Kaleidoscope

KALEIDOSCOPE: VIGNETTES FROM A LIFE IN MUSIC

by Shantanu Ray Chaudhuri March 22 2025, 12:00 am Estimated Reading Time: 11 mins, 38 secs

On 22 March 2024, the hundredth anniversary of classical music stalwart Pt Amarnath, his daughter-in-law Nirmal Chawla released her biography of her father-on-law. Shantanu Ray Chaudhuri provides a few excerpts from his work-in-progress translation of the loving tribute to a legendary artist.

Pandit Amarnath: A Life in Music is a heartfelt tribute to one of India’s lesser-known but deeply influential classical music legends. Published by Penguin Random House and Om Books International, and supported by Rekha Bhardwaj, Gajra Kottary, and Nirmal Chawla, this narrative traces Amarnath’s journey from a painful childhood to his soulful evolution into a self-taught maestro with a distinctly Sufi inclination. With emotional resonance and rare poetic depth, this article revisits the making of his biography and its English translation, shedding light on the intersection of memory, music, and legacy. A must-read for lovers of Hindustani classical music, music biographies, and those drawn to stories of passion over profit.

I love/I compose songs/With pen in hand//I write my beloved/And if you ask me/Of the panacea/for all ills//I write: love…

Sometime in 2017, I met Rekha Bhardwaj for the first time at an event HarperCollins had put together. At the dinner following the day-long event, Rekha and I got talking and she mentioned a dictionary of Hindustani classical music compiled by Pandit Amarnath over thirty years ago. She asked if I would be keen on bringing it back to print. I was not aware of Pandit Amarnath at the time but the copy of the dictionary floored me. I was game. Rekha then put me in touch with Gajra Kottary – at the time an author with HarperCollins – daughter of Pandit Amarnath. I had also interacted with Gajra a couple of times, and I remember being interested in publishing a book that she was working on at the time on healing through cinema. But before I could respond to that – these things take time – she went ahead and got another publisher and our connection lapsed.

Now, with the prospect of the dictionary, that contact was revived and Gajra pulled out all stops to enable the publication. It was eventually published by Penguin Random House on the maestro’s ninety-sixth birthday just as the pandemic broke in 2020. It introduced me to the music of Pandit Amarnath – I eventually went on to do a few features on the legendary musician over the next couple of years – and gave me a friend in Gajra and her family.

Then, as I joined Om Books International, Gajra broached the subject of a biography of her father penned by her sister-in-law, Nirmal Chawla. Pandit Amarnath’s hundredth birthday was just round the corner. From what I heard of Pandit Amarnath from Rekha, his disciple, and Gajra, and from the many cassettes of her father that Gajra gave me, I was fascinated by his life in music. Nirmal’s book, Pandit Amarnath: Sangeet Nama (in Hindi) was published to mark his hundredth anniversary on 22 March 2024. I have published many books in the course of my twenty-year career as editor but few gave me as much satisfaction as this, and the ability to make it happen on the momentous occasion.  

However, there was a hitch. Being written in Hindi, I could not work on the book’s edits – I dared not inflict my Hindi-language editorial skills on the text. And I wanted to be involved in some way. And so, I suggested to Nirmal and Gajra: could I translate the book? For some reason, they agreed. I had hoped to be done in a year’s time but God and my health had other plans. However, on the master’s 101st birthday, I am glad to present a few extracts from the translation that is still work-in-progress. I have had the temerity to include in this a few poems composed by Pandit Amarnath from the collection Hansa Ke Bain. It is my tribute to the legend. And my note of gratitude to Rekha Bhardwaj, Nirmal Chawla and Gajra Kottary for the faith in allowing me to publish the two books and working on the translation of Nirmal’s book.

It was the year 1927. Five-year-old Nath could not understand why his mother’s charpai had been placed in the veranda and why his father forbade him from venturing near his mother. To his incessant questions and his desire to be fed only by his mother, his Dadi-Bua explained to the uncomprehending child: ‘Your mother is unwell. She has TB. Don’t go near her.’ His father would warn him every day while leaving for work, ‘Do not venture near your mother…’ 

However, Nath’s eagerness to embrace his mother grew so intense at times that he would forget his father’s warning. Hoping that his mother would hug him just like before, he would innocently drag his baby feet towards his mother’s bed. But that never happened. Instead, his mother would cover her face with a sheet upon seeing him approaching. The disappointed child couldn’t see his mother’s face, but the stream of tears flowing from her eyes would scare him and he would retreat hesitantly.

One day, Nath was approaching his mother’s bed when suddenly his father entered the house. Nath was caught in the act. His father slapped him hard on the cheek and, in anger, dragged him into the room, yelling, ‘How many times have I told you not to go there. Why don’t you listen?’

Seeing Nath laughing and playing brought peace to his mother. She started humming a tune softly to herself. The fingers of her hand tapped on the bedstead rhythmically, as if she was adding a beat to the melody playing in her mind. Sometimes, Nath also saw his mother’s fingers tapping rhythmically from a distance.

The beloved keeps harping/On memories/Does he not know/The essence of the heart?//Only he who forgets/Has to remember.

When Dadi-Bua first heard Nath singing devotional songs on the harmonium, she was astonished beyond words. She wondered how such a young child could sing so melodiously, that too without any formal training! Tears welled up in Bua’s eyes. Then, recollecting something, Bua smiled. She reasoned that if Abhimanyu could learn the art of breaking the chakravyuh while still in Subhadra’s womb, why couldn’t Nath have learned music in his mother’s?

The tomb of Heer and Ranjha, famous as ‘Mai Heer ki Mazar’, lay on the road between Nath’s home and the school. Every afternoon, Nath would eagerly look at the crowd of tourists outside the tomb and would insist on going there. One day, Nath’s father took him to see the tomb.

‘Father, who is Mai Heer?’ Nath asked his father. Caught in a dilemma of how to explain the love story and history of Heer and Ranjha to such a young child, his father hesitantly replied, ‘Son, Mai Heer is the mother of the whole world…Her tomb is right here.’  

At that moment, Nath may not have fully understood the significance of the tomb, but his father’s description of ‘Mai Heer’ as the mother of the whole world left a lasting impression on him. Nath started going to the tomb of ‘Mai Heer’ often, first with his father or grandfather and later alone, as he grew a little older.

It’s difficult to say whether Nath saw his mother’s image in the picture of ‘Mai Heer’ or if he considered his mother to be ‘Mai Heer’ herself. Moreover, the Sufi music playing at the tomb enchanted Nath. As he grew older, spending hours listening to the music, Nath might have realized the depth of his connection to ‘Mai Heer’s’ tomb. It will not be incorrect to say that the tomb of ‘Mai Heer’ played a huge role in the development of Nath’s personality with its distinctly Sufi inclinations.

The sweet night floats by/My dreams I give away/Endless aeons have gone/It seems only yesterday//Neither truth, nor illusion remains/The forest is on fire/While it rains fitfully

One day, his father gifted Amarnath a new harmonium. This led to a lot of turmoil at home as it was a costly affair. Shiv Dayal had spent a considerable part of his salary to purchase the harmonium. Maybe it was his way of atoning for the guilt he felt at stopping his son’s schooling. Putting his hand on his son’s head, and in a voice choking with emotion, he told his son, ‘Now concentrate on music.’

It’s possible that his father’s advice to pursue music was given to overcome the mental distress he was going through at the time. But Amarnath followed his father’s command with seriousness and dedication, devoting his entire life to music. In any case, he considered music his mother. After all, it was his mother who had introduced him to the world of music before she left the world. Therefore, for him, serving music was perhaps a means of always feeling his mother’s presence.

Playing the harmonium again after so many years, Amarnath’s heart became overwhelmed, and memories of his mother became fresh again. He remembered his mother’s harmonium, which his grandfather had given him as a symbol of his mother. How deeply attached he had become to that harmonium in childhood, as if it was not just a symbol of his mother but his mother herself, and then how one day that harmonium was taken away from home. Amarnath became emotional upon receiving the new harmonium.

With time, the gift from his father, the harmonium, became a part of Amarnath’s personality. And from here began Amarnath’s journey of teaching himself music.

Memories of Amarnath’s childhood were still attached to Jhang. So whenever there was an opportunity, he would go to Jhang and refresh those memories. Visiting Mai Heer’s shrine and the crematorium of Jhang made him feel as if he had received blessings from his mother.

During this time, Amarnath’s routine in Lahore was quite interesting. The day would start with riyaaz, followed by morning walks with friends. His friends were not ordinary people; they were all intellectuals and involved in the field of arts. Some were aspiring filmmakers, poets, writers, while others were leftist thinkers. Among them were future actors like Balraj Sahni, film producer Amar Kumar, renowned Marxist Tejwar Samari, and sitar player Mahmood Mirza, and other talented youths. 

Amarnath firmly believed that he belonged to a higher class of practitioners who didn’t showcase their art for money. His belief in this was reinforced when a manager at a big hotel once offered him a hefty sum to sing at an event. Despite needing money at the time, Amarnath declined, stating, ‘I don’t belong to the category of singers who sing anywhere, anytime, in front of anyone. I only showcase my art where I feel respected. Sometimes, I prefer singing in a small gathering rather than a big event, where people keep moving in and out, sometimes coming in to listen to the performance, then going out to partake of snacks, before wandering back in again.’

Well, even the biggest personalities have human emotions. Like any ordinary person, they weigh their decisions in life, considering the pros and cons.

Being the head of the family, Amarnath felt the responsibility keenly. Sometimes, he would remember those days when a single decision could have changed his family’s future. This was especially true when his music for the film Garam Coat became very successful. The praise his work received must have encouraged him to work more in the film industry. Then one day, his disciple and friend, Brij Bhushan, invited him to Mumbai to explore new opportunities.

Arriving in Mumbai, Amarnath met a renowned producer-director with Brij Bhushan. The arrogant attitude of the producer and his disrespectful attitude towards music hurt Amarnath’s self-esteem deeply. Amarnath was not a businessman in music; he was an artist. He couldn’t tolerate disrespect for what was his sadhana. At that moment, he decided that he would never work in an environment where his music wasn’t respected.

However, on that day, another dear friend of Amarnath, the sarangi player Pandit Ram Narayan, who also played for films at the time, tried to persuade and convince him. ‘Amarnath, stay on in Mumbai. Your talent will surely find success one day. I believe that once your family’s future becomes bright through your work here, you will never remember these bitter experiences.’

But Amarnath had already made up his mind to return to Delhi, so he disregarded his friend’s advice. Whenever Amarnath wondered if his decision was right, he would remember the advice given by his guru, Amir Khan Sahib: ‘Son, don’t come back to Mumbai until the film industry itself calls you.’ 

The day has gone by, the night too/Heeding the call of the song/They returned with weary longing/The day has gone by, the night too//Half-open eyes have lost their way/Peering through the pathways of a forgotten past/The day has gone by, the night too//The burning embers of a smouldering heart/Only a cloud of dust remains of the tempest/The day has gone by, the night too.