Jagjit Singh: The pursuit of winning jag

Hain sabse madhur wo geet, jinhen

ham dard ke sur mein gaate hain

On February 8, 1941, Rajasthan's Sri Ganganagar — then part of the Bikaner state — inconspicuously birthed a trailblazer. Born to Namdhari Sikhs Sardar Amar Singh Dhiman — a PWD official — and Sardarni Bachchan Kaur, Jagmohan Singh Dhiman's musical potential was identified by his father at an early age. He would go on to learn music from Pandit Chagan Lal Sharma, a visually impaired maestro, before studying under Ustad Jamal Khan of Maihar gharana, who taught him the essence of Khayal, Dhrupad, Thumri and other classical vocal traditions.

Though his father had hoped he'd become an engineer, Jagmohan carved out his path, driven by unadulterated passion for his craft. Having performed and composed music throughout his teenage years, he began his professional journey at All India Radio, Jalandhar, while still in college.

In 1965, without the knowledge of his family, he moved to Mumbai (then Bombay) to try his luck in the film industry. Somewhere during this journey of metamorphosis, Jagmohan would adopt the stage name Jagjit Singh, perhaps to symbolise his lifelong quest to win over the world — not the material world, but the world of answers from a deeper, spiritual realm.

Throughout his life, Singh's body of work — be it Tum itna jo muskura rahe ho, Hothon se chhu lo tum or Woh kagaaz ki kashti — would largely be steeped in existential melancholia.

His musical process was perhaps best described by him in an interview, where he quoted lyricist Shailendra: “Hain sabse madhur wo geet, jinhen ham dard ke sur mein gaate hain”.

Today, he is famously credited for the resurgence of ghazals. Jagjit's ingenuity in popularising the Arabic style of poetry lies in palatability — a revolution in the artform, which had thus far only been reserved for mehfils of the elite.

Through meticulous curation, fresh melodies and modern influences, his works became distinctively his, far more accessible than what had previously existed in the realm of ghazals. However, it would be remiss to not equally attribute this ghazal renaissance to Chitra Singh, Jagjit's partner in life and art.

While barely making a living recording jingles in Mumbai, Jagjit, in 1967, met 'Bengali beauty' Chitra Dutta, who, at the time, was married to an advertising agency executive.

Interestingly, the Jagjit-Chitra love story follows much of the same structure as many of their duets — conflict, mellow infatuation and, finally, surrender.

Recalling her first meeting with Jagjit, Chitra once said they had met while recording a melody together. While Jagjit found himself a corner in the room to doze off, Chitra refused to sing with him as she believed her voice would not complement his baritone. She came around, however; and the rest is history.

First gaining prominence for the album The Unforgettables (1977), the Singhs quickly became household names with memorable works such as Shiv Kumar Batalvi - Birha da Sultan (1978), Live in Concert at Wembley (1979) and Come Alive (1979).

Their unusual symphony of baritones and high notes came to an end when their only son Vivek, aged 21, passed away in a road accident in 1990.

While Jagjit's pain halted his singing for a year, Chitra could never find her voice again. Monica, Chitra's daughter from her first marriage whom Jagjit loved like his own, committed suicide in 2009, adding to the couple's agony.

Chitra was set to make a comeback in 2017. However, she found herself unable to sing, breaking down on stage at the Sankatmochan Sangeet Samaroh at Sankatmochan Temple, Kashi.

Jagjit, however, managed to continue his musical journey. “My son is my stage partner,” he would often say at his concerts.

Jagjit would go on to play some of the world's most celebrated stages, his qafiyas (rhyming patterns of ghazals) echoing across the globe.

On September 23, 2011, Jagjit and Ghulam Ali were set to perform at Shanmukhananda Hall in Mumbai. Fate had other plans. He suffered a stroke mere hours before he was set to take the stage.

The undisputed 'King of Ghazals' breathed his last maqta (the final couplet of a ghazal) soon after, on October 10.

His pursuit for a deeper understanding of the pain of the human condition, however, remains inside all who have been touched by him — inside the Israeli baker in Tel Aviv who, upon discovering my friend was Indian, ecstatically took him to his place to flaunt his collection of Jagjit Singh's CDs and cassettes; inside the teenager struggling with a first heartbreak; inside the middle-aged man reminiscing the fluid passage of time over a glass of whiskey.