The Pioneer (India)
May 29, 2010 Saturday
Gramphone years with Gauhar Jaan
India, May 29 — Vikram Sampath’s latest book is about a Hindustani
classical music diva, born into the abandoned tawaif tradition. She
had a rockstar-like, turbulent career and was the first Indian voice
to be frozen for posterity in 1902, during the infancy of recording
technology in India, says Shana Maria Verghis.
Kolkata may not have any memorials to one of its former daughters,
Gauhar Jaan, who was of Indian and Armenian parentage, living and
singing between 1873-1930. But the city’s Chor Bazaar also proved to
be a treasure trove for her biographer, Vikram Sampath. He managed to
locate a scratchy 78 rpm recordings of hers there, as well as many old
timers, who knew about her music and also the mansion that she had
lived in. She would lose it over a case with her
secretary-cum-husband, Abbas. One of many dramas in her eventful life.
There are supposedly 600 recordings by Gauhar, but only about 200 are
available. Some in possession of a group called India Record
Collectors. Sampath digitially mastered about 25. They accompany the
book. He narrated how early voice recordings had musicians loudly
announcing names. Hence the exclamation point in the title of his
book, My Name is Gauhar Jaan! (Rupa&Co). And the quality of the
equipment was such that they would “shout in a crooning falsetto, with
undistinguishable words. Later the quality improved.” He has included
different stages of recordings in a CD.
Sampath has a day job with Hewlitt-Packard, and is trained in Carnatic
music. His earlier book, Splendours of Royal Mysore: the untold story
of the Wodeyars first gave him a glimpse of Gauhar, who by accounts in
his book, was a temparamental, passionate vocalist invited by the
Maharajah to play at Mysore court, being entranced by her personality.
Apart from her repetoire, Gauhar Jaan’s legacy, was risking convention
and superstitions of the time and having chutzpah to be first to have
her songs on gramophone. This opened the way for today’s digital
music. Her life also coincides with an anti-nautch campaign, which was
an extension of a somewhat self-righteous ‘social purity movement’
begun in Britain in the 19th century, coming hard on Brit residents
with bibis or Indian mistresses, tawaifs and devadasis as immoral.
In the event, these women who for centuries were linked to aristocrats
or temples, for whom they sang and danced, lost their social position
and many died without former patronage. What is also tragic, is Indian
classical music was ‘purged’ of their influence and repackaged as more
divine, leaving a gaping hole in cultural history with artistes from
these traditions denying associations with it. So Sampath’s work is a
welcome blank-filler, if one might use this crude phrase. He mentioned
poor documentation made digging up material on Gauhar Jaan difficult.
In fact, classical musicians who sing her songs, are often unaware to
whom credit must go. But that is the state of biographies on Indian
classical music. “It is meant to be bigger than a singer’s’ life, and
material on them is scarce. It was only after Bhimsen Joshi got a
Bharat Ratna that, books about him were written in Kannada,” Sampath
said. In Gauhar’s case, he had anecdotes of her celebrity status, like
her rides to Kolkatta streets in a buggy, which for the times was a
unique vehicle for anyone to possess. The parties that she held. Once
she walked in with two bodyguards to watch over her diamond brooch. So
gangsta! Comments on her beauty went like, “she was so fair you could
see red juice of paan she took, coursing through her veins as if she
was a lizard!” chortled Sampath. He was attracted by her un-classical
musician-like, rockstar persona. “Recitals usually have a diya on
stage. And there is seldom anything in a presentation to make one go,
“wow!” Apart from the music itself of course.
In the course of research, he learnt that after Thomas Alva Edison had
had a breakthrough with his phonograph on December 22,1877, a German
based in Washington named Emile Berliner, was working on his version,
with pianist Frederick William Gaisberg. He licensed this to a newly
formed syndicate called the Gramophone Company (that launched the HMV
label in 1916), and Gaisberg went around London making recordings in
various languages, including Sikh/Gurumuki, Arabic, Hindi and
Urdu/Hindustani. So technically, the first experimental recording by
Indian voices happened before Gauhar Jaan was recorded in 1902. And as
Sampath, who avows to be a feminist, put it, “A woman, not a man,
welcomed this new form of technology, being received with a lot of
misgivings.”
Gauhar’s history is checkered. Her mother, Malkaha Jaan, a singer like
her, who left behind a book of her poetry, was born Victoria Hemming,
daughter of an English sailor Hardy Hemmings and his mistress Rukmani.
Victoria, supposedly a beauty, married an Armenian engineer who
abandoned her and a daughter, Angelina (later Gauhar). Malka/Victoria
became the ‘keep’ of a nobleman named Khurshid and moved to Benaras.
There’s an interesting paragraph where Sampat relates hierarchies in
the tawaif system, separating them from common prostitutes, called the
veshyas or ganikas. They were usually more well-versed in traditional
skills like arts and languages than traditional family women. One of
their roles being to teach aristocrat’s sons court etiquette. Their
kotha was as such, not a brothel, Sampath said. The bottomline
involved exchange of sexual favours and money, but it was conducted
more classily. “Tawaifs were top of a hierarchy allowing power to
choose clients.” The ‘Bais’ sang, Jaans danced and sang. Others were
lower-class Mirasans, called Kanchan, Kashmira, Gandharva, Dholis or
Dominis. This group had kanijis, who were entertainers. Khanagis gave
favours and entertainment. Thakahis and randis could not access arts,
and sold their bodies. Gauhar, as a tawaif daughter had access to
prestigious venues when her mother sang. But even her mother’s clout
did her protect her from preying eyes of a decrepit, raja in his
nineties, who raped her at the age of thirteen. Sampath mentioned
“ghazal singer Begum Akhtar was raped by a raja at a young age too.
The child was brought up as her half-sister.” Girls in such positions,
were always walking a tightrope. Living in relative respectability and
luxury still made them vulnerable to wolves.
Gauhar lived her music through several wealthy men, who supported her
and also won appreciation from compatriots and wealthy patrons on the
basis of her talent, not just the ‘casting couch’ factor. She was one
of the stars to perform for the English king and queen at the
prestigious Delhi Durbar. But at different stages of her life, the
label of ‘prostitute’ or someone who was immoral was a shadow. When
she retired from music into isolation and depression, neighbours
created a storm outside her house, saying they didn’t want to be
around a prostitute. On the other hand, the recording of her voice,
which came with lots of publicity – her face was on Austrian
matchboxes – would have given women in her position, some leverage
over clients. There were many others across India like her. Famous
tawaifs and devadasis. Malka Jaan Agrewali, Zohrabhai, Selum Godavari,
Coimbatore Tali, whose stories aren’t told. One effect of the
Anti-Nautch Act, Sampath explained, was on “padams and javalis,
reflecting tawaif music, that were earlier replete with innuendoes.
Today they resemble bhajans. People like Pandit Bhatkande saw to it
Hindustani classical would be taught in ‘respectable’ families. So
immoral references in songs were erased. We lost shringar ras, a vital
component.” Published by HT Syndication with permission from Pioneer.
From: A. Papazian