The other day I happened to meet my cousin, with whom I have spent all my summer vacations in school and college, after several years. He is an extremely busy and well-known lawyer in Delhi and as I live in the Doon valley, we do not get to meet much. However, the bond formed in our childhood years was so strong that the closeness we share does not get affected by these long gaps of not seeing each other. We always start from where we left and talk nineteen to the dozen about our days of childhood spent together in Dehra Dun and Mussoorie. This time when we met, he began talking about how he learnt the script for the Urdu language in Dehra Dun from Rahmat Ali Khan. For a moment I could not understand whom he was referring to. He quickly reminded me that this person had been my music teacher who used to come home and teach me how to play the sitar. I immediately recollected and my mind went back to those wonderful times when life was so uncomplicated and sweet.
In Class XI and XII (ISC), I had selected Hindustani Classical music as one of my subjects as I did not wish to study subjects like Geography and Economics that the school was offering to Arts students. I took permission from the principal to do music on my own. Fortunately, she agreed. And this is how Ustad Rahmat Ali Khan made an entry into our lives. He was indeed an interesting character! Dressed in a white kurta pyjama with a stole thrown around his left shoulder, this darkish, short man with henna-tinted hair surely knew his art and was making a living out of it, however humble. The first thing one would notice when one met him was his confidence and a pronounced self-respect and reverence for his art. This gave him an air of authority which none of us dared to challenge. This man meant business and would not allow even one comment that he found light-hearted or frivolous.
I would prepare all the lessons carefully before his arrival and sit down with my sitar when it was time for him to come in. My father, who was a great lover of Hindustani classical music, would sometimes be present during the lessons and he would discuss the ragas with Ustad ji. If anyone called him anything else, he was highly offended. Once, my mother happened to refer to him as Master ji. She was reprimanded by him so sternly that she never repeated the mistake!
He told us stories of how people had always appreciated him and said that he deserved great fame. There was no doubt that he was an extremely fine and talented musician. His financial condition was not very good but his pride in his music and his way of life was pronounced and he was content with whatever he had. He walked all the way from his house to ours which was quite a distance. He had the air of a king who had lost his kingdom. We all felt that. My cousin befriended Ustad ji and requested him to teach him the script of Urdu.
His request was granted and during the summer vacation of Class XI he could fulfil his dream of reading and writing Urdu. All thanks to Ustad Rahmat Ali Khan. Ustad ji had his opinion on everything related to music. He would even point out mistakes in the compositions rendered by famous musicians and singers. And he always had the last word . If anyone chose to differ, he would sulk and refuse to have tea and snacks that we served him every day. He would behave like a spoilt child and even refuse to teach me. So we pampered him and agreed with all he said. Despite all these whims, he came across as a good human being and a dedicated musician. Playing the sitar was his passion and his reason to live. Many memories related to those precious music lessons came back to me when my cousin reminded me of the Ustad.
I wonder where he must be now. He may be a very old man, still being pampered by some people and still teaching students like me.
I would love to meet him once more. Even if to be scolded for not being able to play Raga Yaman properly.