Born in 1913 in Dharwad into a family with a rich musical tradition, young Gangu's interest in music was piqued by many things, not least by the magical new technology that was the gramophone. But her life and her artistic journey truly began when she became a disciple of Sawai Gandharva at the age of seventeen. By taking refuge in her guru, Gangubai was able to distance herself from the devadasi community to which she belonged, and move on to the concert stage, radio and recording studios. In many ways, Gangubai's life ran parallel to the journey of India itself. From being inspired by Mahatma Gandhi to being part of the changing landscape of Indian music, hers was a life poised between the riches of tradition and the promise of modernity.
A Life in Three Octaves is an intimate, warm-hearted account of a remarkable human being and an extraordinary artiste whose music held many polarities in tension-tradition and innovation, system and originality, the persona and impersonal.
As I have said in the book, there were set questions and set responses that you could expect from Gangubai. This can be easily attributed to old age, but it was also perhaps an exercise in revalidation. So many times, she asked: 'You will show me the book, won't you?" This was almost always followed by: 'But I can't read English properly.'
Asad Zaidi of Three Essays Collective called me in 2006 after reading the piece on Gangubai Hangal I had written for the magazine Frontline. "Why don't you write a book?" he essayed, introducing himself. In retrospect, I believe that his was an act of remarkable trust-how do you trust someone you don't know, with a book on a legendary vocalist of national repute?
When this request was sent up to N. Ram, editor-in-chief at The Hindu, he sent his gracious consent in less than a day. "This is important, must be done," he had said in his email.
I was able to start work only towards the end of 2007. 1 made frequent trips to Hubli and, by end 2008, I realized that I couldn't go on. I had no money left: it was impossible for me to fund the project. Parvathi Menon, chief of bureau at The Hindu, insisted that I shouldn't stop the work. She personally drafted an application to the Directorate of Kannada and Culture, seeking a grant. From time to time she enquired about the progress of my work, and talked to me about the various processes involved. My dear friend and colleague Bhagya Prakash, who made the initial trips with me to Hubli to take photographs of the doyenne, kept me going with his keen interest in the project.
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