How I met Indian music, and my teacher, Budhaditya (by E. Powell)

My practical musical life began, of course, with the deep love and study of the guitar. Although one particular thing confounded me right from the beginning, and for more than a decade thereafter, was the fact that I could never seem to actually tune the guitar perfectly. I had always attributed this situation to some personal shortcoming until I began studying the sitar, at which time I learned about the "equal tempered tuning system", and that it is not in fact possible to tune a guitar perfectly (in standard tuning).

From the beginning, the sound of the sitar always intrigued me, and George Harrison's "within you without you" branded into my brain this sound's inseparability with India. Later, I was further impressed with how profoundly and beautifully the music of India could influence Western music when my first jazz guitar teacher introduced me to Mahavishnu John Mclaughlin. Still today I feel that "Shakti" is probably the most impressive "India meets West" fusion attempt.

At the age of 20 my life and mentality were still steeped in the world of rock music. Although I had a growing dissatisfaction with this world, and a deepening sense that there must be very much more to music, and to life - still it took a serious personal health crisis to shock me out of my 'rock n roll comfort zone'. Difficult as it was for my young and powerful ego, I renounced my dreams of becoming a "Rock God", and resigned myself to search for a more healthy, wholesome, and grounded way of life and musical direction. At the time, other than altering my diet and lifestyle profoundly, I really had no idea where this change in direction would lead me musically. I began an intense study of jazz guitar, thinking that this would solve my problem since the jazz world seemed to be on a much higher plane. As fate would have it, my patience with intense jazz study did not hold out too long, and the temptation for a regular pay cheque (and the need to simply get out and play) lead me back into the bars with my stratocaster...this time as a 'one man band' playing and singing anything from Jimi Hendrix to Willy Nelson.

Further health crises resulted but this time around it was not so easy to drop 'the rock life', as the pay from these gigs was quite good and I had begun feeling financially dependent on the whole scene. Not to say that wonderful experiences and satisfying musical moments didn't happen in those years of musical prostitution, but simply knowing that I was on the 'wrong path' made the situation much more painful.

My first journey to India was not specifically intended as a musical pilgrimage. Rather, it was meant more as an adventure, an escape from the boredom and the purposelessness I was feeling. But, of course, "wherever I go - there I am" and in going to India I was not able to escape my personality traits which had created my problems to begin with, and my first years in India were in fact very difficult for me. India is very much a land of extremes and she will bring out the very worst in you and show you to yourself mercilessly.

I remember very well going to my first sitar concert in Varanasi (at the "International Music Ashram"). The young sitarist, Batuk Nath Mishra, made a big impression on me and I knew instantly that I wanted him to be my teacher. He was a handsome man who presented himself with tremendous dignity. To me he gave the image of a "prince of sitar"... ...as it turned out, it was easy to make contact with him and we began daily lessons immediately.

Through hours of what was at first 'forced/disciplined listening', without a high degree of understanding or appreciation, I gradually began to acquire a very deep liking for 'sitar-raga' music, the playing of Vilayat Khan and Nikhil Banerjee in particular. North Indian music, for me in the very beginning, seemed odd and alien, but I soon found myself listening with tremendous interest and pleasure. It gave me a powerful feeling of release and timelessness.

Several months later, back in Canada, and back into the bars, and electric guitar, I soon realized that something had, once again, profoundly changed in myself. I had left India with two sitars, plenty of cassettes, and books and lesson notes on 'ragas', but the thought of 'dropping' the guitar and devoting myself entirely to the sitar had not yet appeared as anything more than a vague fantasy. The two events which were to bring upon that decision were soon to happen. First, it was my father who encouraged me strongly to keep up what I had started with the sitar, and to perhaps consider going back to India to study some more. I must say that I enjoyed tremendously tuning, and playing the instrument, it gave me and incredible feeling of balance and peace. It was the second event which clinched my decision and resolve to go back to India, continue seriously with sitar, and to make it my profession one day. What happened was quite simple, and each day it would repeat itself. First, I would be practicing electric blues guitar and singing, and trying to compose original material to record. After a couple of hours of this I would always end up with a headache and depressed, at which time I would see the sitar resting in the corner beckoning me to come and play. Of course, I did, and my discomfort was always replaced with a feeling of calm and wholeness. One day the decision was just too obvious. Did I want to play electric guitar and suffer headaches for the rest of my life, or did I want the peace and happiness which comes from playing and listening to sitar? At the age of 25 it was not easy to drop the instrument and music with which I had spent so many years , and to become a musical infant again, attempting to master one of the world's most difficult instruments. The decision was, in fact, not difficult to make. It seemed as if it had been made for me.

So, for the next seven years I was to spend six months in India studying, and six months in Canada earning money to go back to India by playing rock'n'roll in bars. The obvious irony in this scenario was the fact that the situation I was trying to be freed from was essential in financially supporting this new education which would one day free me from it. Needless to say, this predicament produced in me a rapidly growing schizophrenia until 1995 when I was finally confident enough to permanently leave the bar scene.

My second and third trips to India, Varanasi, and Batuk Nath Mishra signified my further development in understanding of the art of sitar, Indian Classical Music, Indian culture, and Hindi language. Varanasi is not a relaxing zone, as anyone who has been there will testify, but it is the center of Hindu culture and religion, and practically everyone seeking to learn something about North Indian culture has put in some time there.

I was accepted into Batuk's family (a very large joint family of established musicians) and was taught almost daily. I will never forget one day after a lesson when I asked Batuk (who is primarily a lover of Vilayat Khan's music) directly, and half jokingly, "Who is currently the best sitarist?"...and he responded without hesitation, "Budhaditya Mukherjee".

"Buda...who?", I replied. I had never heard the name but apparently he was a young sitarist who had played several concerts in Varanasi and had made an indelible impression on my current teacher. I wrote the name down and endeavored to scour the circuit of Benares cassette shops with unfortunately absolutely no success. Not one Budhaditya Mukherjee recording to be found in Varanasi in 1990. After a time my curiosity subsided and I resigned myself to the fact that I will hear him when the time will be right.

Several months later, after hearing a late night concert at the "Hanumanji Mandir" in Benares, I ran into a fellow sitar student/acquaintance, a very friendly Japanese fellow named 'Hiro'. It was very late but he suggested strongly that I come over to his place and listen to some music he thought I ought to hear. I agreed and off we went. After a few cups of tea he handed me a cassette cover and asked if I had ever heard of this man. It was a photo of a young man with a somewhat fierce expression on his face, playing a sitar, with the name Budhaditya Mukherjee written below. I immediately exclaimed how I had heard of him and had been searching for recordings by him. "Well, have a listen to this!", said Hiro as he put on a recording he himself had made of a concert Budhaditya had given in Varanasi the previous year.

The performance was a 35 minute solo sitar 'alap-jor-jhala' in the raag Jog Kauns, and I must admit that from the very first note until the last, I was absolutely spellbound.

I copied that cassette from Hiro and listened to it almost continuously... Slowly I managed to acquire a small collection of his recordings by searching in cassette shops, and by asking musicians and music lovers if they had recordings of him.

This went on for several months when one afternoon, in a local teashop, I ran into an Italian tabla playing friend named Lorenzo. I asked him if he had ever heard of Budhaditya, and to my astonishment and delight, he answered, "Yes, we had pizza together last time he was in Venice!". Noticing my amazement Lorenzo went on to explain that every august Budhaditya would give a two week workshop there which is open to the public. Needless to say, four months later I was on my way to Italy.

The experience of that workshop on San Servolo Island in Venice, in the summer of 1991, was truely one of the happiest times in my life.

Several months later I was in India again, this time as a guest at the Mukherjee house, and after a time was accepted as a private student of Budhaditya's. The experience was to be certainly much more than I had ever dreamed of. Luckily for me, the small modern industrial town in which the Mukherjee family lives offers little in terms of distraction, therefore Budhaditya, when not off giving concerts, seemed to have ample free time, and would give long, leasurely, and joyful lessons almost daily. Additional discussions and teaching from Budhaditya's father, Bimalendu Mukherjee, enhanced the experience still further. In addition, the love and acceptance with which I was received by the entire family is something I will never forget.

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