Years ago at school I came across a book entitled "Hundred Great Lives." There is a time during one's youth when such anthologies exercise a great hold on the mind.

The reason, I suppose, is that every boy and girl with some imagination subconsciously believes that, with a bit of luck, he or she is also destined to join the company of the select and the brave about whom they are reading. So as I read the book avidly it was only to be expected that I was assailed by dreams of romance and glory.

One thing about this book struck me, however. It had only two photographs. One, perhaps inevitably, that of Sir Winston Churchill. The other of Ludwig Van Beethoven. More arresting was the inscription under the second picture: "If man's fate is to suffer in an unfriendly universe, Beethoven's music creates the spirit to endure and even to exult in the endurance." I wondered what the words meant. Could there be music so powerful?

Years later in an attic to which I had gained temporary access I came across two records. One was something by Brahms (I forget precisely what), the other a recording of Beethoven's concerto for violin and orchestra, the only one he ever wrote. At first I felt myself at sea, this being my very first introduction to classical music, western or eastern. But I soon found myself enjoying the flourishes and crescendos which, in any case, I would had to be an ass not to like. In no time I was listening to this music all the time.

I struck gold, however, when I came in possession of a cassette of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. This was grand stuff and was like a revelation to me. Its effect was overwhelming and amply bore out E. M. Forster's testimony that the Fifth was "the most sublime piece of noise ever to enter human ear." Even a person deaf to the sound of music cannot help being effected by it. If there is any perfect introduction to classical music it is this. Simply because you can't go wrong with it. Play it to a donkey and chances are he too will be affected by it.

There is nothing squeamish or half-hearted about the Fifth Symphony. It is a headlong assault on the senses and carries all before it. Does it convey anything? I think it is a tribute to the ability of the human spirit to surmount all odds. I have read somewhere that in the Second World War news of allied victories on BBC used to be heralded by the opening bars of the Fifth Symphony. (In much the same manner, when the tide of war turned against Germany, bad news on radio Berlin was usually prefaced by something from Wagner's Gotterdamerung, the Twilight of the Gods.)

For a long time my classical collection remained restricted to these two or three pieces. I was only able to add to it when I went abroad. The trouble was my knowledge of music was patchy and selective, there being no guru or maestro to guide me. So it was only natural that there should be broad gaps in my musical education. I became familiar with Beethoven's symphonies but not with his piano concertos or string quartets.

It was the same with Mozart. I listened to his symphonies but remained ignorant of his operas. Later I made it a point to make up this omission. I must confess, however, I am no fan of The Marriage of Figaro or Don Giovanni. They may be great operas but, barring incidental passages here and there, they leave me cold. If I was ever stranded on a desert island my favourite operatic music would be Verdi and Puccini. With Puccini again you can't go wrong.

Until today my knowledge of Bach remains confined to a few of his Brandenburg concertos. This is unforgivable but it just goes to show my patchy education. A piano concerto of Grieg's which remains one of my favourites was recommended to me by a sympathetic salesgirl at a record shop in Moscow. It was from her too that I gained an introduction to Liszt's Hungarian rhapsodies. Wagner's Meistersingers I also bought from the same shop.

So it has been over the years, picking up odd bits of music here and there. Thanks to my trips to Delhi I have managed to acquire quite a respectable collection of Indian classical music. But I remain a partisan in music, returning to a few favourites time and again. My test of great music has always been its ability to put me to sleep. So when I draw the curtains in my bedroom I end up listening either to the great Kishori Amonkar, Mallikarjun Mansur (a hot favourite), Pandit Kumar Gundharva or Raga Jai Jai Wanti sung by Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan.

I have three Jai Jai Wantis: one played on the flute by Pandit Hari Prasad Chaurasia, another on the shehnai by the great Bismillah Khan and the last sung by Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan. Each is superb in its own right but if a tyro is permitted his opinion, one's heart misses a beat when Ghulam Ali Khan, clearing his throat, moves magisterially (a word I use advisedly) into the notes of this raga.

Jai Jai Wanti itself is a splendid raga. Who composed it, pandit or sage? On which sacred mountaintop (or hallowed riverbank) did the moment of inspiration come? Alas, the answer is lost in the mists of time.

What makes Bade Ghulam Ali Khan's singing of it so special? First of all his unrivalled virtuosity. Second his voice, always melodious but in this instance its timbre and tone so rich one wonders where it was cured. Wine cellar or deep chamber cut into the earth? In this raga his voice also has--how should I put it?--a languid quality which is another sign of his mastery. It's like an old troubadour all too sure of what he is doing.

In form and method Indian and western classical music are far apart. But in substance they come close to each other. The defining quality of all great music is passion and verve. Indeed this is true of all the arts. Great painting and great writing have the same quality. In order to qualify for the title of greatness they must be sustained by feeling and gusto. This is why a Puccini opera or a raga sung by Kishori Amonkar have much the same effect on the mind. The forms are dissimilar, the substance much the same.

And here's an example of passion in writing, H. L. Mencken recording his opinion of Beethoven's Third Symphony. "The older I grow, the more I am convinced that the most portentous phenomenon in the whole history of music was the first public performance of the Eroica on April 6, 1805.

The manufacturers of progamme notes have swathed that gigantic work in so many layers of banal legend and speculation that its intrinsic merits have been almost forgotten. Was it dedicated to Napoleon 1? If so, was the dedication sincere or ironical? Who cares--that is, who with ears? It might have been dedicated, just as well, to Paracelsus or Pontius Pilate. What makes it worth discussing today and forever, is the fact that on its very first page Beethoven threw his hat into the ring and laid his claim to immortality. Bang!--and he is off.

No compromise! No easy bridge from the Past! The Second Symphony is already miles behind. A new order of music has been born. The very manner of it is full of challenge.