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Sung in a certain style

by

REKHA SURYA

North Indian Light Classical Vocal Music

Thumri And Its Allied Forms

Dedicated to

Begum Akhtar, Girija Devi and Bashir Khan

with gratitude

 

CONTENTS

1. Introduction

2. Preface

3. Foreword

4. Rekha Surya in dialogue with

Prof. Mushirul Hasan and Ashok Vajpeyi

Couplets and stanzas added to a song are in italics.

INTRODUCTION

For a singer who straddles two cultures, it was tempting to transport one cultural space into another by translating my songs into English for a concert brochure when asked to sing at the Smithsonian Institution in 1994. Since then I have been translating my songs for audiences abroad. Some song-translations are included in these pages which aim to acquaint the layperson with Thumri and its allied forms. This genre, classified as north Indian light classical vocal music, bridges the gap between classical and mainstream music. Its exclusive theme is romance—persuasive wooing, painful jealousy aroused by a philandering lover, pangs of separation, the ache of remembered pleasures, sweet anticipation of reunion, joyful union.

Thumri’s seeds may be traced to 4th century B.C. during the Gupta era. Musicologists surmise that this epoch’s courtesan Amrapali, proficient in 64 arts, must have sung love songs as an art form.

The role of the courtesan in developing this genre has been considerable. Renowned singer-courtesans who tutored under ustads and pandits gave Thumri such stature that it spilled outside the courtesan’s domain into the repertoire of male classical stalwarts like Bade Ghulam Ali Khan, Barkat Ali and Abdul Karim Khan. Thumri also rose above its subaltern status through eminent exponents like Siddheshwari Devi and Begum Akhtar. Post-modern India has had Girija Devi and Menaka Bai’s daughter Shobha Gurtu as foremost Thumri singers.

This genre asserts a strong feminine identity in folk poetry laden with unabashed sensuality. Rooted in a sophisticated civilization which drew no line between eroticism and spirituality as in ancient temple sculptures, early Hindu society was emancipated, allowing women to express romantic yearnings. Islam disallowed women to do so. As art mirrors society, only a male voice is heard in Ghazal. Hindu society became puritanical when historically impacted by the Islamic ‘purdah’ and later by Victorian morality. Retaining British prudery, newly independent India denied entry in All India Radio premises to those baijis (singer-courtesans) not holding marriage certificates, as stated in AIR archives.

Munnawar Ali Khan said during Sangeet Research Academy’s 1985 Thumri seminar: “Thumri flourished under tawaaifs (courtesans) but later was considered so unrespectable that classical musicians recoiled from it like vegetarians from non-vegetarian food.”

It is now customary for most Khayal recitals to conclude with Thumri.

North Indian light classical vocal music has three segments:

1. Thumri and its nexus of Dadra, Hori, Chaiti, Kajri, Jhoola, Sawan.

2. Ghazal sung traditionally as Thumri’s offspring in Lucknow Gharana.

3. Mystical poetry in the Bhakti-Shringar tradition, whereby romantic and spiritual interpretations overlap in some ancient Thumri and Dadra texts.

PREFACE

I was eleven years old when I first attended a Khayal concert in my hometown Lucknow, after which I told my mother that I wanted to learn classical music. A tutor was arranged from the local All India Radio station to come home to teach me and after faring well in music exams alongside school, I was declared “musically inclined”. I remember feeling deprived of music lessons during the year that I had to be a boarder in the Irish convent where I schooled.

Some years later, I met Begum Akhtar who also lived in Lucknow. A common family friend had arranged a meeting in her home, where I was graciously received but my request to learn from her was flatly refused. She said that bitter experiences with students had made her decide to stop teaching. Just as I was about to leave, she told me to sing something for her. I sang one of her recorded ghazals and she dramatically said “Sirf isliye ke ye aawaaz zaaya na ho mein tumhe sikhaongi (I’ll teach you just so this voice doesn’t go waste).”

The next day I started learning from her. Whenever my father fetched me from her house she would tell him, “Allow this girl to sing on stage”. Sometimes after morning classes she told me to stay back for lunch and we would lie chatting on her bed in the afternoons. She began taking me with her for concerts and in Calcutta I saw a man prostrate himself at her feet in total adulation. While travelling, she stoked the embers of her past, keen that I write her biography though Kaifi Azmi later told me he sought her permission to do so.

Having an unconventional sense of morality, she told me that sin meant kisi ka dil dukhaana (to hurt someone’s feelings) and added mainey kabhi kisi ka bura nahin chaaha hai (I have never wished anyone ill). She believed that aik achchey fankaar hone ke liye aik achcha insaan hona zaroori hai (to be a good artist it is necessary to be a good person). Once when I had taken a gift for her she immediately telephoned my mother to say that though not from her womb I was her child so there was no need for presents. She kept out-of-season fruit for me since I was forever on a diet, and began to insist that I focus on music and give up dancing Kathak—which I had been learning from a disciple of Achchan Maharaj—except as exercise to keep myself in shape. Unwilling to trivialize Kathak as an art form, I left dancing altogether, although I had been told I was a “born dancer”. Ammi, as she was called, died much too soon but still lingers in my mind.

A year or so later, Girija Devi came to Lucknow to perform. The next evening I was invited to hear her sing at the home where she was staying, accompanied by Shanta Prasad on Tabla. The host told her that my taalim under Begum Akhtar had been cut short. Asked about my plans to continue learning music, I mumbled that only after further training in Khayal would I deserve to learn Thumri from her. But she told me not to wait and to accompany her back to Benares after a few days.

She dispelled my parents’ apprehensions and so I took the train to Benares with her. During that first visit to Benares just after Holi, I savoured what Girija Devi told me was a typical Chaiti concert. Upon entering a maidaan we were served thandai in earthen bowls. Several male singers in white dhotis sat cross-legged in a neat semi-circle on an open stage, ready to improvise in turns. Soon a chaiti began with its mandatory “Ho Rama”, as Ramnaumi is celebrated in the month of Chait. This salutation distinguishes Chaiti from other light classical forms.

After lessons I was sent with a house member on a rickshaw to drink Benarsi lassi, to meet Sitara Devi’s sister who elucidated the Benares style of Kathak, and to Kishan Maharaj’s house where he proudly showed me the varieties of pigeons he reared and portraits of his ancestors, all Tabla maestros. But Benares also had terrible electricity power cuts, leading to severe self-pity during riyaaz while sweat trickled down my back.

I went to Benares intermittently till Girija Devi accepted the post of Guru at the Sangeet Research Academy in Calcutta. Then there was another turn of events. Delhi’s Sangeet Natak Akademi asked me to write on Begum Akhtar for its publication. The Director General of All India Radio and Doordarshan praised my writing at a dinner held in Delhi and offered me a job upon my return to Lucknow. I was to make documentaries for the newly launched Lucknow Doordarshan and learn technicalities while on the job. My first documentary was selected for viewing at an international documentary festival in Kuala Lumpur and considerably encouraged by this, I continued making documentaries till my former Kathak teacher whom I sometimes visited found me a music teacher. His name was Bashir Khan and he was a faqir-like Sarangi player whose brilliance was recognized only by local musicians. Slowly I eased back into the solitary world of stillness that is music.

I began performing and on a concert trip to Calcutta, Girija Devi with whom I was staying suggested I become her disciple at Sangeet Research Academy. I joined SRA for a year during which it organized a Thumri seminar. Erudite musicologists like Thakur Jaidev Singh analyzed the form and excavated its origin along with musicians like Girija Devi, Munawwar Ali Khan and Naina Devi. I gleaned facts about Thumri from that seminar and my gurus.

FOREWORD

While twirling the subject around to view it from all angles, my role was that of a sutradhar in this interview by two intellectuals. I quoted words impinged on my mind by my legendary gurus, to pass on to future generations.

 
 

Deccan Chronicle

Sultans of Sufism

By Debarun Borthakur
Apr 11 2010

Kailash Kher, Sufi singer and member of the band Kailasa, opines “Sufi music doesn’t have a distinctive sound and every time one sings a poem or a creation by any of the Sufi poets, it can be termed as Sufi music with or without any music as the background. So, it doesn’t really matter what genre is backing the poetry. One needn’t have a license to fuse myriad musical styles with Sufi poetry, as it is entirely a matter of individual choice. Jiski jitni budhdhi, woh utna hi kar sakta hai"

Hindustani light-classical singer Rekha Surya who sings Sufi poetry in Thumri-Dadra-Ghazal style informs “Although originally associated with Qawwali in the subcontinent, Sufi music has to do with content rather than form, as it is the poetry which is significant. So one can present Sufi poetry according to one’s musical style. I do think, however, that the music sheathing this poetry should have roots in either classical or folk traditions if it is not sung as Qawwali.

Sufi poetry emanates from Islam but is without heavy religiosity and appeals to people like myself who are not drawn to formal religion. Some Sufi poetry corresponds with ancient Hindu philosophy that allows erotic sculpture on temples. Such mystical poetry is very attractively attired, often wearing the garb of romance. Like two sides of a coin, its interpretation can be either sensual or spiritual. My musical genre, being stylistically romantic, accommodates this poetry with ease.

Compassion for fellow beings is intrinsic in all religions. This commonality transcends religious divisions and is the essence of Sufism, which has caught popular imagination. The popularity of Sufi music is here to stay as it now occupies a distinct space of its own."

 

The Indian Ghazal

A rich combination of poetry and musicianship can make the Ghazal a highly evolved and unique art.

The Ghazal as a poetic form originated in Persia in the tenth century. Though Persian in origin, the Indian ghazal has a distinctive character of its own, rooted in the Indian ethos. Its poetry is written in Urdu, a camp language born in India. Urdu is a Turkish word, meaning `bazaar for soldiers'. The base of the Urdu language is Indic; its vocabulary is a mixture of Hindi, Turkish; Arabic, and Persian. Urdu emerged when early Muslim dynasties ruled in India, and crystallized during the Mughal period. In its formative stages, Urdu was called Hindvi or Rekhta. The first evidential ghazal was written by Amir Khusro in the thirteenth century. This ghazal combines two cultures clothed in two languages - half of each line is in Persian, and the other half is in Brij-bhasha; and each couplet is arranged thus. Urdu had not till then consolidated .Along with the political regime, it shifted to the Deccan , and later moved up North again, where it became a sophisticated and elegant court language. The Urdu ghazal matured and attained its apex during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, when it flourished in Delhi and Lucknow.

A ghazal consists of couplets, each of which is complete within itself, and may not resemble, in thought-content, any other couplet in the ghazal. All the couplets in a ghazal share a common rhyme scheme and meter, but are at liberty to be thematically unrelated. Those who seek the logical development of an idea in a poem, find the fragmentary thought-structure of the Ghazal perplexing; but it is precisely this lack of thematic continuity which is the peculiar virtue of the Ghazal, and which makes the Ghazal a specialized verse-form. Each couplet, holding the complete expression of an idea, is self-contained, and is a poem in itself. Despite its limited space, a couplet is capable of exploring the entire range of human experience, absorbing and describing its complexities. Poetic compression is the distinguishing feature of the Ghazal.

The Arabic word `ghazaal' - its derivative being `ghazal' - implies conversing with one's beloved. Its other etymological meaning is "the painful wail of a wounded deer". The plaintive note insistently heard in the Ghazal can be ascribed to the state of the lover, who is traditionally 

presented in the Ghazal as one in anguish. Major poets broadened the scope of the Ghazal and looked beyond the confines of love and wine. They also moved away from the indiscriminate use of conventional or exaggerated and far-fetched imagery and diction. The Ghazal also became a vehicle of philosophical contemplation, and its spectrum included political and social issues.

Ghazals were and are often sung by poets themselves in `mushairas'. In the music world, they were generally sung by courtesans, some of who were renowned musicians. During the early and mid-twentieth century, prominent Ghazal exponents like Zohra Bai and Kamala Jharia, the brilliant young Master Madan, and Begum Akhtar gave a definite shape to Ghazal-singing - what can be called Ghazal-gayaki.

* "She kept her listeners alive to the poetry by keeping them constantly expectant for the `punch' phrase, found in the second line of every couplet, completing the poet's picture and bearing its point and essence. She would play around with the first half of the couplet, building anticipation, and then, using her innately superb sense of timing, pause for a split second. Her fingers on the harmonium would freeze in a moment of tense stillness. Then she would throw the punch' phrase; consummating the sense of drama......

Begum Akhtar laid bare her soul, and the poet's, in her ghazals. This naked vulnerability made her listeners vulnerable to their own emotional wounds and experiences. One of the reasons for the popularity of Ghazalsinging is the ability to identify oneself with the thoughts, emotions, and situations described, making it meaningful for one."

In terms of musical lineage, Ghazal is - and should be -the off-spring of `Bol-banao Thumri'. (Thumri is of three types - `Bandish - ki-Thumri which is composition-oriented; `Artha-bhava Thumri' which is sung for Kathak dancers, and `Bol-banao Thumri'). `Bol- banana' means creating musical variations in and around a textual word or phrase. An important element in `Bol-banana' is `Kahan' - the speech intonations within the musical framework - which literally means "manner of speech".

Earlier, Ghazal was presented in a light-classical concert as one of the allied forms of Thumri. After gaining popularity for itself, it has been plucked out of a light-classical repertoire, and is no longer associated with Thumri. Today, it is seldom heard as part of a larger whole. This in itself is not deplorable, as all art-forms are, mutable with time. The pity lies in improper musical handling, and loss of quality. Even Hindi filmsongs have degenerated, in their quest for commercial success.

Most present-day Ghazal-singers, being unversed with Thumri; have not drawn their musicianship from it, arid are unacquainted with its intensely emotional element of `Pukaar', which literally means "to call out"; hence their Ghazal-gayaki lacks passion. A Thumri-singer who is well-versed with Urdu, and who comprehends the poetic structure of Ghazal, can render Ghazal ideally ;for a sound Thumri-singer has the necessary Khayal background, and has also been trained to pour passion into a musical renderirig and to evocatively elaborate textual phrases.

Yet even a Thumri-singer's musical elaboration must be restrained and judicious in Ghazal; if the poetry is swamped with excessive musical treatment, the poetic thread between the two lines of the couplet gets lost. My teacher, Begum Akhtar, once told me that a ghazal is like a painting. The poetry is like the painting itself, and should be given paramount importance, never to be dwarfed or overwhelmed by the musical portrayal, which she likened to an appropriately ornate picture-frame.

Ghazal-gayaki must have covert musicianship. Overt musical technique like `sargam' and `tihai' - borrowed Khayal characteristics being popularly used - disturbs the romantic aura of the genre, even while such technique imparts classical seriousness to the Ghazal and dazzles audiences with its inherent virtuosity.

The decline of Urdu as a language, started during Begum Akhtar's time. ,

She herself, aware of the fact that after the Indian subcontinent's partition fewer people in India understood the nuances of Urdu, chose to sing along with Ghalib and the other masters - commonplace poetry which had mass-appeal. However, musically she remained true to the Ghazal form. Soon after her death, the void left by her in the Indian Ghazal world, was filled by Pakistan's Mehdi Hasan, who awed audiences by his command over the classical idiom. He rendered Khayal - oriented rather than Thumri-oriented ghazals in a tender and sentimental manner rather than with the full-throated and passionate style associated with Begum Akhtar. This soft and sentimental style of voice-production became a trend-setting phenomenon. Upon his departure from India, he left in his wake a host of Bombay-based Ghazal-singers, who borrowed his manner, but who were unable to reproduce the musicianship. Also, influenced by Pakistani orchestration; they adopted several accompanying instruments, particularly the guitar.

Because of diluted and tune-oriented Ghazal rendition, they essentially belong to the world of Hindi film-music or `light music'. Their treatment of ghazals as mere songs makes these ghazals musically identifiable with Geet. These tunes, often framing pedestrian poetry, has drawn crowds, and so while the Ghazal has spread from the elite to the masses, it has also degenerated.

Some contemporary Urdu poets are writing forcefully in very simple vocabulary - meeting modern sensibilities. With its changed metaphor, some of this poetry has retained literary quality, even while most commercial Ghazal-singers, select trite, sub-standard poetry for mass appeal.

Audiences often accept what is available to them, for lack of an alternative. Sometimes audiences are musically ignorant, but they can be trained to be discerning and discriminating, simply by being given good fare.  Audiences do not create artists - artists create audiences. Excellence of standard and commercial viability need not be mutually exclusive. If artists choose to be unaware of this, and wish to merely entertain, as so many do today, a vicious cycle can set in - as it has between audiences and artists, in terms of deterioration in quality. If facile Ghazal-singers seek justification by saying, "This is what audiences want" why is it that when audiences receive good fare, they gladly accept it, even without complete comprehension?  Coleridge has said, " Poetry is best ~appreciated when half understood". Perhaps this is true of both poetry and music.

When scientific technology is giving ever-new heights of excellence to audio-cassettes etc. - the medium which takes music to its vastest audiences - should the Ghazal lose its integrity and plummet down?

REKHA SURYA

* Journal of the Sangeet Natak Academy - No. 37

"The Living Legend becomes a Legend" by Rekha Surya