It is a lovely oddity of the human experience that a dearly loved and adored figure never ages in one’s mind; that they are eternally the same age as they were when you were first enamoured by them. Zakir Hussain first wowed audiences in Malaysia in a major concert back in 1992 — and in most of our minds, he is still that young man of 41.

Twenty years later, it must be said that Zakir looks exactly the same, and not at all like the 60 years of age he actually is. Music keeps you young, and the joy of doing what you really love is also a wonderful anti-ageing agent. Good genes, like the ones that made him a child prodigy, may have something to do with it as well.

Zakir’s mischievous sense of humour and charming personality filled the Dewan Filharmonik Petronas (DFP) earlier this week. He was performing as part of a larger troupe of musicians called Masters of Percussion, an extension of his memorable tours with his father and teacher, the legendary tabla maestro Ustad Alla Rakha Khan. Masters of Percussion have successfully toured since 1996, with members including ghatam maestro Vikku Vinayakram, violinist brothers Ganesh and Kumaresh and veteran Rajasthani percussionist Ram Kishan, who passed away mid-concert in 2008.

Joining the 2011 tour were Zakir’s brother Taufiq Qureshi on drums and percussion, Rakesh Chaurasia on the bamboo flute, Sabir Khan on the sarangi, Navin Sharma on the dholak and Abbos Kosimov on the doyra. The Meitei Pung Cholom Performing Troupe, known as the dancing drummers of Manipur, were an arresting visual element.

The show opened with Taufiq providing a study in the rhythms of the human breath. “The breath is life,” he said, and — maybe just to prove it — performed a few inhalations and exhalations over the microphone that — save for the extreme chain smoker among us — most people could pull off without too much mental or physical strain. But from here, Taufiq left us mouth breathers behind. The array of respiratory percussions he weaved together played out in a number of beats and tones, with a one-two hip-hop rhythm that resembled beat-boxing performed with breath instead of voice. The crescendo he constructed at the end of the piece approximated a steam locomotive chugging across the stage.

Tabla master and musician extraordinaire Zakir Hussain.

The Manipuri dancers from the Meitei Pung Chulom troupe then took over, and their energetic drum dance was brought to additional life by the joyous smiles on their faces and the colourful garments that adorned them. There is a charming — and very slight — disunity to their too-short opening performance that removed any chance of it feeling contrived. It felt natural and genuine, which can be difficult to do in a setting as exacting as the DFP’s.

The unimaginably flawless acoustics of the hall were the perfect canvas for Sabir’s subsequent solo performance of the sarangi, whose longing strains go right to the centre of your being, grabbing your soul with both hands. It is pure poetry, and the way it arrests you and spontaneously draws tears to your eyes will make the most jaded of music aficionados cry in empathy.

Zakir walks on stage midway, and quietly begins playing without the need for any major drama. The tabla is not the star in this piece; it is the sarangi, and Zakir keeps it that way and respects the music. Eventually, there is a shift in the balance of power, and the sarangi eases back into a simple repetitive melody that focuses on the percussion instruments — Zakir on the tabla, and Taufiq on the djembe.

All percussion instruments speak a common language of rhythm, and Taufiq and Zakir show us how it is expressed in everyday activities: two trains on opposing tracks going over a bridge, or a warm welcome to a concert and the gentle usher home. Creating this very human connection to percussion instruments is something Zakir and Taufiq are famous for, unveiling the simple and uncomplicated link between people and music.

Rakesh’s flute, combined with Kosimov’s doyra, is light-hearted and lively, and hits you solidly with an intense Jonesing to hit the road and feel the carefree sensation of travel. Kosimov’s masterful display of the doyra — which looks like the kompang, but is less sonorous and comes with a ringing sound — was pure showmanship, and the dashing Uzbeki in his native costume quickly took control of the stage. Indeed, playing one doyra was feat enough; when he played two — one in each hand — the audience went nuts. When he acrobatically balanced three, it was a spectacle that had to be seen to be believed.

After the intermission, the entire ensemble came together in various parts before ending in a heart-thumping finale. Which was the most outstanding? Taufiq and his masterful manipulation of the Western drums to Indian music? Sabir’s continuance of a sarangi tradition that goes back generations? Maybe it is Kosimov’s doyra and his playful exchange with Navin’s dholak. Forget music altogether — the best may well be the three-man Meitei Pung Chulom troupe, which was an aural and visual delight extraordinaire.

And there is Zakir himself, one of the best tabla players and performers in the world. Even to those familiar with tablas — consisting of a “dayan” wood drum for the right hand and a “bayan” bass metal drum for the left — it’s difficult to describe the variety of tones he produces on the instrument. With his right hand, he twangs like a stringed instrument — perhaps a bass, or the three-stringed shamisen. With his left, he often scratches on the bass drum like a DJ to get a variety of lows, from deep thuds to hollow bubbling echoes. His fingers move across his tabla with an almost otherworldly speed, yet his expression remains calm and full of joy.

Cramming a bunch of sounds into as short a space as possible is not something any of us would consider music — yet when Zakir does this, it is music that is sheer magic. Of course, the reason this works for him is that he also knows when not to do what, when to back off and, say, let another musician take centrestage, or when to pull back on his own rhythms rather than simply bludgeon the audience into submission.

And so, the audience was eating out of Zakir hands many times throughout the show. They were won over many times by the intensity of Zakir’s tabla, and the manner in which he involved them in his performance, instead of just playing for himself. He shared a little bit of himself on stage, and that is what truly gives Zakir and his music so much soul.


This article appeared on the Live it! page, The Edge Financial Daily, October 19, 2011.