Ghulam Mohammed, the last hand maker of this iconic Kashmiri instrument, aims to pass on his musical legacy amidst dwindling interest and modern distractions.
The Last Artisan of the Santoor: Preserving Kashmir's Musical Heritage
The Last Artisan of the Santoor: Preserving Kashmir's Musical Heritage
In a quiet Srinagar workshop, Ghulam Mohammed Zaz fights to keep the traditional craftsmanship of the santoor alive.
In the heart of Srinagar, nestled within the narrow, historic streets, lies a small workshop that serves as a poignant reminder of a dying art. Ghulam Mohammed Zaz, recognized as Kashmir's last traditional santoor craftsman, dedicates his life to maintaining a centuries-old musical heritage. The santoor, a trapezoid-shaped string instrument known for its crystalline sound, has defined the musical landscapes of Kashmir.
Mr. Zaz represents a lineage of artisans who have fashioned stringed instruments for more than seven generations. The Zaz family is synonymous with crafting instruments like the santoor, rabab, sarangi, and sehtar. However, the rise of cheap, machine-made alternatives has significantly hampered the demand for these handcrafted masterpieces. "With hip hop, rap, and electronic music dominating today's scene, the relevance of traditional music has dwindled," laments music educator Shabir Ahmad Mir.
Entrusted with India's Padma Shri for his craftsmanship in 2022, Mr. Zaz's workshop is a time capsule, filled with the remnants of a fading practice. "I am the last," he acknowledges sorrowfully. His instruments, which have graced the performances of renowned artists like Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma and Bhajan Sopori, are a testament to an art form that has gradually faded from prominence.
Tracing the history of the santoor, it is believed to have been introduced to India in the 13th or 14th century, developing a distinct identity in Kashmir tied to Sufi poetry. Over the years, the instrument has been reshaped and adapted by various musicians, enriching its tonal circumstances. Yet, amid changing musical trends, Mr. Zaz's work remains mostly solitary.
Crafting a santoor is a meticulous labor: choosing aged wood, carving the body for resonance, creating bridges, and tuning hundreds of strings can take months. He reflects, "It is the craft of patience and perseverance."
While he appreciates the growing interest through social media, Mr. Zaz is keenly aware that attention alone won't preserve his craft. "What will become of this place when I am gone?" he ponders, as he worries about the future of his art. With no apprentices to carry on the tradition, despite numerous government offers, his legacy hangs in the balance.
At over eighty years old, Mr. Zaz continues to be a guardian of both wood and music, equating the making of a santoor to poetry and deep communication. Echoing an urgency that transcends his craft, he states, "I desire someone who truly loves this art, not for profit, but for the music itself." As modernity continues to sweep through the world, his workshop remains a sanctuary of timeless tradition, resonating with the essence of what it means to create artful music.
Mr. Zaz represents a lineage of artisans who have fashioned stringed instruments for more than seven generations. The Zaz family is synonymous with crafting instruments like the santoor, rabab, sarangi, and sehtar. However, the rise of cheap, machine-made alternatives has significantly hampered the demand for these handcrafted masterpieces. "With hip hop, rap, and electronic music dominating today's scene, the relevance of traditional music has dwindled," laments music educator Shabir Ahmad Mir.
Entrusted with India's Padma Shri for his craftsmanship in 2022, Mr. Zaz's workshop is a time capsule, filled with the remnants of a fading practice. "I am the last," he acknowledges sorrowfully. His instruments, which have graced the performances of renowned artists like Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma and Bhajan Sopori, are a testament to an art form that has gradually faded from prominence.
Tracing the history of the santoor, it is believed to have been introduced to India in the 13th or 14th century, developing a distinct identity in Kashmir tied to Sufi poetry. Over the years, the instrument has been reshaped and adapted by various musicians, enriching its tonal circumstances. Yet, amid changing musical trends, Mr. Zaz's work remains mostly solitary.
Crafting a santoor is a meticulous labor: choosing aged wood, carving the body for resonance, creating bridges, and tuning hundreds of strings can take months. He reflects, "It is the craft of patience and perseverance."
While he appreciates the growing interest through social media, Mr. Zaz is keenly aware that attention alone won't preserve his craft. "What will become of this place when I am gone?" he ponders, as he worries about the future of his art. With no apprentices to carry on the tradition, despite numerous government offers, his legacy hangs in the balance.
At over eighty years old, Mr. Zaz continues to be a guardian of both wood and music, equating the making of a santoor to poetry and deep communication. Echoing an urgency that transcends his craft, he states, "I desire someone who truly loves this art, not for profit, but for the music itself." As modernity continues to sweep through the world, his workshop remains a sanctuary of timeless tradition, resonating with the essence of what it means to create artful music.
