With the passing of Zakir Hussain on Dec. 16, an era in the history of Indian and world percussion has come to an end. The sheer volume of tributes and reminiscences that have poured in from around the world attest not only to his extraordinary genius, but also to how well-liked he was. The sheer number of lives he touched and how fondly he is remembered is an index of how special a human being he was.
Zakir Hussain — the name itself became synonymous with tabla, the two-drum Indian percussion instrument. It is believed that he began learning it even before he was born, listening to his father, the great Allah Rakha, practicing daily, when his mother was pregnant. Soon after his birth, his father initiated him by chanting the bol or beats of the tabla in his ears. By seven he was already accompanying his father on stage. One might justifiably say that he was destined for greatness.
He not only mastered the tabla but also transcended its traditional cultural boundaries to become a global ambassador of Indian classical music. His training, rigorous and steeped in tradition, was complemented by his natural flair for improvisation — a key element in Indian classical music.
His performances were not just a demonstration of technical mastery but also of emotional depth and storytelling. Each beat he played seems to narrate a tale of joy, sorrow, contemplation, and ecstasy, engaging listeners in a profound musical experience.
Instrument in global music
So proficient was he that whenever I heard or attended any of his performances, be it with the top singers and instrumentalists of his time, it was Zakir Hussain who got the loudest applause. He did not mean to upstage any of the masters he accompanied, but it simply happened as a matter of course. Whatever their initial reservations or annoyance, soon the latter also realised that being accompanied by Zakir Hussain was a sure-fire guarantee of the success of the concert.
Like Ravi Shankar before him, one of Zakir Hussain’s remarkable qualities was his ability to blend the classical with the contemporary. He collaborated with musicians from around the globe, integrating jazz, rock, and world music into his repertoire.
His association with bands like Shakti, where he fused Indian classical music with jazz, was pivotal in introducing Indian rhythms to the Western world. These collaborations have not only expanded his musical vocabulary but have also brought a new dimension to the tabla, making it a versatile instrument in global music.
In his hundreds of concerts around the world, Zakir Hussain often started with traditional pieces, showing respect for his roots, but then took the audience on an unexpected journey of innovation and improvisation. He blended seemingly disparate elements yet harmonised them with the deft flight of his fingers. Sitting in the front row, I would marvel at how fast his fingers moved.
When he was in his zone, I would only see a whirr or blur, like a dance of primal particles, with the talcum powder flying all over the beaten leather of the drums. He was, without question, not just a player or performer, but a musical visionary.
What is more, he also made his mark as an actor. Heat and Dust (1983), the Merchant-Ivory adaptation of Ruth Prawar Jhabwala’s novel, was perhaps his finest performance. He stood his ground as the perfect foil in a trans-generational saga against the flamboyant Shashi Kapoor. Another, lesser-known performance that stands out is in Saaz with Shabana Azmi, the 1997 Sai Paranjpye musically-themed movie.
Intellectually stimulating and engaging
As a music composer and director, he contributed soundtracks to films as diverse as Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now (1979), The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (2015), and Monkey Man (2024). His ability to blend traditional Indian rhythms with contemporary music made him a unique asset in the film industry.
I too have memories of Zakir Bhai, both as a musician and as person from long back. As a graduate student in the 1980s at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, I also served as the Secretary of the Indian Cultural Society. We often invited leading Indian musicians, organising concerts to showcase Indian talent. Shiv Kumar Sharma and Zakir Hussain were our esteemed artists in one such concert.
I was put in charge of the Zakir Hussain detail. He was driven to Urbana-Champaign from Chicago by friends. I took care of their dinner after the expectedly dazzling concert. The hosts were vegetarians so I was a bit concerned that it would not be to Zakir Bhai’s taste.
On the contrary, he said, he liked vegetarian food the best. He ate heartily and praised the cooking of the lady of the house. Then, before leaving, quite spontaneously he bent a knee, and, much to her surprise, kissed the hand of his hostess. Not used to artists and musicians, she almost jumped out of her skin and was blushing pink by the time her guests departed.
Zakir Bhai looked sideways at me sheepishly as if to say, “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” It showed a side to his character that combined charm and vulnerability. No wonder, with his curly locks, cupid-like good looks, even a decade later in 1994, he was voted India’s sexiest man by the readers of Gentlaman magazine. Everyone expected Amitabh Bachchan to win — even the magazine team was shocked — he recalled with a hearty laugh.
Zakir’s experiments with complex time signatures and polyrhythms, creating layers of sound, made his music not only scintillating and magical, but also intellectually stimulating and engaging. His fans waited for his solos or asides of the various tala, or cycles of beats that he demonstrated with intricate patterns, accelerating and decelerating with breathtaking precision. His crescendos and climaxes often had audiences break out in rapturous applause.
Zakir, through his lectures, workshops, and mentoring also shared his knowledge and passion for tabla with the younger generations. He made Hindustani music accessible and meaningful to international audiences, demystifying without diluting it for popular consumption and appreciation. Grammys, Padma Awards and a host of other recognition came naturally to him throughout his career.
Yet, in the best traditions of his forefathers, he never lost his respect for his great art or his humility. I often saw him touch the feet of the great, older musicians whom he accompanied, sometimes even waiving his fees.
Whenever I think of Zakir Bhai, the one quotation that sticks to my mind is what he said in his Stanford University masterclass: “Music is infinite; the more you learn, the more you realise how much is left to discover.” I know that while millions will miss him, his music will live forever.
_resources1_16a45059ca3_small.jpg)
