Ajay gently brought his father Sheshagiri Hangal into the living room on his wheel chair. No sooner did he see me, the 88-year-old tabla maestro complained about his old age, his failed hearing and the lost dexterity of his fingers. Two days later, he was seated in the very first row, bright and happy like a diligent student at the Zakir Hussain concert in Bangalore. Age may have taken away many things from Sheshagiri, but his passion for the tabla remains intact. In fact, what got him to pose for photographs was the same commitment – he fastened a rubber band on his two fingers and kept an eye fixed on Ajay who was bringing his tabla, lest he brought a pair that was not his favourite! “I have more or less stopped playing after my herpes attack and the fall I had in the bathroom, but at times when I feel like playing, this is how I do it,” he says, explaining the rubber band on his fingers.
His memory fails him at moments when he wants to lean on it in bliss — “Oh, god! What do I do?” he looks around in exasperation trying hard to remember an incident. But that slip is only momentary; all he needs is a tiny lead into the past – “My father Krishnarao was quite an amazing man. He used to play tabla in the Carnatic style,” he recalls. Sheshagiri was not greatly fascinated by Carnatic music. He was constantly witnessing his aunt Ambabai's daughter Gangubai Hangal practising Hindustani music for long hours and was quite enchanted by it. His uncle Ramanna used to play the tabla for her and Sheshagiri longed to be part of this. He picked up the harmonium that was lying around and tried his hand at it. Soon, he could play well enough. But around this time, AIR banned the harmonium and Sheshagiri was crestfallen. He tried his hand at violin, typing and then sculpture. These were but fleeting interests. Finally, he decided he would learn the tabla, because it lent itself to several genres of music.
“I started learning the tabla in the late 1940s. My first guru was Pandit Lalji Gokhale who used to live in Pune. Panditji accompanied my sister on her concerts and I sought his guidance. He agreed to teach me and I went each time my sister went to Pune.” But very soon Pandit Gokhale got transferred to Delhi. “I could have followed him to Delhi. But with my leg problem it was a difficult choice to make…,” reminisces Sheshagiri of a raging fever in his childhood which took away one of his legs.
Subsequently, Sheshagiri learnt from Pandit Narayan Indorekar, who worked in AIR, Mumbai. However, it dawned on him that his purse didn't match his passion. How long could he stay in a hotel and seek training? It was his good fortune that the owner of the hotel of New Krishna Bhavan was V.V. Gokhale who himself was a student of tabla. V.V. Gokhale never took any money from Sheshagiri for accommodation, he charged him only for his food. “My guru's house was up in the second floor, it had very narrow steps. My legs would hurt, but I would climb slowly with the help of crutches. He was a wonderful guru. Whatever I am today is because of him. When he came to Hubli, Dharwad he would stay at our house and teach me in his free time,” Sheshagiri became emotional, and almost immediately, a huge photograph of his guru was brought to be kept beside him. “This is him,” he urges me to look at the picture carefully, “…he was a great human being…,” he trails off.
In the early years of his training, around 1949, AIR sent him a contract. Sheshagiri was extremely nervous. Gangubai also advised him to postpone it for a couple of months. “It was a 50-minute programme. My guru refused to listen to me and filled the contract form on my behalf. Those days, the contract came three months in advance and for the next three months, everyday, I was putting in extra practise. My guruji had planned two pieces in trital (15 minutes each) and one in jhaptaal (20 minutes),” he says vividly recalling those days. Vinayakrao Ganghrekar, who was considered an expert in jhaptaal came over to Sheshagiri and congratulated him after the recording.
Sheshagiri's handicap never came in the way of anything. “I used to practise for a minimum of eight hours. My leg would hurt, but I would change my position and continue.” By the early Fifties, he had started accompanying Gangubai Hangal. “Playing with her was always good. I knew her temperament very well. In fact, I have even played with her guru, Sawai Gandharv,” he says. Sheshagiri always believed that it was the responsibility of the accompanist to understand the main performer. “Not even once did anybody tell me that I should play in a particular manner. Every musician has his own emotion and laya, and a tabla artiste should be keen to understand that.” This, Sheshagiri attributes to the kind of training that was imparted to them. There were hardly any verbal exchanges between the guru and shishya in his times. The gurus expected the shishya to perceive without having to openly declare many aspects. “We had no courage to question our teachers. Our trust in them was unconditional. It trained us to ‘see' without being ‘told'. But now people are so busy asking questions that they have stopped seeing,” he explains.
Sheshagiri Hangal was the staff artiste of AIR for 33 years. Their salary was a meagre Rs. 120 and they were employed on a contract system which had to be periodically renewed. And needless to say the renewal never took place on cue. “We were always on tenterhooks…. When Indira Gandhi became the Broadcast Minister, she streamlined many things. Our employment was regularised, salaries raised and we were even offered the pension scheme.” It was in deep gratitude that Sheshagiri composed Indira Taal of nine and a half maatras.
Sheshagiri, in his career of over six decades, has played with every artiste of repute. This unusual musician – modest and mellow — was sought after by many. Endowed with the fantastic ability to grasp style and viewpoint, Sheshagiri has carved a special place for himself in the world of rhythm. In his illustrious career of several awards and prestigious performances, ask him what he remembers most, he says: “The extraordinary Bal Gandharv came for my ganda ceremony and sat down on the floor to listen to me. Can there be a greater honour?”
