Her Own Person

Akhtari was brought up by a single mother,Mushtari Bai,who was a tawaif herself. Her father belonged to Faizabad’s gentry,but Akhtari never knew him. She had a twin sister,Zohra,who died in childhood. The poignancy,which pervades her music,stems,perhaps,from the experience of loss at so early an age. In fact,the expression of love as pain is a constant in her work,making the ghazal an apt medium for the expression of her genius. Some friends,however,suggest that pain and depression had become such a refrain in her early life,that in later years,it became a habit,so much so that she had a penchant for manufacturing sadness,even when there wasn’t reason for any.

Akhtari started her career as a performer while still a teenager. During the ’20s,she worked as a stage actress in Calcutta,most often essaying the role of the vamp. There are pictures of her from this time “in a black velvet Western dress and smoking a cigarette with a long black holder”. She simultaneously sang at private mehfils before moving to Bombay in the early ’30s. There,she acted in five films,but in 1939,she gave up a career in cinema. During this time,her mother,according to noted historian Saleem Kidwai,was concerned that Akhtari was getting more and more drawn into the film world and that she might give up singing. As was quite common then,she took her to a pir saheb,who asked her to pull out her “bayaas”,the collection of notes that most students would zealously guard as their life. He opened it to a page and told her to sing that very ghazal in her next recording. This went on to become one of her most iconic,famous best sellers — Deewana banana hai to deewana bana de (If you want to drive me mad,so be it). In 1958,however,she appeared in a cameo role as a professional singer in Satyajit Ray’s Jalsaghar.

In Lucknow,she set up her own salon,managed very ably by her mother. Akhtari,by now,was an artiste of calibre and only the very distinguished were allowed access to her mehfils. She had also made a name for herself across north India through a number of 78-rpm recordings released under the Megaphone label. Even though she was trained by gharanedaar ustads in khayal,it appeared that she was always attracted to what the purists refer to as the “lighter” genres. The thumri and dadra became her calling.

But her greatest contribution to the field of Indian music was her rendition of ghazals. Perhaps,she inherited from her birthplace a deep appreciation of the sensibility underlying Urdu poetry. The classicism and the raagdari she brought to it remains unparalleled. That she would be featured in mainstream platforms for her ghazal gayaki was clearly an indication of the status it had acquired under her nurturing. Poets of her day wrote specially for her and she had the ability to make or break their careers. Eminent Urdu poets of her day,such as Jigar Moradabadi and Shakeel Badayuni,formed part of her inner circle and many like Kaifi Azmi were her close friends. Badayuni is said to have slipped a little chit of paper just as she was boarding a train from Lucknow to Bhopal,and by the time she reached,the evergreen Ai mohabbat tere anjaam pe ronaa aaya had emerged.

Akhtari lived many realities. She married a sophisticated barrister of his time,Ishtiaq Ahmed Abbasi,juggling,therefore,various personas,all of which made her life even more dramatic and eventful. The urge to be socially accepted,to be a housewife,a sister-in-law,an aunt was important to her and she reached out to her family members. Affable as she was,she became a popular member of the family and was known as the achchhi ammi (the good mother). But this had its impact on her singing career. To belong to an elite Lucknow family and wanting to pursue a career as a singer and a performer was difficult. And so came a phase when she stopped singing. This drove her into depression and addictions. And finally,it was evident that the only therapy that could help her was music. She started out again with a recording at the All India Radio in Lucknow. And significantly,she sang a soulful dadra — Koyaliya mat kar pukar,karejwa laage kataar (don’t call out to me dear nightingale,it pierces my heart like a scimitar)

In this new phase of her musical career,there was a dilemma over how to address her. The program officer at AIR,an Awasthi saheb,introduced her as Begum Akhtar. The name has remained since,etched in the hearts of many who adored and loved her.

But behind all her struggles was also a woman with a joie de vivre. She had many friends,acquaintances,fans and lovers. She was known for her shokh mizaaj,her sense of humour and wit. There are many stories about her and the then nawab of Rampur,who was smitten by her. One such story has Akhtar sitting on a chair made of silver given to her by the nawab and complaining to her friend Syeda Raza about the nawab. When Raza wondered why she put up with his whims and suggested that she leave him,Akhtar retorted,“I will,as soon as I get a table to match the chair.”

A free-thinking,fiercely independent,some would even say radical,woman,she was supposedly the first vidushi or ustani who flipped tradition on its head by tying the gandaa or the official thread that initiates a shishya into a learning tradition,on her women students. So far,it had only been a practice among male disciples. Akhtari,Begum,ammi was most certainly an epoch maker,a trend-setter and definitely,a lonely long-distance runner.

By Vidya Shah

Vidya Shah is a musician and director of Women on Record