The Last Maestro: Preserving Kashmir’s Santoor Tradition

In this heartfelt narrative, Ghulam Mohammed Zaz, the last craftsman of the revered santoor instrument, shares his journey of preserving a rich musical heritage amidst changing times and declining demand.

In the bustling, historical city of Srinagar, within the confines of a modest workshop, Ghulam Mohammed Zaz, the last remaining traditional maker of the santoor, dedicates his life to a craft at the brink of extinction. Widely recognized for his skill in creating this iconic trapezoid-shaped stringed instrument, Mr. Zaz is a custodian of Kashmir's musical legacy, one that has resonated for centuries.

His location, a small and dimly lit space crammed with worn tools and an array of wood, serves as a poignant reminder of his familial lineage of artisans who have honed their craft for over seven generations, specializing in instruments like the rabab, sarangi, and sehtar. Yet, with the rise of machine-produced instruments that prioritize speed and affordability, the demand for handcrafted variants like the santoor has plummeted.

The changing musical landscape, dominated by hip-hop and electronic genres, has further disassociated the youth from traditional melodies. Music educator Shabir Ahmad Mir states, "The discipline and depth of traditional music are lost on younger generations now captivated by modern beats." The bleak future has resulted in the absence of apprentices, leaving Mr. Zaz to lament, "I am the last."

Once celebrated by renowned Sufi and folk musicians, Mr. Zaz’s handcrafted santoors have graced performances by legends such as Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma and Bhajan Sopori, who expanded the instrument’s tonal capabilities for classical performances. The origins of the santoor can be traced back to Persia, with its introduction to India around the 13th century, embracing a unique cultural ethos in Kashmir.

In 2022, Mr. Zaz earned India's Padma Shri, the fourth highest civilian honor, which stands testament to his artistry. His journey began in the 1940s; circumstances forced him out of formal schooling and into the family trade. His father and grandfather instilled in him an appreciation for not only crafting instruments but also attuning himself to the essence of music itself. "It is not simply woodwork," he explains, "it is poetry — a language that I lend to the instrument."

Creating a santoor is an intricate endeavor involving meticulously selected aged wood and an elaborate crafting process that demands patience — a stark contrast to the rapid production of modern machinery. "Wood and music," he muses, "both die if you don’t give them time. Each piece tells a story."

Despite recent attention from social media influencers, real efforts to preserve this art have yet to materialize. The absence of a successor weighs heavily on Mr. Zaz, who has three daughters currently pursuing different paths. There are no offers of apprentices who share his fervor for the art, and he is not in search of fame or charity; he simply desires passion for the craft to flourish.

Now in his eighties, Mr. Zaz spends countless hours in contemplation next to unfinished instruments, yearning for someone who can carry the torch of tradition. "I wish for someone who truly loves the craft to take it forward, not for money or fame, but for the music," he emphasizes, lamenting that the heart of this cherished legacy might soon fade into silence without revival efforts.

For the craftsmanship of Kashmir’s beloved santoor to endure, it requires not only preservation efforts but an appreciation of its art form, one that echoes with culture and history.