Denise Nuttallmaster. Although his dreams didn’t usually include Zakirji teaching
him compositions, Zakirji was always present.
The following year I met a young Indian tabla player, a Hindu, who
told me about his dreams of Zakirji and of compositions. He had not
only dreams of compositions but also spiritual dreams where Zakirji
gave him guidance and comforted him. He always kept a picture of his
teacher in his room, and he prayed to the icon before going to sleep.
If he was having difficulty studying for an exam, he would pray to
his teacher, and in the night, Zakirji would be there encouraging him,
telling him that things would turn out well.
I went back to the transcriptions of the first interview I had conducted
with an older female student of Zakirji’s. Although she had taken up
other Hindustani instruments and left tabla many years before, she
remembered her dreams of Zakirji and tabla quite vividly. She would
have dreams of compositions at night, go into class the next day, and
find Zakirji playing it bol by bol. Certainly, the connection these stu-
dents had to their teacher was an intense and intimate one.
Experiencing the Spiritual Side of TablaIn my second year studying with Zakirji, I also experienced the dream-
ing. I had, by and large, given up on the idea, thinking that perhaps I
was too inexperienced as a tabla student or that I just could not con-
nect with my teachers in the same way others could. It happened one
day after a very energetic class with Zakirji in Seattle. During the day,
I had practiced for nearly five hours, carefully playing the new com-
positions over and over again. That night I suddenly awoke feeling
tired and scared. My body felt heavy—it was as if I were going to fall
through my bed onto the floor. I knew I was beside my husband, and
so I tried to call out to him to help me. I was paralyzed. I could not
move or speak. Just then, Zakirji whispered in my right ear, “Just re-
lax, you have to go through this.” My tension dissolved, knowing
that Zakirji was with me.
I could not see him—but I could hear him. He played bols so loudly
and so fast that I thought my ears would explode. He played to the
right of me, then to the left, as if moving me through space to some