German Rudra Veena maestro Carsten Wicke

What drew you to India and its classical music?

I arrived in India in the ’90s. At the time, I was studying at university, living with a partner, and also working as a DJ in nightclubs. My partner attended meditation classes, and after one such session, a few people stayed over and left behind some tapes and CDs. One of them featured Zakir Hussain playing the tabla. I was stunned by his speed — it seemed almost impossible for a human to do such magic with just one’s fingers. That intrigued me, and I was drawn to the music like never before.

The next day, I joined my partner for another meditation class to see what the buzz was about. I was fascinated by the bhajans being sung, and that experience deepened my desire to explore Indian culture. In that pursuit, I had a calling — something within me kept saying that my life was about to change. When the Berlin Wall came down and the world was finally accessible, I dropped everything back home and headed to India. I stayed at an ashram in Delhi for a while.

As someone born and brought up in East Germany, did India present a culture shock?

Surprisingly, I found both regions to be quite similar. At that time, both societies were somewhat closed off. East Germany was, of course, isolated due to the closed borders. For the people living there, opportunities and exposure to different lifestyles were limited. Life was simple. When I came to India, I felt a sense of familiarity because the full impact of materialism and development hadn’t yet permeated the region, much like in East Germany before reunification. When the Berlin Wall came down, everything suddenly became accessible. When that becomes a way of living, there’s no special feeling — the magic is lost. I returned to a simpler way of living that I had known, and along the way, I discovered a true treasure — the Rudra Veena.

You had started your Indian classical music journey by training in tabla under Pandit Anindo Chatterjee. What made you take up the Rudra Veena later?

Before I immersed myself in music, I encountered the meditative side of India. I was taught that Indian classical music has the power to calm the mind. And through meditation, I became even more curious about the music itself.

During my second visit to India, I decided to study tabla and went to Kolkata, where I met Pandit Anindo Chatterjee. Being in Kolkata, India’s cultural capital, I became deeply engrossed in the city’s music culture. I found myself drawn to semi-classical and Dhrupad styles. During that period, through recordings, I was introduced to the Rudra Veena.

I was fascinated by its unique sound and went in search of the instrument. However, to my surprise, finding a Rudra Veena in the 90s was almost impossible. I soon realised that the instrument was so rare that I might be more likely to find it in a museum than on a stage. I even visited museums to learn more about it.

One day, I met Peter Hennix, a Swedish disciple of Ustad Zia Mohiuddin Dagar, who had come to Kolkata to repair his Rudra Veena. Through him, I met my guru, Ustad Asad Ali Khan, in Delhi. He accepted me as his disciple. I somehow managed to find a Rudra Veena — one that was in a poor condition — to start my training.

Isn’t it ironic that an instrument as ancient as the Rudra Veena faded into obscurity within the country of its origin itself?

Yes, absolutely. The decline of the Rudra Veena tradition can be attributed to several factors. After the passing of Beenkar (school of music) stalwarts like Ustad Zia Mohiuddin Dagar, there was a lack of genuine interest in the instrument. There was an absence of a dedicated audience as well. Veena manufacturers began to close down, and many skilled artisans failed to pass their craft down to the next generation.

For example, Murari Mohan Adhikari, the last of the traditional veena makers from Kanai Lal & Brothers on Chitpur Road in Kolkata, made a few instruments for me, blending traditional and modern elements. After his passing, there was no one left to continue the craft. Even if you take a Rudra Veena to other instrument makers for repairs, many avoid doing the work due to superstitions surrounding the instrument. It’s believed that without proper puja, bad luck or even death might follow.

This scarcity led me to take up the task of manufacturing Rudra Veenas myself, to create the sounds I aspired to make. I wanted to include elements of the Dagarvani Dhrupad tradition in the veena, alongside the Khandarvani Dhrupad style as taught by Ustad Asad Ali Khan.

Why do you think Indians failed to sustain the tradition?

See, we do have a handful of Rudra Veena players in India, but that’s not enough. It was in the ’50s and ’60s when classical music was widely embraced by the West. It took the West’s acceptance of the tradition, especially the Dhrupad tradition, for the Indian audience to become interested in something that belonged to them. Sadly, traditions are often undervalued in their own land until they are appreciated abroad.