Last week I had the good fortune of seeing tabla maestro Ustad Zakir Hussain in concert for the second time. The first time was about 15 years ago, at an all-night Indian classical festival back in India. It's possible I might be romanticising the event a little, but I have a vivid memory of sitting transfixed as Hussain proceeded to cast a spell on the assembled audience, with his eyes closed and a big smile on his serene face.
It was one of those occasions when time seemed both to stand still and speed up all at once. As his fingers danced over the goat-skins of the drums, the darkness seemed to retreat almost in deference- making way as the sun peeked over the distant hills and bathed everything in a sort of ethereal glow. The intervening years have done little to dim the magic of those glorious few minutes.
But back to last week.
We didn't have the best seats in the house, but they were close enough for me to notice two things:
Watching Zakir Hussain is to watch not just one of the finest masters of the tabla at work, but also maybe one of its keenest students. The joy on his face as he regarded both the results of endless practice as well as spontaneous alchemy was as much of a pleasure to behold as the performance itself.
Somehow, I knew he felt the same excitement he did when he performed a soundtrack to a sunrise fifteen years ago, but also maybe it goes back even further; all the way back to when he first laid eyes on these little drums and decided that he was going to spend the rest of his life tapping them with his fingers.
I thought about other people who seemed to have the same Peter Pan-like quality. AR Rahman seemed a good example of another musician, likewise Sachin Tendulkar and Roger Federer in sports. I am sure there are so many more, but to me these are people who seemed to lose themselves in their art. They appear to derive at least as much pure, child-like joy from it as we do from watching them.
It's a wonderful thing to know exactly what you were born to do, and then have the will and courage to completely give in to it. Watching Zakir Hussain is to get a glimpse of what it's like.
If you don't yet know what your passion is, there's still time to try and find out. And if you do know, chase it down. Follow it to where it takes you, no matter the cost. It's worth it; and I am pretty sure it works better than all the anti-ageing cream in the world.
It was one of those occasions when time seemed both to stand still and speed up all at once. As his fingers danced over the goat-skins of the drums, the darkness seemed to retreat almost in deference- making way as the sun peeked over the distant hills and bathed everything in a sort of ethereal glow. The intervening years have done little to dim the magic of those glorious few minutes.
But back to last week.
We didn't have the best seats in the house, but they were close enough for me to notice two things:
- The smile was as big as ever.
- He looked like he hadn't aged a day.
Watching Zakir Hussain is to watch not just one of the finest masters of the tabla at work, but also maybe one of its keenest students. The joy on his face as he regarded both the results of endless practice as well as spontaneous alchemy was as much of a pleasure to behold as the performance itself.
Somehow, I knew he felt the same excitement he did when he performed a soundtrack to a sunrise fifteen years ago, but also maybe it goes back even further; all the way back to when he first laid eyes on these little drums and decided that he was going to spend the rest of his life tapping them with his fingers.
I thought about other people who seemed to have the same Peter Pan-like quality. AR Rahman seemed a good example of another musician, likewise Sachin Tendulkar and Roger Federer in sports. I am sure there are so many more, but to me these are people who seemed to lose themselves in their art. They appear to derive at least as much pure, child-like joy from it as we do from watching them.
It's a wonderful thing to know exactly what you were born to do, and then have the will and courage to completely give in to it. Watching Zakir Hussain is to get a glimpse of what it's like.
If you don't yet know what your passion is, there's still time to try and find out. And if you do know, chase it down. Follow it to where it takes you, no matter the cost. It's worth it; and I am pretty sure it works better than all the anti-ageing cream in the world.
No comments:
Post a Comment