindi, and later learnt Marathi. But it was not till I visited Pt Kashalkar’s class in Mulund for the first time that a whole new Marathi culture opened up for me. Every day, I was traversing two worlds, spread across the length of South Mumbai and Mulund.
When First Edition Arts wanted to present him, I remember taking him to a friend’s Bandra boutique before a concert, and he told me “This looks like America.” [laughs]
The idea of a secret master in a performative world feels like an anomaly. Did he speak about it?
I recently admitted to my guru that despite writing an entire book, I could not grasp that mystery. He [Pt Kashalkar] said that he did start out wanting to perform initially. But when the mainstream did not accept him, he created his own ecosystem, including listeners who understood him.
You have to remember that the quality of listening in Khayal music is very important to the ultimate quality of the output. That was his great accomplishment. It is still a mystery to me though how he stayed so joyful. Few would be able to prevent themselves from growing
bitter.
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