[Continued from Part IV]
11. The End
In 1976, to the astonishment of everybody present, just after finishing a concert in Calcutta, Radhubabu announced that he was retiring from the professional arena! He then proceeded to unwrap a package from which appeared a set of printed sheets which he distributed to the audience. In these sheets was an explanation of the conditions under which he would, in future, perform: using wittily composed rhymed quatrains he explained that he would stop all broadcasting activities and would only play in small private gatherings of those who were particularly interested in his music.
11. The End
In 1976, to the astonishment of everybody present, just after finishing a concert in Calcutta, Radhubabu announced that he was retiring from the professional arena! He then proceeded to unwrap a package from which appeared a set of printed sheets which he distributed to the audience. In these sheets was an explanation of the conditions under which he would, in future, perform: using wittily composed rhymed quatrains he explained that he would stop all broadcasting activities and would only play in small private gatherings of those who were particularly interested in his music.
Some months later when he was asked to explain the reasons behind his retirement, he said that he no longer felt like continuing with the rigorous schedule of riyaz (practice) that is essential to maintain ones skill levels. He said that this was particularly so since there were anyway few takers for his austere variety of music.
Retirement turned out to be a disastrous error of judgement for two Contradictory reasons. Radhubabu, who was famously disinterested in “pleasing mass audiences”, had nevertheless become addicted to the attention he received as a performer and soon began to crave for this “high”. As a result he went back on his promise not to give public concerts. Whenever requested by individuals, (like Amjad Ali Khan) for whom he had a particular fondness, he would oblige. But he was no longer the technical virtuoso he once had been and these reappearances did little to enhance his reputation.
On the other hand when he played for the smaller audiences he had in mind in his retirement statement, he showed a far mellower aspect of his musical personality: most listeners felt that if he had adopted such an approach during his professional heyday, he would probably never have experienced the feeling of neglect which led to his retirement.
Ironically the people of Calcutta at last woke up to the fact that a remarkable musical personality had been living in their midst. The matinee idol of Bengal, The late Uttam Kumar, organized a civic reception for him and many other organizations honoured him for this contributions to music in Bengal. But it was a bit too late to stem the rot.
During the last years of his life he was lonely and depressed. Some of his senior disciples had moved away from him others, while still faithful, were making a living outside Calcutta. His daughters had married and were far away, most of his close friends had passed away or were themselves too frail to come and visit him.
In July 1981 a small cyst was detected on his lower back. Though Dr Chandra, who removed it surgically, repeatedly told him that the growth was benign he became convinced that his “time was up!”
One morning in the first week of September his brother found him lying bleeding and unconscious at the door connecting his bedroom and bathroom. He had evidently taken a fall during the night and suffered a concussion. A scan revealed serious hemorrhaging in the brain.
He was operated upon but although he recovered consciousness and was soon speaking coherently, his condition slowly deteriorated and he passed away on the 15th of October, 1981. The neurosurgeon who had treated Radhubabu ruefully told Radhubabu’s daughter that his patient would certainly have survived had he not lost the will to live.
[Concluded]
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Retirement turned out to be a disastrous error of judgement for two Contradictory reasons. Radhubabu, who was famously disinterested in “pleasing mass audiences”, had nevertheless become addicted to the attention he received as a performer and soon began to crave for this “high”. As a result he went back on his promise not to give public concerts. Whenever requested by individuals, (like Amjad Ali Khan) for whom he had a particular fondness, he would oblige. But he was no longer the technical virtuoso he once had been and these reappearances did little to enhance his reputation.
On the other hand when he played for the smaller audiences he had in mind in his retirement statement, he showed a far mellower aspect of his musical personality: most listeners felt that if he had adopted such an approach during his professional heyday, he would probably never have experienced the feeling of neglect which led to his retirement.
Ironically the people of Calcutta at last woke up to the fact that a remarkable musical personality had been living in their midst. The matinee idol of Bengal, The late Uttam Kumar, organized a civic reception for him and many other organizations honoured him for this contributions to music in Bengal. But it was a bit too late to stem the rot.
During the last years of his life he was lonely and depressed. Some of his senior disciples had moved away from him others, while still faithful, were making a living outside Calcutta. His daughters had married and were far away, most of his close friends had passed away or were themselves too frail to come and visit him.
In July 1981 a small cyst was detected on his lower back. Though Dr Chandra, who removed it surgically, repeatedly told him that the growth was benign he became convinced that his “time was up!”
One morning in the first week of September his brother found him lying bleeding and unconscious at the door connecting his bedroom and bathroom. He had evidently taken a fall during the night and suffered a concussion. A scan revealed serious hemorrhaging in the brain.
He was operated upon but although he recovered consciousness and was soon speaking coherently, his condition slowly deteriorated and he passed away on the 15th of October, 1981. The neurosurgeon who had treated Radhubabu ruefully told Radhubabu’s daughter that his patient would certainly have survived had he not lost the will to live.
[Concluded]