The various forms of lehar in a river or a lake or a sea or an ocean are finite. But Pakistani ghazal ‘ustad’, Ghulam Ali, can’t be bogged down by such limitations. His throat can produce as many variants of lehar as time on the stage, and the audience permits. The lehar of his dil can roll on and on, never repeating. From a gentle ripple to a tsunami – he has them all in his musical armoury.
Today, on 5 December, the maestro turns 79.
He was asked in an interview about his view of the Pakistani pop groups, and had replied, “Frankly, I am really bewildered at their style of singing. How can you sing a song by running and jumping around the stage? The stage is meant for performing, not for acrobatics.”
Ironically, Ghulam Ali does exactly that. He may be sitting still, a musical emperor sitting cross-legged, with an indulgent smile and twinkling eyes, but his throat is effortlessly indulging in musical acrobatics; powerful, unwavering, aided by strong lungs; honed to perfection by decades of riyaaz. And his fans go ecstatic.
They find his style – no lengthy preamble by way of an alaap – hitting the ground running, cutting straight to the chase – scintillating, exciting, exhilarating.
They love the musical fireworks that the Pakistani maestro unleashes, they adore the way his notes jump from tree to tree. It’s an adrenaline rush, and the audience emerge out of the concert with a heady feeling.
Ustad’s Musical Acrobatics & Calisthenics
Ustad recites the shers in his trademark manner without distorting the beauty of the poetry. He knows where to stop, and where to stress, so that the meaning comes across. Ghulam Ali’s heavy, baritone voice has subtle variations, which can convey the entire gamut of emotions.
For his fans, he is a falcon, not a dove.
The cognoscenti has their own take on the matter.
He is a ‘man of the masses’, they claim. Acrobatics are fine, but there needs to be a gradual build-up by way of an alaap, without which there would be a feeling of unfulfillment in the minds of the discerning listeners.
The alaap is critical to any raag-based rendition, including a ghazal. It unfolds and adorns the raag. They further hold that his ghazals ‘lack’ depth, poise and dignity. That they are short of aesthetics. Embellishments are of course integral to any rendition – be it taandaari, sargams, murkees, harkats or khatkas – but they need to be invoked moderately; else they will enervate the essence of the raag, though they may elevate the mood of the masses.
A Maestro’s Dilemma
I saw an interview of Jagjit Singh where he mentioned that even though Ghulam Ali had mastered the sur and in terms of talent and grip , skill and virtuosity, was amongst the best of the best, his ghazals by and large lacked melody, and seemed to be ‘uninspired’ and ‘ordinary’ – save a few out of his large oeuvre.
This is the dilemma faced by any maestro – does one create and influence the taste of the audience, or does one cater to the public demand?
There is nothing wrong with either. And there is a vast audience that savours both the contemplative and the combustible. The choice to relish the ghazals of Mehdi Hasan and Ghulam Ali need not be either/or. If I want my heartstrings tugged, I play ‘Gulon Mein Rang Bhare’ of Mehdi Hassan; when I want to my heart rate pumped up, I play ‘Yeh Dil Yeh Paagal Dil Mera’ of Ghulam Ali.
Mehdi Hassan had the added advantage of having a huge treasure chest of film songs which he had ‘ghazalised ‘(slowed the tempo, added semi-classical touches, introduced more stanzas) – which he sang when he wanted to become more accessible. He normally walked with the kings, but still retained the common touch.
Singing For the Pakistani Maestro Himself!
Ghulam Ali also has done playback for Pakistani films. In fact, I heard him first time in 1973 with the song ‘Mere Shauq Da Nai Aitbaar Tenu’ from the film ‘Ek Thi Ladki’ (1973). It’s an amazing song without any calisthenics. In any case, film songs don’t allow that latitude. It’s only when he does private ghazals that he smashes boundaries. The first ever song that I sang on stage was his – ‘Baharon Ko Chaman Yaad Aa Gaya Hai’. At a private dinner of five persons at a Delhi farmhouse some years ago, I mentioned this fact to him. He insisted that I sing it. “But I have come to hear you, Sir”, I protested. “How can I even dare to do such a thing before you?” But he wouldn’t sing because the next day he had a public performance in Delhi and wanted to preserve his voice, but he kept insisting that I sing that same ghazal. With ‘liquids’ swirling inside me, I said “what the hell”, closed my eyes, and inflicted on him the worst possible punishment!
Yet, though he talks with the crowds – that’s his singing style – he still keeps his virtue. When singing in private soirees, amongst aficionados, Ghulam Ali’s classical renditions put a smile on the faces of ‘purists’. It’s not that he can’t be tamed. Listen to his album ‘Meraj -e- Ghazal’ with Asha Bhosle, specifically the ghazal ‘Dayar- e- Dil Ki Raat Mein’. As they say in musical parlance, he is completely tayyar, and ready for battle. If he has chosen a particular style that keeps his devoted audience screaming for more, so be it.
How India Opened Its Doors & Heart to the Pakistani Maestro
His solid foundation in classical music was laid from the age of fifteen when he became a disciple of the legendary classical singer Bade Ghulam Ali Khan (after whom he is named). His training was provided mainly by Bade Ghulam Ali Khan's three brothers –Barqat Ali Khan, Mubarak Ali Khan, and Amanat Ali Khan.
That he is immensely popular in India and elsewhere, is a given. His songs have even made it to Hindi films.
I have seen several shows of his – both ticketed and private – since India opened its doors to him and other artists from across the border. Once in a while, the door to the country, sometimes to a city too, gets closed due to the politics of the day. But the love and passion for Ghulam Ali by the admiring legion of his followers never shuts down.
On his birthday on 5 December, may God give Ghulam Ali, and his throat, many more years of good health and good music. The ‘trapeze artist’ still has many shows to do!
(Ajay Mankotia is a former IRS Officer and presently runs a Tax and Legal Advisory. This is an opinion piece and the views expressed above are the author’s own. The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for them.)
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