In a powerful counterpoint to the era of viral, high-speed performances, sitar maestro Shujaat Khan delivered a profound lesson in musical tranquility. On Saturday, the third day of the renowned Saptak Festival in Ahmedabad, Khan, accompanied by two tabla players, concluded his recital with a breathtaking rendition of Raga Tilak Kamod. The performance was not merely a display of technical prowess but a deliberate paean to calmness, meditativeness, and the inherent sanctity of Indian classical music.
A Deliberate Alternative to the Fast-Paced Norm
Addressing the audience, Khan articulated a clear artistic vision. He noted the overwhelming focus of social media on fast-paced, thunderous performances. "I want to give an alternative to audiences," Khan told TOI. "Our music has thunder, but it also has the waterfall." This philosophy formed the bedrock of his presentation at Saptak. He consciously chose to explore the serene, introspective depths of the raga, offering a balanced perspective often overshadowed by virtuosic speed.
Setting the Stage with Humor and Reverence
The maestro began by letting notes waft through the hall like the delicate aroma of incense, carefully tuning the packed audience to a state of equanimity. This was a significant achievement, as moments earlier he had the rasikas (connoisseurs) laughing with his good-natured jibes directed at his accompanists. Tabla player Sapan Anjaria, one of the two artists on stage with Khan, shared a glimpse of this backstage banter. "On stage, Khansahab said before the recital, 'Yeh dono toofan hai, mein in logon se bahut darta hoon'," Anjaria told TOI. This translates to, "These two play like a storm. I am very scared of them." This playful comment subtly laid down Khan's rule for the evening: the exploration would prioritize depth and purity over competitive showmanship.
Mature Accompaniment and a Climactic Reflection
Both tabla accompanists, Sapan Anjaria and Shariq Mustafa, demonstrated remarkable maturity, providing intricate yet supportive rhythmic frameworks that never veered into distracting showboating. Their synergy allowed the raga to unfold at its own contemplative pace. By the time Shujaat Khan began singing the poignant line, "Zindagi se Badi Sazaa hi Nahin" (There isn't a greater punishment than life), the audience was fully primed. They were ready to appreciate music not as a frantic spectacle, but as what Khan intended—an unhurried, profound examiner of life's complexities and follies.
The performance stood in evocative contrast to a popular online clip where a violinist, backed by an orchestra, races through Vivaldi's "Summer." While that clip prompts the question, "How do you explain that this came from someone's mind?", Khan's sublime solo performance of Tilak Kamod posed a different, equally powerful query: "How do you explain that this came without other sitars, violins, or sarods?" The answer lay in the depth of a single artist's vision, championing calmness as the soul of true musical expression.
