Raga Jog: a versatile raga

Jog is an immensely popular and versatile post-sunset raga in contemporary music.. The raga now enjoys considerable popularity also in the semi-classical and light genres. The raga did not merit elaborate discussion in major early 20th century works such as Bhatkhande Sangeet Shastra. It can be assumed, therefore, to have acquired its significance in the latter half of the last century. The raga bears a close resemblance to raga Nat of the Carnatic [South Indian] tradition.

According to Manikbuwa Thakurdas, [Raga Darshan, Vol II, 1st Edition, Krishna Bros. Ajmer, 1988], two variants of the raga are in circulation. The variant with an affinity to raga Dhani utilizes only the komal [flat] Ni, while the variant with a Tilang affinity utilizes both, the komal as well as the shuddha [natural] Ni swaras. The latter version was performed commonly well into the 1960s by even the leading musicians of the pre-independence generation. The problem with the Tilang-biased [twin-Ga and twin-Ni usage] was that the Tilang facet tended to dominate the aesthetic experience, and the resultant raga found it difficult to establish its distinctive melodic personality. In later years, therefore, the preference has stabilized around the Dhani-biased variant with only a single [komal] Ni and twin-Ga usage. This is the raga currently recognized as Jog.

The raga belongs to the Khamaj parent scale of Hindustani music, and is hyper-pentatonic, omitting Re and Dh swaras in the ascent as well as descent. It deploys both Ga swaras -- the shuddha [natural] Ga in the ascent, and the komal [flat] Ga in the descent.

Ascent: S G M P n S’ Descent: S’ n P M g S

According to Subbarao [Subbarao, B. Raga Nidhi, Vol. II, 4th Edition, 1996, Music Academy, Madras], the Vadi and Samvadi swaras [primary and secondary dominants] of the raga are [shuddha] Ga and the higher-octave Sa respectively. According to Manikbuwa Thakurdas [Ibid], the Vadi-Samvadi are Pa and Sa. In contemporary practice, however, the treatment of the raga suggests [shuddha] Ga as the vadi and base-Sa as the samvadi. However, after the release of a Jog recording of the influential vocalist, Ustad Ameer Khan [STCS.04B.7374], Ma has also gained considerable significance in the raga, though not sufficient to replace Ga as the vadi.

In the phrasing pattern of Jog, phrases are permitted to terminate only on S, [shuddha] G, and P, two of the three being the vadi-samvadi pair. However, the contemporary Jog conforms to a general tendency amongst musicians to enlarge the melodic potential of pentatonic ragas by treating all the swaras as permissible terminal points in phrasing. A melodic focus on Ma became acceptable after Ustad Ameer Khan’s rendition of the raga. Musicians of later generations have now added [komal] Ni to the permissible terminal points for phrasing, thus effectively removing all constraints on phrasing, and allowing the tonal geometry of the raga to become the sole repository of its raga-ness.

The chalan [sekeletal phraseology] of the contemporary raga form is fairly straightforward, though biased in favour of exploiting the poignant interplay between the two Ga swaras in the purvanga [lower tetrachord], where the center of gravity of the raga lies.

Chalan: S n. g S/ n. P. n. g S/ n. S G/ S G G M/ G M g S/ S G M P/ M n P/ G M P n/ P n S’/ n P M G/ S G M g S or occasionally G M G g S.

The interplay of the two Ga swaras, along with the purvanga bias of the raga impart a degree of pathos to the raga, which remains the dominant aesthetic feature of the Jog experience at any tempo of rendition. This interplay follows definite rules of phrasing. As a rule, whenever a raga utilizes both the manifestations of a particular swara, the komal and the shuddha, one of them is used in the ascent and the other in the descent. With perhaps the sole exception of Lalit, which uses two Ma swaras, their consecutive deployment in the same direction is discouraged. However, the additional pathos released by such use has frequently tempted musicians to break this rule. As a result, Jog appears now to permit consecutive twin-Ga usage in the descent [M-G-g-S], although such usage is required to be judicious and occasional.

(c) India Archive Music Ltd., New York.
The finest recordings of Raga Jog have been produced by India Archive Music, New York. IndiaArcMu@aol.com.

Indrakishore Mishra – “Everyone thought the Bettiah Dhrupad gharana had disappeared”

Mishra spoke to Deepak Raja on December 22, 2002

My gharana traces its origins to two brothers, Jasraj and Yuvraj Mallik, who served the court of the Mughal Emperor, Shahjehan (17th century) as vocalists and Rudra Veena players. When they accepted the patronage of Bettiah rulers, they retained “Mallik”, the title granted to them at the Mughal court. Our family name is Mishra, and family lore claims descent from Miya Tansen, who was Ramtanu Mishra before conversion to Islam. Nobody has proof, and none of it matters anyway. But, it seems that the progeny of his Hindu wife retained the Hindu name and faith, while those of his Moslem wife adopted Islam and Moslem names. A few generations ago, my family dropped “Mallik”, and reverted to “Mishra”.

Our original patrons, Anand Kishore Singh, and his son, Naval Kishore Singh of Bettiah, were prolific poets and cultivated musicians. They wrote odes to Mata Bhavani (The Mother Goddess) with specific tala-s (rhythmic cycles) and raga-s in mind, and then gave them to Jasraj and Yuvraj Mallik to cast into melody for performance at the royal assemblies. This is probably why my family neglected, and lost, the art of the Rudra Veena. After independence, the support of the ruling family vanished. By this time, the world outside had lost interest in Dhrupad, and found it even easier to forget about our orthodox stream of the genre. Despite great hardship, my father and grandfather remained committed to our tradition.

The repertoire of bandish-es (Pada-s/ compositions) in my gharana includes bandish-es by Miya Tansen, his Guru, Swami Haridas, even his Guru, Vyasa Das, and Nayak Baiju, popularly known as Baiju Bawra. My grandfather reportedly knew 25,000 bandish-es. My father knew 2500, and documented them with the verse, tala, and melodic notation. Of these, he taught me about 1500, in about hundred ragas. This is all that remains of our legacy of compositions. Almost all our bandish-es have been preserved with their four original stanzas, and melodic components. Some have even six stanzas. Our repertoire includes many ragas, like Devsakh, Lachhasakh and Jeelaf, which are rare even in Khayal music today. Our bandish-es are in various tala-s basic to the Dhrupad genre – Chautal, Dhamar, Surfakta (Sula Tala), Tivra, Bramha tala, Adi tala, and Sadra (Jhap tala).

Our family has taken great pains to ensure that each generation performs the music exactly as the earlier generations did. Willful deviation is discouraged, and all change is inadvertent. We are committed to the original philosophy of Dhrupad as devotional music. The Pada (the verse/ hymn) is of supreme significance in our gharana. We do not do anything that will damage the integrity of the poetic element, and we do everything to ensure that the communication of emotional content of the poetry is enhanced in the rendition.

We treat the bandish as the core of Dhrupad. This is why the rendition of the bandish consumes a larger part of our performance. Each bandish has a prescribed laya (tempo), and we perform it only in that tempo. We also believe that the composer of the bandish has infused the poetic-melodic-rhythmic entity with all the musical wisdom it was intended to have, and that this wisdom works best when melody and rhythm work in conjunction with the literary value of the poetry. In the Pada rendition, our gharana does not permit any distortion of poetic meaning through rhythmic improvisations. We render the Chautal bandish-es in their pristine form. Our musicianship is displayed in the successful communication of the Rasa (emotional content) of the poetry. In other tala-s, we permit only such rhythmic improvisations as respect the sanctity of the poetic-melodic form.

Our raga grammar also remains rooted in tradition, and often ignores recent changes. There is always evidence -- either textual or traditional -- to support our raga grammar. And yet, our ragas often confuse audiences because they do not know the old forms of these ragas. Actually, the recent changes in ragas are intended to differentiate similar ragas with greater sharpness. But, if a musician’s training is sound, he does not need to re-write grammar to achieve this.

On several occasions, I have discussed our music with Ustad Zia Fareeduddin Dagar. He confirms that my music represents the fundamental ideology of Dhrupad, and is the foundation also of the Dagar tradition. He has advised me firmly not to deviate from our traditional style. Considering his views, it seems possible that, at some stage in the past, Dhrupad performance was fairly uniform. Over the years, probably encouraged by different patrons, other traditions evolved newer modes of rendition, while our lineage remained conservative.

Our family follows a combination of the Gauhar Bani and Khandhar Bani styles of Dhrupad. Our style is now being especially noticed for the Khandhar Bani flavour, expressed in the crisp gamak form, which is now rare in Dhrupad vocalism. In our gharana, the aggressiveness of Khandar Bani is not a generalized approach, as it is in some gharanas. It is used very selectively in the alap, and even more selectively in the rendition of the Pada – only when the poetic and melodic elements demand the creation of menacing aural impressions. Nobody should ever forget that our music has evolved under the supervision and patronage of poets. Every facet of our music is subordinated to the literary content of Dhrupad.

As a child, I picked up a lot of our family’s music by just being there. But, having seen the price the family had to pay for its commitment, I had little interest in studying Dhrupad. My father was convinced that, one day, Dhrupad would return to the mainstream, and persuaded me to study the art. I had studied formally with him for about 15 years, when I got my first opportunity to register the presence of our gharana on the post-independence Dhrupad scene.

I started with a considerable disadvantage. Everyone thought the once famous Bettiah gharana had disappeared. We also have a geographical disadvantage. We are located 200 Kilometres away even from the state capital, Patna, whish itself is no great cultural centre. Even today, roads, railways and communications service our region poorly. My father was not a very enterprising person. So, when the Sangeet Natak Akademi organized a Dhrupad Sammelan in the early 1980s our gharana was not featured. I used every device in the art of persuasion to be heard. My concert was a great success, and that was the beginning of my career and the acceptance of the Bettiah gharana as a living tradition. Since then, Zia Fareeduddin Dagar has helped to bring my talent to the forefront, and I have made headway according to my ability. But, the struggle is not over yet.

I have frequent disagreements with the staff at Patna radio, from where I broadcast since 1994. Sometimes we disagree on raga authenticity; sometimes on the appropriate time for performing a raga, and always on how Dhrupad should be presented. I cannot transport them to the Vaishnava temples of Vrindavan or to the 18th century to prove my point. Neither can I run down rival Dhrupad gharana-s who have chosen a different path. Despite minor skirmishes with the authorities, I get three broadcasts a year. The audience is only local. Even my village receives my broadcasts poorly. Because of these disadvantages, I get very few concert engagements in the major music events, which are staged in the big cities.

I am training my son and daughters in our gharana’s music. I could not enthuse my nephews, as they found Khayal and Ghazal more inviting. A have a handful of students outside the family. I cannot be sure my gharana will survive, because I am no longer young, and my own breakthrough has yet to come. A European recording company has released two CDs of mine, which have been well received. An American company has now recorded me. The foreign market has provided a ray of hope.

© Deepak S. Raja, 2002
The finest recordings of Indrakishore Mishra have been produced by India Archive Music, New York. IndiaArcMu@aol.com

Vijaya Jadhav Gatlewar – “I am disheartened by the lukewarm response to rare ragas”

Vijaya spoke to Deepak Raja on December 24, 2001

My father, DB Jadhav worked as a clerk in a Bombay textile mill, and was an empanelled vocalist of All India Radio. He had studied primarily with Natthan Khan [died: 1946], the nephew of Alladiya Khan of the Jaipur gharana. However, he had also studied with senior musicians of Agra, and Gwalior gharanas. Despite his diverse training, he performed in the Jaipur style. Once he came home from work, our home had only music, and nothing else. He had two or three disciples who took training with him every evening from 6 to 9. I overheard this training, and unknown to my father, started singing. It was only when I opted for music as a subject for my high school graduation that he discovered my talent. Thereafter, he took my training seriously. I became a permanent fixture of his evening sessions.

To speed up my progress as a performer, he encouraged me to enter music competitions all over the country. I competed in light as well as classical segments, and brought home a string of trophies. Once I had gained confidence, my father stopped my competitive activity, because he believed art should not be pursued like a competitive sport. But, by then -- I was 18 -- I had decided to pursue music as a profession, and my parents endorsed my decision. In 1977, my father placed me under training with Nivrutti Buwa Sarnaik, whom he greatly admired. At that time, my father was approaching retirement, and feared that he would soon be unable to pay for my tuitions. Dada [Nivrutti Buwa Sarnaik] assured him that he would continue teaching me free of charge if this happened. That very year, I was granted the Kesarbai Kerkar Memorial Scholarship of the National Centre for the Performing Arts, and my Guru was saved from having to make a financial sacrifice on my account.

Within a year of my starting training with him, Dada was invited to become a Resident Guru at the Sangeet Research Academy [SRA] in Calcutta. He wanted me to go with him, and my family readily consented. I trained with Dada at the SRA upto the end of his tenure at the Academy [1978-1993], taking only occasional breaks, after 1988, to be with my husband in Bombay.

In every respect, the SRA is an ideal environment for the serious pursuit of music. It has a beautiful campus in peaceful surroundings, and is equipped with an excellent library of recordings. During my tenure as a scholar, the Academy was also a goldmine of Gurus. Distinguished musicians from outside also visited the Academy frequently and performed.

The training system of the Academy is modelled after the Guru-Shishya Paramapara. Each Guru was assigned a maximum of two or three students. We lived on the same premises as our Guru, and trained under his supervision. Our days began at 4.30 am and ended only after midnight.

The personalised training at the Academy was a priceless experience for me. From the very beginning, Dada considered my early training with my father valuable, and started building upon it. At the Academy, his training became even more fine-tuned to my specific needs. Unlike Bombay, where his monetary compulsions forced him to teach a large class, the Academy allowed him to give personalised attention. He made me work hard on the fundamental refinements of my art, such as intonation, and voice-culture. Having excelled in competitions, initially I found these efforts humiliating. But he insisted on perfection, and had all the time and the freedom to pursue it.

At the Academy, I also got to learn Thumree from Girija Devi. She trained me with great affection. But, I did not become a Ganda-bandh [formally initiated] disciple of hers because it would have been impossible for me to do justice to both the genres.

In addition to giving me the best of my own Guru, the SRA also gave me what no individual Guru could have given me. The general sessions for all students included seminars, guided listening sessions, and group discussions, which helped me to acquire an understanding of different approaches to music, and the different genres. The Academy also promoted my career as a performing musician within India and abroad.

Dada loved the Academy so much that he wanted to die there. But, his health deteriorated dramatically in 1993, and we packed up when he decided he could no longer fulfil his responsibilities.

After entering the profession, I wonder whether spending so many years in training, away from the concert platform, was really worthwhile. I am disheartened often by the lukewarm response I get for presenting the rare ragas of the Jaipur-Atrauli tradition. But, gradually, I am getting a response from audiences who realise the rarity and the value of my art. Although I am not impatient for recognition and success, it would be nice to have it while I am still in the prime of physical health and creative energy.

© Deepak S. Raja 2001

Read a detailed profile of the artist in: "Khayal Vocalism: Continuity within Change".
The finest recordings of Vijaya Jadhav Gatlewar have been produced by India Archive Music Ltd. New York. IndiaArcMu@aol.com

Girija Devi – “I am in the service of Goddess Saraswati”

Girija Devi spoke to Deepak Raja on February 24, 2004

When I was five or six years old, my father placed me under the tutelage of Sarju Prasad Mishra. In those days, girls from genteel society did not go to the teacher’s house to learn; they were taught music in their own homes. Sarju Prasad Mishra was a very good singer, but performed as a Sarangi accompanist. For the first three years, I was taught the basics – just the scale and its transpositions and transformations. Then, for a couple of years, I was taught Khayals in the major raga-s: Yaman, Bhairav, Bilawal.

Alongside the Khayal, I was introduced to Tappa-s and Thumree-s. Tappa was a very important part of the training at that stage because it trained my vocal chords for melodic agility. This facility has to be inculcated when we are young, before the vocalization mechanism becomes rigid. Saraju Prasadji taught me by singing, but mostly accompanying me on the Sarangi. In Hindustani music, Sarangi-based training has been a very powerful aid to pitch precision. The most melodious amongst 20th century vocalists – Abdul Kareem Khan, Bade Ghulam Ali Khan, and reportedly even Ameer Khan – started life as Sarangi players. I studied with Sarju Prasadji for about eleven years before he expired. I was seventeen then. I got married around that time, had my first child, and took a gap of three years before I resumed training.

My second Guru, Shrichand Mishra was a vocalist, and a master of the Tabla, who also played several other instruments – Sitar and Sarod – as a hobby. He belonged to the Seniya tradition (lineage of Miya Tansen). He had a strong grounding in Dhrupad, which influenced his approach to the modern genres. During his tutelage with Dargahiji, the legendary Guru of Benares, he had also acquired a vast repertoire of other genres, such as Tap-Khayal, Khayal-numa, Kaul, Kalbana, Gul and Naksh. Several of these genres are extinct now. I studied with him for about twenty years. I was almost forty when he expired.

The Benares tradition is of “Chau-mukhi Gayan” (Vocalism with four facets). Our training encompasses the four principal genres – Dhrupad, Khayal, Tappa, and Thumree. Therefore, Khayal and the semi-classical genres do not present themselves to us as alternatives to building a career. When I was growing up, Maharashtra emerged as the home of Khayal vocalism, with its own regional and devotional genres pushing the thumree into a corner. Upto Abdul Kareem Khan and his immediate disciples, the Thumree retained its stature, though it changed its complexion.

In later years, however, the new Khayal establishment appeared to create a climate of opinion in which the Thumree and its allied genres were regarded as either easy to master, or otherwise inferior. This bothered me immensely. So, I decided to match the competence of Khayal vocalists on their “home turf”, and challenge them to match me on mine. I worked very hard on my Khayal, and performed it more widely and consistently than any other Benares vocalist in recent times. I make it a point to perform a Khayal at every concert, and it consumes almost half of the duration of my recital. After that, I perform a few semi-classical pieces. I sing a Tappa as often as I can because it is disappearing, and I want to do my bit to keep it alive.

I do not see any conflict between Thumree and Khayal. They are distinct genres, each with its own character. One can manage both equally well if one has the training and the temperament. In the Khayal, we get to the root of the raga’s melodic personality, and elaborate upon it according to the established presentation format. In the thumree, we get into emotional depth of the poetry, and express it as musically as we can. I was brought up in a family with a very deep involvement with literature, particularly poetry. So, I handle poetry in thumree with sensitivity. In terms of the stance, my temperament keeps me away from extremes at both ends.

My approach to the Khayal is based on the “Shanta” rasa (the tranquil sentiment). My thumree renditions interpret “Shringar” rasa (the romantic sentiment) in an Indian way, without explicit eroticism. To me, Shringara is like dressing up an Indian village belle for her union with the man in her life. The way I dress her up has to be dignified, and yet alluring. It cannot be the way a woman of the streets dresses up to attract customers for the night. I sing only what I can relate to. I do not, for instance, perform Thumree-s in raga-s like Maand, which are from other regions of India. I stick to raga-s like Desh, Tilak Kamod, Telang, Bihag, Khamaj, Kafi, Bhairavi etc. in which the Benares Thumree has been traditionally performed.

I get invitations to perform with “fusion” groups. The idea seems outrageous to me. Can you imagine singing a Chaiti with lyrics like “Chaitra maase bolere koyalia ho Rama, hamare anganva” (translation: In the Chaitra/ spring month, the cuckoo sings in my courtyard) to the accompaniment of Western drums, a guitar and a saxophone? How can I communicate the delicate imagery of spring amidst the infernal noise my accompanists will create? If I try doing this, the gentle cuckoo will abandon my courtyard forever. Spring will cease to be the spring I know. If titillation is what people want, there are enough musicians dishing it out. I can do without the money I would make by joining such bands. If I had been destined to enjoy immense wealth, I would have been born in a millionaire’s household rather than to my parents.

Beyond this, it is all about the sanctity of the relationship with art. As a musician, I must see myself as being in the service of Goddess Saraswati, (the Goddess learning and the fine arts). Every concert is an opportunity to shape my personality to become worthy of this status. I have to achieve, within myself, a serenity which comes from a balanced approach, not merely to every aspect of music, but to every facet of life. I have to be the same person in all my roles – musician, wife, householder, mother – without over-reaching myself in any role, and performing them equally efficiently.

I admit that a significant thumree singer has not emerged for a long time. But, I don’t believe the art is dying. There are several competent Thumree singers around, though some of them are not performing. I have trained some promising vocalists, and I have to believe that a few of them will make the grade in a decade or so. Khayal singers – male as well as female – are showing considerable enthusiasm. Several of them have sought my guidance. There is no dearth of talent or interest amongst the younger musicians. But, if you want me to certify a potential great, I cannot identify anyone. A Thumree rendition has to induce a state of sustained inebriation. For this, the singer has to sacrifice the gratification of intermittent applause. In the present environment, this is the question mark that hangs over the future of the genre.

© Deepak S. Raja 2004
The finest recordings of Giriga Devi have been produced by India Archive Music Ltd. New York. IndiaArcMu@aol.com

Tejendra Majumdar -- “Where we get the most money, we risk indifferent audiences”

Tejendra Majumdar spoke to Deepak Raja on December 21, 2003

I was 9 years old when I was taken to Bahadur Khan Saheb for training. My uncle had been his disciple; so he knew the family. Until then, I had been playing the mandolin. He kept me on tenterhooks for six months before he agreed to teach me. My parents were relieved when he said yes. But, for a nine-year old mandolin player, the transition to the Sarod was not easy. The instrument was heavy, my plectrum strokes were too light to produce the required impact, and my Ustad had a fowl temper.

My training started with raga Yaman. Actually, he taught me Yaman three times – from A to Z each time – during his life. The last was a few months before his demise in 1989. I used to go to him four to five times a week. Twice or thrice during the week after school, and full days over weekends. In those days (1969-70), his fees were Rs. 75 per month. My middle class family could not afford them. So, he agreed to teach me for Rs. 30 a month. After a few years, he stopped accepting even this amount.

He generally took eight to nine months to teach a raga. At other times, he would take one family of raga-s, and take me through all the variants of it within a day. The first time he did this, it was Malhar. He started with Miya-ki Malhar, then Gaud Malhar, then Nat Malhar, then Charju-ki Malhar, then Ramdasi Malhar, and went on until all Malhar variants had been exhausted. By the end of the day, my head was swirling, and I could not sleep that night. The next morning, he asked me how good the learning had been. I had to say it was fine out of fear of upsetting him. But, having said that, I dared not mix up the raga-s ever again. On other occasions, he took up Shuddha Kalyan, followed immediately by allied ragas – Bhoop and Deshkar. Similarly, he taught me Shyam Kalyan along with its near-identical twin, Shuddha Sarang. In 20 years of training with him, I had been taken through the paces with more than 50 ragas.

His method of teaching a raga was to take me through the alap, along with bandish-es of every variety, and their treatment. In each raga, he would teach me vilambit gats, along with the improvisatory movements, then Sitarkhani (medium tempo) gats with their improvisatory movements, then drut (fast tempo) gats with their improvisatory movements. Some ragas were taught with Dhrupad bandish-es, along with the improvisatory movements for Dhrupad. Each category of bandish had a different approach to improvisatory movements.

Over a period, I developed a very intimate relationship with him. He would take me with him whenever he traveled for concerts. In those trips, a got to know many of the greatest maestros of the times, and learnt a lot not only about music, but the etiquette and decorum of the music world. I had been with him for seven years when he decided to hold my “Ganda-bandhan” (ceremonial initiation). Ganda-bandhan signifies the Guru accepting total responsibility for the progress of the disciple. After that ceremony, Bahadur Khansaheb devoted himself even more wholeheartedly to my growth.

My Ustad's three-octave tan-s drove me up the wall
The training I got from Bahadur Khansaheb laid a strong foundation of raga knowledge and the presentation of bandish-es. He was a master of the left hand as well as right hand technique. His alap-s achieved a depth of raga exploration that I have not heard from anyone else. The three-octave tan-s he made me practice in Bihag drove me up the wall for several weeks. The spring in his right hand was incredible – he could make the direction reversal on any string with any combination of power between outward and inward strokes. His inventory of jhala techniques was more sophisticated than the most sophisticated jhala ever played on the Been. He taught me all of them, though I have mastered and normally perform only a small fraction of what I have been taught. While his right hand executed these incredible stroke combinations on the melodic and chikari strings, the left hand used to play the alap.

At that stage in my life, I do not believe I could have received better training on the Sarod than I got from Bahadur Khansaheb. It is unfortunate that he died so young (Age: 60). He was also an unlucky musician for not having got the recognition that he deserved as a Sarod soloist. I feel good, though embarrassed, that my success is reviving public interest in my Ustad’s music.

When he died, I had a real problem. By then, I was already a performing musician; but the learning had to continue. After this quality of training, where could I go? For a while, I studied with Ajoy Sinha Roy, a senior of the Maihar gharana, but more of a scholar than a performing musician. He guided me with great affection, but kept pleading with me to go to Ali Akbar Khansaheb. I was diffident considering that Ali Akbar Khan was so busy and lived abroad. I then went to Annapoorna Devi, the sister of Ali Akbar Khansaheb in the hope of learning from her. She too directed me to her brother, with a letter recommending that he accept me as a disciple.

Know a raga as intimately as your wife
In 1992, when I was on a concert tour of the US, I met Ali Akbar Khansaheb with a letter of introduction from Annapoorna Devi, and he started guiding me. Training with him is sporadic – either when I am in the US or when he is in India. His approach to training is similar to Bahadur Khansaheb’s. Entirely oral transmission. No writing down. He insists that I internalize the guidance like a computer program. At this stage, we are not looking at technique, but the approach to handling a raga, and understanding all its facets. Currently, I am learning Maluha Kedar. It is a small raga. But, with his guidance, I should be able to play it for an hour without repeating a single phrase. He believes that one should get to know a raga as intimately as one knows one’s wife. Just as I can recognize my wife by just a glimpse at her toe-nails, or her finger, a raga should become recognizable by the delivery of just a single swara. When you receive this kind of guidance from a Guru, there is little chance that you can turn out to be a clumsy musician.

It is really tragic that my generation of musicians is not taking raga knowledge seriously. If you don’t care for the infinite melodic potential of a raga, why do you perform classical music? You can perform something else and do equally well, or perhaps even better!

I cannot imagine settling abroad
Over the last three years, I have been doing an average of 40 to 50 concerts a year. Three years ago, I balance was in favour of the US and Europe. Gradually, over the last two years, it has moved towards half abroad and half in India. Although I have performed in most important cities of India, I have yet to perform in a few important Indian centers like Pune. This too is about to happen. My experience tells me that audiences in the US and Europe are, on an average, open minded and serious, while in India the picture is patchy. Where we get the most money in India, we often get indifferent audiences. In the west, the money and audience quality are both more consistent.

I now spend five to six months a year abroad. From every angle, the western market is important for a musician. But, I cannot imagine settling abroad. I feel sorry for those musicians who had the opportunity of settling abroad, did it, and lost touch with India. Yes, they might have survived. But, within a few years, they stopped growing as musicians and also lost their credibility. Unless we interact in a sustained and a serious manner with the Indian music world, we stagnate, and the western audiences will not give us respect unless we also command respect at home.

© Deepak S. Raja, 2003
The finest recordings of Tejendra Majumdar have been produced by India Archive Music , New York.

Bhairavi III: An Ustad’s Obsession

I translate below, as faithfully as possible, an extract from a recorded interview I did with Ustad Vilayat Khan on January 3, 1997. The explicit agenda was to discuss a recording he had done, of Raga Khamaj, for India Archive Music Ltd. The conversation drifted towards the ragas by which each generation of his family is likely to be remembered.

Question: Ustad Enayet Khan was known for his mastery over Khamaj. But, had Imdad Khan, before him, also worked on Khamaj ?

Answer: Imdad Khan was best known for his Puriya, Yaman and Kafi. According to legend, once he played a Hori (raga Kafi, associated with the festival of holi, the festival of colours) so brilliantly in Nepal, that there was virtually a shower of saffron coloured powder from the heavens.

 Question: Which ragas will people remember Ustad Enayet Khan by ? 

Answer: Bhairav, Bageshri, Piloo, Khamaj, Kafi, Tilak Kamod, Bihari, Yaman, Puriya -- well, Puriya and Yaman happen to be steady pillars of our gharana's music.

Question: What are your views on your own forte' ? Which are the ragas which, you feel, you have charged with the entire power of your soul ?

Answer: I don't yet have the confidence to think on these lines because whatever I play is borrowed from the music of the giants I have heard. Maybe, I have built some kind of edifice by assembling bricks made by others. But, what is the real worth of this achievement ?

I try to give each raga the same quality of effort, spending at least two weeks preparing every raga for a concert. By the third or fourth day, the raga starts revealing its deepest secrets to me. By the time I am ready to go on stage, I feel the same degree of intimacy with any raga.

Question: Some of your ragas have a very special appeal for us. But, we might fail to notice when, and in which ragas, you approach a state of ecstatic involvement.

Answer: If you wish to look at it this way, I am born on Janmashtami (the birth-date of Lord Krishna, one of the ten incarnations of Lord Vishnu, the Preserver of the universe). Therefore, judging from the constellation under which I was born, I ought to possess the characteristics of Lord Krishna (a divine cassanova, an astute politician, and a worldly philosopher).

As a supplicant before a deity, I am immensely attracted to Bhairav (Lord Shiva, the destroyer of the universe, the eternal ascetic who presides over the occult sciences, music and dance). And, as a lover, I am obsessed with Bhairavi (Godess Parvati, Lord Shiva's divine consort, High Priestess of the Shakti cult). How ironical this is (considering the contrasting images of Krishna on the one hand and Shiva and Parvati on the other)!

Question: Bhairav and Bhairavi, as Shiva (Male power) and Shakti (Female Power) are two facets of the same spiritual entity, are'nt they ?

Answer: Yes, but Bhairav is awesome; Bhairavi is compelling. The average Hindu is conditioned by the caricature of Bhairav (Lord Shiva, as portrayed in the temples and in popular art). I wish I, a devout Moslem, could describe to him my vision of Bahirav's infinite form and awesome power! I would say the same for Bhairavi (Parvati). How many different facets of her persona I have experienced !

Oh Allah ! By how many different names, and in how many different forms, you manifest yourself to the seeker! It is we who give You different names, according to our (limited) capacity to understand You. All of them are names in praise of Your Glory. You are masculine; You are also feminine. You are the Lover; You are also the Beloved. You are the Ascetic; and you are also the Emperor.

Sitting in this room, you and I talk glibly about my recording of one raga, or another recording of another raga, as landmarks. But, all this reflects our limited understanding. Nothing limits Him (the Almighty) who inspires all this. Who, amongst mortals, has yet measured the heights to which He can elevate man's endeavours ?

It is interesting that, when Vilayat Khan talks about the excellence achieved by his ancestors, ragas are merely ragas. But, the moment he starts talking about his own music, the conversation isn't about music at all. It is about the mythical entities, Bhairav and Bhairavi, who inhabit a world beyond music.

In these comments, the Ustad demonstrates the powerful hold of the Hindu cult of Shakti (Female Divinity) over the mind of Bengal (Bengal includes the Indian state of West Bengal and present-day Bangla Desh) transcending the barriers of religion.

The Ustad handles the apparent incongruity of himself, a Moslem, obsessed by a Hindu deity with total innocence. He is responding to an archetype pregnant with immense appeal within the culture. In explaining this vision verbally, he swings effortlessly between Hindu and Islamic ideas, emphasising the irrelevance of religion to man's artistic and spiritual life.

The melodic exploration of Bhairavi has, indeed, been a very significant facet of his life's work. Any avid follower of the Ustad's career, or collector of his recordings, will confirm that Vilayat Khan has performed Bhairavi more frequently, and in more varied treatments, than any other raga. If you have heard a lot of Vilayat Khan, you have certainly heard enough of Bhairavi to know every one of his phrases. Yet, audiences never seem to tire of Vilayat Khan's Bhairavi. This is because he never seemed to run out of fresh ideas for courting his mythical beloved.


(c) India Archive Music Ltd. New York. The finest recordings of Ustad Vilayat Khan's Bhairavi have been produced by India Archive Music. IndiaArcMu@aol.com

Bhairavi II: The Archetype

As in the case of other ragas named after Hindu deities (Shree, Durga, Saraswati etc.), the genesis of the association between Bhairavi, as a melodic entity and its mythological correlates, is untraceable. However, Raga-Dhyana texts (contemplation of a raga) for many ragas are available in musicological literature. When backed by the power of mythology, these visualizations have a very obvious influence on their melodic interpretations, and their role in the musical culture.

Bhairavi's mythological persona is simple; but her archetypal symbolism is highly complex.

Parvati (Bhairavi), the daughter of the mountain-king Himawat, is an ambiguous semi-divinity. Although poetic metaphors accord her divine status, she is the quintessence of the lowly mortal woman worshipping the lofty male god. She literally worships the phallus (the predominant iconographic representation of Lord Shiva). She undertakes rigorous penance in order to purify herself, and to make herself worthy of marriage to her Lord. (O'Flaherty. The Divine Consort. Ed: Hawley & Wulff.Beacon Press.1986. Pg. 129-143)

At the same time, she is also the High Priestess of the cult of Shakti (the worship of the female divinity), which emerged as a corollary to the Bhakti cult. Bhakti involved the passionate worship of a male God by the devotee imagining himself/herself to be a woman in an erotic relationship with the divine. Homosexuality being taboo, the Shakti cult invented a female divinity, and made it convenient for male worshippers to imagine such an intimacy. (O'Flaherty. The Divine Consort. Ed: Hawley & Wulff.Beacon Press.1986. Pg. 129-143).

Parvati's ambiguous mortal/immortal status is the focal point of the transition from male-dominated to female-dominated hierogamies. She functions simultaneously at three levels. Below the mythological Parvati is the mere mortal worshipping her divinity. Above her, and infusing her with power, is Devi Mahamaya (The Eternal Feminine, on par with Bramha, the Creator), of whom there are several manifestations, ranging from the most ferocious, to the most benign. (O'Flaherty. The Divine Consort. Ed: Hawley & Wulff. Beacon Press. 1986.Pg. 129-143).

The cult of Shakti regards the female principle as the active principle, and the male principle as the passive one. "Shiva, when united with Shakti, is able to create; otherwise, he is unable even to move" (Quoted from Saundaryalahari. Radhakrishnan. Indian Philosophy. Vol. II Blackie & Sons. 10th Impression, 1977 Pg. 784-785).

Arising from this, and equally important to the world of art is the notion of sexual union in the Shakti cult. In iconographic representations of sexual union, Parvati/ Uma/ Bhairavi/ Shakti is represented astride Shiva rather than the other way around. In the ritualistic aspects of Shakti worship, the man must not spill his semen. Instead, he ingests the female sexual fluid called rajas (lit: the elixir of vitality), which is not menstrual blood. The union thus qualifies for the description of inverse sexual intercourse. (Marglin. The Divine Consort. Ed: Hawley & Wulff. Beacon Press. 1986. Pg. 298-315).

In this configuration of images, we are looking at a very powerful stimulus for art as a sublimation of man's sexuality. As the fountainhead of a mulitude of female divinities, she lends herself to numerous manifestations, while retaining her Bhairavi-ness. As a mythological persona, she straddles, simultaneously, the human/ accessible as well as the divine/ inaccessible worlds. She is Shiva's literal appendage, and also his spiritual superior. In the act of sexual union, she is Shiva's dominant partner; but her mythological persona is the epitome of female servility.

(c) India Archive Music Ltd. New York.  The finest recordings of Raga Bhairavi have been produced by India Archive Music Ltd. New York. IndiaArcMu@aol.com.

Bhairavi I: The melodic form

Bhairavi is one of the most popular ragas in the Hindustani melodic pantheon. In its pure form, its scale represents one of the ten parent scales under which other ragas are classified. But, its concert manifestation is highly malleable, and accommodates a variety of tonal deviations, without losing its essential Bhairavi-ness.

The shuddha (pure) Bhairavi is heard only rarely. On the concert platform, one encounters melodic patterns derived from one or more of the Bhairavi variants. These variants were probably influenced by folk melodies, as suggested by their names referring to the different regions: Sindh (now in Pakistan), Punjab (in northern India, and partly in Pakistan), Purab (Eastern part of the Northern Provinces), and Delhi.

These variants are not very much more than shades or flavors added, in varying degrees, to the distinctive base of the near-pure Bhairavi. As a result, a contemporary Bhairavi rendition is generally an amalgam of melodic features drawn from two or more of the principal variants.

Bhairavi, which started two centuries ago as a heptatonic raga, is today often performed using 11 or even 12 tones in the Hindustani scale. It is no longer necessary for a musician to announce which variant of Bhairavi he is presenting. It is assumed that, unless announced otherwise, he will present his own version of a mishra (mixed) Bhairavi. In fact, he occasionally exercises the freedom, within a concert, to take short melodic detours into other identifiable ragas, not necessarily of the Bhairavi parent scale, thus permitting Bhairavi to become the nucleus of a Raga-mala.

The immense tenacity of this raga has also shaped its role on the concert platform.

In accordance with the time-theory of raga-s, Bhairavi is classified as an early-morning, post-sunrise, raga. In the days when concerts normally commenced late in the night and went on till the early hours of the morning, Bhairavi became popular as the tail-piece raga. Aided by the progressive relaxation of its melodic grammar, Bhairavi established itself as a tail-piece raga, independent of the time consideration. Interestingly, nothing of this sort has happened to other ragas, such as Jogia, prescribed for performance around dawn.

In the 1940's, Bhatkhande observed (Bhatkhande Sangeet Shastra, Vol. IV, Ed. LN Garg. Sangeet Karyalaya, 2nd edition, 1970 Pg. 610), that Bhairavi possesses insufficient profundity to support the more formal formats of raga presentation. As evidence, he cites the fact that, although compositions of Bhairavi are found in all other genres of Hindustani music, it is difficult to find slow-tempo khayals in this raga.

This observation is perhaps more valid today because Bhairavi has, by now, become a light raga comparable to Piloo or Khamaj, especially in vocal music. In instrumental music, however, the raga still delivers a richer diversity in raga interpretations and presentation formats, than Bhatkhande probably encountered.

The Melodic Form

In its pure form, rarely heard now, Bhairavi is a heptatonic raga using flat tones for Re, Ga, Dh and Ni. It corresponds to the Hanumatodi Mela in the Carnatic (South Indian) tradition.

Bhairavi is one of the several names of Parvati, the divine consort of Bhairav (Lord Shiva), the destroyer of the universe. The mythological associations of Bhairav and Bhairavi are inseparably linked. Likewise, in musicological literature, Bhairavi is described as a ragini (female counterpart) of raga Bhairav (Bhatkhande Sangeet Shastra, Vol. IV, Ed.LN Garg. Sangeet Karyalaya, Hathras, 2nd edition, 1970 Pg. 608).

The gender polarity of the two divinities extends into their respective tonal structures. The contemporary raga Bhairavi comes into being by the replacement of the shuddha (natural) Ga and Ni tones of Bhairav, by their respective komal (flat) manifestations. The masculine profundity of raga Bhairav finds a compatible feminine expression in the seductive grace of raga Bhairavi.

The present tonal structure of Bhairavi is about two centuries old. At the time of Damodara (ca. 1625), the Bhairavi nomenclature corresponded to the contemporary Kafi parent scale (S R g M P D n). Apparently, the shuddha (natural) Dh was replaced by the komal (flat) Dh during the second half of the 17th century, and the komal (flat) Re replaced the shuddha (natural) Re a century later.

Bhairavi shares its tone material, and even some admissible phrases, with Shuddha Todi (Miya-ki-Todi), Bilaskhani Todi, and Asavari. But, unlike Bhairavi, none of these ragas gives the musician the freedom to introduce alien tone material or phraseologies.

The basic deviation the contemporary Bhairavi makes from the pure Bhairavi is the addition of the shuddha (natural) Re tone to the native komal (flat) Re of the raga. The natural Re is used primarily in the ascent, and the flat Re in the descent. This near-pure melodic form is currently heard in Dhrupad-Dhamar renditions (Example: Nasir Ameenuddin and Nasir Moinuddin Dagar. UNESCO. Anthology of the Orient Vol II, 1964).

At the other end of the vocal music spectrum, thumree renditions in Bhairavi, unfettered by raga grammar, might also add the natural Dh, the natural Ni, and the sharp Ma tones. The Bhairavi performed on instruments goes further, and frequently uses all the 12 tones of the Hindustani scale. However, the shuddha (natural) Ga, when used at all, is used very sparingly.

The distinctive melodic identities of the different Bhairavi variants have, by now, been blurred by generations of liberal blending. For the establishment of the identity of Bhairavi, what remains is a central core of phraseology.

Skeletal phraseology:
n. S n. r S
d. n. S R g
g M P d P
g M d n S'
n r' S' d P
d P M P g M r S or g M P M g M r S

 This phraseology belongs to the near-pure Bhairavi with twin-Re usage. These phrases remain the identifying phraseology of Bhairavi. Beyond this, there are conventions for taking liberties, which sustain the Bhairavi-ness of the raga.

The shuddha (natural) Dh tone, when used, is in first-fifth correspondnce to the shuddha Re. Therefore, its treatment is identical to the shuddha Re treatment -- only in the ascent, and never in the descent.(g-M-P-D-n-d-P corresponding to d-n-S-R-g-r-S).

The tivra (sharp) Ma, when used, is always deployed in the descent, and in conjunction with the shuddha (natural) Ma tone. In such treatment, it either replaces the Pa tone, or is used in conjunction with the Pa tone (n-d-P-M^-M-g-M-r-S or S-g-M-M^-M-g-M-r-S).

There is also a special use of the tivra Ma, in the ascent, as a flourish below the Pa (n-D-n-d-P-d-M^-P), which corresponds to (g-R-g-r-S-r-n-S) a similar special use of the natutal Ni tone. In this formation, the two Re tones, and the two Ni tones are used to embellish the Sa and Pa tones respectively.

The more prominent use of the shuddha Ni tone is seen in the Sindh Bhairavi, which explicitly ascends like raga Chandrakauns (S-g-M-d-N-S'). A little less prominent use is also made, as a variation of the Bhairavi ascent (P-d-N-S' instead of the regular g-M-d-n-S').

The last remaining tone of the scale, the shuddha Ga, is used very sparingly, because it is too strongly suggestive of the profound Bhairav. It is generally used in the ascent, mostly in the middle octave, and turned around very quickly (r-G-M-g-R-g-S-r-S) so as not to disturb the essential feminity of Bhairavi.

Rarely, and only for the element of surprise, you do find musicians running through all the 12 notes in the octave is a flat-out motion (S-N-n-D-d-P-M^-M-G-g-R-r-S). In all the Bhairavi I have heard from Vilayat Khan, he has done this only once, as the finale of a private concert in February 1998.

Due to its melodic versatility, Bhairavi can deliver a wide variety of emotional statements. The near-pure form performed by the Dagars is intensely devotional. Once we leave the devotional territory, we encounter varying combinations of pathos and romance inherent in the melodic character of the raga -- the pain of separation.

(c) India Archive Music Ltd., New York. The finest recordings of Raga Bahiravi have been published by India Archive Music Ltd. New York. IndiaArcMu@aol.com

Nayan Ghosh – “The market for the Tabla solo is disappearing”

Nayan spoke to Deepak Raja on January 28, 2000

My father, Pandit Nikhil Ghosh -- we called him Baba -- was my Guru in all departments of music. He is remembered as a tabla maestro. This, indeed, he was. He was trained by three phenomenal percussionists: Jnana Prokash Ghosh, Ahmedjan Thirakwa, and Ameer Hussein Khan. But, few people know that, until 1944, Baba was a professional vocalist. He sang regularly on radio as well as at music conferences. The greatest amongst his contemporaries, including Ustad Ameer Khan, recognized him as an accomplished vocalist.

Baba was persuaded to switch over to the tabla by Jnana Prokash Ghosh. Jnana Babu argued that the tabla needed to be emancipated from the grip of hereditary musicianship, and only a musician with a formal education could do this. In a sense, Baba committed himself to the tabla as a missionary calling.

My grandfather, though only a competent amateur, was a sitarist. He had received training from Bhagwan Chandra Das, a renowned musician of the Seniya Rudra Veena and Rabab tradition. As children, Baba, and his elder brother, the flautist Pannalal Ghosh, absorbed sitar music more than any other form. After my grandfather's demise, Panna Babu (Pannalal Ghosh) continued training Baba on the sitar.

My claim to having learnt the sitar from Baba is often doubted. Ustad Vilayat Khan can vouch for my father's knowledge of the sitar, and also testify that Baba would qualify as a teacher. Vilayat Khan Saheb and Baba were friends from their early years in the profession, and had toured Europe together in 1958.

When my training began, I was facing a Guru who was highly proficient as a vocalist, percussionist, and sitarist. I was probably three years old when my training started. Vocal and tabla training started simultaneously. At the age of four, I did my first radio broadcast with a tabla solo in a children's programme. From the age of thirteen, I competed regularly in inter-school and inter-collegiate music competitions in the vocal music as well as tabla segments, and collected numerous trophies and prizes.

Although my entire training was with Baba, Ustad Ahmedjan Thirakwa played a very important role in my life. He lived with us for almost a decade during my teens -- the most formative years of my life -- and supervised my training. He was over ninety then, but had an amazing zest for his own daily practice, and for the sessions he took with me during the day, and with Baba at night.

I started playing the sitar when I was about twelve. It started rather casually. Seeing my interest, Baba made sure that my basic technique was sound. Being a tabla player, he was specially attentive to the technique of sound production (stroke-craft). For melodic content, he would guide mostly by singing, and I would follow.

My performing career started as a tabla player, when I was sixteen, with opportunities for solo concerts before learned gatherings, and invitations to accompany senior musicians. Life, however, got complicated when I was eighteen, and sitar performances began.

In 1974, Baba was due to tour Europe with Radhu Babu (the sarodist, Radhika Mohan Maitra). A few days before their departure, Radhu Babu developed a coronary condition, and had to back out. Baba desperately tried booking a replacement of comparable stature, but failed. Baba was persuaded -- against his own better judgment -- to take me and my brother, Dhruva, on the tour. This is how the group, "Traya" (Trio), came into being.

During that tour, I received the most intensive sitar training of my life. Much of the guidance was given on the stage itself, while I played, and Baba accompanied on the tabla. With that tour, Baba and I both got more involved in my competence as a sitarist, and began agonizing over the inevitable choice between the tabla and the sitar.

To help us decide, we invited Baba's first Guru, Jnana Prakash Ghosh to Bombay. Thirty years ago, he had helped my father choose between vocal music and the tabla. We thought he could do something like that again, for me. Jnana Babu stayed with us for two weeks and tested me, alternately and thoroughly, on the sitar and the tabla. At the end of the ordeal, he advised me to continue with both until the choice became easier. Thereafter, Prof. DT Joshi, another elder statesman of the music world, and Radhu Babu, both undertook the same exercise, with identical results.

So, I carried on with both. For over fifteen years now, I have been an A-grade artist on All India Radio in the sitar as well as tabla categories. But, I know that, in the real world, this status and parity on the radio have no meaning, and cannot be sustained.

The market has its own mind, and is tilting the scales in a subtle manner. The pattern of demand is still unclear, as I seem to go through alternating phases of being in demand as a tabla player, and as a sitarist. But, certain realities of the profession are giving me a direction.

I relate to the tabla solo with a certain sense of ownership, and authority. This is natural considering the intimate relationship with Thirakwa Khansaheb, and the legacy of the finest soloists of the century. But, the market for the solo is disappearing. Accompanists have a different problem. They need to manage two intermediaries -- the concert host, as well as the principal musician. This is a difficult scenario, unless I am willing to flow with the current tide of populism.

The sitar scene is less depressing. There is no shortage of outstanding sitarists; but, audiences are still receptive to original music. The pressure of populism, too, is less severe. I regard Ustad Vilayat Khan's music as my model; and this is the dominant style on the concert platform today. Within that style, I can remain original because of my vocal training and percussion orientation. Professional relationships are also more manageable for a sitarist. With only one intermediary to handle, a rewarding rapport with audiences can be established and sustained more easily.

My father had anticipated such a drift in the market -- and in my perceptions of it. During his last days, he predicted that, ultimately, I would need to commit myself to the sitar. He asked me to prepare myself for the painful choice. He knew of my love for the tabla. He also knew about such pain; he had suffered it when, in 1944, he bid farewell to performing as a vocalist.

At an emotional level, I may not yet have accepted the severance from tabla. But, I have come to terms with my future as a sitarist.

© Deepak S. Raja 2000
The finest recordings of Nayan Ghosh have been produced by India Archive Music Ltd., New York.

Prof. Kalyan Mukherjea – A maestro rediscovered

Introduction: Prof. Kalyan Mukherjea (1943-2010) was an outstanding sarod player, trained by two eminent Gurus of Bengal -- Radhika Mohan Maitra and Prof. DT Joshi. Prof. Mukherjea also happened to be an eminent Professor of mathematics. He allowed the musician in him to be rediscovered after a chance encounter with Lyle Wachovsky of India Archive Music, New York.

Mukherjea's took his basic degree in Mathematics at Cambridge in England, and a Ph.D. from Cornell (Ithaca, NY.USA). He served on the Mathematics Faculty of the University of California at Los Angeles (UCLA) for eight years. In his last years, he was associated with the Indian Statistical Institute, Calcutta.

In his e-mail to Deepak Raja (June 25,1999), Kalyan Mukherjea said: "I was a radio artist in India for six years; but I never had a musical career. I have played if and when asked to. Even in Bombay, I have performed only twice or thrice. I am not sure Bombay audiences should feel specially deprived, because in totality, between 1989 and 1995, I have done only two concerts. After my stroke in May, 1995, I am a hemiplegic, and now, only an ex-sarod player."

Prof. Kalyan Mukherjea writes about his evolution as a musician.

Bernard Shaw is reported to have remarked that his education had continued unabated throughout his life, except for a brief interruption when he was sent to school. I hope I do not give a similar impression in what follows, since I attach a considerable degree of significance to my development when I was not under the tutelage of a Guru.

I started learning the sarod at the age of twelve from the late Pandit Radhika Mohan Maitra. Besides being much admired as a musician with an impeccably pure and orthodox style, he was - already at the age of forty - a teacher of great repute. This reputation, of course, attained legendary proportions by the time of his untimely death in 1981.

As with all beginners amongst his students, he started me off with a year or so of rote learning. I would visit him once a week, and copy out the set pieces. The following week, I would play what I had taken down the previous week, and satisfy him that I had, indeed, mastered the material. These pieces, in twelve elementary ragas, had been written down in voluminous ledgers by one of his earlier students during the early stages of tutelage.

It was a somewhat tedious affair. Now I realise that what he was trying to achieve was not just getting our hands working properly. He was also inculcating in us good musical taste, correct grammar, and diction. His pupils can easily be recognised by the way they blend intricate right hand plucking (bols) with the melodic line and this, I feel, is a consequence of this early rote drill that we went through.

Once Radhika Mohan decided that the basic skills had been transferred, he proceeded to teach me to improvise. The first session, as with all students, was alap in Malkauns. He would sing and I would try to play the phrases back to him. The week following, I would have to improvise along the lines he had indicated the previous week and he would correct what he perceived to be errors and faults. After my skills on the instrument had outstripped his somewhat limited prowess as a vocalist, he started to play his sarod while teaching me, and I would follow him, repeating his phrases. This is how I received all my lessons after the third year on. I recall, I learnt only three ragas (Malkauns, Bageshri, and Poorvi) in the first two years of improvisation.

What might surprise some is that he never asked me to play a phrase for the reason that it would make my recitals attractive. If he commended a phrase, he would prefix it with some comment like "this is where the raga lives" or "without this, you cannot make the raga's character clear". His philosophy was that the student should improvise according to what seemed attractive to his own, rather than Radhika Mohan's, musical thinking. There was no point, according to him, in teaching a horde of people to play according to the taste of Radhika Mohan.

This has had the peculiar consequence that his better students play completely different styles, although they are instantly recognisable as Radhika Mohan's students. Moreover, they disagree quite openly about what constituted the essential ingrediants of Radhika Mohan's style and what is the musical legacy they ought to preserve for future generations.

During the years of 1960-61, there was a break of sorts in my tutelage under Radhika Mohan. At that time, his friend, Prof.DT Joshi, was spending some time in Calcutta. I had just finished my Intermediate Degree exam and found it easy to spend the whole morning and evening learning from Joshi. In the afternoons I would go to Radhu Babu. When college resumed for my final year of Degree studies, Radhu Babu stopped teaching me. Instead, he instructed me to devote my limited time to music studies with Prof.DT Joshi.

In fact, this did not matter very much; both Radhu Babu and Joshi-ji came around every evening to chat with my father, and after they had settled down with their refreshments, I would be summoned and would have to satisfy both the Gurus that I was not getting corrupted by the other one's tutelage. So, I ended up having more 'taleem' than ever before.

Those who are not aware of how jealously Hindustani musicians guard their pupils from being influenced by other musicians, will not realise what extraordinary breadth of mind and heart Radhika Mohan showed by this gesture. I cannot imagine any other guru showing this kind of generosity and such a confident ego.

Between 1962 and 1976 I lived largely outside India, first studying at Cambridge (England) and Cornell (Ithaca, NY) and finally teaching for eight years at UCLA. Although I would resume my lessons with Radhika Mohan whenever I was back home on vacation, my musical attitudes changed rather dramatically over these years abroad.

This was the first time I was being exposed to different traditions in music. I do not think that Western classical music and Jazz, the only two musics I learned to enjoy, had any direct effect on my music. However, this exposure broadened my musical horizons enormously.

For example, I became aware that the sarod was, relatively speaking, a rather undeveloped instrument. Nothing about the sarod is standard - not the wood it is made of, not the number of strings, not the fingering, not the material out of which the bridge is made. All these are variable and attributed to differences of opinion between exponents of different gharanas. When one compares this with the situation obtaining in the violin or the piano, one realises that what is involved is not merely a matter of different musical schools playing different styles using slightly different techniques. It could be that a single basic entity is still undergoing a process of evolution along different lines. Certainly I feel this is so, and hence have had no compunction whatever about experimenting with the technical aspects of sarod playing.

I have tried out different fingering techniques, different materials (such as Teflon and ebony) for the plectrum and even an abortive attempt at using Kevlar for covering the drum of the sarod !

Of other interesting and ultimately rewarding experiences, I ought to mention is my participating in the graduate seminars on Hindustani music conducted at UCLA by Prof. Nazirali Jairazbhoy. It is in these seminars that I first saw how an undogmatic and analytical approach to our music can help demystify and clarify a lot of do's and don'ts that pervade the teaching of every gharana.

When I returned to India in 1976, I resumed learning from Radhika Mohan. But, this was quite different from my earlier training. He had formally retired from playing in public and was, as a result, often not in the best of shape in terms of technical virtuosity. However, he was now more willing to talk about the esthetic aspects of presenting a piece of music to an audience. He was also more mellow in his approach to the raga. He even conceded that it might be permissible to violate the law as long as the spirit of the raga was enhanced by this license. I certainly found this new (really older!) Radhika Mohan an extraordinarily sensitive teacher, ideally suited for advanced students who had already developed a musical personality of their own.

Every musician learns from other musicians, especially those who are his friends. I have had many such friends to whom I owe a debt. In have particularly rewarding memories of the two summers I spent in Bombay, visiting the Mathematics Department of Tata Institute of Fundamental Research. On those sojourns, I stayed with my friends, Parveen Sultana and Dilshad Khan. This was the only time I have actually lived with professional musicians and seen how they go about the business of keeping their musical skills in fine fettle. Dilshad would, in particular, goad me into practicing harder. This was a delightful experience and I am sure my music gained from it.

I must finally add that I find the process of teaching - even complete beginners - an interesting and rewarding experience. I have been fortunate in having had very interesting students, including those who wouldn't be welcomed by most sarod players. Trying to help a gentleman who is starting on the sarod at the age of sixty with the only ambition of playing ten, or fifteen minutes of alap in Malkauns, or trying to explain to a young American with very fast hands how to settle down and play a raga correctly and methodically, is certainly challenging. But, in doing so, the teacher ends up with a clearer conception of what is essential to the music he plays.

So, I find that my musical education has continued unabated throughout my life . . . .

© India Archive Music, Ltd. New York. Producers of the finest recordings of Kalyan Mukherjea. IndiaArcMu@aol.com