Gauhar Jaan, born as Eileen Angelina Yeoward, an Armenian Christian who later converted to Islam, ruled many a heart. She was the first empress of Indian music and the original dancing diva from Calcutta (now Kolkata). Then, it was the national capital and the citadel of art, music and culture. Jaan was the P3P of her period even before the term could enter our lexicon.
Her bohemian nature cut her above the rest. She was among the few seditious people who infringed the government rules and regulations only to pay a hefty fine of Rs 1,000 a day to the then Viceroy. She even left the latter gobsmacked when she made him doff his hat and bow down before her, mistaking her for a queen. Her photograph was supposed to have appeared on match-boxes in those days which were manufactured in Austria and imported from there. Jaan was a naturally gifted musician. She had composed verses in both Urdu as well as Hindi, lent her crooning chords in more than 20 different languages, including English, and had the rare distinction of performing in front of Emperor George V at the famous precinct of Delhi Durbar in 1911.
Vikram Sampath has done a fabulous job of chronicling Jaan’s life. Recognised as the first Indian vocalist to record on a gramophone, Jaan remained quite an uncrowned conqueror in her own land. Post the success of Splendours of Royal Mysore: the Untold Story of the Wodeyars, Sampath’s narrative non-fiction My Name Is Gauhar Jaan: The Life and Times of a Musician is dipped into nostalgia, bathed in bitter-sweet memories.
MATTERS OF HEART
Albeit my educational background and professional engagement anchor me to a different port altogether, subjects related to history, music, art and culture have always been my key favourites. As far as history is concerned, its notches and nooks have always fascinated me since childhood.
LACK OF ARCHIVAL
MATERIAL
It is a matter of great regret and concern that owing to a gaping dearth of documented articles on the long-lost artistes of India’s rich cultural heritage, we are on the verge of making a veritable list of Indian jewels vanish from the annals of our national treasure-trove. Barring a few societies of Indian record collectors, copyright holders of music artistes and art or memorabilia curators, there’s nobody to preserve these assets for posterity. In absence of a proper timely documentation, it is feared that a few good renowned names from diverse creative spheres will be missing from the missives of history. We need websites, online libraries, authorised bodies and digital databases to conserve the profiles of these deceased stalwarts for good. We can’t afford to phase out their entity from our cultural museums so easily. Usually, history travels through generations by means of oral recitation, maintenance of records by commendable chroniclers, first person accounts, raconteurs telling stories, diaries and memoirs. But these aren’t enough as documented history. More of written and printed text books as in schools, colleges and varsities should essentially sneak their way to the shelves to resuscitate the lives and times of the easily forgotten artistic and musical gems of India. After all, they are the true cultural ambassadors of India and the face of India’s bona fide cultural heritage.
TRAILING THE TRIGGER
Why Gauhar Jaan? She had such a colourful character and an eventful life. She who beamed like the incandescent light of a floral chandelier at royal courts and elite concerts, flickered like the wick of a quivering lamp flame in the tail end of her lifespan when she suffered an ill health and a mental setback in abject poverty. She could never revive from that distressed plight and succumbed to her wounds in early quarter of the 20th century in 1930. What a turn of fortune and twist in her life’s tale! This bowled me over instantly. Moreover, watching Rekha’s ravishing charisma and histrionics in Umrao Jaan had left an indelible impact on my mind. Besides, while I was working on my first book on the Mysore regal household, I came across Gauhar Jaan’s name who not only died there, but was also taken refuge by the then ruling Wodeyar king (Maharaja of Mysore Krishnaraja Wodeyar II) as the court musician on a monthly allowance of Rs 500 approximately. Having been a student of Carnatic music throughout, this was the first instance where I could cultivate a Hindustani classical vocalist’s life.
Order of hierarchy
in the courtesan
community
The community of the courtesans followed a pyramidal structure. Jaan was a high-brow tawaif. She could never be equated or misconstrued with a mere prostitute, whom the society treated with contempt. She sang melodiously with a full-throated ease to enthral a high-brand society. Her voice was tinged with a tinkle of mirth and cheerfulness. She was instrumental in taking her music out of the confines of the kothas (brothels). Not everybody could afford her mujra. Many wannabe patrons would try and sneak a peek into her singing-dancing session, peeping through doors and windows. She was reserved for the discerning circle.
Research work recce
At the very outset, I had to specify her identity as Kalkattewali Gauhar Jaan as there are two other namesakes from Jaipur and Bijapur. As part of my meticulous research stint, I took short trips to trace down her roots and the residential address in particular. I visited the location in Kolkata where the Gauhar Building exactly stood. But now, it’s been razed and in its place stands a tenement called Salim Manzil. The site is at 49, Lower Chitpur Road, next to Nakhoda Masjid. I spoke to the local fruit vendors and cobblers, enquiring about the Gauhar Building. Her memories still live on and even to this day, she is being intrinsically linked to Kolkata. Besides, I traversed down to many chorbazars, including Mumbai and Kolkata’s, to hunt for her songs from a line of shops, curating vintage items.
Collector’s item
The book comes along with a rare prized asset of a CD comprising an exclusive playlist of 25 tracks sung by Gauhar Jaan. With a total duration of 75 minutes, each track on the CD spans around three minuscule minutes. Having purchased the 78 RPM records from these stores, I then digitised and mastered 100 clips but the quality of the outcome is really bad.
Cover portrait
History has its own unique sojourn to bridge the gap between the past and the present. It revisits the source that it emanates from. A picture is worth a thousand words. The one that appears on my book cover has travelled a long way touching several corners of the earth. A British soldier in Kolkata had first sent the pretty postcard of a beautiful lady to his mom in London. Rattled at her son being smitten with a courtesan, she, in turn, sold it to scrap-dealer and then the picture travelled to a collector in Switzerland after which, it fell into my friend Suresh Chandvankar’s lap (Society of Indian Record Collectors) in Mumbai, who finally gave it to me.