The Ustad of Ustaads

Ustad Shaukat Hussain Khan’s gait was regal, his manner august and his posture majestic. His aura was decidedly imperial. But, he was not a handsome man. Not in the traditional sense of the word at least. Short in stature, he had a dark complexion and rough features. Yet people who saw him found he had a dignified attractiveness about him; a commanding presence that made him look regal on stage and an enchanting magnetism that made his person both winning and warm. The first time I saw him on stage – he was playing a solo of Sawari Panjtal (a rhythmic cycle of fifteen beats) – I was struck by the radiance he exuded. He sat in a stately manner with great dignity and confidence. His presence seemed to increase in grandeur as he played, becoming progressively grander as the performance progressed. The more he played, the more magnificent he looked, to the point that when he got to the gat paran (composed pieces with pakhawaj roots) portion of the solo, it seemed as if the Emperor of Tabla was playing the fifteen beat cycle on stage.

It is thus that I remember Ustad Miyan Shaukat Hussain Khan. Indeed he was the Emperor of Tabla.

I was fortunate to have the privilege of spending a lot of time with Shaukat Saab in the five years between 1984 and 1989. During the period, he started teaching tabla at the Alhamra Art Centre on the Mall in Lahore. His brother, the gentle and warm Ustad Jan ul Hassan, used to help him with teaching duties. I did not know how to drive at the time – and did not have a car, either – but always managed to get – variously by bus, taxi, rickshaw, wagon and motorcycle from my University in Baghbanpura to Alhamra. The summer heat of Lahore, the inconvenience of using far-from-perfect public transportation, the demands of studies, numerous social commitments, the obligatory romantic relationships of a Punjabi youth; none of these would ever keep me away from seeing Shaukat Saab. I do not believe that I missed even one of his performances during the period. And that is on the top of the list of things I think I have done right in my life.

Shaukat Saab was wearing an off-white boski silk kurta with a white latha shalwar and shining brown shoes

I first saw Shaukat Saab at the Lahore Radio Station. I had gone there to visit M. A. Shaikh (a fine, fine gentleman) and Saeed Qureshi (lesser so, although he was always willing to sell me music from the cell’s archives at amounts which were significant for me at the time) at the Classical Music Research Cell. Shaukat Saab was wearing an off-white boski silk kurta with a white latha shalwar and shining brown shoes. I was to later find out that these were his signature clothes although he did enjoy wearing neckties with suits from time to time. He was walking slowly and had a confident gait that was simultaneously relaxed and energetic. I asked him, “Aap Ustad Shaukat Hussain Khan hain?” (Are you Ustad Shaukat Hussain Khan?) He replied, “Ji khadim ko Shaukat kehte hain. Kahiye beta, aap ki kya khidmat kar sakta hun?” (Yes, I am Shaukat. What can I do for you, son?) He had just called me beta! (son!) I cannot remember what I said subsequently but know that it was neither smart nor coherent. Soon, we headed to the canteen where he ordered tea. I had a hundred rupee bill in my pocket at the time (it was meant to go to Saeed Qureshi as a partial payment for Roshanara Begum’s Shudh Sarang and Bheemplasi recordings) and asked him to sign his name on the bill for me. “Beta, kyun note zaiya karte ho.” (Son, why do you want to waste a bill?) He took out the foil lined paper from a box of his favorite Gold Leaf cigarettes and wrote his name on it for me. He insisted on paying for tea. This was his style. He maintained proper decorum at all times and never tried to take advantage of anyone. I have spent my life with musicians and have found that a large number of them feel entitled to having someone else – students, fans, the government, landlords, anyone who would be willing – support their expenses. This was not our Shaukat Saab. Whenever he could, and often when he couldn’t afford to do so, he would pick up the tab. I remember that his favorite restaurant was Tabaq in Lakshmi Chowk, Lahore. In those days, the cost of the meal at the restaurant was a little over a hundred rupees. I had started writing for a newspaper and a couple of magazines by 1986, and could afford to take Shaukat Saab there for a meal, every now and then, but it was almost always a battle to get him to agree to me buying him food. I had to literally force him to go to Tabaq with me. He did not want someone younger – and a student of sorts – spending money on him. In fact, whenever I insisted on buying him lunch at Tabaq, he presented alternatives that included the cholay wallah (bean seller) who used to hawk his admittedly great cholas (beans) on a rehri (cart) outside the radio station. And when we did end up at Tabaq, he would try to pay at least his portion of the bill.

I have spent my life with musicians and have found that a large number of them feel entitled to having someone else support their expenses

Shaukat Saab understood why I wanted to learn tabla – to understand lai (tempo) and taal (rhythmic cycles) and not necessarily to become a performer. He adjusted his teaching style for me. He would often have conversations about tabla – its history, the gharanas, his role models, his experiences, his thoughts about proper accompaniment – with me whereas other students got more formal lessons. I always got the feeling that Shaukat Saab did not like to teach. Once a student’s hand had been positioned to his satisfaction, he would delegate the teaching of qaidas (lessons) to Jan Saab or, in the case of really good students, to his favorite student, Tari Khan.

Tari Khan was, to my knowledge, the only person whose company Shaukat Saab enjoyed

Shaukat Saab was a private person. He did not talk much. He was reserved and did not seem to have many friends. It almost seemed that he was naturally content and did not need anyone. His relationship with Tari Khan was the only one that I would categorize as friendship. He loved Tari Khan both as a son and as a friend. He would never say so but he used to wait for Tari Khan to arrive at the Lahore Radio station each day. Punctuality has never been Tari Khan’s forte. I remember a few times when he was very late and Shaukat Saab became visibly agitated waiting for him. He returned to his normal calm self as soon as he saw his beloved student. Tari Khan was, to my knowledge, the only person whose company Shaukat Saab enjoyed.

Ghazal singer Ghulam Ali came to Shaukat Saab's home to complain

As Tari Khan became famous, he became progressively unprofessional and insanely paranoid of other tabla players. He started showing up late for performances and often refused to play at venues where he suspected the presence of competing tabla players and their supporters. Shaukat Saab always stood up for his student and tried to defend Tari Khan’s inexplicable behavior. When a feud erupted between Ghulam Ali and Tari Khan, the ghazal singer came to Shaukat Saab’s home to complain about Tari’s behavior. Shaukat Saab, was not happy when Ghulam Ali told him about Tari Khan complaining to other people about him, behind his back, and trying to overshadow him on stage by playing unreasonably long interludes on tabla during ghazals and geets. Shaukat Saab knew that the complaint was legitimate but proceeded to defend Tari Khan. “Abhi bacha hai,” (He is a child.) Shaukat Saab said. He replied, “Jawan hai is liye zara shokha ho raha hai. Theek ho jayega. Wo aap se bauhat pyar karta hai. Aap us se dil kharab na karain. Main samjhaoon ga us ko.” (He is young and gets excited easily. He will become mature with time. He loves you a great deal. Do not give up on him. I will talk to him about his behavior). Shaukat Saab kept his word and spoke to Tari the following day. Unfortunately Shaukat Saab’s advice to Tari fell on deaf ears. The great duo of Ghulam Ali and Tari Khan was subsequently broken. The two never performed together again.

I was never able to get close to Shaukat Saab on a personal level. He seemed to be fond of me but there was always a remoteness and several barriers that I could not cross. I did not like what often felt like a studied distance but learned to live with it. This was Shaukat Saab’s style. He rarely shared personal information with me though he did talk often about his father, Miyan Maula Baksh Khan, quite a lot. His father, I gathered from my conversations with Shaukat Saab, was a very rational and sophisticated man who wanted his children to study music seriously. Himself a dhrupad singer, he had sound knowledge of pakhawaj and tabla. Shaukat Saab did not have an interest in singing dhrupad and displayed a greater interest in percussion. His father decided not to force him into singing and to allow him to pursue his interest. Shaukat Saab started learning pakhawaj and tabla first from his father and then from his Uncle Ustad Ghulam Muhammad. In 1944, at the age of fourteen, Shaukat Saab became a student of Pandit Heeralal who was a student of Ustad Gamay Khan of the Delhi gharana. A year later, Shaukat Saab joined All India Radio in Delhi and became a regular performer at the station. Shaukat Saab often told me about the great Ustads who used to perform for All India Radio at the time and how each one of them had influenced him and his tabla. He spoke very highly of Ustad Ahmed Jan Thirakwa, Ustad Habibuddin Khan, Ustad Amir Hussain Khan, Ustad Allah Rakha Khan and Ustad Karamatullah Khan, in particular. He used to refer to Thirakwa Khan Sahib as Bade Miyan Saab and had great admiration and respect for the maestro.

Shaukat Saab moved to Pakistan shortly after partition and became an employee of Radio Pakistan in Lahore. He remained employed at the station for forty-three glorious years. During one of his visits to the radio station, Miyan Qadir Baksh asked for Shaukat Saab by name and commended him on his performance that he had listened to on the radio the night before. Shaukat Saab told me that this was one of the happiest moments of his life. Miyan Qadir Baksh invited Shaukat Saab to attend his performance at the Mochi Gate in Lahore that was scheduled for the following day. Shaukat Saab told me that Miyan Qadir Baksh’s performance that night electrified him. One specific gat that was played by Miyan Qadir Baksh was “beyond [his] comprehension” and “hit him like a hunter”.  On that day, Shaukat Saab became determined to become a student of Miyan Qadir Baksh. Having trained thousands of tabla players, Miyan Qadir Baksh had lost interest in teaching by that time and declined Shaukat Saab’s initial request to accept him as a student. It was due to the subsequent requests of Bhai Lal Amritsari and Bhai Nasira that Miyan Qadir Baksh agreed to formally teach Shaukat Saab.

Shaukat Saab rarely spoke of Pandit Heeralal but, when he did, it was in very reverential terms. A friend of mine and a well-known student of Shaukat Saab met with Pandit Heeralal during one of his visits to India. He told me that Pandit Ji had great regard for Shaukat Saab and appreciated the fact that he always mentioned his name as one of his two Ustads. “Shaukat is a master of tabla. The truth is that he plays neither my tabla nor Miyan Qadir Baksh’s. He has a style all his own,” he went on to add. “I enjoy listening to Shaukat and tune in to Radio Pakistan each morning for the program Sur Savera and each evening for Sur Sagar in the hope that I will get to hear Shaukat play.”

In the eighties, Ustad Talib Hussain Khan made the claim that Shaukat Saab was a student of his Uncle, Baba Malang Khan of Talwandi. This was not true. Shaukat Saab was upset about the falsehood but chose to not deny the rumor publicly. When I asked him about it, his response was simple and logical. “Baba Malang was a great percussionist,” he said. “He does not need me in his roster of students to add to his credentials as a teacher. If he were indeed my teacher, I would not hesitate for a second to recognize him as my Ustad. Pandit Heeralal is from another country and practices a different religion than I do. Yet, I have no hesitation in calling him my teacher even though I learnt from him for a relatively short period of time. So, if Talib’s claim was true, why on earth would I deny it?”

Although Shaukat Saab never seemed to enjoy teaching, he trained some of the best tabla players of Pakistan. Ustad Tari Khan is, of course, the preeminent student and Shahbaz Hussain is a true representative of his style but the list of his students has many other distinguished names as well. It includes Ustad Jan ul Hassan, James Masih, Sajjad Ali Khan, Ghulam Sabir Khan, Raza Shaukat, Wajid Khan, Shabbir Hussain Jhari, Patrick Anthony, Pappu Khan, Shahid Ali, Lowell Lybarger, and many other talented tabla players. When teaching, Shaukat Saab focused on correct hand positioning and tried to get his students to ‘think’ about tabla. He believed that all good tabla players had put thought into their art. He often delegated the teaching of qaidas (lessons) to others keeping what seemed to be, but was not, a cursory eye on his students’ progress. He liked intelligent students and believed that intelligence was a prerequisite to learning tabla whereas riyaz (practice) was secondary. “Roshan damagh hona zaroori hai,” he would say. “Warna sab mehnat raigaan jati hai.” (It is necessary to have a bright mind; otherwise all effort comes to naught).

Shaukat Saab liked two tabla players – Ustad Ahmed Jan Thirakwa and his guru bhai, Ustad Allah Rakha Khan. He was a fan of the tonal quality of Thirakwa Khan Sahib’s tabla and felt that the great master had written the book on solo tabla performances. Sometimes, he would remember a composition of Thirakwa Khan Sahib while teaching and play it for his students. His enjoyment in playing those pieces was clearly visible. He had a lot of respect for Ustad Allah Rakha Khan and used to tell me that he was the one who had put serious thought into enhancing the repertoire of tabla and worked seriously on advancing layakari (rhythmic virtuosity), the cutting of matras (beats), and creating new divisions and structures in taals (rhythmic cycles). He rarely, and almost never with me, spoke ill of another musician; but he was an honest man. He did not waste words praising artists who did not deserve praise. There was a pakhawaj and tabla player in Lahore at the time who was senior to Shaukat Saab in age and had learnt from Baba Malang of the Punjab gharana. A lot of people used to speak highly of him but I had never found his tabla particularly good. My knowledge of tabla at the time (and even now) was limited and I was afraid to comment on the art of a musician that many knowledgeable people considered very good. One day I gathered enough courage to tell Shaukat Saab that I did not like this Ustad’s tabla and asked him why some people spoke highly of him. I had come to know by that time that Shaukat Saab was not particularly fond of this Ustad. Yet he did not take the bait and kept quiet. When I kept asking, he said, “Do you remember all that I have told you about tone?” I replied in the affirmative. “And do you also remember the differences in the playing styles of the tabla and pakhawaj that I told you about?” I replied in the affirmative, again. “And do you understand the rules of good accompaniment?” I replied dutifully with a cautious “yes.” Shaukat Saab concluded the conversation by saying, “Why ask me about him then? I have explained the criteria to you. Determine who is good and who is not, on your own.”

Ustad Salamat Ali Khan once told me that there was “no greater tabla player in the world” than Shaukat Saab. He told me of an incident from the fifties when he was touring India with his brother, Ustad Nazakat Ali Khan, and decided to sing the Sindh Bhairavi Kafi, “Sanwal Mor Maharan” at a concert in Mumbai.  The tabla player – a very well-known one, incidentally – was unable to play the keharwa theka (specific style of a four beat cycle) that Shaukat Saab had established for Multani Kafi. Ustad Salamat Ali Khan was forced to sing the Kafi in teentaal. He told me that his mood was ruined that evening and he told his brother that they should never tour without Shaukat Saab. At that time, tabla player Ghulam Abbas, who is a student of Ustad Allah Rakha Khan and the son of tabla player Ghulam Hassan Kuk, used to live with Ustad Salamat Ali Khan. He was also engaged to his daughter, Riffat Sultana, at the time. I remember one evening at Ustad Salamat Ali Khan’s home when he started talking about tabla accompaniment and said, “yeh bacha – Ghulam Abbas – din raat mere saath rehta hai aur har waqt mere sath bajata hai par phir bhi Shaukat Saab is se sau guna ziyada jante hain ke Salamat kiya mangta hai. Aur yeh kabhi woh jaan bhi nahin paye ga. Na hi koi aur tabaliya. Shaukat par Allah ka khaas karam hai. Woh gawwaiyon ke dilon ki baat boojh leta hai” (this child – Ghulam Abbas – spends all his days and nights with me and plays with me all the time but Shaukat Saab knows what I want in accompaniment a hundred times more than he does.  And he will never have that knowledge. Nor will any other tabla player. Shaukat [Saab] has a special gift from God. He can read the minds of artists he is accompanying).

Ustad Fateh Ali Khan was similarly fond of Shaukat Saab. I once interviewed him for the monthly Herald and asked him about the practice of vocalists engaging in sawal jawab (rhythmic dialog) with tabla players. He said that it was he, and his brother Ustad Amanat Ali Khan, who had started the practice after moving to Pakistan. He felt that Shaukat Saab was the one tabla player who could read the mind of a musician during sawal jawab (rhythmic dialog) and was uniquely capable of holding his own during such dialog. He added, “agar Shaukat Saab yahan (in Pakistan) na hote to shayad yeh kaam shuroo hi na ho sakta.” (If Shaukat Saab had not been in Pakistan, then, perhaps, this practice would never have started). Ustad Fateh Ali Khan used to say that Shaukat Saab made it easy for musicians to perform well. He believed that Shaukat Saab’s delineation of khali, sam and tali in a tala (negation of stress point, first beat, and stress point in a rhythmic cycle) was so clear that a musician never had to concentrate to figure out where he was in the time cycle. He also told me that Shaukat Saab knew when to play just theka (basic structure of rhythmic time cycle without ornamentation) and when to use complex patterns.

Fateh Ali Khan moved all the money he had been given in nazar from in front of him towards Shaukat Saab

In 1988, Ustad Fateh Ali Khan invited me to accompany him to a concert in Jalalpur Jattan. The concert had been arranged by the town’s Christian community and held in the local church. Ustad Shaukat Hussain Khan and Ustad Nazim Ali Khan traveled with us to the town. The church was small and could hardly accommodate the audience of more than three hundred people that showed up for the performance. Ustad Fateh sang Jaijaiwanti at the concert. He chose the bandish, Piya Ghar Na Aaye, in ektala (rhythmic cycle of twelve beats) for the bara khayal (portion of khayal sung in slow tempo), setting the ati vilambit (ultra-slow) tempo at about eight beats per minute. This required intense concentration on the part of not just the musicians but also the audience but everyone was ready and participated in perfect concord. Ustad Fateh Ali Khan took his time to unfold Jaijaiwanti, exploring each one of the secrets of the raag with great expertise. An hour later, Ustad Ji was working leisurely on behlavas (a musical ornamentation) when he lost his concentration momentarily. He mistook the tu (beat 5) tabla syllable for dhin (beat 11) and was about to use a tiya (phrase to highlight the first beat of a rhythmic cycle) to land falsely on the sam when Shaukat Saab figured out what was about to happen and used a stroke of the daggi (larger tabla) to point the correct beat to the Ustad. And while Ustad Fateh Ali Khan did not go off beat, this was the one time in a public performance that he came close to forgetting the theka. Ustad Fateh Ali Khan acknowledged the support he received from Ustad Shaukat Hussain Khan by announcing, “Yeh mujhay bacha gaye hain (he has saved me)” and moving all the money he had been given in nazar (monetary gift given by listeners to performing musicians) from in front of him towards Shaukat Saab. On the way back to Lahore he told me that a lesser tabla player would have let him make the mistake and publicized it all over the country but Shaukat Saab was a gentleman. “Shaukat has accompanied me for years,” he said. “He knows how to read my mind and accompanies me in exactly the manner that I want. No tabla player but Shaukat could have accompanied me in the slow tempo that I used for the performance. No one. There is no better tabla player in the world.”

Malika-E-Mauseeqi Roshanara Begum always insisted on booking Shaukat Saab for her performances. I know of one instance when she had come down to Lahore from Lala Musa to record Gorakh Kalyan but Shaukat Saab was in Jalalpur Jatan for a performance with Ustad Fateh Ali Khan that day. This did not sit well with her and she told (I believe) Ayub Roomani that she was going to return to her home in Lala Musa without doing any recording. Ayub Sahib requested her to listen to one of Shaukat Saab’s senior students who had been booked to accompany her before taking such a drastic step. This was no ordinary student, and after listening to him play theka she agreed to sing with him. The performance went very well; Begum Sahiba was great, as usual, and the student of Shaukat Saab provided flawless accompaniment. She was so happy with his accompaniment that she gave him a five hundred rupee bill as inaam (prize). This was a substantial amount at the time. The tabla player was jubilant and went to celebrate with his friends at the canteen. Once he had left the studio, Begum Sahiba told Ayub Roomani not to put her in such a situation again. “Main Shaukat ke saath gaati acchi lagti hun bacchon ke saath nahin!” (I look good singing with Shaukat and not with kids playing the tabla). No matter how good other tabla players were, she wanted the best.

Shaukat Saab was aware of his stature as a tabla player. Musicians – young and old, senior and junior, all wanted him to play with him. In 1981, at the death anniversary of Ustad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s father (Pakistan’s most serious music event) in Lyallpur, senior Pakistani and Indian musicians awarded him the title of Miyan after Miyan Qadir Baksh. This was the highest honor that a tabla player of the Punjab gharana could ever achieve. He was awarded the Pride of Performance award by the Pakistan government in 1985. There were countless other awards and commendations. Yet I never saw Shaukat Saab ever display even a hint of arrogance. He was confident, self-assured and totally at ease with his greatness but never arrogant.

The great Rasoolan Bai visited Pakistan in 1961 to participate in the All Pakistan Music Conference. Shaukat Saab was selected to accompany her on the tabla. I once played those recordings for Shaukat Saab; he seemed uncomfortable listening to them and asked me not to share them with anyone else. A few days later I asked him if there was anything wrong with the recordings. He said that Rasoolan Bai had asked him to play “Punjabi Teental” with one of the items but he did not know what “Punjabi Teental” was and played Sitarkhani (a sixteen beat cycle) instead. “Mujhe lagta hai ke main ne ghalat bajaya tha unke saath,” (I feel as if I played incorrectly with her) he said with humility. A few years later, Hayat Ahmed Khan who was the principal organizer of the conference, told me that Rasoolan Bai had told him that she had never enjoyed singing with a tabla player as much as she had with Shaukat Saab. She also told Hayat Ahmed Khan that she would return to Pakistan for future performances only if he guaranteed having Shaukat Saab as an accompanist for her.

The one thing that always struck me about Shaukat Saab’s tabla was the tone. It was the most sureeli (melodious) tone that I have ever heard. He told me that sometimes tabla players focus too much on laya (rhythm) and forget sur (melody) but the Ustads of tabla know that laya and sur are equally important for tabla. The first time I listened to Shaukat Saab live he had tuned his table to Pehla Kala (C? musical note) and was playing Sawari Panjtal. I noticed a distinct and precise drone of the C?note throughout the performance. Shaukat Saab’s tabla bols (words) used to resonate until long after he had struck the poora (skin of the tabla). He believed that the next matra (beat) should be sounded before the resonating sound of the previous matra (beat) has died out. So, by his standard, the limiting factor in how slow a tabla player can play vilambit theka (slow tempo) was the duration during which the sound of strokes stays audible. He was also a believer in the correct delineation of bols and said that one should never play at a tempo so fast that the bols cease to be clear and accurate; this was the limiting factor for drut (fast tempo) playing.

Shaukat Saab believed that the role of a tabla player was that of a supporter who made it easy for the principal musician to perform well. He would adjust his style to meet the requirements of the artists he supported. Malika-E-Mauseeqi did not like tabla players to improvise during her performances and liked solid but simple theka. That is how Shaukat Saab played with her. Ustad Salamat Ali Khan, on the other hand, enjoyed rhythmic interplay with the tabla player to the point that his performance virtually became jugalbandis (duets) with the tabla player especially in the drut khayal (fast tempo) portion. Salamat Ali Khan liked to sing in rare talas – Sulphakhta (cycle of five beats), Farodast (cycle of fourteen beats), and others – and create complex structures therein. When playing with him, Shaukat Saab often created patterns so complex that they could have been played in solo tabla performances. Mehdi Hassan Khan liked long and dramatic tha dunis (rhythmic variations often at double speeds after each couplet) whereas Farida Khanum preferred simple accompaniment – Shaukat Saab was able to play to the satisfaction and pleasure of both the ghazal greats. He was also mindful of the limitations of artists. Once I heard him accompany Sain Ditta Qadri and noticed that he just played theka throughout the performance of Gujri Todi. He told me later that it is wrong for tabla players to take up any time when playing with [wind] instruments. He said that it was unfair to have artists such as flautist Sain Qadri waste breath on repeating the asthai (primary musical refrain) while the tabla player showed off. I often wondered about Shaukat Saab’s complete lack of need to show off on stage and came to believe it stemmed from complete self-confidence and assurance. He was at ease with his art and with his greatness. He did not need to show off to prove his merit. If he had only played one ‘Na’ (tabla word played on the edge) in his entire career, he would have been an equally great tabla player because no one has ever sounded the kinar (edge of tabla) like he has.

Shaukat Saab always seemed to avoid two of my favorite female vocalists - Farida Khanum and Madam Noor Jehan

Shaukat Saab always seemed to avoid two of my favorite female vocalists – Farida Khanum and Madam Noor Jehan. At social events and during concerts, he always tried to stay as far as possible from the two lovely ladies. I asked him about his behavior several times but was unable to get an answer. I found out the truth a few years later.

Shaukat Saab was a very shy person and was very concerned that the two songstresses, both known for their flirtatious ways, would embarrass him in front of others. “He is scared of sitting next to Farida Ji,” Ayub Roomani told me. “He finds it difficult to concentrate on tabla given the amount of skin on display during her performances. He cannot handle the low-cut blouses. He is a shy and modest man. I think he is scared of good looking women.”

It was after a funny incident at Radio Pakistan in Lahore that Shaukat Saab became afraid of being close to Madam Ji. Her charmingly raunchy sense of humor made him uncomfortable. He played tabla during one of the live performances of the song, Ae Puttar Hattan Te Nai Wikday. Shaukat Saab, who had not been able to have any children with his first wife, became visibly sad during the emotionally charged song. He started crying and other musicians became very sad as well. After the performance, Madam Ji wanted to cheer everyone up and said, “Shaukat Saab, why are you crying? I am very fertile and I will have a child with you. In fact, let us do it right now.” She then jokingly asked everyone to leave the studios so that she could be alone with Shaukat Saab. Everyone present at the time started laughing but the joke was a little much for the reserved Shaukat Saab to handle. He did not know how to react and was deeply embarrassed. He started avoiding interactions with Madam Ji after the incident.

Shaukat Saab placed equal emphasis on the duggi (larger tabla drum) and dhavan (smaller tabla drum). His duggi always sounded in bass whereas the dhavan was used for higher tones. He started the now well-established practice of using multiple fingers to play the duggi and was able to lower the tone of the duggi by just changing the pressure of the bottom of his palm. He is the only tabla player that I know of who is capable of changing the time of the duggi  over more than one octave.

That piece of paper is and has always been one of my most valuable possessions

Shaukat Saab’s tabla solos were disciplined, well thought-out, organized and deeply engaging. I never saw him start with an uthaan (opening flourish used by some tabla players) and typically launched his solos with a tirkit pakar (short phrase using tirkit words) and moved on to the peshkara (introductory passage in a tabla solo). This was a section of the solo performance Shaukat Saab used to enjoy. He would start by establishing the tempo and then move into improvisation during the peshkara. He would use Delhi style bols - Dha, Kir Dha, Dha Tit, Ti, Na – together with bols typically used by Punjab – Kir Nag,  Tirkit, Tirkit Tirkit,  Dhage Trika, Tite Kata Gide Gina – to create a peshkara uniquely his own. He had a keen sense of arithmetic; even though I was a student of engineering at the time, I often had trouble figuring out the rhythmic structures he created and the divisions that he performed in the various talas. The qaida (rigidly composed pieces) portion of the solo was always a serious one. Although he played qaida in the Punjab and Delhi styles, his compositions were longer and more complex than one sees in either gharana. He used the kinar (edge of tabla) often and with vigor creating a sustained resonating sound. Although he was a master of the Tirkit and Tirkit Tirkit bols, he enjoyed qaidas using the Tit Dhit bols and would spend long periods of times exploring them during his solos. Each qaida that Shaukat Saab played had a specific intrinsic theme which he maintained in each successive ladis (variations of qaida). Ladi after ladi, he would create new patterns while maintaining the theme and spirit of the qaida and never hurting its unique identity. Shaukat Saab concluded his qaidas – and other items – with crisp and clean tihaiis (composed piece played thrice ending on the first beat). These tihaiis were distinctly Punjab; I never saw any Delhi influence in them. He used mishar (structure of seven), tishar (structure of three) and chatursh (structure of four) jati (family) structures throughout his solos. When playing gats and gat parans (composed pieces with pakhawaj roots), he used his knowledge of pakhawaj and vigor but did not compromise his signature tone and clarity. He rarely used the Dhire Dhire bols (words) even in gats, finding them to be bols that did not bring out the sur of the tabla. Instead he preferred to play open tirkit. Of course, in some performances – most notably in the Nikhar program of Pakistan Television – he chose to focus on Dhire Dhire. And what a Dhire Dhire it was! Melodious and tuneful. Shaukat Saab was very fond of Urdu poetry and a huge fan of Allama Iqbal. He considered tabla to be a form of poetry and, indeed, his compositions clearly use qafia and redeem (rhyming words in couplets) the same way it is used in poetry. I have not seen this level of poetry in any other tabla player’s compositions. I remember a private performance of Punjabi Laxmi (a rare rhythmic cycle of ten and one half beats) where he played a Char Darje Ki Gat (composed piece in four levels) that took over my soul and my senses for days. Punjabi Laxmi was a difficult cycle for me to count anyway but when Shaukat Saab played the gat, I completely lost count and enjoyed the composition not because I understood the structure but just because it was so melodious and beautiful. I was unable to get the gat (composed piece) out of my mind and visited him at the radio station the next day to listen to him recite it. Shaukat Saab was able to see the effect his performance had had on me, and instead of reciting the gat, wrote it down for me. That piece of paper is and has always been one of my most valuable possessions.

After gat and gat paran (composed pieces with pakhawaj roots), Shaukat Saab would typically move to relas (fast phrases). His relas are unique to him and show neither Punjab nor Delhi influence. One of the relas that I used to enjoy a lot was:

Dhi    Te     Na     Na     Ke     Ti     Te     Ta

Te    Te    Na    Na    Ke    Dhi    Te    Ta

This was the only rela that he taught me and not through Ustad Jan ul Hassan but himself, knowing that I was in love with the rela.

The conclusion of a solo performance was almost always done with highly complex and vigorous chakardars (tihaiis within tihaiis). These were highly evolved Punjab style compositions that left audiences breathless and invigorated.

Shaukat Saab had a quiet dignity about him that was initially intimidating but ultimately warm and affectionate. In my entire association with him, I never once heard him say or do something that was not classy. This is something that cannot be said about many musicians. Shaukat Saab was honest with his students and taught those that were ready and able to learn with the utmost integrity and sincerity. On stage, he was the perfect accompanist – supportive, intelligent, perceptive, musical and self-confident. As a solo player, he ruled the stage and had an ability to draw audiences into his world of tala and sur. One did not need to understand music to enjoy his solos. Shaukat Saab was a truly be-niaz person. He did not care for money, disliked sycophancy, never displayed arrogance, avoided accepting favors, and hated pettiness. Over the years, I came to understand that I loved him not just for his tabla but for his person as well. Honesty, integrity, self-respect, compassion, warmth, generosity – all these qualities were personified in this one person. I observed Shaukat Saab closely and wanted to be like him. I know I did not succeed in becoming a tabla player who deserves to be called his student but hope and pray that, by the time this lifetime is over, I would have, to some degree, developed some of the qualities that my dear Shaukat Saab embodied.

Ally Adnan lives in Dallas where he works in the field of telecommunications. He can be reached at allyadnan@outlook.com