Obituary: Anthony Gonsalves

Anthony Gonsalves in action. Photo from Taj Mahal Foxtrot/Naresh Fernandes

Nigel Britto

In Manmohan Desai's 1977 film 'Amar Akbar Anthony', Amitabh Bachchan, dressed in a black suit,wearing a tophat and holding an umbrella, popped out of a decorated Easter egg and proclaimed to the nation "My name is Anthony Gonsalves." For most who heard it at the time, the name didn't appear too significant-perhaps it was an arbitrary guess at a quintessentially Goan name? Not to the duo who were behind the music for the film, Laxmikant and Pyarelal.

The latter, who was taught the violin by a Goan musician who answered to that name, used it as a tribute to his real-life violin instructor. The real Anthony Gonsalves died in Goa on Wednesday, losing his battle with pneumonia. He was 83. But alas, Bachchan's one line was the only recognition Gonsalves was to receive for decades. Despite his formidable role in giving Hindi film music its international flavour, the reticent yet prodigiously-talented Gonsalves was a nearstranger to accolade. His contemporaries described his genius as being 'far ahead of his time'. So far, it appears, he was beyond the vision of those wise men and women who decide award lists. To them, Gonsalves didn't fit the bill. Perhaps, to most of them, he didn't exist at all. When his first award did come-the Karmaveer Puraskaar, in 2010-he was 82 and struggling.

"I'm happy, so happy," he whispered into the microphone, teary-eyed, as his faithful disciple Pyarelal, not a young man himself, felicitated him at Panaji. There was never doubt about Gonsalves' genius. He was born into music in Majorda in 1928. His father, Jose Gonsalves, a choirmaster at the village church, provided him his initial training.

Already an accomplished musician at 16, he migrated to Bombay, like many other Goans who dominated the metropolis' vibrant jazz scene in the decades before and after the Second World War. Unlike his fellow-Goans, his background was not jazz and dance but western classical. Also unlike his fellow-Goans, he loved the Hindi film music he was playing. Most others didn't, and played it by day, believing it to be lesser music than the jazz they played by night. Haqeeqat, Chetan Anand's 1964, government-backed war movie, for which Gonsalves arranged the music (it was credited to Madan Mohan) is perhaps the most striking example of his work. Most Goans didn't bother going out to watch the films they'd contributed to. Gonsalves was different.

He took a genuine interest in Hindustani classical music. A recently-released chronicle of jazz in Mumbai, Taj Mahal Foxtrot, reveals new insights on his life, and how Gonsalves developed his passion for raga-based music and tried to learn it. "It struck me very hard in my heart and mind," Gonsalves is quoted as saying in the book. "Melodically and rhythmically, it's so rich." The book's author, jazz historian Naresh Fernandes, recounts Gonsalves' child-like enthusiasm at the studios. "When other musicians went off for a smoke between takes, he'd engage in call-and-response jam sessions with the flautist Pannalal Ghosh. He sought out Pandit Narayan, Pandit Shyam Sunder and Ustad Inam Ali Khan to deepen his knowledge of the Hindustani tradition."

Alone at home at night, the hard-working Gonsalves transcribed the tunes from his head to paper. Those familiar with Hindustani classical music would realize this was an enviable task. "A raga isn't like a ladder, on which you take one step at a time," he used to say. "It's like a path up the mountain. It winds more and there are unusual intervals between stages." And his attempts to bridge the Indian tradition with his Western background resulted in his compositions having unusual names, some of which were "Concerto in Raag Sarang", "Sonatina Indiana", "Concerto for Violin and Orchestra in Todi Taat" and "Symphony in Raga Multani".

His fascination with the two vastly different genres created a problem of sorts. His love for western classical music was at odds with his community of Goans, most of who had come from a jazz and dance background. On the other hand, his initiation into Hindustani classical was almost accidental, and had no formal training there too. He solved this little problem by fuelling his own dreams. In April 1958, he founded a 110-member Symphony Orchestra. "I paid my own money to put up this concert because I wanted to show the richness of our country's music," Gonsalves said. The orchestra, which performed in the quadrangle of St Xavier's College, Mumbai, and Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, Chowpatty, featured singer Manna Dey and Lata Mangueshkar, who is also of Goan origin. In Taj Mahal Foxtrot, Fernandes says Gonsalves insisted it wasn't fusion. "I just took ragas and scored them for an orchestra and choir," Gonsalves said.

While his orchestral performances got mixed reviews, they catapulted him to a level sufficient to earn a fellowship at Syracuse University in New York. He departed in 1965 and taught his students there a little bit of Indian music, as well as orchestrating a short film for children, Simple Silk Screen; many of his works, such as Haqeeqat Symphony No.1, Pavitra Symphony, and Din De Potekar Sextet No.2 were created while he was at Syracuse. Some of these works are stored in the repositories of the largest library in the world, Library of Congress in Washington DC.

His life from there on remains a mystery, and he chose to live it in relative obscurity; he would never wield the baton again. There are several theories as to why this was so, each as unlikely as the next. He returned to his native village Majorda in the 1970s and lived a quiet life there until his death on Wednesday. Towards the end of his life, he was confined to the wheelchair, having fractured his pelvic bone. Meanwhile, the great music he composed in his prime, the bridge he tried to build between east and west, still lies in an old trunk. Till the end, he hoped that they would be played one more time. Sadly, it was not to be.

This article was published on The Times of India, Goa, in its edition dated January 20, 2012.