I wished to be a cricketer, but I became a composer

Sheikh Sadi Khan is one of the most prominent music composers and directors in the Indian subcontinent. He is often called the magician of Bangladeshi music and has gifted the nation with numerous timeless songs. Some of his notable works include “Amar e duti chokh pathor to noy”, “Dake pakhi kholo akhi”, “Hajar moner kachhe proshno rekhe/ ekti kothai shudhu jheneyechhi ami/ prithibite prem bole kichhu nei”, and “Ami chirokal premer-i kangal”. He won the National Film Award in 2006 as Best Music Director for the film Ghani; and in 2010 as Best Composer for “Bhalobaslei Ghar Bandha Jai Na”. For his outstanding contribution to arts and music, he was honoured with an honorary fellowship by Bangla Academy in 2021.

Sheikh Sadi Khan was born on 3 March 1950 in Shibpur village of Brahmanbaria, into a family rich in musical heritage. His father was the famous subcontinental composer Ustad Ayet Ali Khan, and his uncle was the legendary Ustad Alauddin Khan. He began his musical education under his father’s guidance, first learning tabla and later the violin. His childhood was spent in Brahmanbaria and Cumilla. In 1985, under his musical direction, the renowned subcontinental singer Manna Dey lent his voice to the film Sukher Shondhane. He has also worked with Asha Bhosle, Sabina Yasmin, Andrew Kishore, Runa Laila, and many other artistes from home and abroad.

Recently, this eminent musician appeared in Editorial Dialogue with Rased Mehedi on Views Bangladesh. The discussion delved into his musical journey and the many ups and downs of his career. The interview was conducted by Rased Mehedi, Editor of Views Bangladesh. The first part of their conversation is published today.

Rased Mehedi: How did your journey with music begin?

Sheikh Sadi Khan: Since I was born into a musical family, I believe that even when I was in my mother’s womb, I could hear the sound of my father’s surbahar. Otherwise, how could a boy like me, who grew up playing sports—so drawn to games, a good footballer and cricketer—suddenly end up in music? I used to play cricket for Rangers Club. Once they kindly let me bowl an over, and in that very first over I took a hat-trick. It was quite a miracle. So I thought I might become a cricketer.

I was in class eight then. Many students used to come to our home to learn music from my father, and though the sounds reached my ears, I never cared much for them. I was rather mischievous. Because of my mischief, I was sent away from Cumilla Victoria School to my elder brother Abid Hossain Khan, who was working at Pakistan Radio. I got admitted to a new school at Dhanmondi, on Elephant Road. But I failed in one subject in my SSC exam, and none of my brothers would take me in; neither Mobarak Hossain Khan nor Abid Hossain Khan. They said, “He’s impossible to manage.” My father, being quite aged, became very worried.

Then my middle brother, Ustad Bahadur Khan, said, “If everyone rejects him like this, what will become of him? Do one thing. I’m going to Kolkata soon, let him come along and stay with me for a while.” So I went with my brother to Kolkata, and he kept me there. Since I had already learned tabla from my father, my brother started teaching me the violin. In our family, everyone had to learn to play at least one instrument. My brother said, “You’ve travelled around enough, now instead of sitting idle, start learning the violin.” One month passed, then two, then three. He would teach me in the afternoon or evening, and months turned into years. He didn’t let me go. He said, “What will you do at home? You’re from a family of musicians, stay here and learn something properly.” That’s how three years passed.

Rased Mehedi: And then?

Sheikh Sadi Khan: My studies stopped for those three years. My brother began teaching me morning ragas, afternoon ragas, evening ragas, night ragas—each in turn. I would practise for one or two hours in the morning, have lunch at one, and resume practice from three to five, then stroll around a bit, and practise again from seven for another two or three hours. I became completely absorbed. I had never practised like that in my life.

Sometimes, while playing alone, I would cry—thinking of my mother, my younger siblings. Tears would drop onto the violin. After three years, my father wrote to my brother, asking, “How is he? I’m not keeping well. If possible, send him home for a while. I want to see him.” My brother, then around 75 or 80, told me, “Go home for a visit. If you can, go; if not, whatever knowledge I’ve given you will be enough for you to live on.” Those words proved prophetic. When I came home, my father listened to my playing. By then, after hearing so many maestros, I had begun to understand the depth of music.

Rased Mehedi: When did you audition for the radio?

Sheikh Sadi Khan: I’m coming to that. In those days, in our neighbourhood, there used to be musical gatherings late at night. I started playing at those. I had listened to the flute of great ustads and classical khayal. My father realised that I was beginning to find my line, so he thought, “If I take him for a radio audition, he’ll have to practise seriously.” That’s how he took me to Chattogram Radio for an audition. It was 1965. There had been a brief India-Pakistan war around that time.

At the radio, the Regional Director was Ashrafuzzaman Khan, the Assistant Regional Director was Ibrahim Akhand, the Programme Organiser was Selim Uddin Ahmed, and the Programme Producer was Manoroma Hossain. Anwar Parvez worked there as a composer. After my audition, everyone left the room. I thought, “What did I play? Did I annoy them?” I was around 20 or 22 then. Half an hour later, my father came downstairs. I said, “Let’s go home.” He said, “You’re not going home. You’re staying here.” I asked why, and he said, “Mr Ashrafuzzaman has said they’ll keep you here. They’ll give you a consolidated booking. You’ll play sometimes, perform, and they’ll give you a job—salary Tk 210.” That was a lot back then. I used to send 100 taka to my mother and lived on 110 in a small colony room.

But I didn’t like it. After a month, they listed my name to play with artistes. But I had learned classical music, so it was difficult for me. After two or three months, I told some relatives I wanted to run away. They said, “No, you’ve had classical training; you’ll manage.” But I found it very hard. I wept thinking, “What have I learned and what am I playing?” Still, I held on through 1965, 1966, and 1967. I resolved that if I had to live through music, I must master commercial music too.

So I began to train myself anew. After three years, I came to Dhaka to visit my elder brother for 15 days. He said, “Come, there’s a film recording.” Many of the musicians there were family acquaintances. They told me to sit at the back, in the third row. In those days, they rehearsed film songs for two or three days. After that, I went to television, where some of my relatives worked. A senior officer asked, “Sadi bhai, would you like to work here? We always need violinists.” I said I’d think about it. My brother told me, “Join.” So I joined, passed the entry test, and started working regularly at television. That’s when I began composing tunes seriously.

Since I had classical training, while my friends didn’t, I stood out. My maternal uncle, Anwar Parvez, used to call me “mamu” and once asked, “Sing me a nice raga, mamu.” I sang Kalawati. He said, “That’s a beautiful raga.” So I started composing tunes with them.

Rased Mehedi: So what was your first composition?

Sheikh Sadi Khan: It’s a funny story—people might laugh. I used to hum all the time. I told my friends, “You all compose; I also feel melodies forming inside me. I want to compose, but who’ll give me a song?” In Chattogram, there was Mohonlal Das who wrote songs, and another, Zia Haider, but I couldn’t approach him.

Anyway, when I came to Dhaka, I found some papers under my brother’s bed—some song lyrics. One was titled Se to chhand noy, chhander moto shundor keno mone hoy, written by Dr Abu Hena Mostafa Kamal. I didn’t know my brother had planned to compose it. I practised and made a tune for it myself, then sang it to my friends: :Chhand noy, se to chhand noy... tobuo chhander moto eto shundor keno mone hoy...” They said, “You’ve made a good tune! Where did you get it?” Their enthusiasm encouraged me to start composing seriously.

At that time, my sister-in-law, Fauzia Yasmin Khan, who is Sabina Yasmin’s elder sister, used to sing for radio. She needed new songs for her scheduled programmes. She heard me composing on the harmonium and asked, “What are you doing?” I said, “Composing.” She laughed, “You can compose?” I said, “I’m trying.” She said, “Good! I can use it for my next programme.” She encouraged me a lot.

Since my brothers worked at radio, they knew I was a bit eccentric, always doing something or other. I passed SSC, and by then I had met Gazi Mazharul Anwar. If I asked him for lyrics, he would give me songs. Gradually, I got a programme with Sabina Yasmin. That was in 1969. My first album as a composer came out then. I had this burning desire to become a great composer. After that, I did a programme with Sabina—and that’s how it all began.

(To be continued)