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This article has been made available to SAWF by Dr. Veena Nayak. Dr. Nayak has translated it from the original Marathi article written by Ramkrishna Baakre. From: Veena Nayak Subject: Dr. Vasantrao Deshpande - Part Two (Long!) Newsgroups: rec.music.indian.classical, rec.music.indian.misc Date: 2000/03/12 Presenting the second in a three-part series on this vocalist par excellence. It has been translated from a Marathi article by Ramkrishna Baakre. Baakre is also the author of 'Buzurg', a compilation of sketches of some of the grand old masters of music. In Part One, we got a glimpse of Vasantrao's childhood years and his early musical training. The article below takes up from the point where the first one ended (although there is some overlap). It discusses his influences and associations, his musical career and more importantly, reveals the generous and graceful spirit that lay behind the talent. The original article is rather desultory. I have, therefore, taken editorial liberties in the translation and rearranged some parts to smoothen the flow of ideas. I am very grateful to Aruna Donde and Ajay Nerurkar for their invaluable suggestions and corrections. Veena THE MUSICAL 'BRAHMAKAMAL' - Ramkrishna Baakre (translated by Dr. Veena Nayak) It was 1941. Despite the onset of November, winter had not made even a passing visit to Pune. In fact, during the evenings, one got the impression of a lazy October still lingering around. Pune has been described in many ways by many people, but to me it is the city of people with the habit of going for strolls in the morning and evening. In 1941, Tilak Road was not bustling with vehicles as it is today. Rikshawaalas rushing headlong like wild boars were completely absent. Bicycles were the popular mode of transportation those days in Pune. Hordes of bicycles could be seen speeding down the entire length of Tilak road; yet one did not need white lines in order to be able to cross the road. Several bungalows had begun sprouting in the area beyond S.P. College, in the direction of Swargate. The place however, had not developed enough to indicate a settlement or colony. Music concerts were held at Hirabaag but they were not for ordinary folk. However, the corner there was definitely someone's choice for a rendezvous. It was at this corner of Hirabaag that one found, unfailingly at around 5:45 p.m. everyday, an old man standing in wait for a young man. A round black cap slightly askew on his head, a gleaming, proud forehead, neatly trimmed moustache, a close-collared, usually snuff-coloured, woollen coat, the large-pleated brahmaNi dhoti worn slightly below the knees, and a heavy walking stick in hand. Standing in the corner, he cut quite a dashing figure. The world of music knew that person by the name of Gayanacharya Pt. Ramkrishnabuwa Vaze. It would, of course, be unthinkable that the people of Pune would not recognize the figure standing in the park. Many would greet him. Buwa would acknowledge them and greet them in return. His sharp eyes, however, would be peeled for the arrival of the youth riding a bicycle along the Swargate side of the park. The young man was equally smart-looking. He possessed the grace and bearing of a professional athlete. Every morning he would go for physical training at Shiva Damle's Maharashtra Mandal on Tilak Road. About twenty-one years of age, he was not as radiantly fair-skinned as Buwa, but his complexion was considerably light. Hence, the vermilion marks applied to the earlobes in the morning were still prominently visible. His Nagpuri-style dhoti with its broad border was fashionably worn with its tuck tied fast and with a scout-style khaki shirt on top. Like a whizzing taan, the bicycle would enter the park and, with an abrupt halt in front of Buwa, the rider would disembark. Buwa would complain, "Arre Vasanta, do you know what time it is? It took you so much time to reach Hirabaag from Vaanwadi? I have been waiting so long for you!" "It's a military accounts office, Buwa. Unless the boss leaves, I cannot budge from my desk." "Come on, don't waste more time." The pair would then begin its rounds. Even at that time, Vasantrao was capable of singing soul-stirring music. The friendship with Vazebuwa, however, was not based on music. Buwa did not even have an inkling that Vasanta could sing. Buwa knew Vasantrao only as the Nagpuri youth who lived in a rented room next door, worked as a clerk, had a passion for physical training and was also a first-rate gourmand. With the exception of music, they would engage in discussions on countless other matters of the world. Vasantrao was as appreciative of Buwa's predilection for food as he was of his music. At the break of dawn, Buwa would toss a rupee-coin in a silver bowl and one of his students would be dispatched on the urgent mission of purchasing fresh butter. Once the full bowl was brought home, its contents would be emptied into a stone mortar. Adding a cup of confectioner's sugar, the student would then sit and stir the mixture. When the butter and sugar were nicely blended, it would be served in the large bowl to Buwa. The remnants in the mortar would be swallowed up by the students. Buwa, however, would savour the butter-sugar mixture in a leisurely fashion, licking it with his index finger, like a devotee whose slurps of water punctuate the chanting of the mantra, 'keshavaaya namaha, narayanaaya namaha'. These evening strolls taken together by Buwa and Vasantrao, what were they all about? Gluttony, of course. "Vasanta, let's go to Govardhan MandaL. They would have just finished milching and if we go right now, we'll be able to get fresh milk", Buwa would declare. They would gulp down half a litre of milk each at the MandaL (The metric system was not used in those days; I am using "litre" here just to give you a quick idea). Outside on the road, they would encounter the banana vendor. A dozen bananas would be split between the two men. Buwa would carefully save two bananas in his pocket. It was only when they had seated themselves on a bench in Mathura Bhavan that the purpose of the reserved bananas came to light. Mathura Bhavan, a restaurant in Budhwarpeth, is as famous for its steaming hot fritters as it is for its "doodh ki loTi" (tumbler of milk). Buwa and Vasanta would polish off a huge pile of fritters right there. The bananas hoarded in Buwa's pocket would then make their appearance and take a dip in the frying pan. "A sweet morsel for a finishing touch!", Buwa would proclaim as they ate the fried bananas. It turned out not to be the "finishing touch" after all. Opposite Mathura Bhavan was a little shop that sold 'baasundi' (a Maharashtrian delicacy made of sweet evaporated milk - VN) which was served in leaf-cups. Their meal wouldn't be complete without a final course of baasundi, which they did the utmost justice to. How this friendship, based on shared neighbourhood and love of food, moved into the realms of music, is a profoundly touching tale. For almost two and a half years, Buwa had no idea that Vasanta could sing a note, leave alone present a full-fledged khyal. Vasanta on his part, however, would regularly sit in while Buwa taught his students. He would assemble paan for himself from Buwa's plate. One day, Vasantrao found one of Buwa's students in a strange condition when he visited the latter's home. In those days, one did not have the straps that spondilitis patients now wear around the neck. However, the student had something wrapped tightly around his throat. Vasantrao enquired, "What happened to your throat? Some new ailment?" "Nothing yet", the student replied, "but I do this in order to prevent future ailments. As soon as I get home, I tie a pouch filled with sheera cooked in fresh ghee." (sheera = a sweet dish made with cream of wheat or farina - VN) "A bandage of warm sheera everyday"? "I have no other choice", said the student. "Is the taaleem causing strain?" "Yes. Buwa gives taaleem in paanDhri chaar and paanDhri paach. Such high notes are beyond me." "Then why don't you just tell him frankly to lower the pitch?" "What right do I have to say that to Buwa? He would stop my taaleem right away. As it is, I owe him a great debt as he is teaching me free of charge with my current financial state in mind." "So what? Your voice will be ruined for the rest of your life! You must tell Buwa clearly." "Impossible! I couldn't do it, not in this lifetime." "Then I'll tell him. Shall I?" "Please, no. It will be taaleem-hatya for me" "We will see. I will settle this matter tomorrow itself." Next evening after the daily walk, the student's lessons started as usual. Buwa began singing with his heavyweight gamaks. Vasantrao immediately confronted him. He said, "Buwa, what a plight you have reduced this poor fellow to! Once he goes home, he has to tie a bandage of warm sheera around his throat. Can't you lower the tonic a couple of pitches for his taaleem? On hearing the question, Vaze Buwa's eyebrows knotted into a frown and his voice rose even higher! Hurling a choice expletive he said, "What do you, a wrestler, know about a couple of pitches higher or lower?" "Buwa, don't say that!.

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