Of dreams, dance and life
‘I really don’t think I had any specific personal obstacles in my journey regarding dance and reaching in the position that I am in now. However, that doesn’t mean there are none. Professional dancers in general face a common obstacle which is lack of sponsorships. It is very difficult to get support when organising a (quality) dance programme’, says Minu Haque in an interview with Mark S Baidya
What were the beginnings from which you became involved in culture and, especially, dance?
When I was about five years old, I used to learn singing and my sister Shimoli used to learn dancing; it is quite the opposite now but that was a long time ago. Although I can’t remember it very well, my first stage performance was sometime around the late 60s. I do remember my first tutor Dulal Talukdar, an exceptional dancer who was in the Bulbul Academy of Fine Arts (BAFA). I graduated from that institution with a diploma in classical dance in 1972. My principal teachers at BAFA were Babu Ram Singh, Dulal Talukdar and later Rahiza Khanum. In between 1979 and 1980, I learnt some ballet from a Korean ballet dancer, Kim. This, however, is something I forget to mention sometimes (laughs). Much later, I chose Odissi as my speciality and was trained privately between 1988 and 1995 by two well known exponents of Oddisi, Sunny Mahapatra and Ipshita Behura from India.
So, what are you currently doing now?
I am fortunate to have my own classical dance school, Pallavi, where I teach Odissi; it is the only school in Bangladesh that teaches Odissi. I enjoy teaching my students and they are very enthusiastic when it comes to learning. Besides that I am one of six founding members of Nrittadhara; our organization and our main focus is Dorshonner Binimoye Naach. We are organising programs that promote dance in Bangladesh. Being the General Secretary of International Dance Council, an Executive Member of the International Theatre Institute and the Vice President of Bangladesh Dance Artist’s Association allows me to promote dance internationally as well. And of course, I enjoy my periodical yoga classes and swimming.
What obstacles do you face in these ventures?
I really don’t think I had any specific personal obstacles in my journey regarding dance and reaching in the position that I am in now. However, that doesn’t mean there are none. Professional dancers in general face a common obstacle which is lack of sponsorships. It is very difficult to get support while organising a (quality) dance programme. It is comparatively much easier to get sponsorships regarding plays and musical programmes as opposed to dance programmes. It’s a sad situation really, and I find it very difficult to pay my dancers after programmes. A senior dancer may walk away with a Tk.1000 after the end of the day and that is a shameful thing really. The revenue collected after an event may not even be enough to cover the rent for the venue. This is the situation we face every time. It seems that people do not value dance as an art form as much; some even grumble over tickets worth a hundred taka.
What impact does this lack of sponsorship have on those pursuing it professionally? Would legal copyrights in this situation help?
Well, for those who are the principal earners for their family, it makes living increasingly difficult and uncertain. Young dancers tend to get discouraged by the lack of promotion and choose to move on to other cultural lines such as acting or modelling and, frankly, I don’t really blame them. Legal copyrights would help but to what extent I am unsure, because the dance sector isn’t exactly booming. Further restrictions at this level may prove to have more of a negative effect. But rip-offs are not acceptable and the lack of copyright laws means that little can be done against it. I personally do not mind if someone wants to do something from my work as long as my permission is obtained and I would gladly help them out if they needed it.
What are your memories of serving as a nurse in the War of Independence?
I was very young then and very much into dance. I remember me being one of many dancers doing television programmes in BTV called Nritter Taale taale. The West Pakistani soldiers and such took our names and addresses and would hold dance shows in the cantonment. Obviously, it was a situation I had to flee from. So my mother requested my brother-in-law, the late Altaf Mahmud to take me away along with a group of freedom fighters. But my brother-in-law couldn’t make it because of a due recording at Shadhin Bangla Betaar Kendro, so I had to flee without him. The very next day he was shot by the Pakistani army. I made it through safely and served as a nurse at the Bangladesh Field Hospital, (the only field hospital at that time) at Bisramganj. Now that I think about it, if I wasn’t a dancer I wouldn’t have received this opportunity to serve the people and feel the intensity of war from a very personal perspective.
Do you have any specific future plans regarding dance?
Nowadays, I really take each day as it comes; but of course, one must plan ahead. I really want to blend in yoga with dance. The exercises in my dance are all in yoga postures; in the future I would like to create dance forms that blend in these two forms of art. Many housewives have already asked me to start this and I am sure it’s not a hopeless cause (laughs). Besides that, I have a big seminar coming up in August on dance at Bengal Foundation. In the future I hope to bring about some positive changes in the field of dance in our country.
Of the good old days
Lucky Akhand is one of the great talents in Bangladesh’s music history. His brother, Happy, was a master musician who died before the world could discover him. Lucky, now working at Bangladesh Betar and far past his
musical zenith, reminisces about Happy, and the good old days, ‘ It is perhaps sadness that makes artists express themselves to the fullest, producing the best art. Depression is a gift of God’, says Lucky. He spoke about the
time when the foundations of rock were just being laid, and how he had the first guitar made at Buddhay and Company with
New Age’s Naushad Ali Husein
In Bangladesh, practice in any field is made extremely difficult due to corruption, and the fact that the right people are not in the right places. For example, in Bangladesh Betar, most of the officers are not from cultural backgrounds. As a result, they are not able to recognise or appreciate talent.
What is the reason behind this crisis?
It goes back to the Partition in ’47. The Hindus, who were the cultured and learned people left for India. That created a vacuum that still remains today.
I would always tell my younger brother Happy, that if we could teach others what we know, we would be able to create many excellent musicians here. That was probably why, as he grew older, he taught many musicians a lot about music. Miles, Feedback, Souls and all of the other big stars of today learned much of what they know from Happy.
You were a generation that brought considerable change to music at the time, weren’t you?
Institutions during those days, the early seventies, like College of Music, or Bulbul Academy, which used to teach music, never ventured beyond the Hawaiian guitars and classical music they had been doing for years. They were not very learned either. The successful musicians were reluctant to dispense their know-how to interested youngsters. Happy and I used to teach these enthusiasts for free. It was, in fact, our generation that introduced them to Western influences that would shape Bengali music to come.
There were about, say, five to six Spanish guitars in all of Bangladesh at that time. They weren’t produced here, so they had to be shipped in from abroad. It was in 1969 that I, fifteen years of age at the time, went to Buddhay and Company, and showed them a picture of a guitar, and told them to make a guitar. He reluctantly agreed, thinking that no one would buy such an instrument. It couldn’t really be played, but I used to just strum on it to get a feel of the guitar. That was the first Spanish guitar made in Bangladesh. He made a few after that, and they used to sell for seven or eight hundred taka. In another decade, guitars were being imported from India, and were available in every music shop.
What was the extent of Happy’s participation in Miles?
Happy spent a lot of time with the members of Miles. I would say he groomed them and made them what they are. He actually wanted to sing for them, but that didn’t happen. Eventually, he, being very disappointed, left the band and found Manam as a replacement keyboardist.
Happy was the youngest in our family, and I loved him like I have never loved anyone in my life. We were extremely close musically. He knew exactly what note I would play next, and precisely when the transitions would come. He could coordinate with me better than the best musicians I would play with. It was amazing.
That Happy was a prodigy, one could tell from a very young age. Even when he was barely old enough to hold the guitar, I would forbid him to touch my guitar, just so that he would be even more eager to play it. When I heard him play it back then, I was amazed. It was so good, I even wished that could be recorded.
In fact what frustrates me most about Happy is that he hardly had a handful of songs recorded, before he passed away. If only we had something more tangible, to hold on to, that would remind us what an amazing musician he was, perhaps it would be some solace in his absence.
Would things be different if Happy had been alive today?
I would say the social condition was responsible for his untimely death at the age of 28 years. Artistes like him must be cared for and given plenty of love and affection. In fact, being a musician, I can tell you that once you put the gimmicks aside, Happy was a better musician than either Elvis or Michael Jackson.
Happy started performing on stage at a very young age. Even at four, he would play beautiful beats on just one baya. In later years he picked up the guitar and the keyboards. There was a club at the Sheraton named Chambely. He used to play there twice a week, and was everybody’s favourite. Besides being a great musician, he was also a very likable character.
How did your musical career start?
AK Abdul Akhand, our father, was an established radio singer. He basically started us off on music. He even influenced our mother to sing on radio. He made sure we had a sound musical education. But music was never really a career for us. It was our environment. They would sing till three o’clock in the morning, and we would inevitably fall asleep listening to my father’s music and we would wake up listening to my mother sing.
My first time in the studio was with HMV. Happy and I were there with Ahmed Imtiaz Bulbul and one Yaqub. We felt very welcome with them.
Why has there been a break in your music lately?
I haven’t coped with this great transition in music. Perhaps I don’t want to. These days music is all about the gimmicks. It seems to be a dirty play for money. You just need to look at videos and cassette covers to know what I mean. Music is infected by sex, drugs and all this dirt.
Production companies themselves have little idea about music. There are, however a few new companies like Ektaar which promise a change in the near future. But today’s industry is a crowd of idiots, and it’s best not to go there.
Where did all the passion in your music come from?
It was melancholy that fuelled our music. When sadness weighed us down, a raag would be the medicine. In fact, it is perhaps sadness that makes artists express themselves to the fullest, producing the best art. Depression is a gift of God.
Do you think it is right to adapt music in order for it to sell better?
Absolutely not. It is not necessary. The music that sounds good to you, will sound good to the listeners. Good music will sell well. Certainly commercialisation music is the worst possible curse for world music at the moment.
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