Classical Music in Goa.

        We get tourists through the year, but The Season between October and March, when the goras (are supposed to) rule the lodging/boarding economy is the period to attend un-ticketed music programs.

        I grew up waking up to the whine of AIR’s signature tune at 0600 hrs. Tapes/records were owned by the rich. Audio-cassettes were decades away. Mobile phones weren’t invented, cds and ipods unknown. Doordarshan wasn’t born. Everyone switched on the radio to listen to a) music or b) the news read by Pamela Singh/ Devkinandan Pandey.

        I disliked classical music. The long-drawn groans of ‘aalaaps’ and gurgling ‘taans’ helped catapult me out of bed and, after compulsory ablutions, into the school uniform. There was no way I could tell my parents to switch off that cacophony, made worse by the crackling of the radio-set, and tune in to some groovy stuff. (In my childhood, speaking one’s mind was against our culture/tradition/parampara.)

        Announcers announced which ‘ustaad/pandit/begum’ was accompanied on the ‘tabla/taanpura’ by whom. The raags/‘thaats/gharanas were explained. Same-same for western classical music programs which pronounced names that didn’t match the spellings we read in encyclopaedias (Chopin=show-pan).

The moment the parents were out of the house, on came the Beatles/ Abba and Binaca Geet Mala. We rocked-and-rolled behind closed doors, high on sly naughtiness.

        My sister’s marriage to a classical-music aficionado dragged me into a world of dark, air-conditioned auditoriums with us walking through the aisles towards a well-lit stage, searching for seats. Or someone’s very large drawing-room. Silk saris, flowers in buns/plaits, men in kurtas wearing chappals with zari-work. Everyone discussing how a ‘pancham’ was ‘pulled’ (“keenchaa”). The rhythms’ pace and tempo, the finger-work, the ‘riyaaz’ that led to excellence and brilliant past performances were part of the conversation. Through yawns, aching knees and general boredom, ‘wah-wahs’ entered my personal lexicon.

        (Shri Husband’s uninvited aside after reading what I was typing: “Confess, you thought ‘kyaa baat hai’ had something to do with bath-bucket-mug-soap…” Me, silently as mostly, continuing to type unoffended.)

        Fast forward to Jodhpur. We lived near Umaid Bhavan; its mini-theatre was open to anyone interested in western/Indian classical music. Free programs at the far-off Meherangadh Fort attracted us, partly because of the drive and location. When unforgettable moon-/star-lit desert nights were matched with melodies, the experience became addictive.

        Fast-further-forward to 2015. I can download a you-tube-rendition of ‘Bihag’ or ‘Chandrakauns’ at night. Past midnight, I can check out a ‘Darbari Kannada’. I get to enjoy a late Sunday-morning ‘Jaunpuri’ on my pen-drive, nap to the strains of a ‘Gaud Sarang’ or ‘Pilu’ and awake from my siesta with a ‘Multani’.

        When November crept in, over a Friday-Saturday I saw ‘Pravah’: a two-day festival of music and dance. The Kala Academy had collaborated with New Delhi's India International Rural Cultural Centre.

Qawwaal Abdul Hamid Sabri explained the poems and verses, the various kinds of songs (thumri, hori, tappa, ghazal), and demonstrated how lung-power worked. On the second evening, Kathak danseuse, Rachana Yadav, presented a group ballet. The vigour and grace of “Baso morey nainan main nandalal” was so good, I thought it was the finale. But the “Om namah shivaya” turned out to be as good.

        Sunday was spent at the day-long fifth-edition of ‘Swarmangesh’. Manjusha Patil’s ‘Raamkali ‘was a super curtain-raiser. I wondered who’d match that. But Suchismita Das gave an equally good rendition of ‘Bilaskhani Todi’. Missed Yogesh Samsi’s tabla-vaadan because of poor program-schedule adherence. Our loss, but since most of the audience had exited for lunch, the artist’s loss, too. The sarod-violin jugalbandi between Abir Hussain and Saket Sahu in raag ‘Chaiti’ and the dose of Kathak by Bangloreans, Rajendra and Nirupama were good.

        Best of all was the Kesarbai Kerkar Samaroha. Undoubtedly one of the best music festivals in India, possibly the world (so the compere informed us). The line-up: Parween Sultana (she didn’t need a mike, even with a sore throat), Vishwa Mohan Bhatt, Shounak Abhisheki, Kalapini Komkali, Nash Naubert… impressed?

        Vinayak Torvi, and Venkatesh Kumar’s singing… awesome!  Manjiri Asnare Kelkar and Kumar Mardur: excellent. Can’t believe we don’t have a single television/radio channel that brings such talent to our homes.

        Last of all, Amjad Ali Khan. He gave us snippets of ragas and ended with ‘Ekla Chalo Rey’. We clapped hard at his mastery over the instrument. Clapped harder when he offered (and VS Wagh accepted) his services to Goan students of music. But, whilst walking out, I realised how discerning Goa’s audience is. Several voices disappointedly confessed that they wished he (AA Khan, not VS Wagh) had given them a session of pure classical music, not just plucked interesting tunes.   

        I said to Shri Husband: “Goa offers such fantastic things, all free.”

        Shri Husband said: “What’s free? Feni? Fish? Absolutely not. Sunsets, yes.”

        Me: “I meant cultural stuff.”

        Shri Husband, in rare agreement: “Yes, our temples, churches and government-sponsored non-commercial programs really can be promoted as tourist attractions. Remember the choir-singing in the chapel on the mount behind the old Goa churches? But…” and here the cynical mind plays a role…”it’s better they are kept away from the paying hordes… umm, vice-versa, maybe the paying hordes should be kept away from these programs.”

        He’s right. As always. For many of the music lovers come from faraway Pednem/Bicholim/Canacona/Quepem carrying tiffins and water-bottles to spend the day enjoying high-grade music. Several of the musicians mentioned that such audiences aren’t found in many parts of India. Maharashtra, Karnataka and Goa are the exceptions. If the paying tourist comes in, there’ll be a shortage of seats. 

Should the classical things in life be kept free? Should they be promoted to attract tourists/commerce? Debatable.

Feedback: sheelajaywant@yahoo.co.in