My earliest memories of music are of running out of the house to listen to gramophone records in street corners. How I loved that music and tried to copy it!

My mother taught me the basics of sur, but the most important influence was my Guru, the late Sawai Gandharva. He would teach us one phrase or palta and not go to the next until we had mastered it. There were times when I would sit in a comer for hours, quite alone, just practising. Sometimes I would start crying out of frustration... but Guruji never gave up, such was his bhakti.

I believe in the gradual development and unfolding of the raga, an exposition so delicate that the listener should wait eagerly for the next phrase. My Guruji taught us to use surs like a miser parting with his money - a graceful, subtle movement so that the listener understood the importance of the placement of each note of the raga. I believe that listening is also an art, and that a discerning audience draws out the best from an artiste.

- Gangubai Hangal

Subject: Old interview with Gangubai Hangal

Date: Sun, 17 Feb 2002 01:21:56 -0800

From: "Surajit A. Bose" <sbose@saintmarys.edu>

Newsgroups: rec.music.indian.classical

Rajan's post about Gangubai Hangal's reaction on learning that she had

been awarded the Padma Bhushan reminded me of an article that appeared

in the Times of India Saturday supplement, March 19, 1988, around the

time she turned 75. The article is titled "Portrait of a Lady." The

content is fascinating; I've heroically resisted the temptation to edit

Ms Sehgal's prose for grammar and style. 8-) But one particular

stylistic point needs to be noted: Ms Sehgal translates "gaanewaalii" as

"singer". That translation misses the whole point, transforming an

epithet into a neutral term. The more apt translation is "singing girl."

-s

-----------------------------------------------

Nicknamed "gaanewali", she was ostracized by the orthodox brahmins. But

her irrepressible talent brought her the respect, status and the

financial security she has always craved. Sabina Sehgal met Padma

Bhushan Gangubai Hangal during her 75th birthday celebrations at her

hometown, Hubli.

The story of the little girl Gangubai from Hangal, a remote village in

Karnataka, almost reads like a fairy tale. Except that today, as Dr

Gangubai Hangal turns 75 and continues to live happily ever after, her

life and times, infinitely more than her music and fame, assume gigantic

proportions. Because hers is not just a simple rags-to-riches story, but

a far more complex one, which cannot be bandied simply as one from

degradation to respectability.

Born in Dharwar, in 1913, into a family of Gangamats, or a class of

simple boatmen, the social milieu in which Gangubai was brought up was

by no means conducive. Being a shudra, and that too of the lowest order,

was compounded by the fact that she was born into a family where the

female folk assumed the role of what was euphemistically referred to as

"Angavasthra", a term which, if literally translated, would correspond

to an additional cloth or ornament draped by sophisticated men as a

status symbol; a practice which was not necessarily considered immoral a

century back. Gangubai, like her mother Ambabai, and her grandmother

Kamlabai, all good musicians in their own right, belonged to this

tradition. Both her father, Shri Nadgir and her husband, Shri Kaulgi,

were brahmins, but interestingly, neither she nor her mother, assumed

their names after marriage, or lived with them and their families; even

Gangubai's children and grandchildren continue to call themselves

"Hangal".

In fact, right from when she can remember, her life has been a series of

contradictions. Of some childhood experiences in a predominant brahmin

neighbourhood, Gangubai says: "I remember stealing fruit from our

neighbour's mango trees. More than the act of stealing, I remember the

neighbours being horrified that a singer's daughter should step into

their compound. I would be thrown out. Incidentally, the same people

invite me over to their house today and call me 'Gangubai' with great

respect. There are so many incidents that I will never forget--I

remember singing for the Belgaum Congress session which was attended by

Gandhiji--my only paranoia throughout the programme was that I would be

asked to eat my food separately."

And it is against this backdrop that it becomes essential to study the

evolution of one of the greatest female musicians of our times.

Gangubai's mother was a Carnatic music vocalist, but once her daughter

started learning Hindustani music, she gave up her own style of singing

so that her daughter could best hone her talents.

Gangubai's stage debut took place in Bombay, at the Bombay Music Circle,

where she was heard by several eminent musicians. After her debut here,

Jadden Bai (mother of film actress Nargis) convinced her to participate

in a music conference in Calcutta. Gangubai recalls, "In Calcutta, when

the organizers saw me, they insisted that I first sing in a private

sitting a night before my concert was scheduled. I couldn't understand

why they couldn't wait till the next day. Nisar Husain Khan Saheb took

me aside and explained that the organizers had doubts about what I, a

frail girl at that time, was capable of! I sang and was greatly

appreciated. In fact, I was awarded a gold medal by the Maharaja of

Tripura. At the same concert, I kept remembering my mother who was no

more, and just then felt a hand on my shoulder. When I turned around, I

saw K. L. Saigal, who said, 'bahut surila' (very melodious). I was happy

but then very upset that a strange man should touch me!"

Other than her mother, Gangubai owes her musical training to Shri

Krishnacharya, Shri Dattopant Desai and most significantly, to Pt.

Rambhau Kundgolkar, better known as Sawai Gandharva--guru and teacher to

many eminent musicians including Pt. Bhimsen Joshi and Firoze Dastur.

Another strong influence on Gangubai's music, though indirect, was the

singer from Agra, Zohrabai. Says Gangubai, "Even today I love Zohrabai's

music."

Reminiscing about her training with her guru Sawai Gandharva, Gangubai

recalls, "Guruji lived in Kundgol and I in Hubli--a distance of about 30

kilometres. I formally started learning from him somewhere around 1937,

by which time I had a family to look after and anyway, it would have

been impossible to live in Kundgol with him like Bhim-'Anna' (Bhimsen

Joshi) did. And so I would travel from Hubli to Kundgol by train every

evening, accompanied by my uncle Ram-'Anna', who lived with us. I still

remember vividly the reception I received whenever I walked down the

streets to guruji's house in Kundgol. People would rush out of their

houses and jeer, 'Dekho, dekho, gaanewali aiyi hai' (see, see, the

singer has come). It was humiliating, but I got used to it."

On the actual technique of training, Gangubai says, "Guruji did not

teach me more than four Ragas. He often drew an analogy between swaras

and money and said that one must spend only as much as is required of

both. My practice would follow this method. I was given a certain

'palta' and would have to keep repeating it for days on end. It seemed

boring and monotonous then, but later I thanked him for this rigorous

training. The entire relationship with a guru was different in those

days. Our respect for him was so great that there was no question of us

asking him to teach us something particular, not because of our blind

devotion, but because of our innate belief that he knew what was best

for us. I remember getting caught by him invariably, whenever I tried

something new. For instance, on radio, I sang Raga Bhinbhas [sic],

working it out on my own, quite confident that guruji would not hear me,

as there was no electricity in Kundgol. But as luck would have it, he

happened to be in Belgaum that evening. I was subsequently taken to task

for using a komal dhaivat in Bhinbhas. This was followed by

comprehensive training of the Raga. There are so many Ragas with which I

associate a strange incident with guruji--Suha, Marwa ... the list is

endless."

But right through her days of training and more so after that,

Gangubai's major concern was grappling with the more immediate financial

problems that she increasingly found herself in. As Gangubai puts it,

"Peace of mind is very essential in anything that you do--particularly

in music. But in my case, it was just the opposite. What new things

could I learn when I was constantly disturbed and unhappy? And I tell

you, this whole concept of getting lost in music and forgetting the

world around you, is a myth. In my case, I can openly say that my

troubles and problems were not forgotten by just holding the tanpura in

my hand. When I would sit down for riyaz, I would, on the contrary,

break down and cry over the daily scene. Over the question of just

surviving through the next day. And it wasn't for me that I was worried,

but for the entire family that I supported. I personally never thought

of becoming rich, of having a new car or house. Those ambitions never

entered my mind. All I knew then was the money was not enough. There

were many humiliations I had to face because of this. A certain lady

musician in Pune invited me over to her house one day. Her mother asked

how much I charged for a concert. I told her Rs 125. She suggested that

I move over to Pune and accept all her daughter's rejected programmes.

They knew I was very badly off. I was insulted by this suggestion and

left their house immediately. But later I thought that maybe they were

trying to be helpful."

Gangubai's relationship with her husband Shri Gururao Kaulgi has played

a very significant role in her life. He proposed a civil marriage to

her, but she turned it down because "he belonged to a respectable family

and I wanted him to continue to belong there." Gangubai insisted that he

marry his cousin and in fact grew very fond of his wife and their

children.

Her selfless devotion to him was never considered a sacrifice by her and

even though he was a brahmin, a lawyer, it was ironically she who

supported him throughout. "He did not practise law and so whatever money

I earned, I just placed before him. He invested in business--trucks,

cars--but lost everything. I could not bear to see him unhappy. Often he

would disappear from home for months on end. The bank people would come

and harass me, ask for my property as I was unable to repay the loans.

This happened several times. I had to sell everything I had. I will

never forget or forgive myself for not being by his bedside before he

died. I had a programme in Bombay, but I did not want to go. He insisted

because we needed the money. While I was performing, he died."

On her life as a performer, Gangubai recalls the grand old days of the

All India Music Conference, when the best in the music world--Omkarnath,

Kesarbai, Bismillah Khan, Allauddin Khan, Siddeshwari Devi and many

others would come for nine days, from December 25 to January 1 every

year and hear each other sing. Each artiste was assigned two sittings.

"It was a great experience. Unfortunately those days are over. Nowadays,

you seldom see an artiste listening to another artiste. Also, the

sangeet jalsas, would go on for hours. I remember the tickets were

priced at 50 paise for sitting on the ground and a rupee for a chair!

All this may sound quaint today.

"But there was a strong bond between us artistes in the old days. I

remember when Siddheshwari Devi was laid in bed with paralysis, we went

to meet her and asked her if she needed help. She asked me to sing

Bhairavi for her. She listened with tears in her eyes."

Gangubai has many more reflections--on the dance she once

learnt--kathak, on her mother whom she loved dearly, on the musical

scenario, on concerts, on gharanas, on life, on students of today, on

her voice, which many brand as "more manly than the best male voice."

Hubli, the town which has seen Gangubai at every stage of her life, paid

a touching tribute to the grand old lady recently on the occasion of her

seventy-fifth birthday. The three-day celebration was attended by all

those close to her, including her family, Pt. Bhimsen Joshi, Mrs Vijaya

Mulley (who has known Gangubai for many years, done research on her and

recently made an extremely sensitive film on her), Dr. S. S. Gore,

Bhairappa, H. Y. Shardaprasad and several others. Said Shardaprasad,

"The greatness of this lady lies in her simplicity--it is this that

draws her to both old and young alike." Pt. Bhimsen Joshi recounted his

association with her and was moved by the occasion. The special photo

and book exhibition on the Kirana gharana, mounted by Sateesh Paknikar

of Pune, was outstanding. A book and a series of records released on the

occasion throw special light on the life of Gangubai and contain

well-researched, valuable material--a treasure for posterity.

Even today, at 75, and yet actively performing, recipient of every

comprehensible award, including the Padma Bhushan, the Tansen Award, The

Sangeet Natak Akademi Award, among others, Gangubai's experience with

life does not allow her to be affected by any of it. She often laughs

that Karnataka University has conferred a doctorate on her. "I have not

studied beyond class V you know."

Reflecting on the time she was awarded the Padma Bhushan, she says,

"Ramanna and I stayed up the whole night and remembered all the things

one would like to forget--the mental traumas, the pain, the suffering.

What a happy moment and such unhappy thoughts!"

A lot of people ask Gangubai what it feels like being 75. She smiles,

but has no words. The look on her face tells you all. It is almost as if

she is laughing at the words, scoffing those who shower her with honour

and respectability now, when she no longer needs it; perhaps when she

was 25 or 30 she would have had more use for it!