Clan Amjad Ali Khan-Dining With The Maestro
Clan Amjad Ali Khan
Dining With The Maestro
Here is a family of multiple personalities which works in rhythmic tandem. Led by world-renowned sarod master, Amjad Ali Khan, regaling us with stories from their lives, about love, music and food
Text & Photographs: Farzana Contractor
How often does one get to know a family with each member having a mind of his or her own, with strong personalities and absolutely individualistic thinking, yet getting along like a house on fire, with immense love and respect for each other? Well, I did get that opportunity and came away with such positive vibrations. Masha’Allah, I said to myself, must be such a robust and exciting way of living, a not-so-friendly verbal scrap between two brothers now and then, notwithstanding.
Meet Amaan and Ayaan, the talented sons of the Master of the Sarod, Amjad Ali Khan and his outspoken, vivacious and utterly charming wife Subhalakshmi, and daughter-in-law Neema, the gentle glue who keeps them all bonded in her own sweet way. I haven’t had such an enjoyable interaction in years as I did the morning I spent with them all, in the well-appointed Presidential Suite at The Trident BKC, the plush district of Bombay, where consulates and corporate houses, posh residential complexes and a cross range of restaurants have now settled in, comfortably.
It made for a happy atmosphere with the kitchen staff having gone to town with a lavish spread of hors d’oeuvres, laid out invitingly on the coffee table. But we did not touch them, not yet. First there was the photoshoot to do. Which we actually finished in a jiffy. The Khans are a relaxed lot and I found them to be rather pliant, except for Amaan who almost never smiles for the camera, though off camera he is the jokester and not only laughs the most but makes everyone around laugh as much. For sure, humour runs high in this family and the comic timing of each is perfect, as I noticed in their quips and retorts, when we sat around the table conversing and eating the inviting fare. For starters, Amaan, the No. 1 foodie of the family, and one most curious, began his survey, led the family, zeroed in on the avocado on toast, declaring it passed the test!
Doing a group interview with cross conversations, laughter, barbs, jibes and jokes, including stories from just the previous night to decades ago, to talking about travelling the world for concerts and family memories, both extended and nuclear, was, in one word, chaotic. And in two words, wonderfully chaotic.
Just the previous night, the Khans had performed at a concert at the NMACC (Nita Ambani’s spanking new cultural centre that has had everyone agog), which is a stone’s throw from the hotel. “It was a really good concert,” began Ayaan, “With both my sons Zohaan and Abeer playing alongside Abba and Amaan Bhai and me. It was a full house and the audience enjoyed it very much.”
Adds Ustad Sahab, “My little grandsons did charm everyone. The auditorium is indeed beautiful with a lovely atmosphere. What happened was, as planned, I played for the first 15 minutes, then Ayaan and Amaan played. While I was down waiting in the audience with Zohaan and Abeer, I saw they were so excited that they were going to be playing next. When it was time for me to go back on the stage with them, while I was holding their hands and climbing up, they could not contain themselves, impatiently halfway up, they just left my hands and both ran up to take their places on the takht! The audience was most endeared and applauded!”
All five then went on together to regale a receptive audience. This was the seventh performance in the lives of the little ones and the biggest. It must have been a great culmination for them because apart from music their next big passion is soccer. And they got a bonus! Post the concert while interacting with Nita Ambani they asked her for a small, little favour. Could she please get Ronaldo over to Bombay so they could get to meet him? “Of course,” she promised. What Nita says, Nita does, so that’s good news for all of us. Thank you, Zohaan and Abeer. The 10 year-old-twins have the responsibility of shouldering the eighth generation of inheritance of a legendary lineage of the Bangash Gharana. Just as Amaan and Ayaan, the seventh generation boys are doing so, playing so spectacularly, touring the world, captivating hearts, including in China, where sarod is not exactly a musical instrument that they are familiar with.
The Ustad himself is going just as strong. I have to admit I am a fan of his. It ran in my family, being his fan. I was but a teenager when we would watch him on our black and white Toshiba screen and my eldest brother would go, “Wah, Ustad”, every now and then and the Ustad himself, so lost in his playing would suddenly look up at the end of a tune, open his eyes, his handsome face enquiring, ‘Am I still here, on planet Earth?’
Amjad Ali Khan carries an air of aristocracy, it’s in his demeanour, his mannerisms, his speech, the gentleness of his tone. He may not be to the manor born, coming from a modest background, but one that is so high up in achievement and upbringing. To be just six years old and playing the sarod, continuing to do so 70 years on, on every platform, the world over, is no small feat. To receive all kinds of music awards, as also the second highest civilian award of our country, Padma Vibhushan in 2001, (Padma Bhushan in 1991 and Padma Shri in 1975), is a true honour. To wear the title of Sarod Samrat as lightly and not let any of it affect your modesty and simplicity is a sign of a truly evolved human being. A quality that shines through when you speak to him.
Over the years, Ustad Sahab has collaborated with every top Indian classical maestro and ‘jammed’ with the greatest of western musicians at international concerts. In the US of A’s several states, including Texas, Massachusetts, Tennessee, cities such as Atlanta and Tulsa have bestowed honorary citizenship to the Ustad. In fact, Massachusetts even declared April 20th as Amjad Ali Khan Day. This was way back in 1984. Just shows the amount of love and respect that has been showered on this extremely refined musician and human being.
While all those around me were busy being boisterous, I pulled my chair closer to hear Amjad Ali Khan’s reply to my query about his childhood. “Well, there was a very big age gap between me and my father. He was already quite old when I was born. He could have as well been my grandfather, itna age difference tha. So, I could not do things like jump in his lap, climb on his shoulders, somersault over his head like children do, also he never played with me and so on, but he was my ustad, the best there could be.” Yet, he did not grow up alone, there were many siblings, the house was always full. I enquire how many there were? Which brings about an exuberant count, names and relationships are thrown around with no proper census! There was utter confusion. I couldn’t quite figure the number, all I gathered was that Ayaan and Amaan had many aunts and uncles and Amjad Ali Khan, stepsisters, since the late patriarch, Haafiz Ali Khan, had married twice. Like Amjad Ali Khan himself, but that’s another story, not related to today.
But stories abound. The maestro, like the rest of his family, is also full of stories. I learned his name originally was Masoom, which means innocent. He narrates… “What happened was, once a sadhu came to our home in Gwalior to listen to Abba playing. I was about six years old, also playing the sarod when this holy man said to Abba that the name Amjad was better suited to me. Okay, Abba said to him, and decided to change my name from Masoom to Amjad.” Pipes in Ayaan, “The holy man knew immediately that Abba was not so innocent!” amidst much laughter! Remember I said they are a humorous lot!
Perhaps what Ayaan says is true. Reflects how Ustad got Subhalakshmi Barua, a Bharatnatyam dancer, to marry him. It is she who narrates the charming story of what and how things led to their marriage. It was September 1975 and Ustad Amjad Ali Khan was in Calcutta watching a dance performance by Subhalakshmi. So mesmerised was Ustad by her, a spirited Assamese beauty, he, along with his companions, went backstage to meet her after the show to express appreciation of her dancing prowess and was forthright enough to invite her for dinner with them. She accepted the appreciation but politely declined the dinner invitation, thinking that was quite a forward thing to do. She respected him as a great sarod player but was not about to go for dinner with someone she hardly knew! But soon after, they did happen to meet again at a common friend’s home, where they discussed music and so on and that was that for Subhalakshmi who viewed him just as a great performing artist, nothing more.
But not so, Ustad. His heart was set on her from the very first moment he saw her. Quietly he interrupts her narration to tell me, “I felt God had sent her especially for me.”
Ustad Amjad Ali, in his own way, pursued her. He accepted an invitation to perform in Calcutta, at a festival organised by her brother but not before making sure she would be there on stage, too, that evening. A few months later, she recalls it was on January 10, 1976, Ustad called to tell her that he had spoken to his Bhai Sahab (older brother) and that he was razi… Razi for what? “Khan Sahab has this way of speaking and not saying anything especially when he is at a bit of a loss, so there he was rambling on, beating about the bush, though I knew exactly what he wanted to say… I told him, ‘Tum kya bolta, hum nahi samajta!’ Eventually he did propose in a very round and about manner. I did not have any feelings in that direction, so I asked for six months to decide. But he could not wait, he is very obstinate like that. He would keep calling and ask, ‘So shall I come tomorrow to marry you?’” says Subhalakshmi Khan, laughing her head off at the memory. She did relent and they got married that year. Believe me, Subhalakshmi has the sweetest accent there is, both English and Hindi. And she speaks far better Urdu now than she did in 1976.
However I now turn to Ustad to put him to the romantic test, “Do you remember your wedding date?” “Of course,” he replied, and then faltered, “Er, er, the year was 1976, month, month... was, yes, September and the date, er, er...” “Oh, please forget it,” says the wife, “that’s my husband, a great romantic, but remembering such things, forget it! It’s Sept. 25, 1976.” “Arey bhai, I was about to say that,” Ustad tries to convince us all, amidst much groaning and booing!
“Abba can be quite funny or should I say, even embarrassing, in his own way,” this is Ayaan talking, “Once, long ago, we were all in Singapore and he was giving an interview to The Strait Times, after a concert there. Suddenly he points to me and says, my wife and I wish my son here would get married, settle down. I turned red! Next day the headline of the article read, ‘Wanted, Bride for Maestro’s Eligible Son’. Can you believe it?”
It seemed to me, Ayaan is the father’s favourite and Amaan, the mother’s pet. Ayaan lives with his wife, Neema, and twin sons in Bombay and Amaan with his parents in Delhi. “We moved to Bombay for the sake of our children. They have many friends here, going to a school they like. But we are all always on the phone and even get together very frequently.”
Amaan takes after his maa, calls a spade a spade. Speaks his mind, like no other. Can even be brutally honest. “You can never know what to expect from Amaan Bhai,” says Ayaan, “He will block someone on his phone and when pressed for a reason, he will say, you know the reason, or some such thing. To get him to come somewhere on time is also a huge challenge! Don’t know how he made it here in time today from his bed, which, as you know, is just a few floors above!” True, the Khans were all staying at The Trident. Later in the day, the Delhiwalas were flying back to their home there. But to Amaan’s credit, he was right on time and looked very dapper in his smartly-cut jacket. And now here he was grinning away, nonchalantly reaching for yet another hors d’oeuvre, with Neema saying in the background, “Please aap ek favour zaroor kariega. Amaan Bhai ki tasweereh kuch zyada hi dalna, we are looking for a bride for him!” We have come full circle. One can see Amaan has a heart of gold, for all his bravado and reserved façade he is actually very likeable. It’s not often that you find men as honest. A rare quality in today’s world.
Soon we were walking to the table. The camaraderie between them is so infectious. The two boys were playing at a jugalbandi… da, da da, ta, ni sa…. Sa, sa, sa, ni ta sa… And Ustad Sahab was murmuring, humming under his breath, softly, beautifully, it felt like an extension of his breathing. Felt blessed to be exposed to such creativity.
Well, talking about food with a foodie family, over lunch was another delight. I learnt that “Maa is a great cook. Especially the different kinds of biryani she makes.” But she wasn’t always one, in fact she had never cooked before she married, “That’s right, I was a dancer, not a home person.” But she was a good wife who quickly learnt to do so. “The first time she cooked for me was another memorable occasion, she forgot to add the salt, but not only did I not complain, maine kaha, ‘yeh to bahut acha hai’, when she wanted to know how it was. Until she discovered it for herself when she ate the food!” “Ishq namak tha,” roars Ayaan.
Says Amaan, “I love good food, but I am also Maa’s most honest critique and she likes that!” “That’s true,” confirms Mrs Khan, “I like his honesty, it helps me improve. It’s useless asking Khan Sahab for an opinion!”
“Like Abba and Ayaan will say, very good, very good, for everything and just carry on eating but Amaan Bhai will be like, this should have been like this, that could have been like that, is mein yeh thoda kam hai, us mein kuch ajeeb hai and so on,” says the daughter-in-law of the house, teasingly.
“Look, Ayaan is not at all fastidious. He can cook, he likes to eat good food, but will at the same time go on a diet. In fact, right now he is into intermittent fasting. Both my sons are quite different from each other. I can’t imagine Amaan ever going on a diet!” Maa laughs. Says Amaan, “But let me add, if I return from someone’s home and tell Maa, ‘Oh, the food there was fantastic,’ immediately she will want to know what I ate, ask me to tell her as much as I can, get the smallest details of the dish and make it herself for us to try. She gets very jealous, you know!” Everyone but Maa is in agreement and the ragging continues.
It was a lovely meal made better with all this chatter. I learnt how once when Mrs Khan was not too well and Amaan and Ayaan were little school-going kids who had to have their tiffins packed, the task rested on Paa, Amjad. He did execute the job, except when the children came home they complained, they didn’t eat what Abba had packed for them, they couldn’t even chew it… On examining the tiffin, the mother was appalled to see her husband had put some dry aam papad between two slices of bread for the kids’ lunch!
Oh well, the men in the family are no cooks but the women are. And it is the Rampur style of cooking that has been cultivated. Explains Subhalakshmi Khan, “My mother-in-law was from Rampur and I really wanted to impress her as a young bride, so I learnt her cooking. What happened was once we had a famous journalist come home and I heard him say that they also had a Hindu daughter-in-law and insinuated too bad that they can’t really cook Muslim food. I was quite upset and became determined that I would learn. Since I am very ziddi, I succeeded, by fluke, you can say!”
Amaan informs about a time when she made the most amazing Rampur biryani for dinner when among the many guests was (the late) Jajal Agha – the same! He was a dear friend and naughty as usual, he spread the word that it was he who had cooked the biryani. There wasn’t reason to disbelieve him. He was a close family friend. “When I came into the room, no one really complimented me, though everyone kept saying the biryani was really good. I was wondering…,” says Mrs Khan in her charming Assamese accent. And then when Jalal Agha was leaving, he announced, “Hello everyone, sorry, I did not cook the biryani! It’s Subhalakshmi who has!” The penny dropped and a good laugh was had by all! Bless his soul, Jalal was incorrigible.
But by far the funniest Amjad Ali ‘KhanDan’ stories that cropped up that afternoon has to be how they scrap with one another. Seriously. Through texting, in the family WhatsApp group of four. “Oh, we can go beyond crazy,” says one. Adds another, “It’s no holds barred. If one of us thinks I am right, then I am right!” “No one is willing to budge!” “So what happens,” says Neema who has sensibly stayed out of the group, “is there will be silence for days, sometimes.” Adds Khan Sahab, “But sometimes, when things get really hot, sizzling, Amaan who believes life is too short to squabble so much, will quietly leave the group.” “And Abba will follow. That leaves just Maa and me!” says Ayaan, adding, “Stalemate.” Adds Neema, “Then Maa will cry and cry and soon both will rejoin!” And this happens regularly. Adds Khan Sahab, “When we have face-to- face arguments, and no one is willing to back down, main inse kehta hoon, put a board on the door, hum sab pagal hai!”
This is how a family should be. Open, relaxed, comfortable, fun, caring, honest, not fake and misleading. Not allow things to simmer. Say sorry at the right time. And mean it. To be yourself is freedom of the highest order. Subhalakshmi and Amjad Ali ought to take a bow for the wonderful kutumb/pariwar/khandan they have created.
I had to take their leave halfway through lunch. But guess what the topic of discussion turned to even as I reached the door? Where would they go for dinner? “Oh let’s stick to BKC, there are so many good ones around here. Yauatcha, Masala Zone, O Pedro…” No, no, we can extend it to Bandra and go to Izumi, its terrific!” “Or Bastian.” No, no, no, too far, too noisy, Abba won’t like it!”
But ‘Abba’, I noticed, was busy on his phone, in his favourite pose, one leg curled up under him on the dining chair. Always in concert mode!