Shobha Gurtu: To A Thumri’s Call
By: Manish Gaekwad
Tags: Songs, Hindi, Music, Film, Singer

She accepted the challenge to sing Yaad Piya Ki Aaye, previously sung by her guru Bade Ghulam Ali Khan

Menekabai tried teaching her young daughter to dance but Shobha would have none of it. She would run away into the field, singing aloud.

‘I want to playyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.’

Her voice echoed in the air. Menekabai noticed the ‘pukaar’ (call) in it. Shobha could be running farther but her voice would be ricocheting closer, calming Meneka. No matter how far she got, Shobha was always within earshot.

While Shobha watched the bees collect nectar, she would talk to them, buzz with them, instruct them to tell her mother that she was going to make them dance instead of her.

Shobha was trained to sing from an early age. She mastered the thumri, the dadra, the chaiti, the kajri, the hori in the semi-classical form and was soon performing on stage.

Her film songs, Bandhan Bandho in Pakeezah, More Saiyaan Bedardi in Phagun, Saiyyan Rooth Gaye in Main Tulsi Tere Aangan Ki were regularly played on the radio, carrying her voice far and wide.

But she didn’t enjoy singing in films as much as she liked to perform in concerts. Film music restricted the way she could modulate a thumri through bandish. The raag in film songs had a fixed scale and metre.

She said she always preferred to ‘outrun’ the song, as it trailed her improvisation. Singing to her had taken her childhood fascination for running away with the melody like a bee, hopping from flower to flower, just when you thought it would settle on one.

When actor-director Nana Patekar asked her to sing in his film Prahaar, she refused. She hadn’t sung in a film in more than a decade.

‘Ek thumri hai,’ (There is a thumri) Nana said.

‘Kaun si?’ (Which one?) she asked to appear invested in chitchat.

‘Yaad Piya Ki Aaye?’ he said.

‘Tab toh aur nahi gaongi. Bade Ghulam Ali Khan saab na issi pehle gaaya hai,’ (I won’t sing it even more then. Bade Ghulam Ali Khan saab has sung it before) she said.

‘Iss liye toh aap se binti karne aaya hoon,’ (That’s why I came to request you) he said. ‘Unke baad…’ (After him…)

‘Kya?’ (What?) she said, ‘Aap jaao yahan se, main nahi gaa sakti.’ (Please leave, I will not sing)

One time Khan saab had sung it in Pakistan, improvising it with the exclamation ‘Haye Ram’. He was asked to stop singing it because of the reference to a Hindu deity. Upset about the interruption, he never went back to the country.

Shobha considered Bade Ghulam Ali Khan Saab her guru. She did not want to discuss his legacy and death with Nana or the interference that had made him stop singing it altogether. She did not want to slight him. And how could she ruin his exceptional and perfect thumri?

Yaad piya ki aaye

Ae dukh saha na jaaye

Haye, haye Ram My lover’s memory troubles me

This pain is unbearable

O lord Ram

A vocal student, who was present in the room, had come to invite her to a music festival in another city. Shobha readily accepted to go along with her to avoid Nana.

One evening, sitting in a garden with her student, watching the sun set like dripping honey, Shobha was noticing the bees rising from the flowers to head home.

Her student asked her, ‘Why do you like thumri more than the other forms?’

Shobha pointed to the bees and said, ‘Mujhe doodh se zyada malai pasand hai.’ (I prefer the cream to milk)

The student followed the analogy to the bees looking for nectar, not tricked by the fragrance of the colourful flowers.

‘Agar hum apne aap ko madhumakhi samjhein, toh gaane ko raseela bana dena asaan ho jaata hai,’ she said. (If we dance like a bee, then it is easy to blend sweetness in singing)

‘Par aap ne toh mana kar diya,’ (But you refused) her student said, fearful but honest to remind Shobha that she could very well teach, but also follow her own words.

Shobha laughed and realised her student was right. She returned to Bombay and called Nana.

‘Chalo gaana gaate hain, mera khelne ka mood hai,’ she said. (Let’s sing, I am in the mood to play)

Singing the thumri in her style, she did not worry about comparison or slighting the guru. She sang like a playful bee, her honeyed voice as nectar for music.

As a tribute to her guru, she interjected the song with ‘Subhan Allah’. Who could object to that?

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction or more formally known as real person fiction. It is not for any commercial use. Read more on Real Person Fiction here.