Ghulam Mohammed Zaz, regarded as the last craftsman capable of producing the santoor by hand, confronts the fading legacy of this culturally rich instrument as demand plummets in favor of cheaper machine-made alternatives.
The Last Maestro: Preserving Kashmir's Santoor Craft amidst Modernization
The Last Maestro: Preserving Kashmir's Santoor Craft amidst Modernization
A Kashmiri artisan fights to keep alive the traditional art of handmade santoor-making in a changing musical landscape.
In the narrow alleys of Srinagar, Ghulam Mohammed Zaz's workshop stands as a testament to the slowly vanishing art of santoor-making. Hailing from a lineage of craftsmen spanning over seven generations, Zaz is known as Kashmir's last remaining artisan capable of handcrafting the santoor, an instrument that has resonated throughout the region's history.
This trapezoidal stringed instrument, akin to a dulcimer, boasts a crystalline tone that has been integral to Kashmir's cultural identity for centuries. Unfortunately, modern musical tastes, especially among the youth, have favored genres like hip-hop and rap, leaving traditional crafts like Zaz's in jeopardy. According to music educator Shabir Ahmad Mir, young people no longer relate to the complexity and beauty of the santoor, significantly contributing to its decline.
Zaz reflects on his unique heritage, recalling the time when his handcrafted instruments were cherished by renowned artists like Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma and Bhajan Sopori. Despite the artistry that has characterized his works, he sits in solitude amid the remnants of a dwindling craft.
Born in the 1940s, Zaz was immersed in an environment that celebrated the sounds of string instruments, yet his educational journey was interrupted by health challenges. He learned the delicate art of santoor-making not only from his father and grandfather but also from the ethos of listening — to both the wood and the artistry it would one day produce.
Each santoor crafted by Zaz is a symbol of meticulous effort: selecting seasoned walnut wood, carving the body, and tuning over 100 strings, a process that can extend for months. While he acknowledges the attention brought to his workshop by social media influences, Zaz fears that such fleeting recognition fails to address the deeper issues of preserving this treasured art form. With no family likely to continue the legacy, he yearns for a true apprentice—one driven by passion and commitment rather than financial gain.
Though Zaz has received offers for grants and apprenticeships, he seeks a true dedication to the craft. Now in his eighties, he contemplates the silence of unfinished instruments, expressing a poetic relationship with wood and music. "If you don't give them time," he remarks, "both die." What he truly wants is someone who will carry forth the love for the santoor, ensuring that its beauty continues to resonate in Kashmir and beyond.
As the community outside embraces rapid modernization, Zaz's workshop remains a serene abyss, filled with memories and hope, yearning for someone to carry the heartbeat of the santoor into a sustainable future.
This trapezoidal stringed instrument, akin to a dulcimer, boasts a crystalline tone that has been integral to Kashmir's cultural identity for centuries. Unfortunately, modern musical tastes, especially among the youth, have favored genres like hip-hop and rap, leaving traditional crafts like Zaz's in jeopardy. According to music educator Shabir Ahmad Mir, young people no longer relate to the complexity and beauty of the santoor, significantly contributing to its decline.
Zaz reflects on his unique heritage, recalling the time when his handcrafted instruments were cherished by renowned artists like Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma and Bhajan Sopori. Despite the artistry that has characterized his works, he sits in solitude amid the remnants of a dwindling craft.
Born in the 1940s, Zaz was immersed in an environment that celebrated the sounds of string instruments, yet his educational journey was interrupted by health challenges. He learned the delicate art of santoor-making not only from his father and grandfather but also from the ethos of listening — to both the wood and the artistry it would one day produce.
Each santoor crafted by Zaz is a symbol of meticulous effort: selecting seasoned walnut wood, carving the body, and tuning over 100 strings, a process that can extend for months. While he acknowledges the attention brought to his workshop by social media influences, Zaz fears that such fleeting recognition fails to address the deeper issues of preserving this treasured art form. With no family likely to continue the legacy, he yearns for a true apprentice—one driven by passion and commitment rather than financial gain.
Though Zaz has received offers for grants and apprenticeships, he seeks a true dedication to the craft. Now in his eighties, he contemplates the silence of unfinished instruments, expressing a poetic relationship with wood and music. "If you don't give them time," he remarks, "both die." What he truly wants is someone who will carry forth the love for the santoor, ensuring that its beauty continues to resonate in Kashmir and beyond.
As the community outside embraces rapid modernization, Zaz's workshop remains a serene abyss, filled with memories and hope, yearning for someone to carry the heartbeat of the santoor into a sustainable future.
