The unsung song

This summer has been unusually hot in Washington, with temperatures flaring up to 100 degrees or more. Fortunately, brief bouts of showers provided respite from the unbearable heat. For me, the rains also evoked nostalgic reflections of my childhood and youth when I would sit for hours watching an overcast sky and weaving idle dreams.
Today, as I hear the pattering sound of raindrops, my mind travels back to a July evening in Dhaka more than four decades ago. A musical evening with a haunting voice singing Tagore's breathtaking tappa composition: Megher pore megh jomechhe (Clouds heap upon clouds). The intricate modulations of the refrain "Ah, love, why dost thou let me wait outside at the door all alone?" captured the dark mood of the rainy night. The resonance of the melody is so vividly embedded in my subconscious that I can still feel its pristine beauty!
The vocalist was Rakhi Chakrabarty, the popular singer of the sixties. This was my first encounter with Rakhidi (as I called her affectionately). I was a mere novice aspiring to make an entry into the world of music. Listening to Rakhidi sing, I sensed the power of Rabindra Sangeet and my resolve to train myself as a Tagore singer was rekindled! Subsequently, Rakhi Chakrabarty became my muse and mentor. At an abstract level she was everything I wanted to be -- talented singer, compassionate human being and a modest and understated individual!
About eight weeks ago I heard the unexpected and shocking news that Rakhidi had passed away. Despite the fact that I had not been in contact with her for a while, Rakhidi's death was hard to accept because it really wasn't her time to go. I can't help feeling that she had so much more to give to the world of music.
One may wonder what was so special about Rakhi Chakrabarty that she could propel a young adolescent girl like me from the world of Elvis Presley and The Beatles into the universe of Rabindra Sangeet? Rakhidi's singing had a soulful quality that connected the listeners to their inner consciousness. At a time when Tagore's music and writings were taboo in the erstwhile East Pakistan, Rakhi Chakrabarty made her singing debut with aplomb. Trained in Visva Bharati University (Santiniketan), under the tutelage of stalwarts like Shantideb Ghosh, Kanika Banerjee and Nilima Sen, Rakhidi's singing combined technical perfection with spiritual fervour. Above all, her recitals had the stamp of a unique style, which was entirely her own. She popularised Rabindra Sangeet in East Pakistan in the late sixties with her memorable rendition of "Sakhi Bhabona kahare bole." It would be fair to say that Rakhi Chakrabarty was not just a performer -- she was one of the institutions that carried the mantle of Tagorean culture at a difficult juncture of our history. And, she accomplished this task with extraordinary courage coupled with humility.
This column, however, is not only about Rakhi Chakrabarty's public persona. I also have a personal story to tell. A story revolving around intimate afternoons spent together. In between informal music lessons, we would take tea breaks when Rakhidi would narrate stories about her life in Santiniketan. Sweet anecdotes about the sari that Mohordi (Kanika Banerjee) presented her after her graduation, which she wore to all important performances. About the legendary guru's unassuming personality and how she would seek reassurances from her student, Rakhi, about her singing! Tit bits about the unpretentious lifestyle in Tagore's University! We would often shut out the outside world and immerse ourselves in our musical universe.
Then 1971 happened. Like many of us, Rakhidi went over to India to participate in the Bangladesh Liberation War effort. Unfortunately, our paths seldom crossed during those trying times. After the country's independence she moved to England with her husband. I only met her one more time during one of her visits to Bangladesh.
Later, when I was a student at Santiniketan, Mohordi and I would often reminisce about Rakhidi. I remember once Mohordi voiced her regrets that her favourite student, Rakhi, had not fulfilled her potential since she had not continued her singing career. I wondered why. Was it due to a deep-rooted disappointment that the revered art world that she was familiar with had transformed into a commercial industry? Or, was she preoccupied with the demands of her role as a wife and mother in her adopted country? I will never know. What I know is that I loved every bit of the song she sang -- only, it was too short.
Rakhidi, wherever you are, I hope you are still singing, because you do to Rabindra Sangeet what "spring does with the cherry trees!"

The writer is a renowned Rabindra Sangeet exponent and a former employee of the World Bank.