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Hari Prasad Chaurasia - The Reed and The Raga

His dexterous fingers move effortlessly over the piece of reed, bringing alive the unsophisticated instrument. The exponent and his flute are inextricably linked to create music that casts a magical spell on the listeners. Meet the maestro – Hari Prasad Chaurasia.


Hari Prasad Chaurasia and his flute – without one there cannot be the other. Justifiably so because there is no other living exponent in the world today who can make this unsophisticated piece of reed come so vibrantly alive so as to cast a spell completely sensual and emotional on the listeners. Notes of rare elegance and a mastery of the tonality of the instrument is this maestro’s forte. If anything, the melodious notes that emanate from his exclusive repertoire speaks of sun-kissed glades, majestic mountains, rippling rivers and winds that whisper through trees to spell the magic of peace and tranquility. A meting with the versatile exponent reveals a soft baritoned, pleasant person who puts you at ease instantly with his charm. One look at his dexterous fingers which move with effortless ease over the piece of reed, and the viewer is filled with a sense of awe.


Taking about his life, his music and his utter devotion to the cause, he unravels his own story. “Ever since I was a child, I was greatly drawn towards music,” says the maestro. “This sense of fascination was so great that I would go and stand near radios, at the corners of temples and get lost in the sounds of the bhajans”. Born into a simple, homely family in Allahabad, Hari Prasad is the son of the famous wrestler, Sri Lal Chaurasia. “My father wanted me to be a wrestler and made me go to many bouts of wrestling much against my will.” In order to respect his father’s wishes he would oblige but there, within him, was being born a small flame of revolt.


With no mother to shield him from a stern and overtly strict father, this little boy set to capture the moods of music in hiding. Hours would be spent at the houses of friends whose parents would keep their radios blaring for the benefit of the whole house. And one day, out of sheer coincidence, the little music lover met Pandit Raja Ram. This became the turning point in his life. Being childless himself, the guru and his wife would call their little shishya most secretly, without arousing anyone’s suspicions and set to teach him. The little singer bloomed under the new confidence and maternal affection he had long waited for and the years went by till he became eleven. It was this year that one day, in the season of saawan, when the storm was at its height with the terrific downpour of rain, the crash of thunder and repeated flashes of lighting, along with the sounds of the trees swaying in the wind, came the sweet strains of someone playing a flute. The little boy could but follow the path that led to the sound. Behold! It came the announcement that it was played by Pandit Bhola Nath of Benares. The rapt listener spent days in finding another mentor – “The sound of the flute was beyond the realms of the throat,” he says and here, for a short period of four years, began his association with the bamboo reed that would one day be synonymous with him. Starting on a bansuri, very similar to the rustic piece that Krishna played on, he graduated from shaili to vaadya and then to saadhna and ghamak.


In keeping with the wishes of his father he took up the job of a stenographer. “ You know my hours at the office were filled with despondency. There was a void in me that had to filled.” So he found his way to All India Radio and requested them to seek a place for him elsewhere. “In 1956 they found me job at the All India Radio at Cuttack and I decided to take one month’s leave from my steno’s job and go.”


Fearing the wrath of his father’s anger he told him only on the day he was leaving. “My father asked me all sorts of questions and when he realized that I was serious and I was born to live with music he broke down and cried. Can you imagine a wrestler crying?” The man who had sacrificed everything to live only for the sake of his little motherless son was now being left alone. “He said to me, ‘You want to have the freedom of your choice to be independent? Then I suppose you must go.” The caged bird now had wings to fly.


Hari Prasad had found himself a new home amidst records, tapes and recording studios. The maestro was now taking shape, spending long arduous hours playing with intense passion and devotion. “A house to live in, food to eat and crowds to listen to my music – I had everything I wanted but suddenly the hand of fate came down on me. My popularity was gaining disproportionate measure and I was transferred to Bombay.” The next phase of Chaurasia’s career was to begin – the gods had ordained a new path for their beloved disciple. The rough hostile pressures of day to day living in a quick paced metropolitan became demanding and Chaurasia found his way to the film studios – his first recording for the song, Phir wahi shyam sung by Talat Mehmood. “Even after working around the clock, I was again filled with the old feeling of emptiness. Something was missing in my life!’


Destiny brought him to meet Guruma Annapurna Shankar (Pandit Ravi Shankar’s ex-wife). The daughter of the famed Ustad Allauddin Khan (Mentor of Ravi Shanker, Nikhil Bannerjee, Ali Akbar Khan) now had to be convinced that her pupil had a divine interest and devotion to the cause of sahastriya sangeet (classical music). Thus started the final countdown to the most rigorous and dedicated chapter of his life. The culmination of long cherished desire and the guru shishya parampara satarted taking its form.


In an era when classical musicians are marketed as celebrities, this cool, kurta-clad flautist has a profoundly serious and traditional finesse. Guruma Annapurna remains his guru even today. “She taught me that the real music for any artist is what the music evokes… my identity had to come from my music. My compositions and my variations.” It is precisely these improvisations that have shone a streak of authenticity and originality. “To work had and well at things worth doing is to know life’s great satisfaction. Every performance is to utmost importance to me.”


For an evening of maestros, he offers the piece closest to his heart called ‘Eternity’, a beautiful two part composition of salvation and creation. Whether it be raga bhairavi, malkaus, bhopali or even bhageswari his music is symbiotic of his own characteristics. Did the same man play those lilting melodies in ’27 Down’, ‘Silsila’ and ‘Chandni’? Even after hundreds of performances and standing ovations, the maestro is always a trifle anguished and anxious about the next one. To him, it represents a test of love, devotion, strength and above all grace.


“I believe in a sincerity of purpose, in a philosophy based on hope and passionate devotion. Maybe this is why my audiences are unanimous in their acclaim. When I play I want them to understand my emotions, my language, but it is also my duty to feel what kind of mood they are in.” For a man who performs for all cross-sections of humanity, his aim is to hold the pulse of his audiences.


“An artiste must have an emotive approach in order to endear himself. He must also have the capacity or sensitivity to respond to every emotion that he pours forth.” Maybe this is why his raga hamsadhwani can evoke laughter at certain intervals and raga darbari can bring tears. Whatever the purpose, his renderings are always a composition of his flute repertoire and this demands a virtuoso technique to perform.


In a combination of rich harmonies and suspensions that are typical of his romantic style, his creative ingenuity is outstanding. He has opened new techniques for the flute, thus enriching the musical possibilities of the instrument. For a man who believes that music is a gift from the Gods, his masterful technique and artistry --- his flair for brilliance cannot go unnoticed. As he breezes from one state to another in whirlwind tours, he elevates his bansuri to the hypnotic poignancy of meditative virtuosity.


The flute’s immense popularity is perhaps due to its mythological intent. In the gentle entwining of the Lord of Brindavans with his bansuri, Indian folklore found a sense of grace, beauty and ideal love with which painters, musicians and dancers could infuse their themes. If classical articulation can be best described for its expressiveness it’s right there in the mellifluous notes of the maestro. For those of us who seek a new sense of humanity and a more meaningful life, an excerpt from his repertoire is all that is needed for a richer perspective.

Breathing life into the reed with inspiration and emotion, he does not consciously rely on technicalities especially as technique is automatically subordinated to the needs of his inspiration. Chaurasia is, at present, at his zenith in the field of music and the ease with which he talks of yesteryears seems to instill a sense of peace and joy in him… Maybe this is low a maestro is born for when love and strength are wedded to intense devotion, divine grace is man’s reward.



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