Dilemma of an Autistic Boy

Having lived the best part of my life with grandson Hasan, 22-year old today, and myself at the fag end of life’s journey, I cannot help the temptation to recall both the glorious and the anxious times shared with this incredible young man.

He has been my music soulmate since he was five or six-year old. He came into my life at the time when my music teacher and guide Ustad Wilayat Ali Khan, had left for his final abode, leaving me stranded in a cultural wilderness.

I sometimes silently wonder what good deed had I done to qualify for such a replacement, a priceless gift from God Almighty, the gift in the form of a beautiful companion with a soul adorned with melody and rhythm?

Hasan is unlike ordinary learners of music. When I say an ordinary learner, my own example may illustrate the point. I had taken more than one year to learn just one raag — Malkaus. I always found it hard to catch the bole (words) of the asthai (first section of a composition) from the 9th matra (beat) of the teen-taal (a cycle of 16 beats). In desperation, I would plead with my Ustad to teach me something else. It was quite frustrating going on and on with sa, ga, ma, dha, ni, sa , and the boles (words of song) of the asthai. The Ustad would, however, say: pahle isko pakka kar lain, phir her raag paanch minute mein seekh len ge (First make it perfect, then you will learn every raag in five minutes). How right he was! After trolling the same lines for a thousand times that made my family members nearly insane, I discovered, to my great relief, that I was now able to pick up the asthais and antaras (first and second sections of other raags) rather easily. But it took 20 years to learn whatever little I knew of classical music.

Hasan is different. Whatever is taught to him, he picks up at once. And he is also a willing learner. I wish my Ustad had him as a shagird (student) instead of me!

Lately, Hasan has started to test my knowledge. When I ask him what raag it is, he says, “Sargam karen!” (Sing the notes).

“Sa Ma, Ga Ma Pa, Dha Pa, Sa Re Sa....” I sing the Sargam.
“It’s Kidara!” He would whisper in my ear.

Regular, rather excessive, listening has enabled him to tell the names of most of the great vocalists and instrumentalists by just listening to the alap (beginning of a musical composition without words). He recognizes the voices of vocalists Ustad Amir Khan, Baray Ghulam Ali Khan, Paluskar, Jasraj, Bhimsen Joshi, Ajoy Chakrabarty, Rashid Khan, Veena Sahasrabudhhe, Kishori Amonkar, Ashwini Deshpande, Prabha Atre, Roshan Ara Begum, Fateh Ali Khan, Salamat Ali Khan, Begum Akhtar, Mehdi Hasan, Iqbal Bano, Tufail Niazi, Talat Mahmood, Rafi, Mukesh, Manna Dey, Saigal, Punkaj, Jagmohan, and others. And he can tell who is playing which instrument: Shehnai, Santoor, Sitar, Sarod, Sarangi, or Violin – played by Bismillah Khan, Shiv Kumar Sharma, Vilayat Khan, Amjad Ali Khan, Sultan Khan or Rajam in that order.

In other words, he can tell a Sitar from a Veena, a Sarangi from a Violin, a Sarod from a Guitar, a flute from a Piccolo, and so on.

It is fascinating to watch him enjoying a raag – all ears, totally engrossed and fully aware of its intricate beauty as if the grace and the gloss of the composition have already been made clear to him by some hidden power. Yes, it is a joy to watch him respond to every note, every inflection, be it in the alap, asthai or drutI (fast beat). He knows that Teen Taal has 16 matras, Ektala has 12, Jhaptal has 10, and Dadra has 6.

He has already learned the compositions of scores of raags that he sings with me. These raags were taught to me by Ustad Wilayat Ali Khan, and the same I am trying to transfer them to my grandson. His voice is a deep tenor, but it certainly needs to be worked upon and refined through practice.

So much for the glorious time being spent with him. Now, the anxiety I suffer from. Unaware of the future – both mine and Hasan’s – disturbing questions invade my mind, and it is difficult to get over the apprehensions regarding the music future of my autistic grandson. I begin to ask myself: wouldn’t it be better if Hasan was born with no interest in music at all? Wouldn’t it save him from becoming a misfit, in fact vulnerable, among the ‘pious’ of our country? Wouldn’t it let him live a normal and more sociable life in the unfeeling cultural environment of the Islamic Republic? He would have made many friends instead of sharing the pleasure of music with just one companion, an old grandfather.

Yes, it is a joy to watch him respond to every note, every inflection, be it in the alap, asthai or drutI (fast beat). He knows that Teen Taal has 16 matras, Ektala has 12, Jhaptal has 10, and Dadra has 6.

Quite clearly, no replacement is in sight. The national narrative regarding classical music is unsupportive, if not outright insulting, towards the practitioners of the art. The self-styled reformers have been too preoccupied with the ‘halal-haram’ discourse. Ironic, isn’t it, that they have not reached a consensus so far – that is, if Music is halal or haram! What is acceptable to a Bareilvi is unacceptable to a Deobandi! In this mix-up, the great art has no future in this country and is already becoming extinct.

What is more frightening is the thought that my grandson may face serious trauma if he finds that his sole music companion is no more. He would not be able to understand why the blessing of a tuneful association granted by none other than the Creator Himself was not available to him. How would he spend his time in the absence of a person who gave him company with the same passion that he has for listening to music uninterruptedly, for hours in a stretch? I do not see anyone, even in his immediate family who may have the time and perseverance to indulge in this pastime.

My anxiety is enhanced when I see that despite my social connections and access to musicians, none – except the late Mohammad Husain (Mehdi Hasan’s nephew and harmonium accompanist) – had the graciousness to come and spend time with Hasan. He taught Hasan a number of ghazals of the maestro, but for a short time. He passed away after giving Hasan tuneful company for just a few months. He was a good teacher.

Finally, and selfishly, I wonder if my soul will rest in peace in case Hasan’s music is brought to an end by circumstances.