I was about 25 when I met Suresh Chandvankar for the first time. It was 1990, I was tickled pink by many realisations: That there was an organisation for disc collectors called the Society of Indian Record Collectors. Their members met many times a year. They had a passionate scientist from Mumbai’s Tata Institute for Fundamental Research who was co-directing their activities. They conducted researched “listening sessions” of the recordings of a variety of musicians. And they published a journal containing invaluable information about gramophone records called The Record News. I could never have imagined that this was happening in India.
Suresh Chandvankar was the backbone of the society. He did all the homework and curated the society’s events both in Mumbai and in other places, painstakingly created its newsletters and kept record collectors energised in many parts of India by encouraging collectors to run branches of the society in their own towns and cities.
He gave me the phone numbers of the collectors who lovingly nurtured the society’s branches in other places, urging me to meet them and in turn get invigorated The enthusiasm amongst the collectors was partly due to the infectious impact of Chandvankar’s own passion for music – not just listening and collecting but also researching an preserving it.
In 2007 and 2008, I curated exhibitions on the history of Indian music on wax cylinders, records, tapes and CDs. When Chandvankar visited and took a look at the large number of discs, machines, photos and other information on display, he thanked me profusely for “bringing out the lost treasures for the world to see”. He added, as he always did, “Let’s hope that more and more young people will be attracted to these things.”
Since I was 20 years junior to him, he considered me a part of the “young” generation and prodded me to take the movement forward.
Chandvankar regularly participated in conferences abroad relating to archiving and record collectors’ conferences. Not only did pay his own way to these expensive study trips, he would make it a point to make erudite presentations on Indian music, musicians and records at these meetings. In the exhibition areas, he would display Indian records and memorabilia.
Thanks to him, I too started attending such events. As a consequence, I was able to meet with record collectors from other parts of the world, I also learnt about the latest techniques in archiving, restoration and digitising sound. Chandvankar proudly introduced his acquaintances and friends to each other. Today, thanks to him, I count Marco Pacci from Italy, Robert Millis from the US and Sunny Mathews from Kerala among my dear friends.
I was amazed by his limitless energy and his selflessness. “Earlier I thought that my entire precious collection was for myself and I was hesitant in sharing with others,” he once told me. “But now I feel obliged to share with known and unknown persons all the treasures which, of course, someone else has bequeathed to me.”
One day, he called me up one day to inform me that he was gifting me an expensive turntable and amplifier. He brushed off my surprise by explaining that it would be more useful to me rather than to him. He argued that I needed the set-up as I was quantitatively archiving Indian music in the most qualitative way. I relented after he explained that the equipment had been gifted by the British Library and I was providing him digital transfers of discs that would be submissions for the project.
A one-man army, Chandvankar was responsible for bringing international attention to Indian discs and recordings by relentlessly contributing to important repositories like Discogs.
He furiously worked day and night, uploading digital audio transfers, meta data, photo images and more from his home in Kurla in Mumbai and a flat in the extended suburb of Badlapur that served as an archive and workspace. The Badlapur house was crammed with music equipment and media. Under the beds, on the kitchen shelves – no matter where you put your hand, you were sure to touch a cassette tape or disc or a film reel.
Though we may have had differences about technical matters such as sound recording and digitisation, I can never forget the encouragement and appreciation that Suresh Chandvankar gave me and countless others to pursue the mission he had embarked upon. He made it a point to attend my talks and seminars and to publicise them to anyone he thought would be interested in them. He had a unique way of connecting people and filling them with a passion to document and preserve Indian music .
I’m left with unforgettable memories. Of Suresh Chandvankar beaming at a record disc of Kesarbai Kerkar being sent to outer space on the Voyager. Of his joy at the inauguration in 2015 of Sunny Matthews’s Discs and Machines museum in Kottayam, a co-creation of his own. Of the excitement in his voice as he spoke of a young record collector he had started mentoring.
Read the articles Suresh Chandvankar wrote for Scroll here.
Kushal Gopalka is a music researcher and archivist who lives in Mumbai.
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