His Shyam Kalyan

There is a raag called Shyam Kalyan. It is supposed to be an evening raag, but I think you can listen to it anytime, as I have, doing some chores in the morning, or traveling through Kanakpura road, or just to fill the silences of the evening when I am alone with my chai. It has a soothing quality, the notes aren’t low or melancholy, rather, they are soft, and fall to the floor like petals would, nudged by a moody breeze. It also has a romance to it, the romance of the sea breeze, pigeons flying off like movie extras caught mid-move, and the promise of an ever after, the lilt of hope. That’s why Ilayaraja chose it, perhaps, for the song ‘Nee oru kaadal sangeedam’ from Nayagan.

The Shyam Kalyan I listen to is by Ustaad Rashid Khan. When S. introduced me to this piece, he did so with that knowing assurance; he knew I would be addicted, and I was. Even as I damn that irritating foreknowledge, I am grateful, for this piece of music has become, less a fixture, more a flowing river in my musical sanctuary; it ripples through the day, softening its contours, and somehow, everything becomes a bit more bearable.

How do I express my gratitude to someone who has changed the very shape of my days, and will continue to do so, in such a profound and lyrical way? How do I tell him, I wish I could hear you sing live, not just one more time, but again and again and again? How do I tell him that I heard your Durga in Mumbai almost two decades ago, and even now, that raag inside my head is sung in your voice. How do I tell you that I heard someone describe how the stage was hot, burning hot, after you had finished your performance, and she wasn’t sure how the audience would react to her next, and this was just over a year ago, what happened? How do I tell you how my heart breaks now, listening to you sing now, and at the same time, I can’t help being moved by the way you caress the notes, the way your voice carries those notes, unafraid, the way your voice melds the music, the moment, and the magic in a way that I understand now is art? How do I tell you that every time I listen to you, I fall in love, with not just the music, but all the possibilities of what can be, like discovering love itself anew?

Those tempting myths

Many moons ago, I was in a college in Bandra for a festival and Shyam Benegal was there to speak about his cinema. He said, as a child, he remembered seeing a movie (perhaps it was Sholay – I can’t remember that detail), and his mother wept watching it. And he was stunned – how could someone make my mother weep? What power is this? And he was smitten with cinema, and perhaps a bit covetous the art’s power over someone. Recently, watching Sense8, a character, who is also in the movies speaks of a similar scene – about how an actor made his mother and aunts cry. And how that made him want to be an actor – I thought, hey, hey, you should compare notes with Shyam Benegal. And at the same time, I was a tiny bit suspicious – is this like one of those easy cinema origin myths?

Sense8 Season 2

Let me tell you about another myth – Vilayat Khan was traveling through a forest when a group of bandits accosted him. The bandits said, give us your wealth. And Vilayat Khan said, all I have is my sitar and my music. And so, he plays for the bandits. At the end of it, moved and in tears, they gift him an emerald the size of a mynah’s egg – lootne aaye the, khud lut gaye. On hearing Namita Devidayal speak of this (she wrote the Sixth String of Vilayat Khan), Saba Dwan chipped in and said that while researching for her book (actually, tome) Tawaifnaama, she had come across the exact same story, but with another protagonist.

In classical music, you keep hearing similar stories of artistic greatness. Annapoorna Devi, the daughter of Allauddin Khan, was a master of the Surbahar. That’s an instrument more demanding than the Sitar, which is what her first partner, Ravishankar was famous for. The stories of how Annapoorna Devi and her reclusive artistry are well known. One of her students in an interview spoke about how inexplicably, when she would practice, the room would suddenly be suffused with the scent of sandalwood. I was always intrigued by that scene – a woman immersed in her practise, and suddenly, the unmistakable scent of something so rare filling the air.

And interestingly, I came across the same story in Tawaifnaama. Sadabahar is a legendary musician, and sometimes when she practised, the room would, you guessed it, fill with the scents of sandalwood.

Now, I don’t know whether that’s what happens when you have art that speaks to another plane altogether. Or whether certain vibrations have the power to change the olfactory state of nearby molecules. Or if it is all fiction, a parable of greatness, to both shock and edify. I find myself vacillating between wanting to believe in all three.

Still trying to be still

“Can you be still?” they asked, many moons ago.

“Of course,” I said. I should have thought about the answer.

“Without listening to music. Without a book,” they cautioned.

I was a bit stumped.

It was a short conversation, but over the years, I have thought about it. The need to constantly be engaged in something – stacks of books near the bed so that till I droop, I can gobble lines, the unending scroll on the phone, the unread tabs on the browser – perhaps, for sometime I had forgotten that question.

For some strange reason, I associate singing with being still. There isn’t coherent thought in my head, I am not absorbing information or reacting to it, there’s something else – I am unable to describe it. For awhile now, I have been mulling over @betukibaat’s videos and a soundscape to accompany it.

The first one is called Scape. It feels like some sort of scape – it goes up and down, meanders, and at one place, I felt a bit trapped and wanted some kind of release.

I was trying in a different pitch. And while singing, it felt as if there was this unexpected one lurking behind the eaves asking to be let in, and I opened the curtains, and something happened. It was thrilling.

Moods of the day

One image I keep searching for, and forget where I stored it is the raag cycle – which raags are suitable for what times of the day. It is useful as a reference, if you are one of those people for whom too much choice is debilitating. It is also an experimental set – there is a mapping, but how valid is it for you?

I realised looking at this cycle today as Rashid Khan sang Ahir Bhairav.

Yes, the same song from Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam.

Side note- when I watched it now, saw that Aishwarya Rai amukkufies a peacock – so weird. Paused it mid-song. I like Ustaad Sultan Khan’s voice the best – there’s something about aged voices.

Coming back to the raag cycle, my favourite time seems to be 10 PM to 2 AM. Wonder what it would be like to spend the entire day listening to one raag after another – just to experience a day with aural flavours.