Jayabrato Chatterjee

It’s so wonderful to meet old friends when the fragrance of shiuli flowers waft in the air. Yes, with every Puja return old memories. Of confidants who left the city. Of parents who are now inevitably dead. And of future hope, blessed by Ma Durga herself.

When my bandhu, Ina Puri, called to invite me for her book release, I was very pleased to know that the native was returning to her beloved Kolkata, albeit for a brief spell. It is difficult to write about someone else’s existence. And Ina has produced a marvelous rendition of Shiv Kumar Sharmaji’s life and times.

The book, Journey With a Hundred Strings, may not have been possible had it not been for Ina’s dogged perseverance and the unstinting support she got from ITC Ltd. Perhaps it was ITC’s ‘no strings attached’ sponsorship that finally helped produce such sweet music, flowing from Ina’s pen. Manjit Bawa’s drawings and, of course, the fountainhead of Shiv Kumarji’s many splendoured confessions.

Before making an appearance at Oindrilla Dutt’s dinner, I was glued to the book through the better part of the night, absorbing Shivji’s experiences. From the little boy who saw the glories of Lahore barefoot to his current monumental stature, it has, indeed, been a long haul.

Ina has captured many lively anecdotes with fun and subtle humour and Shivji has given us splendid glimpses of his forays into the world of Hindi cinema in Bombay, along with his dogged pursuit to bring an essentially folk instrument from far-away Kashmir to the forefront of the classical arena. At the best of times, the book is a treat. And Manjit Bawa’s lovely drawings come almost like musical pauses in a scintillating concert.

Shiv Kumarji’s son, Rahul, paid his father a glowing musical tribute before the dinner.

He plays with great confidence, tempered with sensitivity and style. But what was heartening was to meet a young man who still calls himself a student, who has tremendous humility and who worships his celebrated father. Shiv Kumar Sharma, of course, was the icing on the cake that night. People often mistake his essential detachment as arrogance or aloofness. But once he is drawn into a conversation, he can be witty and philosophical by turns. It was magic, learning about the changes he has brought about in the traditional santoor, untouched by dismissive critics and sceptical classical musicians of other genres, and give it the respectability it deserved.

I couldn’t help remembering that here was the man who played the tabla by day for the songs Lata Mangeshkar sang in Guide and practiced tirelessly on his santoor at night so that he could perfect his art. The journey was often lonely, but Shivji was determined.

Today, as the world applauds his musical genius, I am filled with personal pride to have met the doyen in such intimate surroundings and to know that it was my friend, Ina, who was able to draw him out and get him to render such a radiant memoir. This was certainly the best Puja gift I’ve got in years!