It takes a lot, in the hustle and bustle of our ‘modern’ world, to be supportive of the elderly in our own family, let alone those not even related to us. Reading Deepa Ganesh’s biography of the legendary Hindustani vocalist Gangubai Hangal, “A Life in Three Octaves: The Musical Journey of Gangubai Hangal” (Three Essays Collective), reminds us of this.
Even when the veteran was seriously ill and unable to eat, apple milkshake was a delicacy she delighted in, the author tells us. And then we find the biographer carrying apples for Gangubai on her visits from Bengaluru to Hubli as she balances her job as a journalist with the book project. Gangubai whispered, writes Deepa, “How do you know I like apples?”, and the offering became a regular topic that formed their “most private conversation.” Deepa creates an intimate portrait of the musical colossus that was Gangubai, a portrait endearing yet simple and straightforward, much in the way — we come to realise — that Gangubai lived her life.
If we find Deepa not treating Gangubai as just a ‘subject’, the veteran too did not treat her biographer as merely an ‘official’ visitor. “Though Gangubai was very excited I was writing a book on her, over a period of time, she made me such a part of the family.” She would share all her thoughts, the past and present of the family, with Deepa, “with the trust that I’ll do the right thing.”
This trust was as much a result of the warm relationship that grew between the two, as of Gangubai’s personality. Deepa says, “I’ve been very moved. People I’ve never known, never met, have called me. She was so accessible, whoever met her has some nice little story about her.”
While Gangubai’s life was never easy, shadowed not just by personal tragedy but also by the cruelty of a patriarchal and caste-ridden society, she sailed through it on the raft of a compassionate personality that never became bitter. The author notes that meeting her and researching her epoch have taught her more than facts. “As a woman it has changed me a lot — I think I complain a lot less!”
But apart from showing us the vulnerable and personal face of a lionised performer, Deepa’s book goes beyond an individual biography. Not only does it contain information on Gangubai’s guru, Sawai Gandharva, and his guru Abdul Karim Khan, it also places Gangubai in the context of her times and makes a note of the tradition of professional women musicians she represented, women whose artistic contribution history books have largely sidelined.
Deepa, who practised Carnatic music for nearly 14 years, says that since Gangubai came from the devadasi tradition, she felt “Gangubai’s battle couldn’t be isolated as one individual struggle. There were many women who fought this very unfair system quietly through their art.” And she would not have been doing justice to the topic if she didn’t also write about them.
The book project started as an article Deepa wrote for Frontline when the veteran vocalist turned 94. At that time, she says, “her grandson wrote a letter saying how she had been completely ignored by the English Press.” Despite having immersed herself in some seven decades of music and being a contemporary of Mallikarjun Mansur and Bhimsen Joshi, Gangubai’s contribution had been constantly ignored, he felt. That was how Deepa went for the first time to visit the veteran at Hubli. Gangubai did not live to see the book published. It was released as one of the events to mark her centenary year (2013-2014).
