Goodbye, Khosla Saab

How does one mourn someone who lived to be 101 and remained active until almost the end of his life? In the Uttar Pradesh of my childhood, they celebrated the life of such a ‘bhagyawan’ by playing a band as they took his bier to the ghat. So this tribute to Navjivan (Navli Uncle) Khosla exudes both a deep sadness that he’s no longer amongst us, but is more a celebration of a life well lived.

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When we first came to Chandigarh in 1972 or so, it was a very new city. The trees planted along its splendid roads by MS Randhawa (its first Chief Commissioner) and others, such as the horticulturist SS Johl, were then young saplings. The rest of the city seemed to us more like a ghost town that had boulevards and spaces that appeared empty and whimsical indulgences. The heart of the city then was the Sector 17 market and its paved plaza, sans any shade, which emitted fierce heat in summer. The same was the case with the sprawling university in Sector 14 where we fought to grab the sparse shade in front of the English Department. I well remember how the steering wheel of my Ambassador car became so hot that I had to drape a towel over it when I drove home. There was virtually no cultural activity and Tagore Theatre was where I went dutifully each weekend to see dreadful plays by amateur groups to write reviews for the Indian Express.

How this cultural desert was transformed in just a few years is why we must never forget those marvellous residents (aboriginals, as Champa Mangat Rai dubbed them) who shaped Chandigarh’s cultural life. Khosla Saab and his charming wife, Vimlaji, Champa Mangat Rai, Guddo and Naveen Thakur, Mrs Atma Ram, Mrs Sarup Krishen, Mrs Saboo (senior), Mrs Kulwant Singh, Karuna Goswamy, the Rajwades — these are only some of the names that I can recall. There were so many others and I hope their children will forgive me for not recording them here. The Indian National Theatre (INT) was the name Khosla Saab chose for the cultural body that brought the most divine music each year to introduce Chandigarh to the finest Indian classical music.

Every October, a colourful marquee and stage were set up in the Leisure Valley. I will never forget the beautiful flower decorations and potted plants that kept our eyes glued to the stage, nor will I ever forget the artistes he brought from all over to a city that had virtually no interest in classical Indian music or dance. Khosla Saab made up for this lassitude by enthusiastically walking up and down the aisles to make sure that the audience was paying attention. His tall frame, clad in a churidar and kurta, his cheery wave as he passed us are unforgettable memories. His innocent belief that no one could afford to not appreciate beauty was unshakeable. And when Kishori Amonkar came, he was ecstatic. She was always a very temperamental performer and often chided those in the audience who she thought were not attentive enough, yet Khosla Saab said once that if you hear her Raga Bhoop, you forgive her everything. How right he was.

It was thanks to him that some of us began going regularly to the Harivallabh Festival in Jalandhar and he would persuade performers to drop by for an impromptu performance in Chandigarh on their return journey. Many obliged: Bhimsen Joshi, Malini Rajurkar, Dhondutai Kulkarni (the only known disciple of Kesarbai Kerkar), Vidyadhar Vyas — so many names come flooding back. They stayed with local hosts and the private concerts (baithaks) are some of my most precious memories. Kumar Gandharva and Vasundhara Komkaliji stayed with the Marathes in their modest government house but what magical music flowed there! I recall another splendid concert, Rituraj Mehfil by Kumarji at the Tagore Theatre, arranged by Khosla Saab, dedicated to chaitis, kajris, horis and the Malwa folksongs of spring. I’m sure old-timers will endorse my claim that it rates among the best performances of Kumar Gandharva.

It is not a coincidence that we celebrate the centenary of this genius from Dewas this year. With him and the founders of the INT gone, what now? Khosla Saab was a senior and widely respected bureaucrat but never did he use any sarkari privilege to promote these activities. Nor did he ever want his name immortalised. He spent his own money or that collected from generous donors and has left a very handsome endowment to the INT in his will.

That time is over and this is why it is important to recall with gratitude those who gave this glorious city its soul. When I now hear the ‘music’ that rocks Punjab, I want to weep. The disgusting imagery of rappers, with violence, drugs, misogyny and sexual connotations celebrated I wonder what the state and city will be like a few years on. More Moosewala incidents perhaps?

So, goodbye, Khosla Saab. Chandigarh will never forget you.