'Where Even the Present is Ancient: Benaras'

'Where Even the Present is Ancient: Benaras' is a book that tells the little stories that make us who we are. . The author believes that Benaras resides in all of us Indians, in some beautiful often unknown way. The author is the Sutradhar, in that she attempts to connect an India that many do not realize exists, in that it is everybody’s story. Radha, Krishna, Ganga, Benaras and Me are all characters in this deluge of poems.This attempt at telling the story of the ancient, of love and of faith is to instil the confidence that poetry exists in all of us, all that is needed is to smell its fragrance. To those outside India, the book does not seek to be a representation of what India is or was, but a whiff of what it also can be. It is an attempt to ask people to see the little stories that govern all of our lives, stories that we often don’t see, but those that are important. A poem from the book goes thus-

-A Fisherman’s Ganga-

I sat on a dingy boat,
Looking at the Maha Aarati
on the Dashwamedha Ghat.

Seven priests adorned their Ganga
in every human way possible…
Tourists shrieked, conch shells sounded
humanity applauded.

I lit a small lamp and let it flow
Into the unknown corridors of faith-

A fisherman sat nearby
Perched on the helm of his boat
Looked at the skies,
And spat some Benaras
Into his Ganga.

(Dashwamedha Ghat is one of the main Ghats in Benaras, where every evening the Ganga Aarati takes place. Thousands of tourists and residents flock to see the Aarati, which has become synonymous with the pomp and glory attributed to Ganga.)

*The book is also available on Infieam, Flipkart, Amazon, Bookadda and Crossword bookstores

Available at- http://www.infibeam.com/Books/where-even-present-ancient-benaras-maitreyee-b-chowdhury/9789382473848.html

5 PM Love

Nostalgia is strange and memories stranger..It is a bit past 5 in the evening..till the clock turns 7..there shall be a sense of slow eternity that crowds into an impending sleep. A sense of waiting, as if watching the little things closing in for the night. There is still light streaming in from some of the delicate curtains in the living room and all of a sudden a song hovering in the mind. For someone from the East, it still surprises me at the amount of light late into the evening.

I was perhaps in lower school, we had a record player that looked a bit like this. Sundays smelt of the mandatory Mutton while Baba would put on a shiny black record on the player and the strains would waft in..The houses in Assam had wooden floors, I remember trying not to step on the odd board that creaked. More than the song it was Baba humming along that I loved listening to..the opening of a tap somewhere..the whistle of a pressure cooker, all while Hemanta sang-

'Mone robe kina robe amare

Se amar mone nai mone nai

Khone khone asi tobo duare

Okarone gaan gai'

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1MrLjeJXK6g

The player would sometimes stop and the pin would stick to one place and keep repeating the same part again and again..I would lift my head from my abstract games behind the curtain, giggle and look at someone walking up to the player to adjust it..sometimes the same song would play again for sometime..with feet creaking on the boards, the humming would be louder..Ma would call from somewhere..stillness in the air was still complete.

Today as I sip my tea and remember the song from childhood I hum it again while I play it on Youtube..things have become simpler..only nostalgia remains inexplicable. 

( Image from Google)

Indian folklore..steeped in music- The story of Roopmati and Baz Bahadur

Whenever the world celebrates, music or day s related to music, I am reminded of the confluence of history, folklore and romance, with music in India and how beautifully they meet, here as a tradition. Folklore takes one back to the delightful days when most children in India were addicted to reading the Amar Chitra Katha, a comic book based on Indian folklore and stories. A particular story comes to my mind, that of Baz Bahadur and Roopmati in the princely town of Mandu, India. There are many stories that surround these lovers, some say Roopmati was a shepherdess, some say she was a queen and married when Baz Bahadur(the last sultan of Malwa 1555 to -1562) met her singing beside the Narmada. Certain reports mention that Roopmati was queen of Baz Bahadur, others suggest that since both were married, they stayed separately, with the love of music fueling their mutual desire. Whether Roopmati was a commoner or royalty is perhaps questionable, but what is certain is that she was an incredible beauty with an equally beautiful voice. It is said that Baz Bahadur built a palace for her from where she would sing for him in the evenings. Whether incidental or not the walls in the palace of the Sultan were built in such a way that songs sung could be heard in an echo from far off..a testimony that stands till today. Besides capturing the heart of millions, the love story of Baz Bahadur and Roopmati, their love for music is merged in history.

The story takes an interesting turn with the origin of the Rewa Kund. A great devotee of the river Narmada, Roopmati refused to eat till she saw the river every day. When she started staying at the ‘Rani Roopmati place that’ Baz Bahadur had made for her, sometimes it would be difficult for her to catch a glimpse of the Narmada. Impressed by her devotion, the Godess of Narmada came to her dreams and suggested that she dig a pond at a place close to her palace, which would be the very water of Narmada. When this was done, true to the dream, the waters of Narmada emerged near the palace. The lovers and their love for music is of course immortalized today, with the bards singing of the love between the two.. one can’t but wonder on the occasion of world musical confluence, what Roopmati had sung for Baz Bahadur. Lata Mangeshkar and Mukesh of course have a song that captures this beautiful love story and its essence..replete with the images of the Mandu Fort.

( Image courtesy Google Images)

Lost music

( Photography by Revati Dilip Borawake)

Wear me slowly..

As if unraveling a lover,

As if I were silence,

Amid st a line of meaningless words-

And I shall lead you on

To the soft strains of that

Which some call soul

And some..A music lost.

© 2012 Maitreyee Bhattacharjee Chowdhury

Touching the face of God

I am a Brahmin by birth.They say that being a 'Brahmin' is a way of life..then how a Brahmin chooses that life should be up to them. For a long time I have wanted to go to the Hazrat Nizamuddin Dargah, not for asking but to seek that face of God that is seen in music.

Some day perhaps, hearing and singing along with the Kawwali sung every Thursday, shall show me the face of God, in not so odd a place, in not so odd a meaning that life now assumes.

( Image courtesy Google, Video courtesy Youtube)

The cry of the Inanimate

Yesterday while pottering around the kitchen,I absentmindedly banged the refrigerator door. A cry went off, I was startled and looked in the direction of the refrigerator , had it spoken up? I noticed a small bowl, that had been accidentally kept near the door of the refrigerator. It had been hit by my callous banging of the door. But what was the sound about? Like that of a cry, of someone in agony..It made me think. It took us humans a long time to imagine and understand that animals and living beings other than themselves have language and are capable of understanding and depth( Some still haven't understood that)..if so, are we mistaken in assuming that non living things don't feel?

I took up the bowl in my hand and stroked it a while, nothing happened, but I felt good. If I wasn't rambling here, and had spoken of this to someone else, people would have stared at me. But hey didn't we stare at those who said the earth was round? We've all heard of course of plants responding to music, even having preferences in music( Soft music apparently soothes them). Well then why can't a different dimension be given to an inanimate object, by attuning it to music..a force of life, perhaps in the hopes that one day they shall show some kind of response, or better still, we shall respond to how they feel?

I am reminded of Susan Philipsz, who works with sound installations. Philips was awarded the Turner prize for her sound installation in Glasgow. Recordings of Philipsz singing three slightly different versions of a Scottish lament over the river Clyde in her hometown, Glasgow, was installed beneath each of the three bridges within the city – the George V Bridge, the mighty Caledonian Railway Bridge and Glasgow Bridge. Philipsz is perhaps the first person in the history of the award to have worked on bestowing feeling to something you cannot see or touch. But more than that, her idea, of bestowing the emotion of her song, onto the bridge and the river flowing below, is stupendous.





In a strange way I am reminded of music being played in funerals. Why do we do it? Especially when there is no authentic proof that can substantiate any sense of feeling associated with the dead being able to hear the music, or even find peace on it. Strangely enough, different religions bestow different music to their dead, some even bestow laughter, in the hope and belief that that soul will be in peace.If such is the case, maybe we can sometime bestow emotions and language to inanimate objects too.

( Video courtesy Youtube)

Baul speak: A night of abandon

Whenever I have traveled, it has been not only to see places, it has been more for an essence of the place, and that comes inevitably from the people as well as the place. The time, I speak of here is the early 2000 s. Like most of those who have read Rabindranath, I wished to go back in time too and have a peep into the mind (if you please) of Bengal's poet laureate, Rabindranath Tagore. There was of course another reason for my venturing out to Shantiniketan and this reason was interacting with Bauls. These wandering mystical minstrels singing their hearts out in their throaty voices had always enchanted me. And I hoped to find in Shantiniketan a Baul culture that one cannot see in their 'cultivated' performances in different concerts in Kolkata.

Shantiniketatan which is well connected by bus and train from Calcutta is a small town, where Rabindranath spend much of his days, experimenting with all the art forms close to his heart. The story goes that once when Maharshi Debendranath Tagore ( Rabindranath’s father) was traveling to a friend's estate to a place about 100 miles west of erstwhile Calcutta, he got down at Bolpur( the nearest railway station) and proceeded in a palanquin. It was almost time for the sun to set when, he reached an open space, bereft of any vegetation, stretching long and wide into the western horizon, without anything to break the view of the setting sun. (Bengal usually does not boast of such open stretches of nothingness, where most of the countryside is covered in lush vegetation) Enchanted the Maharshi, sat down in the place for his evening meditation and by the time he was finished, he had made up his mind to buy the place. This was what later came to be Shantiniketan.

Incidentally, Shantiniketan still boasts of large open spaces, where cycling around is one of the best ways of seeing the place. While covering ground one is often met with sheep or goat on the narrow country roads. My journey to Shantiniketan covered the usual rounds of seeing Tagore's spread out university, his home, relics and many other Tagore memorabilia, which not only smells of nostalgia of an era of Bengal Renaissance, but also shows you the sheer callousness with which such a memory has been treated.

While visiting Shantiniketan it is best not to have any time or destination in mind, one should just wander around and discover what comes in the way. On such a stroll in the late evening, I was drawn to strange voices and faint melodies. As I quickened my pace and followed the sound, I came upon a clump of trees where a couple of Bauls were singing. Unlike other musicians, Bauls are minstrels who love singing for themselves. the sun had just set and the sky resplendent with an orange-ish red light. One of the bauls hummed, while another strung his Ektara. I slowly slipped in their midst and sat in a quiet corner. Suddenly, one of them got up, he had a gungroo tied to one of his feet and tapped his feet on the ground as if to test waters. I was strangely reminded of my Ghunguroo..lying unused in distant drawers of my home in Assam. I wish I had it with me. By now the colors had faded..as I looked around me, I found a lot of nothingness envelope us all. Someone had lighted what looked like a desi pipe. I presumed it would be a bout of Ganja, that was doing the rounds..it smelled heavenly. My nose picked up the smell of something else something sweeter perhaps?. ..it was the Jui phool (Bengali name for a variety of Jasmine), that I smelt in the air..Clapton suddenly flashed in my mind..singing somewhere aimlessly 'wonderful tonight...

The bauls then sang..in their half broken, sometimes off beat voices..If you expect great Tal and music akin to classical, you would probably be disapointed in the Bauls..because the Bauls don't follow any rules..they follow only their heart..As in the case of anything great that needs an acqusition of taste Baul music too perhaps needs acquiring a taste...Many would think that the Baul's are all about tantriks and tribals, exorcisms and esoteric 'sexo-yogic' secrets..it perhaps is all this and more..It’s beauty lies in its simple rusticity.

I was reminded of excerpts from Mimlu Sen's book 'Baulsphere'

Wild and free, they raised their clamor in the mansions of the rich, and roared their gaiety in the courtyards of the poor...''To the poor, they offered the wealth of the human spirit, to the blind, the divine light of inner vision, to the sick and ageing, they gave the comfort of faith and cured them with songs, natural medicine and yogic practice. The rich and the arrogant, the selfish and the mercenary, were all subject to their provocative mockery. To women, they offered parity in sexual relations, the possibility of exploring their own bodies, and of leading men to a greater knowledge of theirs. They decried the phallocentric society around them, caught in the shackles of the caste system, and exposed the fanatic parochialism of the mullah and the pundit..."

And in that night when the bauls sang, without memorandum, purpose or anything at all I couldn't help but compare the not far away beats of Tagore and his beautiful language of elaborate poetry. But then I remembered Tagore with his RabindranSaneet had also tried to bridge the gap that lay within Classical music and folk music and in his very own enthusiasm also promoted the Bauls. Perhaps the bearded one also sang with us that night, amidst the charm of the little moon doing a peek-a-boo amidst the clouds.

( Image courtesy Google)

Some interesting content from the old world of music!

An introduduction to ukuleles

The ukulele has been classified as a plucked lute; it belongs to the guitar family of instruments, and has generally been seen with four strings. Most people know the ukulele as an instrument used by musicians from Hawai. The most amusing as well as fascinating story about the origin of the ukuleles is about the now founder of the instrument, Joao Fernandes, who was so happy to land on the shores of Hawai that he started playing his native folk songs on this instrument. The impressed Hawains promptly named the instrument as ‘ukulele’, which when translated into English is,’ the jumping flea’. The name was given as a result of the fast movements of the fingers. Several tongues and pronunciations later the instrument has finally found home as a sweet sounding musical instrument, relatively easy to play and handy in size.
Ukuleles, are made from a fine local wood in Hawai, known for its fine tone and attractive color, it is called the ‘Koa’. A well made ukulele may be pretty highly priced running into thousands of dollars. The instrument has also been variously modified in th ehands of different musicains not only in the style of playing but also structurally. The original size called as Soprano and is about 21” in length. Another type is the Concert ukulele, which has a 15" scale length. The Tenor which has come into bieng since the 1920’s, has a 17" scale length and is about 26" in total length. The Baritone is a type which was created much later, around the 1940’s, it happens to be the biggest of all the sizes.
A most loved instrument in the Hawai islands, it is synonymous with its happy go lucky culture. There are many who have been fascinated by its lilting music and taken to playing it. Light in weight and easy to carry around, the ukulele has traveled far and wide. Interestingly this is an instrument played more for the love of music rather than bieng an impressive fashion quotient. Masteros like, Bill Tapia, Lyle Ritz and Jim Beloff have spread the knowledge and sweetness of this instrument around the world, helping in its growth and popularization.


The popularity of this instrument is due to its versatility. There have been musicians who have played all kinds of music on it, including, jazz, rock, country, folk, classical actually almost the entire range you can think of can be played on the Ukulele. Moreover it is an instrument that is accessible to most people. It is easy to play and almost anyone can learn to play it. There are players who are doing great things on the ukulele and expanding the horizon of this small instrument.