MAKING MUSIC

An Evening of Ecstasy : Pandit Ulhas Kashalkar performance at Acton, Massachusetts, USA.

By Debashis Roychowdhury
May 24, 2007

Attending a concert of Indian classical music is always a unique experience. There are of course a couple of pre-requisites. First and foremost one has to love music in its pure melodic form. It surely helps if one is familiar with the general style and approach of Indian classical music. That’s about it. The journey starts right there. You are ready for a rewarding and uplifting experience.

Even on a particularly unlucky day. For instance, as a boy once I had the experience of listening (rather not listening) to a stalwart like Pandit Vishmadeb Chattopadhay. He came to the stage, tuned the tanpura and decided not to sing after all. Without further adieu, he got up and left the stage. The audience did not know what to expect. They kept on waiting patiently amidst muffled murmurs. Then one of the organizers somehow managed to push Pandit-ji back to stage, He apologized and made up an excuse like, “Pandit-ji is running a fever”. But everyone knew, Pandit-ji was having one of his whimsical moods. Pandit-ji was back in stage and sat down reluctantly. He kept quiet for a while and then with a sudden gusto began to play the harmonium. He did not utter a single sound that day. He simply played the harmonium. His harmonium took the place of his voice, gave it a new dimension. The audience was speechless; they had never heard music like this. It was not such a bad day, after all! You do not always get what you expect, but you get something unexpected; patience pays off.

On a good day, you can reach the seventh heaven – the level of ecstasy knows no limit. You have to do your part. You buy the ticket, show up a little past the appointed time and then music does the rest. The master performer leads your journey and music carries you along. That is, if you are an ordinary listener. However, if you are an organizer or a volunteer for the event, it is an altogether different matter. In that case the preparation starts several months before the curtain rises. If you are involved through the entire process, it is a long journey indeed.

For those of us who live in the United States, we know very well, these concerts are held periodically in and around the big cities that have large population from the Indian sub-continent. There are professional and semi-professional tour organizers for an artist and his accompanists. They will contact different organizations in various cities and will plan a tour for the artists several months before their visit.

In the spring of 2007, Pandit Ulhas Kashalkar and his team toured all over USA. Pandit-ji needs no introduction. He is a living legend of Gwalior-Jaipur-Agra gharanas, the three flows combined in his inimitable style. I was sure, as part of the organizing team in our city *, that the concert would be sold out. Everybody has heard his name and fame, and will flock to hear him in a mad rush. I was wrong.

The publicity started, the fliers went out all over the place, the words were spread. The walls of the Indian grocery stores in the area were adorned with Ulhas-ji’s photograph and achievements. A few weeks passed, without hardly any sale of tickets. Two weeks before the concert – some meager sale, but not enough to fill the hall. The moment of truth had arrived. Now came the time for so-called push sell.

Let’s say in a situation like this, you have to sell 20 tickets. You will call your friends, family, even distant acquaintances. You will request, cajole and persuade them to come. And you get your first shock when you talk to some of them. You will invariably say,

“Pandit Ulhas Kashalkar-ji is performing; do not miss this rare opportunity”.

“Pandit, who?”, comes the surprised response.

“Can you hear me alright, is the line okay?”

“I can hear you, no problem”, comes the prompt reply.

You do not pursue the topic any further.

There are friends and acquaintances who are open and honest. They will readily confess,

“I would love to come but Indian classical music is not my cup of tea. I can manage instrumental music once in a while, but vocal is a tough business”.

You have to respect their candidness and move on. You do not want to bother them.

This kind of response is universal when it comes to appreciation of any form of classical art. You are not dealing with a popular art form. If a Bollywood troupe performs in the city, the hall will overflow. Not for a Hindustani vocal music performance, unless the performer is an exceptional crowd puller. May be, Pandit Bhimsen Joshi.

Then there is the third category – the saviors. They are the connoisseurs. They exist, fortunately even among your friends and relatives. They will call you themselves or send you email and reserve tickets. Sometimes premium priced tickets in the front rows. A call from them will make your day and lift your gloom. You will realize that quality is far more important than quantity.

The D-day finally arrived. Pandit-ji and the musicians flew in from another city. Thank God, the flight came in time. The baggage was not misplaced. It was a moderately long flight. They had nothing to eat except pretzels on the flight. Hardly the food for musicians of royal tradition. One shudders to think what would have happened if this was someone like Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan. When Ustad-ji had traveled to Madras for the first time and was offered South Indian vegetarian food, he was simply indignant.

“If you would like to hear ‘shahi’ (royal) music, you have to serve ‘shahi’ food. Where is my biriyani and kabab? I tell you, proper ‘khana’ (food) is very essential for ‘gana’ (music).”

The organizers had to rush to get Hyderabadi biriyani and kabab by the next train from Hyderabad. Anyone who has listened to Ustad-ji can appreciate the true power of biriyani in his voice.

Fortunately, Pandit Ulhas-ji and his team are much less demanding than Khansahib used to be. They were content with a simple home-cooked vegetarian meal. After an hour of rest, they were all set for the evening performance.

The crowd had not arrived yet. The volunteers had set up tables to sell tickets and CDs. The food counter was open. On such occasions, chai-samosa-chaat are essential. As essential as Ustad-ji’s biriyani. These are food for the soul. They get you into the mood. You get transported to the Indian music festivals back home. You are sure to sip chai and scan the CDs. The pleasure is in looking at the CD covers, whether you buy one or not.

Pandit-ji and the team started testing and adjusting the audio system of the hall. This is invariably a tricky business. The equipments are normally of good quality. The acoustics of the hall is fine. But the various sound levels of the microphones, mixers and monitors have to be properly adjusted for the right harmonious balance. Especially, adjusting the sound levels of the monitors is a fine art. I had heard an artist say, “No one can tame these man-eaters! They can devour any decent musician.”

The sound adjustments were still going on when I entered the empty hall. Pandit-ji was singing a few phrases and trying out a few taans (fast succession of notes) in both lower and upper octaves. My pace was arrested instantly - I came to a halt. The sheer power of the music and beauty of the phrases made me spellbound. It was a trial run but the preview was enough to show what was coming.

“Is the sound level okay?”, Pandit-ji asked me.

At first I could not understand. I was in a spell. What raga was he singing? It belonged to Kalyan thaat all right, but was over-powering in its sweetness.

“Yes, it is perfect” was all I could say.

The curtain came down again. The audience started coming in. Like many others, I was wondering what would be the opening raga. Later, after the programme, I asked Pandit-ji whether he selects and practices the raga before he sings on a particular concert.

“Not really. Sometimes my turn is at the end. I do not repeat the ragas that have been sung before me by the previous artists. So I really do not know beforehand what I will sing.”

This makes one wonder what level of mastery is needed to sing impromptu for more than an hour the intricacies of a raga without any elaborate preparation.

“How many years of training are needed to reach such mastery?”

“Thirty to forty years to reach that maturity”.

Let’s say you are a budding student of Hindustani music. It is hard to say whether this insight is encouraging or discouraging. On one hand, if master musicians take thirty years to mature, lesser mortals should not feel discouraged if they are still struggling with sargams after a few years of grooming. Their progress is quite acceptable and they have long years to catch up. On the other hand, forty years is a long horizon, one may easily feel like giving up. Who knows what will happen in forty years! Global warming may gobble up a few countries below sea level; dollar may become irrelevant in the international market. In-the-mean-time after long years of training, you may still continue to miss your ‘sur’ or ‘taal’, and chances are, you yourself may not be around! It is a long journey. But worth it; so dear students, continue with your daily riyaz (practice). Good luck with it! Do not miss even a single day’s riyaz, your Guru will tell you.

“If you miss one day of riyaz, you will yourself know. If you miss for two days, your friends will know. If you miss for three days, the whole world will know.”

It is a challenge. The great Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan used to say,

“Vocal music is nothing but playing with the wind. But mind you, wind does not like to stay in your control. In one moment, before he knows, a man can miss his balance!”.

Now another thought may cross your mind. Say, an artist is the last one to perform in a concert and he or she does not repeat any of the previous ragas sung before him/her. What goes through the master performer’s mind to select a particular raga and a specific ‘bandish’ (composition)? Imagine what happened in a musical evening in New Delhi sometime in the mid-fifties. The last two artists of the night were Ustad Salamat Ali Khan (of Pakistan) and Ustad Amir Khan. Salamat Ali gave an inspiring rendering. There was great applause. When he came to back stage, Amir Khan embraced him and congratulated him.

“What are you going to sing?”, asked Salamat Ali.

“Nothing much really. Just sing Marwa for a while, that is all”.

Today we all know what Marwa is, when it is rendered by Amir Khan. That night he sang Marwa for ninety minutes. In Salamat Ali’s own words, “Khansahib gave us a glimpse of how far one can go hand in hand with the Almighty!”

But imagine what would have happened if Salamat Ali had rendered Marwa first and Amir Khan was to go next. What would have been his choice in that situation? Who knows! But for sure, he still would have created his little miracle!

Pandit Ulhas Kashalkar started the evening with Raga Shuddh Kalyan. He was accompanied on the tabla by Pandit Suresh Talwalkar and on the harmonium by Shri Sudhir Nayak. The composition was by ‘Pranpiya’, pen-name for late Ustad Vilayet Hussain Khan of Agra Gharana. What struck me first and foremost was the inner feeling of the raga (‘bhav’) that he conveyed. Every note and phrase was delivered with care and the result was an exceeding sweetness that can be expressed by the word ‘mithas’; no word in English can do justice to it. The perfect proportion of the whole presentation made me full inside, there was nothing more to ask for. This was followed by a bandish and a tarana in Khamaj. My cousin was sitting next to me. Several days after the concert, she told me,

“You know, I do not really understand the technicalities. But the Khamaj was simply out of this world. Its beauty can not be expressed.”

After a short intermission, Ulhas-ji continued with Ragas Bageshri, Basant and ended with Bahar. Bageshri is a solemn raga. He made it special; he balanced the somberness with a sweetness that is his own. His Basant was soulful, a hint of eternal cycle of changes in season. For a New Englander, it is especially significant. Once he concluded the Bahar, no one in the hall moved from his or her seat. The audience was spell bound, they were not ready to leave yet. Pandit-ji seemed tired and smiled gently, “Please call the announcer to the stage.”

He tied his watch around his wrist. Now this was indeed the end. Mark my words, if you see an artist tying his or her watch, that is it. Time is up. As much as you may try, you cannot turn time backwards; likewise, you will not be able to make him perform any longer, not even a short Bhairavi. Watch out for that watch! May be, you can somehow remove it from the dais, make it disappear. Who knows, what will happen then!

We have to accept the reality of that watch. The artist will eventually tie it around the wrist; the evening will come to an end. We will all go home. But on an evening such as this one, we went back with a full heart. There was not an iota of empty space left. Music filled it to the brim. As if we had returned home after a long day at the sea beach. We were splashed with wave after wave of musical notes and patterns and vistars and taans. Finally before we left the ocean, we humbly bowed down to collect a piece of pearl deposited by the waves - a little memory of the sea. The sea of music is endless. Only the pearl will stay deep within us as a remembrance of this evening.

Ulhas-ji and his able accompanists created an evening of sheer ecstasy *. It is music in its purest form that lies beyond our reach and glows with a touch of eternity.

* organized in Acton, MA near Boston by Raganjali School of Music.