The Sixth String of Vilayat Khan

by Namita Devidayal

Humiliation—especially when it strikes an impressionable teenager—can catalyse either self-destruction or single-minded ambition.

His teacher was this mercurial person, like Mozart was known to be, who could be so ridiculous and playful that you almost stopped taking him seriously and wondered whether this was a case of arrested development, and just then he would suddenly turn around and reveal unearthly genius.

There were no shortcuts in this world. You could not hurry. You had to first sit. Sit and wait. Sit and wait with complete faith. And slowly, slowly, the world opened itself up to you. Then, there was no going back.

At some point in his life, if he is lucky, an artist moves from being a technically competent master to a creative spirit. Most musicians fall somewhere along that spectrum.

Musicians may be magicians when it comes to their art, but when the lights go down, they become human and are besieged by the same mortal imperatives that fragment so many business families—ego, greed and power dynamics.

There is a saying in the Sikh holy book: ‘Daeda dae laidae thaki pahi.’ You must give so much that the receiver himself gets exhausted. Whatever Vilayat Khan asked for was given without hesitation—money, adulation, love—until Khansahib himself wanted nothing.

We complicate our lives needlessly. All the complexities we see around us are actually a reflection of what is within us. We’re always fighting. It’s almost as if we are fighting with ourselves.’

it’s better to be like an obsessed lover than a distracted worshipper,’

A drop of practice is better than an ocean of theories, advice and talk.