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April 7 is the birthday of a person who deserves the most credit for introducing Indian classical music to the western world in the way westerners can understand and appreciate it. 



This was in coming because as a teenager he had traveled to Europe with his elder brother Uday Shankar's dance troop where he was exposed to and appreciated western mindset and western music. He could relate with western classical musicians and collaborated with the western music legends like violin player Yehudi Menuhin and many others. At the same time those elite musicians also couldrelate with Pt. Ravi Shankar's explanations of intricacies, depth, the process of creativity and improvisations keeping with the rules of raag, taal, and the discipline of Indian classical music.

Later, the biggest breakthrough for Indian classical music in the western world came when Pt. Ravi Shankar played Sitar accompanied on Tabla by another Maestro Ustad Alla Rakha (Father of Ustad Zakir Hussain) at the biggest music gathering at Woodstock Festival. The Woodstock Music Festival began on August 15, 1969, as half a million people waited on a dairy farm in Bethel, New York, for the three-day music festival to start. Billed as “An Aquarian Experience: 3 Days of Peace and Music,” the epic event would later be known simply as Woodstock and become synonymous with the counterculture movement of the 1960s.

From the 1960s, Panditji, as he is known among his music lovers, and George Harrison of the Beatles became friends. George accepted Pt. Ravi Shankar as his Guru and started learning Sitar and started other musical collaborations. The Beatles deserve a little credit for making Pt. Ravi Shankar a household name for music and Beatles loving westerners.

Whether some of his peers in Indian classical music like it or not, it is evident that before Panditji no other musician had the tenacity to reach out to the global audience, especially the western audience the way Pt. Ravi Shankar did it. Pandit ji, keeping intact the strict theoretical, classical, and traditional framework of pure Hindustani classical music art form, crossed the cultural and geographical boundaries and won hearts of millions of open minded global music lovers.

His personal life had been non-traditional, interesting, at times flamboyant, unlike most traditional Indian Classical musicians, and very colorful but as far as the purity, authenticity, and tradition of Indian classical music is concerned, he did not compromise a beat! (bit-beat pun intended).

It is a matter of pride for Indian musicians for those having been associated with Pandit ji. It proves the point about his musical genius and greatness!

Late Sitarist Shubho Shankar was his son with his first wife Annapurna Devi. Norah Jones, his daughter from his relationship with Susan Jones is a Grammy winner for her Jazz and pop fusion. His daughter Anushka with his wife Sukanya, is a promising sitar player in her own rights. It runs in the blood! still Anushka has some big shoes to fill.

It is apt that the Indian government has established a postal stamp on his name, and was awarded Bharat Ratna, the highest civilian award for his legendary artistic contribution.

Indian Classical music and music lovers owe this legend an immense gratitude for his service to Indian Classical music!

Namaskar Pandit ji!!!

April 7, 2022

e.mail : [email protected]

Category :- English Bazaar Patrika / Features

Poetry Brought Us Together--

Natwar Gandhi
26-02-2022

An Eulogy for Navin Jarecha, February 23, 2022

Franklin Memorial Park, New Brunswick, New Jersey

હતો ભટકતો હતાશ નિજ દેશ દુઃખે ભર્યો,
તમે નવીન દેશથી પકડી હાથ તાર્યો મને.

This is how I dedicated my first book of poems, appropriately called America, America to Navin Jarecha.  Loosely translated it means:

Hopeless and unhappy,
Lost I was in my home land,
You brought me to the Promised Land,
And saved my life. 

It is because of him and him alone that I stand before you today.  He was responsible for my coming to America. He has had the largest influence on my professional life for the past sixty years.

I first met Jarecha in 1957. We always addressed each other by our last names.  I was Gandhi to him and he was Jarecha to me.  We both attended Sydenham College in Mumbai. He was senior to me in college. We both were amateur poets.  It is poetry that brought us together. Soon after joining the college, I noticed that there was a Gujarati literary wall where students could post poetry and other writings. Everything on the wall was handwritten.

After a few months, I gathered enough courage to approach a student who was posting new material on the wall and introduce myself. “I write poetry and would like to put my poems on the wall. How do I do it?” “Give me your poems,” he replied. “I will put them up. I am the editor. My name is Navin Jarecha.” That was how I first met him.  I have always marveled how that chance encounter changed my life profoundly for the better and forever!

We quickly bonded. Though Jarecha also came from the provinces like me, he had none of my inhibitions. Always sure of himself, he moved about the college halls freely and even dropped unannounced into the office of professors.  He exuded confidence.  He dressed smartly in a traditional Indian kafani lengha dress that was always ironed and, on his feet, wore fancy chappals. At lunchtime we would share our poems and I would share his lunch! He was lodging with his sister in a distant Mumbai suburb. She would send him off daily with lunch tiffin.

Through Jarecha I met another student poet, Meghnad Bhatt who was the son of Harishchandra Bhatt, a distinguished Gujarati poet whose work I knew. The three of us became good friends and read each other’s poems daily. Jarecha and Bhatt played significant roles in my life.  Jarecha brought me to the U.S. and Bhatt helped me get my first paying job. A phone call from Bhatt to a friend did the trick that a hundred job applications could not.  Such were the vagaries of Mumbai’s job market during the 1960s. 

When Jarecha went to the U.S. in 1960, I had hoped he would find me a way to get there. In fact, I went to Mumbai’s Ballard Pier to see him off.  He could not afford to fly so he sailed in a cargo ship.  I made my way to his ship’s cabin and took him aside. “Please, Jarecha,” I said, “do something, anything to help me get to the U.S.” As my frustrations in Mumbai mounted, I kept sending Jarecha letters asking about my coming to the U.S.  He would write to me back saying that yes, he would help.  He kept his promise, though it took some time.

Five years after he left for America, I received a telegram from Jarecha. He said that he had arranged for my admission to Atlanta University. “Start packing,” he wrote. “The fall semester is about to start.”  I telegraphed back explaining my financial situation. I would need his help for paying everything—tuition, living expenses, the airline ticket and some additional money to send home to my family.  Jarecha replied immediately that he had arranged for everything including the air travel through a grant from an educational foundation.  Those were the glory days of higher education in America!

I felt immensely relieved. Suddenly I was free—free of all my troubles, my worries, hurts and humiliations that I had suffered in Mumbai.  As I climbed the stairs to board the Air India plane bound for New York on that day in October, 1965, I murmured a famous Khalil Gibran line: “Then we left that sea to seek the greater sea!” And added, “thanks to Jarecha!”

I have remained grateful to him ever since for saving my life that would have been wasted in India.  In this I was not alone. Truth be told, he has saved a few hundred such lives.  Many people whom he helped brought their own relatives and friends to America in a chain migration that would have given Donald Trump a heart attack had he known about it. 

Jarecha was my mentor during my college years in Mumbai and during all my days in Atlanta where we were together practically every day.  Like an elder brother, he looked after me--took me shopping, to restaurants where I was working as a busboy and places where I needed to go. When I took my first job in Greensboro, North Carolina, he visited me there and made sure that I had settled down properly.  He told me that he was just a phone call away.

His willingness to help extended to all without discrimnation  --black and white, old and young, men and women. But he was particularly kind to Indian students who had come to Atlanta University.  Some empty handed studnets would call him from the airport the day they landed and ask for a ride to the University.   He was kind of a one man, one stop social service agency. His goodwill toward people around him was legendary.

Though he was good, indeed very good to others, he was not good to himself.  Unfortunately, he did not take care of himself.  Most of his adult life in America, he was a chain smoker.  He was equally careless about his diet and other habits.  Worse of all, he never cared about his finances.  After I moved away from Atlanta, I used to chide him about his smoking and other poor habits.

He was a proud man and hesitated talking about his troubles, including his finances.  He would simply laugh it all off.  He would say, “Gandhi, God is great and He will take care of me.”  I would say, “but God has billions of others to take care of.”  His rejoinder would be, “well, I was good to people so they will be good to me.”  Life did not turn out that way for him.  Toward the end, he paid dearly for all his carelessness.  It still puzzles me how such a smart man could be so cavalier about his health and naive about his finances.  

Panna Naik and I had been talking with him regularly during the past few months, however, the last we saw him in person was at an Indian restaurant in New Jersey just a few weeks ago. He had to be driven there.  This must have been quite galling for him since he always insisted on driving during our numerous trips far and near.  He was always our designated driver!  He took great pride in his driving skills.  But now the doctor had advised him not to drive as his body had debilitated due to several ailments that had plagued him. He looked haggard and did not have much to say during our lunch.  After lunch, we hugged and said goodbye to each other.  That was the last we saw of him. 

On our way back to Washington, Panna and I talked about Jarecha all the way--how good he was to us and to others and how we all collectively failed in taking care of him.  I deeply regret it.  But it is all too late now. 

Category :- English Bazaar Patrika / Features