This article has been made available to SAWF by Dr. Veena Nayak ...

This article has been made available to SAWF by Dr. Veena Nayak. Dr. Nayak has
translated it from the original Marathi article written by Ramkrishna Baakre.
From: Veena Nayak
Subject: Dr. Vasantrao Deshpande - Part Two (Long!)
Newsgroups: rec.music.indian.classical, rec.music.indian.misc
Date: 2000/03/12
Presenting the second in a three-part series on this vocalist par excellence. It has been
translated from a Marathi article by Ramkrishna Baakre. Baakre is also the author of
'Buzurg', a compilation of sketches of some of the grand old masters of music.
In Part One, we got a glimpse of Vasantrao's childhood years and his early musical
training. The article below takes up from the point where the first one ended (although
there is some overlap). It discusses his influences and associations, his musical career and
more importantly, reveals the generous and graceful spirit that lay behind the talent.
The original article is rather desultory. I have, therefore, taken editorial liberties in the
translation and rearranged some parts to smoothen the flow of ideas. I am very grateful to
Aruna Donde and Ajay Nerurkar for their invaluable suggestions and corrections.
Veena
THE MUSICAL 'BRAHMAKAMAL' - Ramkrishna Baakre (translated by Dr. Veena
Nayak)
It was 1941. Despite the onset of November, winter had not made even a passing visit to
Pune. In fact, during the evenings, one got the impression of a lazy October still lingering
around. Pune has been described in many ways by many people, but to me it is the city of
people with the habit of going for strolls in the morning and evening. In 1941, Tilak Road
was not bustling with vehicles as it is today. Rikshawaalas rushing headlong like wild
boars were completely absent. Bicycles were the popular mode of transportation those
days in Pune. Hordes of bicycles could be seen speeding down the entire length of Tilak
road; yet one did not need white lines in order to be able to cross the road. Several
bungalows had begun sprouting in the area beyond S.P. College, in the direction of
Swargate. The place however, had not developed enough to indicate a settlement or
colony. Music concerts were held at Hirabaag but they were not for ordinary folk.
However, the corner there was definitely someone's choice for a rendezvous.
It was at this corner of Hirabaag that one found, unfailingly at around 5:45 p.m.
everyday, an old man standing in wait for a young man. A round black cap slightly askew
on his head, a gleaming, proud forehead, neatly trimmed moustache, a close-collared,
usually snuff-coloured, woollen coat, the large-pleated brahmaNi dhoti worn slightly
below the knees, and a heavy walking stick in hand. Standing in the corner, he cut quite a
dashing figure.
The world of music knew that person by the name of Gayanacharya Pt. Ramkrishnabuwa
Vaze. It would, of course, be unthinkable that the people of Pune would not recognize the
figure standing in the park. Many would greet him. Buwa would acknowledge them and
greet them in return. His sharp eyes, however, would be peeled for the arrival of the
youth riding a bicycle along the Swargate side of the park.
The young man was equally smart-looking. He possessed the grace and bearing of a
professional athlete. Every morning he would go for physical training at Shiva Damle's
Maharashtra Mandal on Tilak Road. About twenty-one years of age, he was not as

adiantly fair-skinned as Buwa, but his complexion was considerably light. Hence, the
vermilion marks applied to the earlobes in the morning were still prominently visible. His
Nagpuri-style dhoti with its broad border was fashionably worn with its tuck tied fast and
with a scout-style khaki shirt on top. Like a whizzing taan, the bicycle would enter the
park and, with an abrupt halt in front of Buwa, the rider would disembark. Buwa would
complain,
"Arre Vasanta, do you know what time it is It took you so much time to reach Hirabaag
from Vaanwadi I have been waiting so long for you!"
"It's a military accounts office, Buwa. Unless the boss leaves, I cannot budge from my
desk."
"Come on, don't waste more time."
The pair would then begin its rounds. Even at that time, Vasantrao was capable of singing
soul-stirring music. The friendship with Vazebuwa, however, was not based on music.
Buwa did not even have an inkling that Vasanta could sing. Buwa knew Vasantrao only
as the Nagpuri youth who lived in a rented room next door, worked as a clerk, had a
passion for physical training and was also a first-rate gourmand. With the exception of
music, they would engage in discussions on countless other matters of the world.
Vasantrao was as appreciative of Buwa's predilection for food as he was of his music. At
the break of dawn, Buwa would toss a rupee-coin in a silver bowl and one of his students
would be dispatched on the urgent mission of purchasing fresh butter. Once the full bowl
was brought home, its contents would be emptied into a stone mortar. Adding a cup of
confectioner's sugar, the student would then sit and stir the mixture. When the butter and
sugar were nicely blended, it would be served in the large bowl to Buwa. The remnants in
the mortar would be swallowed up by the students. Buwa, however, would savour the
butter-sugar mixture in a leisurely fashion, licking it with his index finger, like a devotee
whose slurps of water punctuate the chanting of the mantra, 'keshavaaya namaha,
narayanaaya namaha'. These evening strolls taken together by Buwa and Vasantrao, what
were they all about Gluttony, of course.
"Vasanta, let's go to Govardhan MandaL. They would have just finished milching and if
we go right now, we'll be able to get fresh milk", Buwa would declare. They would gulp
down half a litre of milk each at the MandaL (The metric system was not used in those
days; I am using "litre" here just to give you a quick idea). Outside on the road, they
would encounter the banana vendor. A dozen bananas would be split between the two
men. Buwa would carefully save two bananas in his pocket. It was only when they had
seated themselves on a bench in Mathura Bhavan that the purpose of the reserved
bananas came to light. Mathura Bhavan, a restaurant in Budhwarpeth, is as famous for its
steaming hot fritters as it is for its "doodh ki loTi" (tumbler of milk). Buwa and Vasanta
would polish off a huge pile of fritters right there. The bananas hoarded in Buwa's pocket
would then make their appearance and take a dip in the frying pan. "A sweet morsel for a
finishing touch!", Buwa would proclaim as they ate the fried bananas. It turned out not to
be the "finishing touch" after all. Opposite Mathura Bhavan was a little shop that sold
'baasundi' (a Maharashtrian delicacy made of sweet evaporated milk - VN) which was
served in leaf-cups. Their meal wouldn't be complete without a final course of baasundi,
which they did the utmost justice to.
How this friendship, based on shared neighbourhood and love of food, moved into the
realms of music, is a profoundly touching tale. For almost two and a half years, Buwa

had no idea that Vasanta could sing a note, leave alone present a full-fledged khyal.
Vasanta on his part, however, would regularly sit in while Buwa taught his students. He
would assemble paan for himself from Buwa's plate. One day, Vasantrao found one of
Buwa's students in a strange condition when he visited the latter's home. In those days,
one did not have the straps that spondilitis patients now wear around the neck. However,
the student had something wrapped tightly around his throat. Vasantrao enquired,
"What happened to your throat Some new ailment"
"Nothing yet", the student replied, "but I do this in order to prevent future ailments. As
soon as I get home, I tie a pouch filled with sheera cooked in fresh ghee." (sheera = a
sweet dish made with cream of wheat or farina - VN)
"A bandage of warm sheera everyday"
"I have no other choice", said the student.
"Is the taaleem causing strain"
"Yes. Buwa gives taaleem in paanDhri chaar and paanDhri paach. Such high notes are
beyond me."
"Then why don't you just tell him frankly to lower the pitch"
"What right do I have to say that to Buwa He would stop my taaleem right away. As it
is, I owe him a great debt as he is teaching me free of charge with my current financial
state in mind."
"So what Your voice will be ruined for the rest of your life! You must tell Buwa
clearly."
"Impossible! I couldn't do it, not in this lifetime."
"Then I'll tell him. Shall I"
"Please, no. It will be taaleem-hatya for me"
"We will see. I will settle this matter tomorrow itself."
Next evening after the daily walk, the student's lessons started as usual. Buwa began
singing with his heavyweight gamaks. Vasantrao immediately confronted him. He said,
"Buwa, what a plight you have reduced this poor fellow to! Once he goes home, he has to
tie a bandage of warm sheera around his throat. Can't you lower the tonic a couple of
pitches for his taaleem
On hearing the question, Vaze Buwa's eyebrows knotted into a frown and his voice rose
even higher! Hurling a choice expletive he said, "What do you, a wrestler, know about a
couple of pitches higher or lower"
"Buwa, don't say that!. Hum bhi kuch nahin! I will sing anything you ask me to: khyal,
tappa, thumri, bhajan. Right now, in this baithak!"
"Vashya~~~~, what are you blabbering about You sing!!"
"Of course! And with great abandon! Ok, I'll show you. Come on guys, set the taanpuras
a half-note higher!", Vasanta ordered the students.
Buwa was beside himself with amazement. "You will sing in black four!!", he
exclaimed.
"I can sing in (black) five too, but four will do for now."
When Vasantrao began singing a khyal, Buwa's eyes eloquently expressed his emotions.
As Vasantrao's youthful, intoxicating manner, his vitality and intelligence, his
melodiousness unfolded before him, Buwa began to cry profusely. He was sobbing like a
child! The hot embers of anger and anguish burning within him were flung on his
students.

"Get out of my sight, all of you! Only Vasanta will remain here."
The tears had not abated. Still crying, he said affectionately,
"Vasanta, does it befit you to act this way You have been in my company for two and a
half years now. You sing so well. Didn't you even once feel that you must learn a cheez
from me"
"To tell you the truth, Buwa, I brought along so much baggage when I came to Pune that
I have not yet sorted it out. When I have not tidied up and properly arranged what is
already within me, why bring in something new from outside and throw it into the mess
So I didn't ask you for a new cheez."
"But why did you not utter even one syllable about music in all these months with me
Did you think I would forcefully stuff a cheez down your throat You played hide-andseek
with an old man like me! Does this behoove you"
"I have those privileges with you, Buwa. If a grandson does not tug his grandfather's
moustache, does not play hide-and-seek with him, who else will"
"I, your grandfather! How is that"
"You are Master Dinanath's guru and Dinanath is my guru. Don't these relationships
make you my grandfather"
The grandson had silenced his grandfather. Vasantrao has similarly silenced many in his
lifetime.
In the early half of 1940 when Vasantrao arrived in Pune, the world of music in that city
was bustling with reputed personalities. One could count these luminaries like the large
Maruti temples that abound in Pune. Step out of Shivajinagar station to find Pandit
Mirashibuwa, turn left at the Shaniwarwada and go towards Appa Balwant Chowk to
meet Pt. Vinayakbuwa at Jamkhindikar's bungalow, Patankarbuwa at the late
Bhaskarbuwa's Gayan Samaj, Vazebuwa at Bharat Itihaas Mandal, Master Krishnarao
behind Maharashtra Mandal, Keshavrao Bhole and Hirabai Barodekar in the vicinity of
the wild sadhus, Sureshbabu at Shukrawar, near the wooden bridge was Ustad
Mohammed Khan, son of Kadar Bux, the sarangiya of Gandharva Natak Mandali.
Bhimsen Joshi had yet to start dropping in at Vaidya Pandurang Shastri Deshpande's
house in Shukrawar for riyaaz. Sawai Gandharva was bedridden after a stroke of
hemiplegia.
Such was Pune, a garden in full bloom! Vasantrao, however, chose Sureshbabu (as his
teacher. The reference is to Sureshbabu Mane, son of Abdul Karim Khan - VN). In spite
of Dinanathrao's pronouncement that Sureshbabu was a cursed artist whose teaching
would not take a student too far, Vasantrao went to Sureshbabu with the inner conviction
that the music that he wished to learn was vested in him and none else. "In the decade
between 1942 and 1952, I began to understand music", Vasantrao had once said. If we
bear in mind that Sureshbabu passed away in 1953, it becomes clear that he played a
significant role in Vasantrao's musical development.
Learning music and understanding music are two entirely distinct matters. Vasantrao
picked up Dinanathrao's gayaki by going back and forth between Nagpur and Amravati.
Years later, in 1938, Vasantrao went to Lahore with his uncle who was transferred to that
city during his tenure with North Western Railways. I do not know which half-wit coined
the phrase, "Matulaha sarvanAshaya" ("Maternal uncles are a source of ruin").
Vasantrao's life shows that the saying ought to be amended as "Matulo bhaagyavrudvaye"
("Maternal uncles enhance fortune"). It was Vasantrao's uncle who entrusted him to

Dinanathrao. It was also his uncle in Punjab who gave him strategic advice on how to
glean musical treasures from the likes of Asad Ali, Barkat Ali and Bade Gulam Ali. It is
greatly enjoyable to hear Vasantrao recount the tales of his wandering days in Punjab.
In 1938, Vasantrao came to Lahore on the railway pass that his uncle had sent him.
Gandharva Mahavidyalaya was situated in Lahore, but Vasantrao went there only
occasionally and for social purposes at that. Patiala gayaki had enamoured him and he
began to take delight in its search. In the course of his wanderings at the koThas of
dancing girls, he learnt that an excellent saarangiya such as Haider Bux would take the
landlord's buffaloes to pasture in the forest with a sarangi nestled under his armpit. As the
cattle grazed unhurriedly, Haider Bux calmly did his riyaaz under a tree. At nightfall, he
would take off to the brothels to 'accompany' the dancing girls. He earned his daily bread
through these jobs. Such instrumentalists were called Mirashis. The fact that a Brahmin
talked to the Mirashis so openly was a source of annoyance to the Arya Samajists.
Vasantrao was part of a small group of people which was deeply involved in music. They
were greatly sympathetic of the musicians in Lahore, especially Bade Ghulam Ali Khan.
Once they planned a felicitation ceremony for Bade Ghulam Ali. Donations were
collected. Their utmost efforts yielded a sum of forty rupees but they were not
discouraged. A hall was rented and a silk scarf worth 75 paise was purchased. A horsedrawn
carriage was engaged for Khansaheb's transportation. Five rupees were thus
expended and that left only thirty-five rupees! Bade Ghulam Ali sang with great love and
affection. After listening to his music to their hearts' content, it was Vasantrao who had to
step forward to present him the thirty-five rupees. Handing over the cash nestled in the
folds of the silk scarf, Vasantrao said, "It is our misfortune that we were able to collect
only thirty-five rupees. Please do not be offended." Bade Ghulam Ali, with tears in his
eyes, replied, " Why should I feel offended, my son The people of Lahore do not give
me even that much respect!"
That was in 1938. Six years later, Bade Ghulam Ali's performance at the Vikramaditya
Conference in Bombay earned immense fame. He achieved a marvellous feat that was
practically unheard of: he sang Puriya right after having presented Marwa. After that
conference, the lines of his destiny became distinct. For as long as Vasantrao was in
Lahore, he got to listen to Bade Ghulam Ali every once in two days. In addition, he
would got to Barkat Ali's house to listen to his evocative thumris. Barkat Ali was very
popular, unlike Bade Ghulam Ali whose fortunes had yet to take a turn for the better.
The caliph of the Patiala tradition Ustad Asad Ali had become a fakir and was living in a
durgah. A sanyasi of Islam, if you will. Vasantrao would go to the durgah in order to
obtain cheez-s from him. He would get one cheez in exchange for one paisa. "Write it
down", Asad Ali would say. Thus, over a period of forty days, Vasantrao collected forty
cheez-s for forty paise and one day, he proudly showed the notebook to his uncle, who
said,
"Now you should do just one more thing."
"What is that"
"Throw this notebook in that fire where we heat the water."
"Why would you say such a thing I have gone religiously to the durgah everyday to
collect these cheez-s from Asad Alikhansaheb and you ask me to burn them!"
"One doesn't learn music by copying down cheez-s in this manner."
"Then what do you suggest"

"Do as I say. Go to the durgah tomorrow with gifts such as a nice garland, about a sher of
mithai and eight-annas worth of charas. Offer them to him at his feet and insist that he
teach you with proper ganda-bandhan. Then see what happens!"
Vasantrao was eighteen years at that time. Taking two rupee-notes from his uncle, he
proceeded to the market. In Lahore those days, one could purchase a tola of charas for
two paise. Ten annas commanded a sher of sweets made in pure ghee. When Vasantrao
asked for 50-paise worth of charas, the shopkeeper's eyes almost fell out of their sockets.
He said, "Bada jigriwaala dikhaayi deta hai ladka! Itni si umar mein yeh shaukh!" ("This
kid is something! Such a habit at so young an age!") Armed with all the paraphernalia,
Vasantrao went to the durgah. Assuming that the boy wanted, as usual, to transcribe a
cheez, Khansaheb said, "Aao beta, likh lo". "Oh no, Khansaheb, today I have not come
here to copy a cheez. I am here for a different purpose. Whatever cheez-s I had written
down from you, I have thrown them in a well. Please grant me the favour of tying a
ganda and teaching me formally." As he was making this request, Vasantrao was
unwrapping the packets he had brought with him. On beholding the sweets, charas, etc.,
Khansaheb probably felt as though he had entered Alladin's cave. His eyes could not
contain his joy. He signalled to five other fakirs who were also present in his durgah. All
of them gathered around. They knew exactly what had to be done. Like anesthetists who
get to work once a patient is laid on the operating table, the fakirs began making their
preparations. Smoking charas is a strange ritual indeed. The coconut oil, the lamp, the
long pipe, the practice of lying on one's side as the smoke is inhaled, so much ceremony!
All these were duly completed. The fakirs were by now floating high up in the air. Then
they began eating the sweets. Poor Vasantrao sat on the edge of a well in front of the
durgah and watched the proceedings. He was joined there by Khansaheb and the rest of
the fakirs. The ganda-bandhan was performed. Khansaheb suggested,
"The evening is almost upon us. Shall I teach Marwa"
"Sure, please do."
"Why don't you begin Show me how you sing."
Vasantrao began to sing Marwa. he sang the raag to the extent that he knew it at the time.
The five fakirs, in their full-throated and robust manner, continued the raga after
Vasantrao. The honour of the last position in this succession of singers, of course,
belonged to Khansaheb. As he sang, he imbued Vasantrao with a personal realisation that
the sole purpose of the shuddha dhaivat is to endow an dusky, contemplative quality to a
raag separated from shadja-pancham, a raag that repeatedly portrays the longing of the
komal rishabh. At that moment, Vasantrao felt that his efforts, not only of that particular
afternoon, but ever since he had come to Lahore, had borne fruit. For four to five months
in the durgah, he received taaleem only in Marwa. Many people may have experienced
the introspective state that descends on listeners when Vasantrao begins to sing Marwa. I
remember a concert in an air-conditioned hall at the Indian Merchants Chamber in
Bombay, where Vasantrao, accompanied by P.L. (Deshpande - VN), held one thousand
listeners deeply engrossed in Marwa for one and a half hours. The roots of his Marwa can
be traced to the ganda-bandhan at Lahore.
Was there a musical gift that Punjab did not bestow upon Vasantrao It was here that he
formed a friendship with Ashiq Ali, the son of Fateh Ali who was known as 'taan ke
kaptaan'. Ashiq Ali fostered such an invaluable treasury of bandishes that once Roshan
Ara, on her way back from a programme in Lahore, stopped at his place, unloaded her

luggage from the tonga and cancelled her ticket just so that she could garner his
bandishes. Vasantrao must have learned a lot from Ashiq Ali. Vasantrao spent the time
from '38 to '40 travelling from Lahore to Varanasi, making numerous stops on the way.
During 1938 to 1942, he trained his voice through riyaaz in the Meerkhand tradition.
From 1942 to 1952, Vasantrao kept frequent company with Sureshbabu, Kumar
Gandharva and Bhendibazarwaale Aman Ali, and gained musical insights from them. It is
natural to ask why he did not make a full-fledged entry into the music profession in 1953,
by which time he was an accomplished musician. Why did he wait until 1965 to quit his
job with Military Accounts, to declare, "Now it's the tambura and I" One reason might
be that he did not want to depend on music for a livelihood. Furthermore, he perhaps
believed that although he had understood music, there were still a lot of experiments to be
tried out. The job at Military Accounts was a low-paying one; nevertheless, it assured a
steady flow of income. Once he had fulfilled his household obligations, he was free to
pursue his musical ideas and experiments. Be that as it may, Vasantrao's friends in the
musical field were impatient and eager for him to leave his number-crunching job and
fully immerse himself in music. In fact, Akbari Manzil in Lucknow was anxiously
awaiting this moment for many years.
The reader may, at this point, wonder how Lucknow comes into the picture. The Empress
of Ghazal, however, was constantly pestering Vasantrao in her letters to give up his job. I
had heard that Vasantrao and Begum Akhtar had exchanged a significant volume of
correspondence. When I asked him about it, he said,
"I burnt all the letters."
"Why did you do that!"
"On 30th October 1974, I read that Begum Akhtar had passed away in Ahmedabad. This
was a natural reaction to the news."
"Alas! You should have saved that correspondence, Vasantrao."
"For what Our interaction in those letters was on a personal level. Why should it be
saved I treasure the music that she left behind. It is the only thing that needs to be
preserved. "
"But those letters might have been useful to some author such as the one who wrote
'Vishrabdhasharda'...."
"That is exactly what I wanted to avoid. Why display those letters in front of the whole
world"
"Begumsahiba used to address you as Guruji, didn't she"
"Bhai (P.L. Deshpande) had written (about) it sometime. I too felt the same about
Begumsahiba. Art and knowledge are often inadvertently exchanged between generous
and creative minds. This enhances the respect they feel for each other. Why get fixated
on such titles, Tatya Great people just say these things.."
"When did you first meet Begum Akhtar"
"In 1935. It would be more fitting to say that she got to know me rather than the other
way round. I was only fifteen years old then. I used to visit Nagpur during Tajuddin
Avaliya's festival in order to seek his blessings. She too had come there for the same
reason. She is about three years older than I am. I used to attend every programme at the
festival. Would push my way through and sit in the first row. At one point in Bai's recital,
she negotiated a difficult turn very well. I was the only one to appreciate it and I
exclaimed my approval so loudly that she noticed it. Later, she enquired around about the

oy who seemed to be know so much at such a young age. Thus, we got acquainted and
subsequently became good friends. If she was visiting Bombay, I too would come to
Bombay. In Pune, Madhu GoLvaLkar, P.L., and Bai used to stay at Ram Maharaj
Pandit's place. Bai would sing through the night sometimes. Her music is engraved in the
walls of that bungalow. In every letter that she wrote to me, she would insist that I quit
my clerical job and become a full-time musician. Such a thing was not feasible for me
until 1965. In 1964, I was transferred to NEFA. I suffered as though I had been punished
with Kaala Pani. I felt like a fish out of water. At that point, I decided that, come what
may, I had to free myself from this service profession."
Vasantrao endured the Kaala Pani for almost two years. His exile to NEFA (at the northeastern
frontier) was like a sharp, bitter thorn in Bai's mind. Once she heard that
Vasantrao was going to Assam via Lucknow in the company of his colleagues. As soon
as Vasantrao got off the train at Lucknow to stretch his legs, he found Begumsahiba in
front of him. In her hand was a first class ticket that she had just purchased. It was in
Vasantrao's name and was a reservation on the train that left for Assam two days later.
Waving the ticket at him, she said,
"Come on, Deshpande Saheb, Akhtari Manzil awaits you! Stay for two days and then go
on to Assam. I have even reserved the ticket for you."
"Afsos! How is this possible, Begumsahiba I am travelling with the office unit. If I don't
go with them, the commanding officer will arrest me and take me away in handcuffs.
This is the military profession, not a regular one. I am extremely sorry.."
Vasantrao left with the unit on the same train. Truth be told, Begumsahiba had no reason
to be unaware of the ways of the military. Her brother-in-law, Barrister Ishtiaq Ahmed
Abbasi's maternal cousin, Major General Habibullah was in a top post in the military.
Nevertheless, she did not understand (Vasantrao's situation). Bai was vexed that
Vasantrao had left without accepting her hospitality. The events that followed this
incident are the stuff that great dramas are made of.
About fifteen days after he had returned from Lucknow, a telegram in Vasantrao's name
arrived at his office. The Commandant opened it, read it and probably got a little
suspicious. He took it to Vasantrao's desk. On reading the contents, Vasantrao
understood. Ever the skillful drama actor, he invoked an expression of utmost seriousness
on his face. Even some tears in his eyes. What was the message in that telegram
"Mother serious. Start immediately." Only four words and at the bottom, in place of a
signature, was just one letter! "B". The Commandant asked,
"Whose signature is that"
"Sir, it's my daughter's. My eldest daughter. We call her 'Baby' and I personally call her
only by one letter, B."
The Commandant was easily taken in by this explanation and by Vasantrao's acting.
Vasantrao was choking even as he was providing the explanation. As soon as he heard
the Commandant announce that he had been granted a ten-day casual leave, Vasantrao
destroyed the telegram. Immediately, he set out in search of a convoy to Dibrugadh. For
the service personnel in NEFA, official leave goes into effect, not on the day that the
worker leaves the office, but only when the worker has boarded the train at Dibrugadh.
The medical unit's convoy to Dibrugadh was the quickest. Vasantrao used that convoy
and then, some hours later, leisurely stepped out on the railway platform in Lucknow.

Begumsahiba was, of course, waiting there to welcome him. After the first burst of
laughter had died down, Vasantrao asked,
"Is that the way to sign a telegram"
"Why What happened"
"Why did you write just "B""
"Should I have written just Begum Akhtari then You are splendid, Deshpandeji!"
"That wasn't what I meant. Why didn't you use some neighbour's name The
Commandant was definitely suspicious."
"Really"
"You think I am lying There was another mistake too ---"
"What was that"
"I am from Pune. You sent the telegram from Lucknow!"
"I had no other option, Deshpandeji. How could the Lucknow post office give me a Pune
stamp But surely the Commandant didn't read the stamp"
"I am lucky that he didn't. Or else.."
"I thought these officers read only the contents. How am I to know that they look at all
these details Anyway, you did get leave, right"
"Yes, I did."
"How many days"
"Ten!"
Begum Akhtar was delighted. Reserving two days for travel, Vasantrao was able to stay
at Akhtaribai’s house for eight days. O, the hospitality that Bai showered on him! As long
as there was a mehfil (and in those eight days, it went on almost continuously), Bai would
station four persons at four different directions just to assemble paan. She had all her
taiyyar students sing for him, not just once, but many times over. Akhtaribai’s husband
was extremely religious. He would do namaaz five times a day. Despite having a pile of
silver vessels in the house, he would drink water from a plain tumbler. Bai was prohibited
from singing in Lucknow but not in the rest of India. In those eight days, Vasantrao heard
her music to his heart’s content and himself sang for her. Eight days flew by without his
realising it. He was in his own little musical world blissfully oblivious to everything else.
The sun rose and set without in any way disturbing his rhythm. Eight days later,
Vasantrao awakened from the dream and came to reality. Begumsahiba went to the
station to bid him farewell. Again and again she urged him, “ Deshpandeji, do whatever it
takes, but resign from this job.” It finally happened in 1965. Everything fell neatly in
place when Vasantrao was deemed ailing and unfit for service. He began to draw the
invalids’ pension. Begum Akhtar ensconced herself in Pune to make sure that everything
was proceeding according to plan.
Taking an impartial view of Vasantrao’s life, one cannot but feel that he is a
brahmakamaL in the garden of music. The brahmakamaL bursts into bloom at midnight.
One has to wait a long, long time for such a midnight. Europeans call this flower, ‘The
Star of Bethlehem’. It is their belief that Jesus Christ sleeps in the pollen sac of this
flower and that each grain from this sac radiates, like a star, a ray of fragrance on his
body. They attentively wait months on end, for the lotus bud to blossom and shower
fragrance into the air. As the moment of bloom draws near, they circle around the bud
and dance euphorically to the rhythm of clinking champagne bottles. Until Darvekar's
'Katyaar' (note: the reference here is to the drama, Katyaar KaaLjaat Ghuslii, where

katyaar = dagger - VN) was unsheathed, Vasantrao's star was yet to explode, people had
yet to dance around him. Prior to Katyaar, Vasantrao went through life embodying the
attitude "vaatevar kaate vechiit chaalalo, vatale jase phulaat chaalalo. (I gathered thorns
along the way and thought I walked among flowers). He had been a playback singer and
had brightened many a mehfil. He had played the role of AshwinisheTh in sixty
performances of Sa.nshaikalloL and had accomplished wonders with songs such as
‘Maanili Aapuli’ in Raag Shukla-Bilawal and ‘Mriganayana’ in Raag Darbari, songs that
were considered inferior by the classical elite. During special training sessions with Asha
Bhonsle, where he trained her to sing ‘Parvashata paash daive’ exactly like Dinanath’s
rendition, he had reduced her to tears, overcome with the memory of her father as
Vasantrao sang the song. Vasantrao used to say jokingly, “Singing naatyasangeet is like
creating public awareness”. Naatyasangeet, although a familiar territory, is so pervaded
with raag music that it confounds an average listener.
It is almost as though the ‘De’ in Vasantrao’s surname were a symbol of his generosity of
nature. Once he wrote a letter, composed in the form of a bandish, to Kumar Gandharva.
He only wanted to intimate Kumar that he was coming to Dewas, but he did so in Raag
Madhuvanti. He wrote,
Aavoon tore mandarva
Paiyaan parat deho tore
manabasiya
Main aavoon tore madarva
(Aavon tore mandarva = I will come to thy abode Paiyaa.n parat deho tore = I fall at your
feet manbasiya = beloved, one who dwells in my mind)
Kumarji promptly replied in the form of an antara:
Arre mero maDhaiyya
Tora aahere
Kaahe dhari charan mero
manabasiya
(mero maDhaiyya tora aahere = my hut belongs to you kaahe dhari charan mero = why
do you touch my feet)
Today this bandish is included as Kumarji’s composition in his book ‘Anooparaagvilas’.
Its asthayi is Vasantrao’s, but when asked for permission to publish it, Vasantrao
promptly told Kumarji to publish the entire composition in the latter’s own name. It is not
because Kumar was an adored idol. He was similarly generous with everyone. Consider,
for instance, the case of the drama, Megh Malhar. The rehearsals for Megh Malhar were
going on under the direction of Ram Marathe who was responsible for all aspects of the
show from casting to music direction. Since Ram Marathe was himself a renowned
singer, the producers felt it unnecessary to cast a singer-actor of equal stature in the
friend’s role. Rambhau, however, told them in no uncertain terms: first ask Vasantrao;
approach other actors only if he refused the role. Vasantrao accepted the offer.
Subsequently, Rambhau’s mother suddenly fell ill as a result of which he was unable to
commit much time to music direction. Vasantrao devised a solution: “I’ll compose the
songs that I have to sing; Rambhau can focus only on his songs.” The question arose,
however, as to who would be billed the music director of the drama. Would they have to
name two composers in the manner of joint secretaries in politics Vasantrao said, “Only
Rambhau should be named the music composer. He is the captain of this show.”

Due to the Megh Malhar incident, Darvekar and PaNsikar (Marathi playwrights – VN)
must have gotten an idea of Vasantrao’s value. Darvekar had asked Vasantrao to read the
script for Katyaar. After he had done so, Vasantrao said to him,
“If you don’t mind, may I make a suggestion” “If you suggest something, then it must
definitely be a worthy idea!” “From my experience with Khansahebs I know that once
they decide not to impart knowledge to someone, they will not change their decision even
if it costs them their life. This play is thematically similar to VidyaharaN and I think it
should not have a happy ending. It must end in tragedy. What do you think”
Darvekar rewrote the third act. It is an extremely well-constructed drama. Vasantrao
resolved several times to not act on stage again, but he could not keep away. No other
actor could have played the part equally well as it was hard to find someone of
Vasantrao’s power and calibre. Many times, however, circumstances outside his control
compelled Vasantrao to change his decision. When Prabhakar Phansikar fell seriously ill,
the fate of all the people involved in Natyasampada fell under a cloud. Vasantrao went to
PaNsikar and said, “Until you recover, I’ll work free of charge in as many productions of
Katyar as are staged.” Such was his generous nature.
Vasantrao nurtures a state of intense restlessness about music, a constant desire to create
or try something new. When he came to know that Baburao Rele had organized a
program of only Hori songs for Maratha Mandir’s Kala Vibhag, Vasantrao promptly
showed up from Pune for the rehersals. Like an incarnation of Dattatreya, this man has
been wandering for the last 45-50 years. In spite of having a full-time job, he would
commute from Pune to Deodhar Music School (in Bombay) so that he could be in
Kumar’s company. From 1950 to 1952, he travelled back and forth between Bombay and
Pune to learn the rhythmic play of sargam (solfeggio) from Aman Ali. It was the constant
longing for something new that led Rele and Vasantrao to present in Maratha Mandir a
wonderful listening program befitting the monsoon, ‘Ghan Garaje Barkha Aayi’. Even as
I write, the two have undertaken a new venture called ‘Surdasaanchi Krishnabhakti’. It is
sure to lead to a great music programme.
“Sing as easily as you speak”, was the guru-mantra given to him by Asad Ali Khan and
Vasantrao has assimilated it to perfection. There is a world of difference between the
gentle Vasantrao before the start of a mehfil and the Vasantrao resplendent and poised in
an aggressive stance between two taanpuras. There is one sign that indicates that the
khyalia and taaliya in him have been roused. From the flurry of movement at the tips of
his index and middle fingers, one could safely conclude that the main switch had been
turned on. Subsequently it becomes evident that all chambers have been charged. When
Prakash Gore’s tabla begins to follow his singing, Vasantrao’s voice takes on the
semblance of a note gliding off the instrument. Sometimes he weaves rhythmic patterns
of sargam; at other times he takes flight from a random beat and swoops unexpectedly on
the sam, catching the listeners completely unawares. The two strengths of his gayaki are
amazing unpredictability and innate ease. An exception is made only in the case of
abhangs. These statements of the great saints are sung by Vasantrao in clear,
unembellished tones. The sentiment behind this restrained style of rendition was that such
songs must not be tainted with unnecessary embellishments such as harkats, murkis or
taanbaazi.
In all other types of music, his singing flows like heady champagne. It is not just the
listeners who plunge joyfully in its currents. Sometimes his tabla accompanist Prakash

Gore also starts to relish the champagne and ends up committing an error. Once
Vasantrao had asked him to play in eight beats in the roopak ang. The first few cycles
were played correctly, but subsequently Gore slipped into the role of a listener and got so
engrossed that he began playing the simple roopak taal in seven beats. Vasantrao turned
to glance at Gore but once, continued singing the cheez and concluded it in seven beats.
When the cheez ended, Gore went pale, but Vasantrao did nothing that would introduce
confusion in the proceedings. Such was his generosity of spirit that he did not even
mention the mistake to Gore. Vasantrao was skilled in enhancing his accompanists by
looking out for them and publicly appreciating them at appropriate points. During a
Sawai Gandharva festival, when Gore accompanied him for the first time, Vasantrao said
to him, “Play as much as you want; we are on home ground today”. At a Parle Tilak
Mandir concert he praised Chandu Limaye’s aggressive vocal accompaniment at least six
or seven times with, “Wah beta”. In fact, Chandu has made capital out of this
encouragement and Vasantrao has even proclaimed Chandu as his musical heir.
Vasantrao is such a versatile musician, but until ‘Brihaspati’ had made his exit from
Akashwani’s horoscope, he was persona non-grata at the radio station. The justification
offered for this status conferred on Vasantrao was that he had not taken the audition! His
recordings, however, were unashamedly played on the radio. Who knows why the
arrogant department later changed its mind! They implored him to perform a national
program. It was only after attaining international fame did a national program come to
Vasantrao’s share!
Vasantrao possesses certain traits that are difficult to characterise as strengths or
weaknesses. One is punctuality and another is his extreme avoidance of self-pride. He
dislikes giving even the slightest hint of matters concerning his own fame and glory to
even his close friends. So many of his recordings have been released and a cassette is
along its way, but he has never asked for even one ‘retake’. He arrives at the studio a few
minutes ahead of schedule and asks only the time at which he has to conclude a song.
With his watch placed in front of him, he begins as soon as he is given the signal and
finishes in exactly the 3-1/4, 7, 10, 20, etc. minutes that he had been allotted.
Two incidents in the last two years reveal Vasantrao’s opposition to any kind of selfimportance.
One night at the Sawai Gandharva festival, Vasantrao and Hirabai Barodekar
were going to be publicly feted. The felicitation ceremony was at 9:30 pm and Vasantrao
was scheduled to sing at 4:00 am in the later half of the night. Baburao Rele, a close
friend of Vasantrao from Bombay was staying at Vasantrao’s house for the week. Since
he was only visiting Pune in connection with a wedding, he did not know about the
felicitation. He merely asked Vasantrao what time he was scheduled to sing. On being
informed that it was in the wee hours of the morning, he requested that Vasantrao wake
him up and take him along. At dawn, a car arrived to picked up Vasantrao and his guest.
Vasantrao sang until 5:30 am. After chatting with Pt. Bhimsen Joshi for a while,
everyone returned home by 6:30 am. Rele began leafing through the newspaper and read
the news about the honour ceremony. Rele was dumbfounded. He had been staying with
the honoree and had not gotten even the slightest hint about the ceremony! It has been
said that self-glorification diminishes a person’s merit. It is for this reason, perhaps, that
Vasantrao made no mention of the felicitation.
Consider the events that took place before his 61st birthday celebration at the Bal
Gandharva Rangmandir in Pune. The function was originally scheduled to be held in

Bombay at the Dinanath Natya Griha in Parle. It was meant to be a surprise for Vasantrao
and preparations were being made accordingly. Chandu Limaye had booked the theatre.
The plan was to hold a ticketed performance of Vasantrao’s unique three-hour solo
programme, ‘Naatyasangeetachii Vaatchaal’. The proceeds from the tickets and
donations were to be gifted to Vasantrao. How Vasantrao managed to sniff out these
plans is still a complete mystery. He said to Chandu, “ My 61st anniversary celebration is
going to be held in Solapur. You and Prakash must attend”. The date of the Solapur
celebration turned out to be same as the one that Chandu had reserved the hall for. So
Chandu had to spill the beans. Vasantrao said, “I will see to it that the hall is utilised by
someone else and you’ll not lose your money. But the ceremony will be held in Solapur
and I want both of you to be present”. Thus, with an outright bluff, Vasantrao had put a
spanner in the entire works. If he had had his way, he would not have allowed even the
Solapur ceremony to take place.
In private get-togethers, Vasantrao is an excellent mimic. One gets an idea of his talent
from the photographs shown along with this article. In one of them, we get a glimpse of
the late Aabasaheb Mazumdar participating in a mehfil, in another photograph, we see
Principal G. H. Ranade. One also encounters the haughty visages of some listeners. I
have already mentioned his guru’s advice to Vasantrao: “ Sing as you speak.” Vasantrao
has assimilated not only this teaching, but also its inverse. In his speech, he reflects his
singing style: straightforward, casual and easy, but quick-witted. A concert listener once
slyly asked him, “Are you ever in rhythm with any tabalchi”. Vasantrao replied in mild
tones, “I am always in rhythm. The tabalchi accompanies me only to make sure that
listeners like yourself can judge whether I am singing in taal.” At a recent Guru Poornima
celebration, Vasantrao was served a plate of laadoos and chiwda, which he declined for
health reasons. A reputed doctor who was seated nearby said, “I am here, Buwa. Don’t
worry; go ahead and eat it.” “One look at my BP line will be enough to send you into a
coma. Then you’ll be of no use to me”, quipped Vasantrao. Another incident relates to his
activities on Marathi stage. These days, Vasantrao undertakes only two performances of
Katyaar per month, one in Pune and the other in Mumbai. Someone who had come to see
him in that regard remarked, “ Marathi theatre is indeed fortunate to receive your service
(“seva”). Vasantrao replied, “Why do you want to make it all greasy by uttering words
like seva-biwa I accept these performances for my !@#$ and to earn a living. Marathi
theatre will do just fine without me. It will strut along with the vermilion of some other
name on its forehead.”
Such is this brahmakamaL, radiating it sweet scent from every grain. The fragrance of a
brahmakamaL lasts four an a half hours after its bloom. When applied to Vasantrao, this
measure translates into a different length of time. Don’t they say that one day of Divinity
is equivalent to a thousand years of humanity It is hoped that this brahmakamaL will
continue to shower its fragrance for another forty years to come.