Dwelling in My Voice
Dwelling in My Voice
Dwelling in my Voice:
Tradition as musical judgment and aesthetic sense
in North Indian classical Dhrupad
By
Sumitra Ranganathan
A dissertation submitted in partial satisfaction of the
requirements for the degree of
Doctor of Philosophy
in
Music
in the Graduate Division
of the
University of California, Berkeley
Committee in charge:
Professor Bonnie C. Wade, Chair
Professor Benjamin E. Brinner
Professor Charles K. Hirschkind
Summer 2015
Dwelling in my Voice:
Tradition as musical judgment and aesthetic sense
in North Indian classical Dhrupad
© 2015
By Sumitra Ranganathan
Abstract
Dwelling
in
my
Voice:
Tradition
as
musical
judgment
and
aesthetic
sense
in
North
Indian
classical
Dhrupad
By
Sumitra
Ranganathan
Doctor
of
Philosophy
in
Music
University
of
California,
Berkeley
Professor
Bonnie
C.
Wade,
Chair
In
this
dissertation,
I
examine
notions
of
tradition
and
fidelity
to
tradition
in
Indian
classical
music
by
investigating
the
development
of
musical
judgment,
categorical
knowledge
and
aesthetic
sense
in
the
performance
of
Dhrupad
-‐
a
genre
of
Hindustani
music
with
medieval
origins.
Focusing
on
two
contemporary
performers
of
Dhrupad
with
very
different
histories
of
listening
and
practice,
I
show
that
categorical
knowledge
and
strong
notions
of
fidelity
to
tradition
arise
directly
from
the
deeply
dialogic
and
inter-‐subjective
processes
through
which
individual
musicians
develop
and
stabilize
coherent
aesthetic
response
to
handed-‐down
musical
materials
in
situated
practice.
Specifically,
I
argue
that
strong
notions
of
tradition
and
fidelity
to
tradition
in
Indian
classical
music
are
irreducible
to
a
discussion
of
the
disciplinary
technologies
of
colonialism
and
cultural
nationalism.
Rather,
I
propose
that
tradition
in
Indian
classical
music
has
to
be
understood
in
dialogic
relationship
with
intelligibility
and
individual
musical
judgment.
I
develop
an
analytical
framework
to
investigate
the
interactive
basis
of
musical
judgment
and
categorical
sense
in
Dhrupad
performance.
I
understand
forms
of
knowledge
produced
in
performance
to
be
acoustemic
–
namely,
epistemologies
produced
through
active
sensing
in
and
through
sound.
I
investigate
how
formal
structures
of
knowledge
in
a
classical
music
system
become
available
as
human
sensibility,
affect
and
soma-‐aesthetic
knowledge
in
the
interactivity
of
musical
environments
-‐
an
intertwining
engendered
in
part
by
the
affordance
of
musico-‐
aesthetic
forms
in
Indian
classical
music.
I
show
that
musical
objects
develop
both
heterogeneity
and
ontological
weight
in
the
interactivity
of
Dhrupad
vocal
performance,
rendering
performance
practice
within
traditional
lineages
systematic
and
heterogeneous,
coherent
and
diverse.
Based
on
this
analysis
I
argue
that
heterogeneity
and
diversity
are
not
antithetical
to
the
existence
of
a
Great
Tradition
of
Indian
classical
music
but
a
part
of
its
sonic
logic
as
a
domain
of
creative
human
activity.
In
positing
that
the
categories,
codes,
classifications
and
ontologies
of
the
most
hoary
of
genres
in
Indian
classical
music
are
constitutive
of
and
constituted
by
situated
practice
of
classical
music
in
particular
communities,
this
dissertation
stakes
a
claim
to
the
intellectual
history
of
traditions
in
postcolonial
contexts.
1
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i
Table
of
Contents
Notation Conventions ............................................................................................................ iv
Acknowledgments ................................................................................................................... v
Prologue: choosing between milk and water ................................................................. 1
Chapter 1 -‐ Introduction ........................................................................................................ 3
Indian Nationalism, epistemic encounters and the birth of Tradition ........................... 4
Writing history between the cocoon of continuity and the rhetoric of rupture .......... 8
Scholarship on tradition and performance in Hindustani music .................................. 10
Stakes on the ground .................................................................................................................... 14
“Invention”, “Re-‐invention”, “Tradition” and Tradition .................................................... 15
Dissertation chapters ................................................................................................................... 20
Chapter 2 -‐ Tradition, intelligibility and musical judgment in Dhrupad ........... 22
Acoustemic environments, emplacement and place .......................................................... 23
Acoustic communities .................................................................................................................. 26
Grids of intelligibility, thick sound and musical judgment .............................................. 29
Thick sound ...................................................................................................................................... 30
Mapping the field: Places, musical communities and musicians ................................... 32
Mapping sound: Dhrupad vocal performance ...................................................................... 33
Sources and methodology ........................................................................................................... 42
Chapter 3 -‐ Thick sound on an ancestral street .......................................................... 45
Lineage: the fertile grounds of family musical practice .................................................... 47
The musical inheritance -‐ Indra Kishore’s khazana ........................................................... 49
The khazana as thick sound ....................................................................................................... 51
Emplacing sound: Acoustemic anchors for the catalytic khazana ................................. 52
An acoustemology of Bettiah’s musical places ..................................................................... 60
Acoustic communities .................................................................................................................. 69
Thick sound, intelligibility and musical judgment ............................................................. 75
Conclusion ........................................................................................................................................ 81
Chapter 4 -‐ Thick sound in a Bengali home ................................................................. 83
Musical lineage: a serendipitous discipleship in Benares ................................................ 85
The musical inheritance: Falguni Mitra’s khazana ............................................................. 87
Dwelling in my voice – the khazana as thick sound ............................................................ 92
Soundscapes of a Kolkata home ................................................................................................ 92
Home and the world: the acoustemology of music rooms ............................................... 96
Acoustic communities, thick sound and musical judgment ........................................... 101
The catalytic khazana -‐ Paper and ink as acoustemic anchors ..................................... 109
The catalytic khazana -‐ musical objects as acoustemic anchors .................................. 110
“An Amir Khan-‐like thought” – mental models and affective associations .............. 117
Conclusion: Thick sound, intelligibility and musical judgment ................................... 119
ii
Chapter
5
-‐
Sound
objects:
sensing
structure
and
feeling
form
in
Dhrupad
performance
.........................................................................................................................
120
A
concert
on
the
river
Ganga
....................................................................................................
121
Sensing
and
crafting
new
places
from
old
...........................................................................
125
A
film
and
its
preview
.................................................................................................................
138
Dhrupad
songs
as
musico-‐aesthetic
forms:
the
aesthetic
category
of
bani
..............
145
Musical
affordance,
thick
sound
and
the
khandar
bani
..................................................
160
Sound
marks
on
a
singing
body
...............................................................................................
163
Conclusion
......................................................................................................................................
165
Chapter
6
-‐
Conclusion:
Of
birds
and
debates
over
musical
Truths
.................
166
Bibliography
.........................................................................................................................
173
iii
Notation
Conventions
sargam
Scale
degree
Scale
degree
name
S
1 tonic
r
2 flat second
R
2 second
g
3 flat third
G
3 third
M
4 fourth
m
4' augmented fourth
P
5 fifth
d
6 flat sixth
D
6 sixth
n
7 flat seventh
N
7 seventh
Upper octave Superscript u
Lower octave Subscript l
iv
Acknowledgments
Most
specially,
I
thank
my
supervisor
Bonnie
Wade.
Her
gift
for
listening
and
making
something
out
of
my
barely
formed
ideas
is
a
constant
source
of
amazement
to
me.
To
professors
Bonnie
Wade,
Benjamin
Brinner,
Jocelyne
Guilbault,
Charles
Hirschkind,
Richard
Taruskin,
Mary
Ann
Smart,
and
Steven
Feld
my
thanks
for
the
very
high
bar
you
set
as
thinkers
and
scholars,
and
your
enormous
generosity
as
scholars
and
mentors.
To
Melissa
Hacker,
Lisa
Robinson,
Jim
Coates,
and
Solomon
Lefler
-‐
many
thanks
for
immense
support.
My
musical
voice
belongs
to
Pandit
Falguni
Mitra,
my
primary
teacher.
It
is
to
him
I
owe
whatever
I
have
managed
to
understand
about
music.
To
Smt.
Pratima
Mitra,
I
owe
a
few
decades
of
musical
and
family
support
–
her
home
has
been
open
to
me
any
time
I
needed
it.
Since
2009,
I
have
had
the
privilege
of
extending
my
musical
world
by
learning
and
working
with
Pandit
Indra
Kishore
Mishra.
My
deep
thanks
to
him
for
allowing
me
in
to
what
is
most
precious
to
him.
To
the
musicians,
and
their
students
and
families
in
Bettiah,
Muzzafarpur,
Patna,
Benares,
and
Kolkata
where
I
did
my
main
research
–
especially
(late)
Raj
Kishore
Mishra,
(late)
Shankar
Lal
Mishra,
and
their
families,
Bhatuknath
Sharma,
and
Apurbalal
Manna
-‐
I
extend
my
thanks
for
your
generosity
with
expertise,
time,
conversation,
and
family
support.
To
V.
N.
Muthukumar,
M.
V.
Ramana,
Divyanand
Caird
and
N.
Sivakumar
I
owe
many
musical
interactions
and
insights.
This
work
would
not
have
been
possible
without
the
support
of
Padmashri
Gajendra
Narain
Singh
who
has
been
integral
to
sustaining
the
music
of
the
Mullick
families
of
Bettiah.
He
introduced
me
to
the
hereditary
families
and
gave
me
access
to
his
invaluable
research
on
the
history
of
these
families,
and
has
continued
to
advise
me
on
my
research
throughout
the
intervening
years.
P.
N.
Narayanan,
IAS,
and
Mihir
Kumar
Singh,
IAS
helped
me
in
immeasurable
ways
by
giving
me
the
benefit
of
their
immense
experience,
resources
and
connections.
K
K
Pande
IAS
gave
me
a
valuable
recording
from
the
previous
generation
of
musicians
in
Bettiah.
Aside
from
the
Mullick
families,
Anil
Lucas,
Dr.
Chaubey
and
Dr.
Mahadev
Prasad
were
valuable
sources
in
Bettiah,
In
Benares,
I
deeply
valued
my
interactions
with
Dr.
Rai
Anandkrishna
and
his
family.
A
fount
of
knowledge,
he
gave
me
a
feeling
for
Benares’
musical
history
and
culture
that
I
could
not
have
got
elsewhere.
Similarly,
my
interactions
with
Krishnakumar
Rastogi
were
invaluable
in
bringing
the
past
alive
both
in
speech
and
material
artifacts.
K
K
Rastogi
shared
out-‐of-‐print
books,
rare
photographs
and
a
Dhrupad
recording
from
earlier
generations.
My
interactions
with
historians
Kartik
Lahiry
and
Kameswar
Mishra,
as
well
as
Sunanda
and
Prof.
Bhagatte
were
likewise
very
helpful
to
my
research.
I
thank
Ravi
Mathur
for
hosting
me
at
ITC
Sangeet
Research
Academy
during
my
Fulbright
Hays
fellowship.
v
To
(late)
Professor
Harold
Powers,
Richard
Widdess,
Lisa
Gold,
Munis
Faruqui,
Katherine
Schofield,
and
Nalini
Delvoye
I
owe
much
intellectual
help.
I
thank
Lila
Huettemann
for
teaching
me
Hindi,
and
Carmen
Matiescu
for
teaching
me
Western
music
theory
and
composition,
both
invaluable
for
graduate
school.
I
have
benefited
from
consultation
with
many
scholars
in
India
during
my
research.
Dr.
N.
Ramanathan
and
Dr.
Karaikudi
Subramanian
have
been
constant
sources
over
the
years
on
topics
musical
and
musicological.
Dr.
Pappu
Venugopal
Rao,
Sangita
Kalanidhi
R
Vedavalli,
Dr.
Suvarnalata
Rao
and
Smt.
Meena
Bannerjee
have
likewise
been
very
generous
with
their
time
and
expertise.
I
also
thank
Dr.
Ritwik
Sanyal
and
Prof.
Amlan
Dasgupta
for
helpful
interactions.
In
graduate
school,
my
friends
in
room
107
provided
the
kind
of
intellectual
and
emotional
support
that
makes
for
a
perfect
graduate
school
environment.
Specially,
being
around
with
Miki
Kaneda
and
Robbie
Beahrs
was
a
fantastic
introduction
to
graduate
school
in
the
United
States.
V.
N.
Muthukumar
and
Manisha
Anantharaman
have
helped
me
throughout
my
graduate
program.
Both
of
them
know
this
project
better
than
I
do,
and
the
analytic
I
ended
up
with
benefitted
from
both
their
insights.
I
thank
my
nephew
Harsha
Anantharaman
for
many
enlightening
conversations
we
had
when
both
of
us
should
have
been
sleeping.
I
disappointed
him
by
not
being
able
to
get
all
the
characters
in
the
Silmarillion
right
in
my
head.
To
Professor
Philip
Anderson
and
Joyce
Anderson
–
thanks
for
your
friendship
and
company
at
Princeton,
a
privilege
I
value
deeply.
My
interactions
with
Professors
T
V
Ramakrishnan,
G.
Baskaran,
V.
Srinivasan
and
(late)
Rahul
Basu
have
been
a
valuable
part
of
my
education.
In
my
previous
professional
life,
Albert
Impink
,Harry
Sangree,
Ray
Garcia,
Vinita
Srivastava
and
Diane
Fama
helped
me
in
many
ways.
To
Niranjana,
Geetha,
Asha,
Hemashri,
Ambika,
Bhanu
and
their
families,
I
owe
much
hospitality,
help
and
company.
At
home,
some
people
supported
this
dissertation
in
ways
that
cannot
be
compensated.
Most
of
all,
my
mother
Shilavati
Ranganathan,
my
other
family
Kameswari
and
(late)
S.
Natarajan,
my
sister
Ambujam,
brother
in
law
Anantharaman,
niece
and
nephew
Manisha
and
Harsha,
all
of
who
cut
me
so
much
slack
on
my
duties
that
I
can’t
repay
them
in
this
life.
Ponna
Mami
and
Saraswati
took
over
every
job
I
had
many
times
over
in
the
last
eight
years
to
allow
me
to
work,
as
did
many
others
who
have
helped
at
home.
To
Arvind
Sivaramakrishnan,
I
owe
a
huge
debt
for
leaving
me
a
house
where
I
did
most
of
my
writing.
To
the
13
dogs
and
4
cows
I
have
known
as
close
companions,
and
the
several
dogs
and
cats
I
have
interacted
with
in
my
life
–
thank
you
for
keeping
me
in
a
good
mood.
To
Sri.
G.
Ramasubramanian,
Kum.
Sharada,
Sivakumar
and
Muthukumar
I
owe
not
only
thanks
but
also
the
future.
They
are
going
to
help
me
in
many
more
ways
than
they
have
already
done.
vi
Prologue:
choosing
between
milk
and
water
“You
are
Bhagavati,
you
are
Sarasvati,
you
have
been
brought
here
by
her,
my
mata;
your
guruji
Falguni
Mitra
has
taught
you
many
things
even
before
you
came
to
me.
But
after
you
came
here,
you
have
been
hearing
pure
Bettiah
gharana
gaurhar
bani.
You
can
choose
between
milk
and
water”.
The
ability
to
separate
milk
from
water
is
a
puranic
reference
to
Hamsa,
the
bird
which
has
the
ability
to
discriminate
sat
from
asat
–
Truth
about
the
Self
from
the
delusion
of
the
non-‐Self.1
Sarasvati,
the
goddess
of
learning
and
knowledge,
embodies
Truth
for
seekers
of
Self
Knowledge.
In
that
moment,
Indra
Kishore
Mishra’s
use
of
the
reference
raised
the
register
of
his
statement
to
being
not
just
about
a
sense
of
judgment
in
music,
but
about
musical
ethics
and
a
musical
Truth.
Indra
Kishore,
a
hereditary
musician
from
a
lineage
of
Dhrupad
singers
associated
with
the
erstwhile
Princely
court
of
Bettiah
since
the
late
17th
century,
was
throwing
me
the
gauntlet,
challenging
me
to
discriminate
Truth
in
a
single
song.2
His
counterpoint
for
comparison
was
the
same
song
sung
by
Falguni
Mitra,
a
non-‐
hereditary
musician
from
a
different
lineage
of
Dhrupad
singers
associated
with
the
same
Princely
court
since
the
late
18th
century.
I
had
begun
to
learn
Dhrupad
from
Indra
Kishore
during
the
course
of
my
research
whereas
I
had
already
learnt
music
for
several
years
from
Falguni
Mitra
before
I
met
Indra
Kishore.
Dhrupad
is
a
genre
of
north
Indian
classical
music
with
medieval
origins,
and
the
oldest
extant
compositional
form
in
Indian
classical
music.
The
song
under
debate
is
a
Dhrupad
composition
attributed
to
Mia
Tansen,
a
legendary
musician
of
the
late
15th
century
and
a
fountainhead
for
tradition
in
Hindustani
music,
the
classical
music
of
north
India.
Many
musicians
sing
Tansens’
songs
and
multiple
interpretations
exist
amongst
different
traditions.
Why
would
such
a
song
trip
Indra
Kishore’s
ethical
thermostat?
How
can
such
a
song
become
elevated
to
the
status
of
a
musical
Truth?
Then
began
a
long
discussion
with
Indra
Kishore
over
ISD
–
me
in
my
apartment
in
Berkeley
and
he
in
his
ancestral
house
in
Bettiah
minus
electricity
and
running
water,
but
with
cell
phone
in
hand.
I
tried
to
convince
Indra
Kishore
that
Tansen’s
1
The puranas have yielded many aphorisms for daily life and are sacred texts of sanatana dharma, or
Vedic religion, to be distinguished from the modern term Hinduism.
2
While separating milk from water is often used as a colloquial reference in English to denote the ability to
recognize the real goods, like most idioms it has a particularity within a shared cultural context. When
Mishra used the term, he knew I would catch on to its puranic source, because of the many other times he
had invoked such references in our conversations.
1
compositions
are
sung
by
many,
many
musicians
and
have
been
sung
in
various
ways
over
six
hundred
odd
years.
That,
even
though
Falguni
Mitra
was
from
the
Bettiah
gharana,
the
latter
got
his
tradition
from
the
hereditary
lineage
of
the
Mishras
of
Benares
who
lived
in
Bettiah
for
over
a
hundred
years
but
then
migrated
out
to
Benares
and
Kolkata.
That
it
is
not
surprising
Falguni
Mitra
sings
the
song
differently
than
Indra
Kishore,
with
a
different
aesthetic
vision,
at
a
medium-‐slow
tempo
rather
than
very
slow
tempo,
and
even
does
rhythmic
variations,
or
layakari,
in
it,
all
of
which
tripped
Indra
Kishore’s
sense
of
musical
correctness.
Indra
Kishore
was
having
none
of
it.
He
stood
his
ground
that
the
song
must
be
sung
at
a
very
slow
tempo
with
the
precise
circular
movements
that
characterize
his
practice
of
the
gaurhar
bani,
the
esoteric
aesthetic
model
to
which
this
song
is
set
in
his
tradition.
Listening
to
Indra
Kishore,
I
recalled
how
he
described
the
song
to
me
when
I
was
cataloguing
his
repertoire
in
Bettiah.
His
father
when
teaching
it
to
him
would
say,
“every
note
must
weigh
like
a
stone;
it
should
be
so
heavy
one
cannot
lift
it”.
And
every
note
when
Indra
Kishore
ji
sings
this
song
indeed
has
the
weight
of
a
precious
stone.
It
is
an
extraordinary
song
even
amongst
the
very
many
fantastic
gaurhar
bani
songs
in
his
repertoire.
But,
what
of
Falguni
Mitra
and
his
interpretation?
Could
I
dismiss
it
as
water
mixed
with
milk?
The
hours
and
hours
spent
with
Falguni
Mitra
came
rushing
back
to
me,
when
I
came
to
better
understand
the
bases
of
the
judgments
he
made
about
tempo,
ornamentation,
and
layakari,
in
relation
to
this
song
and
many
other
songs.
Falguni’s
musical
judgment
was
sourced
from
a
different
history
of
listening
and
practice
than
Indra
Kishore’s,
although
ancestral
figures
in
both
their
lineages
participated
in
the
same
early
19th
century
court
culture
and
shared
soundscapes
for
over
a
hundred
years
in
19th
century
Bettiah.
Falguni
Mitra
wouldn’t
budge
an
inch
either
in
our
discussions
when
I
tried
to
debate
the
rationalization
of
his
judgments.
At
the
end
of
a
particularly
grueling
session
of
me
asking
“but
why,
but
why,
but
why,..”,
the
normally
patient
Falguni
spoke
with
more
bite
than
is
customary
for
him;
“If
I
can’t
convince
you
with
all
I
have
told
you,
I
can’t
say
anything
more”.
It
took
me
several
months
more
to
understand
the
life
of
a
song
within
this
musician’s
practice
and
just
how
much
work
goes
in
to
setting
and
then
settling
a
single
song
into
a
“jewel
in
the
Bettiah
crown”
as
he
described
one
such
song
in
his
repertoire.
Remembering
all
this
in
the
instant
of
being
told
by
Indra
Kishore
“You
know
how
to
separate
milk
from
water”,
I
had
to
plead,
“No
guruji
it
is
not
such
a
simple
matter
for
me
to
separate
milk
from
water
–
even
though
it
is
crystal
clear
to
you”.
2
Chapter
1
-‐
Introduction
In
this
dissertation
I
listen
in
to
a
musician’s
declaration,
“You
know
how
to
separate
milk
from
water”.
As
a
researcher
I
was
not
able
to
separate
milk
from
water
in
a
way
that
voted
clearly
for
a
musical
Truth.
But
that
interruptive
evaluative
moment
leads
me
to
investigate
the
processes
through
which
Indian
classical
musicians
come
to
believe
their
versions
of
things
musical
to
be
the
Truth
and
nothing
but
the
Truth.
I
examine
notions
of
tradition
and
fidelity
to
tradition
in
Indian
classical
music
by
investigating
the
development
of
musical
judgment,
categorical
knowledge
and
aesthetic
sense
in
the
performance
of
Dhrupad,
a
genre
of
Hindustani
music
with
medieval
origins.
My
case
study
involves
multiple
lineages
of
Dhrupad
musicians
associated
with
the
erstwhile
Princely
court
of
Bettiah
(a
rural
town
in
the
contemporary
state
of
Bihar).
My
project
is
to
be
distinguished
both
from
conventional
analyses
of
tradition
in
Indian
classical
music
that
investigate
the
transmission
of
a
specific
body
of
knowledge
within
hereditary
and
non-‐hereditary
musical
lineages,
and
from
functional
considerations
of
socio-‐historic
context
in
understanding
musical
practices.
I
investigate
Dhrupad
vocal
performance
as
an
acoustemic
environment
–
an
environment
in
which
forms
of
knowledge
and
ways
of
knowing
are
dialogic
with
sound.
Using
a
case
study
of
lineages
associated
with
the
erstwhile
Princely
court
of
Bettiah,
I
analyze
the
constellation
of
practices
within
which
Dhrupad
performance
becomes
configured
as
a
domain
of
experience
in
different
environments
for
the
music
of
the
Bettiah
Dhrupad
lineages.
Through
an
extended
analysis
of
forms
of
knowledge
generated
in
musical
life
in
particular
places,
I
establish
that
Dhrupad
performance
becomes
intelligible
as
tradition
through
processes
of
emplacement
that
transform
categorical
knowledge
about
Dhrupad
as
classical
music.
Focusing
on
contemporary
performers
of
Dhrupad
with
very
different
histories
of
listening
and
practice,
I
show
that
categorical
knowledge
and
strong
notions
of
fidelity
to
tradition
arise
directly
from
the
deeply
dialogic
and
inter-‐subjective
processes
through
which
individual
musicians
develop
and
stabilize
coherent
aesthetic
response
to
handed-‐down
musical
materials
in
situated
practice
amongst
particular
communities.
I
investigate
how
the
formal
structures
of
knowledge
in
a
classical
music
system
become
available
as
human
sensibility,
affect
and
soma-‐aesthetic
knowledge
in
the
interactivity
of
musical
environments
-‐
an
intertwining
engendered
in
part
by
the
affordance
of
musico-‐aesthetic
forms
in
Indian
classical
music.
I
show
that
musical
objects
develop
both
heterogeneity
and
ontological
weight
in
the
interactivity
of
Dhrupad
vocal
performance,
rendering
performance
practice
within
traditional
lineages
systematic
and
heterogeneous,
coherent
and
diverse.
Based
on
this
analysis,
I
argue
that
the
categories,
codes
and
ontologies
of
Hindustani
classical
music
as
an
organized
system
of
knowledge
are
sustained
and
3
transformed
in
processes
of
emplacement
through
which
the
situated
practice
of
Dhrupad
becomes
intelligible
as
tradition.
In
using
the
term
situated
practice
I
treat
tradition
in
Indian
classical
music
as
a
response
to
the
sound
worlds
gathered
by
the
practice
of
music
in
particular
places.
In
using
the
term
emplacement,
I
indicate
that
the
ways
in
which
an
Indian
classical
musician
grasps
this
sound
world
implicate
the
senses
and
the
body,
emotion
and
emotional
memory,
as
fundamental
to
the
development
of
musical
knowledge
and
musical
reason.
In
positing
that
the
categories,
codes,
classifications
and
ontologies
of
the
most
hoary
of
genres
in
Indian
classical
music
are
constitutive
of
and
constituted
by
the
situated
practice
of
classical
music
in
particular
communities,
this
dissertation
stakes
a
claim
to
the
intellectual
history
of
traditions
in
postcolonial
contexts.
Indian Nationalism, epistemic encounters and the birth of Tradition
“This book is about Dhrupad, one of several distinct styles of North Indian
classical music… Throughout our book, the ‘continuity’ of the Dhrupad tradition
over many generations and many centuries of cultural and political change is
frequently demonstrated or asserted.” 3
“The institutions of classical music in South India – not only discourse about it but
the very sound and practice of the music – has been produced in and through the
colonial encounter.”4
India has been at the heart of a debate in the Humanities for a few decades now.
Until the eighties, it was quite customary for dissertations to start out with the
assumption that Indian systems of thought and practice had long, largely
uninterrupted histories that went back a few thousand years. With Chatterjee’s
landmark book “The Nation and its Fragments: Colonial and Postcolonial Histories”,
it was no longer possible to describe Indian history in any field of study as a
continuous trajectory of a monolithic Great Tradition (Chatterjee, 1993).
A few decades of postcolonial scholarship in the Humanities has set out to establish
that the notion of India as well as the emergence of the Great Indian Tradition in
diverse fields is of distinctly modern vintage -‐ a direct result of Orientalist efforts to
re-‐invent an ancient, Sanskritic Indian tradition with the categories, codes and
organized bodies of written knowledge that measured up to colonial epistemologies
of literacy and literalism. The historiographic tradition to which these recent
scholarly works belong is a powerful presence in the Humanities and beyond.
Benedict Anderson’s “Imagined Communities” and Partha Chatterjee’s “The Nation
3
Sanyal and Widdess (2004, xiii, xvii)
4
Weidman (2006, 17)
4
and
its
fragments”
set
off
a
wave
of
scholarship
wherein
the
logics
of
Colonialism
and
the
modernizing
forces
of
Nationalism
have
been
argued
as
constitutive
of
the
very
foundations
of
cultures,
traditions,
belief
systems
and
knowledge
systems
of
the
world’s
societies.5
Chatterjee
and
Chakrabarty
in
particular
have
been
singularly
influential
in
the
project
of
provincializing
Europe,
showing
that
the
logics
of
Colonialism
depended
on
generating
universals
from
a
bunch
of
heterogeneous
and
particular
set
of
situated
practices,
and
using
them
to
frame
and
evaluate
the
rest
of
humanity,
and
Europe
itself
in
this
image
(Chakrabarty
2000;
Bauman
and
Briggs
2003,
3).
The
impact
of
postcolonial
studies
on
scholarship
on
India
and
its
neighbors
cannot
be
over
stated.
Across
governance,
civil
society,
legal
codes,
caste,
education,
morality,
religion,
spirituality,
literature,
dance,
poetry,
sexuality
and
aesthetics,
there
has
been
a
relentless
inquiry
into
the
genealogy
of
traditions,
institutions,
systems
of
knowledge,
and
normative
practices
that
have
defined
Indian
civilization
as
a
classical
and
traditional
civilization
with
a
long
history
to
the
modern
Indian.
Revisionist
readings
and
revisionist
histories
date
many
foundational
institutions
of
modern
India
to
colonial
encounter,
including
the
very
notion
of
a
nation
called
India.
In
the
domains
of
language,
religion
and
culture,
the
argument
advanced
through
diverse
analyses
has
been
that
what
was
a
diverse
and
heterogeneous
set
of
practices
prior
to
Colonialism
were
reformatted
into
Great
Traditions
by
the
juggernauts
of
Colonialism
and
Nationalism
through
the
now
familiar
processes
of
codifying,
classifying,
and
purifying.
The
project
of
classicization
in
the
domain
of
cultural
practices
such
as
music
-‐
so
the
argument
goes
-‐
led
Indian
cultural
nationalists
to
classicize,
codify,
sacralize,
cleanse,
regulate
and
discipline
a
bunch
of
dis-‐articulated
practices
into
ancient
Classical
Traditions
that
could
represent
an
ancient
and
modern
Nation.
At
the
end
of
this
exercise,
India
and
her
so-‐called
historical
civilization
seem
to
lie
bleeding
and
torn,
a
mimesis
of
its
fragmented
history.
Within
scholarship
on
Indian
music,
the
hermeneutics
of
suspicion
has
been
slow
to
take
hold.
Until
the
1980s,
scholarship
in
North
Indian
music
was
focused
on
describing
the
organization
and
workings
of
tradition
in
terms
of
kinship
structures,
teacher-‐student
relationships,
transmission
and
analysis
of
style.6
While
some
authors
did
pay
explicit
attention
to
the
impact
of
modernization
on
the
social
organization
and
stylistic
traditions
of
Indian
music,
music
scholarship
was
mainly
concerned
with
the
normative
conception
of
tradition
that
has
been
governed
by
the
gharana
system
in
the
north
and
the
trinity
of
composers
and
their
canonical
compositions,
as
well
as
stylistic
lineages,
in
the
south.
Beginning
with
Jackson’s
revisionist
history
that
undermined
the
composer-‐musician
Thyagaraja’s
canonical
5
Anderson (1983; 1991), Chatterjee (1993)
6
Deshpande (1973; 1987), Kippen (1988), Daniel Neuman (1980), Wade (1984)
5
status
as
a
Saint,7
historians
of
Indian
classical
music
began
to
question
the
assumptions
of
spirituality
and
purity
that
undergirded
much
scholarly
and
common
public
understandings
of
Karnatic
music,
the
music
of
south
India.
But
it
was
only
in
the
late
1990s
that
a
whole
wave
of
scholarship
began
to
dig
holes
under
the
tectonic
weight
of
the
classical
music
traditions
of
India,
when
heterogeneity
and
diversity
came
specifically
to
be
seen
as
markers
of
the
pre-‐
modern,
antithetical
to
the
unitarity
of
a
Great
Tradition
of
Classical
music
born
in
colonial
modernity.
The
influential
writings
of
Farrell
(1997),
Bakhle
(2005),
Subramanian
(2006)
and
Weidman
(2006)
in
particular
date
the
emergence
of
the
classical
music
traditions
of
north
and
south
India
to
the
early
20th
century
encounter
with
Colonial
epistemologies
of
literacy
and
literalism.
According
to
these
authors,
the
technologies
of
notation,
printing,
radio
and
recording
were
integral
to
this
project.
Focusing
on
the
discourse
around
music
writing,
Farrell
(1997)
argues
that
Western
imperialist
notions
of
literacy
and
progress
came
to
be
accepted
by
educated
urban
upper
middle
class
Indians.
Farrell
observes
that
the
colonial
presence
exerted
a
pressure
by
“ideas
of
control
and
representation
through
theories
of
notation,
intonation
and
the
role
of
Indian
music
in
a
progressive,
modern
India”
(Farrell
1997,
48).
These
epistemic
encounters
instigated
urban
middle
class
Indians
to
discipline
Indian
classical
music
through
institutionalization,
deploying
technologies
of
notation,
standardized
pedagogy,
and
standardized
testing
and
grading
schemes
(Farrell
1997;
Bakhle
2005;
Subramanian
2006).
Writing
on
colonial
South
India,
Subramanian
describes
the
consolidation
of
tradition
that
began
in
the
courts
of
Tanjore
and
in
the
hands
of
the
major
composers
of
the
18th
century,
and
crystallized
in
the
20th
century
with
the
formation
of
the
Madras
Music
Academy,
the
Madras
Gayan
Samaj,
and
the
founding
of
several
schools
where
the
middle
class
could
be
persuaded
to
send
their
children
to
be
educated
in
music
(Subramanian,
2006).
Like
Farrell,
she
finds
the
disciplinary
technologies
of
music
notation,
standardized
repertoire,
and
circulation
of
notated
compositions
that
could
be
used
for
mass
musical
education,
especially
of
women,
crucial
in
the
creation
of
a
musical
public
sphere.
At
the
same
time,
national
radio,
personal
copies
of
songbooks
and
gramophone
records
enabled
the
cultivation
of
music
as
a
private
experience
of
devotion
for
the
modern
listening
subject.
In
parallel,
efforts
to
de-‐stigmatize
music,
making
it
respectable
for
middle
class
people
to
participate
in
it
created
a
middle
class
public
musical
culture
that
was
crucial
in
Subramanian’s
estimation,
to
invoking
music
in
the
struggle
for
independence
as
a
national
classical
music.
Discussing
the
cultural
agenda
of
the
Madras
Music
Academy
in
cultural
construction
intimately
linked
to
nationalist
politics,
Subramanian
observes
that
the
7
Jackson (1994)
6
“jettisoning
of
oral
traditions
of
instruction
and
their
substitution
by
written
notational
primers”
was
integral
to
the
project
of
standardizing
and
classicizing
a
previously
open,
largely
unmarked
and
variable
practice.
“The
openness
and
variety
that
characterized
the
system,
when
musicians
and
performers
had
drawn
from
a
myriad
range
of
sources,
was
jettisoned
at
the
altar
of
tradition
and
new
aesthetic
sensibility”
(Subramanian,
1999,
134).
Working
on
Hindustani
music,
Janaki
Bakhle
argues
that
the
classical
music
of
north
India
is
of
specifically
colonial
vintage,
a
product
of
late
19th
century
efforts
by
organizations
and
individuals
intent
on
inventing
a
classical
tradition
that
could
be
co-‐opted
as
an
ancient
one
for
the
Hindu
nationalist
cause,
in
the
process
writing
the
Muslim
maestros
(Ustads)
and
courtesan
performers
out
of
their
authorial
roles
in
the
history
of
Indian
music
(Bakhle,
2005).
She
credits
two
prime
movers
for
completing
the
project
of
cultural
Nationalism:
Vishnu
Narayan
Bhatkande,
who
“tried
to
classify,
categorize
and
classicize
music”
and
Vishnu
Digambar
Paluskar
whose
principal
contribution
was
“to
clean
and
sacralize
it”
(ibid.,
8).
Like
Subramanian,
Bakhle
builds
a
disarming
picture
of
Hindustani
music
prior
to
classicization
as
an
unmarked
collection
of
poetic-‐compositional
forms
(ibid.,
3),
practiced
mostly
within
families,
in
which
musical
learning
was
handed
down
to
“sons,
nephews,
grandsons
and
grandnephews,
and,
on
occasion,
to
a
talented
male
apprentice
from
outside
the
family
(ibid.,
6).
She
describes
it
as
“a
random
practice”
(ibid.,
131)
lacking
a
“connected
history,
a
systematic
and
orderly
pedagogy
and
respectability”
(ibid.,
7)
and
credits
Bhatkande’s
commitment
that
allowed
for
“a
random
practice
to
be
disciplined
by
a
connected
history,
a
stern
typology,
and
a
documented
musicology”
(ibid.,
131).
However,
even
while
re-‐calibrating
Indian
classical
music’s
origins
to
colonial
modernity,
neither
Bakhle
nor
Subramanian
position
its
content
as
specifically
colonial
in
origin.
Rather
Bakhle
states
several
times
in
her
book
that
Hindustani
music’s
practices
remained
largely
unaffected
by
the
logics
and
rationalities
of
cultural
nationalism
and
colonial
modernity.
In
marked
contrast,
Amanda
Weidman
states,
“…the
institutions
of
classical
music
in
South
India
–
not
only
discourse
about
it
but
the
very
sound
and
practice
of
the
music
–
has
been
produced
in
and
through
the
colonial
encounter
(2006,
17).”
Weidman’s
work
adheres
scare
quotes
not
just
around
the
term
“classical”
but
around
every
concept
and
notion
commonly
considered
definitional
to
Indian
classical
music
practice
by
contemporary
Indian
society:
in
particular,
the
“composer”,
“composition”,
“guru/teacher”
and
“oral”
“tradition”.
In
four
bold
moves
Weidman
ventriloquizes
the
voice,
births
the
composer
and
composition
in
music
notation
and
printing,
and
creates
the
institution
of
the
guru
in
the
threat
of
the
gramophone.
Her
argument,
traced
chapter
after
chapter
through
myriad
and
varied
examples,
is
potently
simple.
The
notion
of
Indian
7
classical
music
as
an
oral
tradition
was
born
at
the
same
time
as
literacy
came
along
to
take
over
its
domain.
The
tradition
of
the
guru
(teacher
as
an
institution)
and
a
strong
notion
of
fidelity
to
tradition
were
born
at
the
same
time
the
technology
to
replace
it
came
along.
These
were
not
simple
take-‐overs.
The
technologies
threatened
to
completely
transform
the
practices
of
pedagogy
and
performance.
The
hapless
musician
faced
with
the
attractions
of
freely
available
music
on
gramophone
records
and
books
develops
notions
of
fidelity
through
repeated
listening
and
recourse
to
notation
even
while
discourse
ratchets
up
a
notch
to
create
and
preserve
an
authentic
oral
tradition
in
the
moment
of
encountering
print,
and
to
create
and
preserve
the
guru
as
an
institution
at
the
instant
of
spinning
a
disc.
Writing
history
between
the
cocoon
of
continuity
and
the
rhetoric
of
rupture
If
Hindustani
music
were
a
“random”
practice,
how
does
one
understand
Indra
Kishore’s
exclamation
“You
know
how
to
choose
between
milk
and
water”
in
the
context
of
a
single
song?
If
the
notion
of
a
composer,
composition,
oral
tradition,
notions
of
correct
intonation,
pedagogical
method,
and
a
strong
notion
of
tradition
and
fidelity
to
tradition
are
“produced
in
colonial
encounter”,
the
debate
between
a
hereditary
musician
speaking
in
an
ethical
register
about
a
song
from
his
repertoire
and
the
equally
strong
rebuttal
from
his
non-‐hereditary
counterpart
belongs
at
best
in
the
“dust
heap
of
authenticity
debates”.8
In
deviating
from
this
lineage
of
scholarship,
I
do
not
claim
Indian
music’s
antiquity
by
quoting
the
evidence
of
texts
or
pure
experience;
nor
do
I
write
a
subaltern
account
in
which
individual
local
histories
are
seen
as
resisting
the
formatting
power
of
nation
state
and
colonial
domination.
Rather,
I
re-‐examine
and
contest
the
claim
that
the
transition
which
happened
in
Hindustani
(and
Karnatic)
music
in
the
late
19th
century
was
that
it
went
from
being
an
open,
unmarked,
largely
uncritical,
heterogeneous
practice
localized
within
families
and
teaching
lineages,
to
a
marked
practice
with
an
organized
systematic
body
of
knowledge
with
codes,
categories,
and
hierarchies
-‐
a
child
born
of
colonial
encounter
in
which
a
strong
sense
of
tradition
and
fidelity
emerged
in
the
encounter
with
technologies
of
notation,
print
culture,
radio
and
recording.
This
cumulative
claim
of
recent
scholarship
on
Indian
classical
music
can
be
contested
in
at
least
one
of
two
ways.
The
first,
elaborated
by
Schofield,
does
a
critical
reading
of
the
main
criteria
used
by
different
post-‐colonial
scholars
to
distinguish
the
emergence
of
a
Classical
tradition
in
the
late
19th
century,
and
demonstrates
that
every
one
of
these
markers
of
a
Classical
tradition
was
already
8
Born, Georgina and David Hesmondhalgh (2000)
8
present
at
the
Imperial
Mughal
court
of
Delhi
in
the
Golden
Age
of
Classical
music
from
1600
to
1857
AD
(Schofield,
2010).9
The
other
way
is
to
question
the
more
fundamentally
divisive
assumption
that
music
practiced
largely
within
families
has
little
or
no
epistemological
bearing
on
the
codes,
categories
and
conventions
of
an
organized
Great
Tradition,
and
that
on-‐
the-‐ground
existence
of
diversity
and
heterogeneity
is
tantamount
to
the
absence
of
a
strong
sense
of
tradition
and
fidelity
to
tradition.
I
adopt
this
approach
to
debate
the
coupling
of
strong
notions
of
tradition
and
fidelity
to
tradition
with
colonial
epistemologies
of
literacy,
and
literalism
and
the
invention
of
music
notation
and
recording.
I
propose
that
the
debate
over
song
in
the
small
world
of
individual
musical
lineages
is
integrally
related
to
the
mechanisms
through
which
Indian
classical
music
as
an
organized
system
of
knowledge
is
configured
and
transformed
as
a
domain
of
experience
in
situated
practice.
Using
the
genre
of
Dhrupad
as
a
case
study,
I
show
that
heterogeneity
and
diversity
are
not
antithetical
to
the
existence
of
a
Great
Tradition
of
Indian
classical
music
but
a
part
of
its
sonic
logic
as
a
domain
of
creative
human
activity.
I
respond
to
the
gauntlet
“You
know
how
to
choose
between
milk
and
water”
by
listening
in
to
the
interactive
processes
through
which
individual
musicians
with
very
different
histories
of
listening
and
practice
develop
a
sense
of
judgment
for
musico-‐aesthetic
categories
that
define
tradition
and
frame
intelligibility
in
the
Dhrupad
lineages
of
the
Bettiah
gharana.
I
trace
the
strength
of
musical
judgment
and
strong
notions
of
fidelity
to
tradition
to
the
interactivity
of
repeated
engagements
with
handed
down
musical
materials
in
situated
practice
-‐
a
process
that
implicates
heterogeneity
and
multiple
levels
of
engagement
that
straddle
the
local
and
the
non-‐local,
individual
and
community,
subject
and
object.
Through
this
analysis,
I
show
that
classical
music
in
the
Indian
context
is
both
an
organized
system
of
knowledge
and
a
situated
musical
practice
that
is
sustained
and
transformed
through
processes
of
emplacement
engendered
in
part
by
the
affordance
of
its
musico-‐aesthetic
forms.
I
argue
that
only
this
can
explain
its
historical
trajectory,
the
genealogy
of
its
aesthetic
categories,
and
the
coherence,
heterogeneity
and
diversity
of
its
sounds.
9
Schofield and her collaborators propose a periodization for Hindustani period as part of a grander
historical narrative, one that puts the Golden age between 1600 – 1857 and the second a phase of Musical
transitions after 1857. Schofield’s dating of the classical age aligns with the textbook history of Hindustani
music in scholarly, amateur-historical and popular accounts of Hindustani music. However, what is
important to the debate over periodization is her argument, which clearly delineates her intellectual stakes.
9
Scholarship
on
tradition
and
performance
in
Hindustani
music
My
project
seeks
to
establish
that
the
debate
over
song
in
the
small
world
of
individual
musical
lineages
is
integral
to
the
mechanisms
by
which
Indian
classical
music
as
an
organized
system
of
knowledge
is
emplaced
and
transformed
in
the
interactivity
of
musical
life
in
particular
places.
To
investigate
and
defend
this
claim,
it
becomes
necessary
to
bridge
the
logics
of
a
Great
Tradition
understood
as
a
set
of
institutions,
canons
and
norms
with
the
strength
and
tenor
of
individual
musical
judgment
and
strong
notions
of
fidelity
to
tradition
in
the
small
world
of
musical
lineages.
In
this
section
I
survey
the
considerable
body
of
scholarship
that
exists
on
tradition
and
performance
in
Hindustani
music
to
evaluate
its
critical
potential
for
bridging
this
gap.
Most
scholarly
discussions
of
tradition
and
transmission
of
tradition
focus
primarily
on
the
gharana
as
the
primary
lens
for
understanding
the
organization
and
workings
of
tradition
in
Hindustani
music.
A
whole
host
of
notions
about
tradition
in
north
Indian
music
have
been
built
around
the
nomenclature
of
the
gharana.
The
word
gharana,
deriving
from
ghar,
or
home,
is
a
term
that
denotes
lineage.
As
a
particular
term,
the
gharana
is
a
distinctive
musical
practice
that
becomes
gathered
around
a
genealogy
and
perceptions
of
its
continuity
are
mediated
by
genealogy.
Specific
to
north
Indian
music,
the
gharana
system
is
seen
as
central
to
the
continuity
of
tradition
and
an
arbiter
of
authority
and
authenticity.
The
major
works
on
the
gharana
are
Daniel
Neuman’s
study
of
social
organization,
and
Deshpande
and
Wade’s
studies
on
Khayal
as
a
genre.10
Scholarship
has
been
divided
on
whether
the
gharana
is
primarily
a
social
grouping
or
a
musical
relationship.
Taken
as
a
social
grouping,
in
its
inception
it
was
a
term
used
primarily
by
Muslim
hereditary
musicians.
The
family
of
the
founder
occupies
a
singularly
important
place
in
the
gharana
model
and
the
khāndān
-‐
or
inheritance
through
the
male
genealogical
line
of
the
founder
of
the
gharana
-‐
is
perceived
as
central
to
continuity
of
tradition.
Musicians
belonging
to
a
khandan
carry
considerable
authority,
by
virtue
of
inheriting
the
cultural
property
of
the
gharana
through
the
male
genealogical
line
of
the
founder.
Even
while
the
genealogical
gharana
incorporates
disciples
from
outside
the
founder’s
family,
these
disciples
are
not
perceived
as
inheriting
the
cultural
property
of
the
tradition.
Viewed
as
a
musical
relationship,
the
term
gharana
becomes
synonymous
with
a
10
Daniel Neuman (1980), Deshpande (1973; 1987), Wade (1984). Additional insights have been provided
by a number of scholars, notably Kippen (1988), Silver (1976), and Owens (1987). More recently Raja has
written extensively on gharanas and creativity in Hindustani music. (Raja 2005; 2009). Recent works that
provide critical insights on social and musical dimensions of Hindustani music in relation to 20th century
musical lineages include Katz (2010), Hurrie (2009), Utter (2011), Dard Neuman (2004), and Rahaim
(2009).
10
characteristic
or
idiomatic
musical
practice,
propagated
through
teacher-‐student
lines.
In
this
view,
a
gharana
is
a
musical
practice
that
becomes
gathered
around
musical
values,
and
the
musical
idiom
associated
with
a
particular
musical
household.
Unsurprisingly,
several
multi-‐generational
families
of
Hindu
musicians
also
claim
the
term,
as
it
becomes
closer
to
a
teacher-‐disciple
(guru-‐sishya)
lineage
where
the
focus
is
on
what
is
transmitted
–
namely,
the
characteristic
style
and
values
associated
with
a
particular
musical
household.11
An
immediate
consequence
of
using
the
gharana
as
the
primary
lens
for
understanding
tradition
is
the
analytical
bias
towards
long
unbroken
lineages,
singular
style
and
star
performers
as
primary
subjects
for
ethnographic
research.
However,
as
early
as
1984,
Wade’s
study
of
Khayal
gharanas
showed
that
neither
unbroken
lines
of
transmission
nor
uniform
style
were
markers
of
Khayal
gharanas
in
the
late
19th
and
20th
centuries
(Wade
1984).12
Until
the
1990s,
studies
of
tradition
continued
to
focus
on
musical
lineages
and
analysis
of
performance
practice
in
the
major
genres
of
Hindustani
music.
Transmission
within
lineages
is
the
primary
unit
of
analysis
for
investigating
the
dynamics
of
continuity,
change,
creativity,
individuality,
and
ethics.
While
these
studies
provide
great
insight
into
the
primary
stylistic
schools
of
Hindustani
music,
they
attempt
to
explain
the
source
of
musical
creativity
and
musical
judgment
entirely
from
within
the
insulated
sound
world
of
musical
lineages.
The
exclusive
focus
on
lineages
and
style
leaves
us
without
an
understanding
of
the
very
real
competition
between
the
diversity
of
a
musical
practice
and
its
memorialization
as
an
object
of
culure.
It
gives
no
framework
for
discussing
musical
influence
and
musical
change
without
invoking
either
a
discourse
of
loss
or
rupture,
or
a
celebration
of
unfettered
creativity
that
obviates
a
meaningful
definition
of
tradition.
Furthermore,
despite
hints
in
the
early
attention
to
gharana
as
an
adaptive
framework13
and
to
patronage
contexts14
that
musical
traditions
both
function
as
eco-‐systems
and
within
eco-‐systems,
systematic
frameworks
for
understanding
the
connections
between
sound
and
environment
have
remained
stubbornly
focused
on
sound
separate
from
context.
More
recently,
Grimes’s
work
attends
to
geography
as
11
Scholars favoring this interpretation include Deshpande (1973; 1987), Wade and Pescatello (1977), and
Wade ibid..
12
Wade found
that
was
a
fair
amount
of
cross
learning
even
amongst
hereditary
musical
families,
and
while
there
was
usually
a
group
style
identifiable
for
different
teaching
lineages
within
a
single
gharana,
even
these
group
styles
allowed
for
a
whole
range
of
individual
interpretations.
Sometimes
singularly
talented
musicians
even
managed
to
completely
redefine
the
characteristic
style
of
their
lineage
(Wade,
ibid.)
13
Daniel Neuman op. cit., Kippen op. cit.
14
Erdman (1985), Wade and Pescatello op. cit.
11
a
significant
factor
in
understanding
musical
creativity,
aesthetic
preference
and
processes
of
transformation
in
Hindustani
music
in
the
mid
twentieth
century
(Grimes,
2011).
Focusing
on
regional
influence
on
Hindustani
music
in
Western
and
Eastern
India,
Grimes’s
work
attends
to
place
more
as
context
and
influence,
stopping
short
of
thinking
of
sound
itself
as
environment.
Thus
his
study
doesn’t
provide
enough
of
a
foothold
for
investigating
forms
of
knowledge
generated
by
singing
in
places.
The
exclusive
emphasis
on
the
gharana
as
an
isolated
sound
world
translates
to
lack
of
theoretical
attention
to
the
possible
relationship
between
Hindustani
music
as
an
expert
practice
maintained
within
teaching
lineages,
and
the
environment
in
which
it
is
sustained
as
a
cultural
practice.
In
particular,
the
forms
of
knowledge
generated
in
musical
practice
are
treated
as
autonomous
and
independent
from
ways
of
knowing
in
other
dimensions
of
daily
life.
Even
music
perception
and
cognition
studies
that
treat
music
as
human
communication
are
not
culturally
specific
or
contextually
situated.15
As
a
consequence,
there
is
very
little
insight
into
what
might
constitute
an
environment
for
musical
practice,
or
how
musical
traditions
may
function
as
systems
of
musical
and
ethical
values
in
relation
to
the
environment
for
musical
practice,
or
how
they
may
transform
in
relation
to
changes
in
this
environment.
If
the
dominant
paradigm
for
transmission
of
tradition
avers
that
musical
transmission
occurs
within
sonic
fishbowls,
it
gives
us
no
foothold
to
query
how
specific
musical
communities
transform
to
accommodate
changes
in
environment,
including
the
epistemological
pressures
of
Colonialism
and
Cultural
Nationalism
with
their
disciplinary
tools
of
notation,
print
culture,
radio
and
recording.
Scholars
such
as
Bakhle,
Subramanian
and
Weidman
have
positioned
these
epistemic
colonial
encounters
as
the
birth
of
tradition
and
strong
notions
of
fidelity
to
tradition,
while
what
precedes
has
been
set
up
as
a
collection
of
heterogeneous
lineages
-‐
small
isolated
sound
worlds
operating
autonomously
in
an
ethical
vacuum.
Whatever
knowledge
was
produced
in
these
contexts
is
set
aside
as
unmarked
knowledge,
lacking
indexical
reach
and
ethical
tenor.
Thus
far,
studies
of
Hindustani
music
give
little
theoretical
or
analytical
foothold
to
develop
a
critical
understanding
of
the
epistemologies
that
undergird
the
practice
of
Indian
classical
music
–
a
baseline
that
is
necessary
in
order
to
take
a
position
on
the
debate
over
the
historicity
of
Indian
classical
music
as
a
Great
Tradition.
Scholars
writing
in
the
21st
century
on
Hindustani
music
have
looked
for
paradigms
to
think
about
musical
performance
in
relation
to
the
dynamics
of
individual
musicianship
and
creativity.
The
insights
into
musical
thinking
offered
by
Dard
15
An early effort in this direction is Qureshi (1986), but her analysis again separates sound from context
though her model ultimately brings both back together.
12
Neuman,
Utter
and
Rahaim,
and
by
earlier
works
on
cognition
such
as
Clayton
and
Leante,
begin
to
give
a
sense
for
the
forms
of
knowledge
produced
in
musical
practice.16
Yet,
they
too
treat
music
as
an
isolated
system
in
which
the
social
is
context
and
the
political
a
formatting
of
sound.
Even
when
embodiment
is
integral
to
the
analysis,
these
analyses
do
not
go
beyond
thinking
of
environment
as
passive
social
context.
For
instance,
while
Dard
Neuman’s
argues
that
embodied
knowledge
rather
than
enumerated
knowledge
forms
the
basis
of
pedagogy
in
the
transmission
of
performance
knowledge
in
Hindustani
music,
he
does
not
take
the
step
of
investigating
the
encounter
with
notation
or
recording
as
phenomenal
engagement
that
consults
forms
of
knowledge
generated
in
performance.
Rather,
embodied
performance
is
projected
as
the
polar
opposite
of
engaging
with
technology
and
notions
of
voice
and
body
as
produced
by
the
formatting
encounter
with
disciplinary
technologies.
Following
Dard
Neuman,
Utter’s
study
of
creativity
in
the
Etawah
lineage
of
sitar
musicians
and
Rahaim’s
study
of
gestural
lineages
in
Khayal
stay
close
to
the
gharana
framework
while
investigating
musical
process,
musical
thinking
and
creativity.
Utter’s
discussion
of
the
contemporary
sitar
musician
Ustad
Vilayat
Khan
historicizes
the
sitar
and
the
lineage,
but
treats
creativity
itself
as
an
unbounded
and
seemingly
autonomous
process
where
the
brilliant
musical
mind
of
Vilayat
Khan
comes
up
with
a
distinct
mode
of
vocalization
on
the
sitar.
Thus
one
learns
a
great
deal
about
Vilayat
Khan’s
creativity
but
very
little
about
what
could
have
sourced,
inspired,
curtailed,
bounded
or
catalyzed
this
creativity
in
conjunction
with
the
universe
of
musical
forms.17
Working
on
gestural
lineages
in
Khayal,
Rahaim
focuses
on
understanding
complex
musical
processes
as
human
expression
yet
he
too
treats
musicianship
as
an
autonomous
system
that
now
includes
the
body,
with
social
history
taking
the
form
of
cultural
attitudes
to
gesture.18
The
strong
claims
made
by
Rahaim
about
gesture
as
a
parallel
channel
to
sound
are
important
but
over
stated,
as
they
do
not
take
into
account
other
models
of
melodic
guidance
that
may
be
available
to
vocalists
practicing
Khayal,
which
will
be
investigated
in
this
dissertation
in
the
context
of
the
Dhrupad
genre.
Even
with
the
domain
of
performance,
Rahaim’s
study
does
not
attend
to
emotion
or
memory
-‐
both
integral
to
musical
processes
and
aesthetic
forms
in
Indian
classical
music
.
While
Utter’s
observations
on
the
role
of
emotion
in
Vilayat
Khan’s
music
and
the
affective
capacity
of
sound
to
invoke
presence
has
some
resonance
with
the
musician
experiences
recounted
here,
he
stops
well
short
of
theorizing
them
beyond
observing
their
subjective-‐archetypal
binary
constitution
(Utter
2011,
267
–
283),
ignoring
this
dimension
altogether
in
his
analysis
of
Vilayat
Khan’s
performance.
16
See for instance Clayton (2000, 2005, 2007), Leante (2009)
17
Utter op. cit.
18
Rahaim op. cit.
13
Thus,
while
the
above
scholars
have
contributed
to
understanding
forms
of
knowledge
produced
in
performance,
individual
practice
and
transmission
between
teacher
and
student,
they
do
not
address
possible
relationships
between
sound
and
environment,
beyond
socio-‐political
and
socio-‐historic
contexts.
These
studies
do
not
give
discursive
reach
to
categorical
knowledge
produced
in
performance
in
relation
to
the
categories
and
logics
of
colonialism
and
cultural
nationalism.
Rather,
these
are
embraced
as
elided
forms
of
knowledge
that
these
scholarly
projects
set
out
to
recover
from
the
long
reach
of
colonial
epistemologies
of
literacy
and
literalism.
Stakes on the ground
Outside of intellectual history, the inadequacy of attention to forms of interactive
knowledge produced in musical life in places has some very real consequences that
have barely begun to be recognized. Studies of Hindustani music have assumed that
since it is an expert system transmitted through oral tradition, questions of
competence and expertise are largely irrelevant. Studies focused primarily on
lineages and stars already established as authorities in the twentieth century and
the unstated assumption of analysis is that one only needs unbroken lines of
transmission for musical expertise and musical competence to be sustained, and
that learning happens more or less the way a teacher communicates it. But the
situation in the field contests this view. As Kippen writes evocatively in the volume
on “Shadows in the field”, expertise is the elephant in the room when speaking of
hereditary musical families in north Indian music (Kippen, 2008). Many such
families in contemporary India come from rural areas that once had thriving landed
estates and princely courts, from communities that were directly affected by the
cultural nationalist reform agenda. Their musical environments have suffered
extreme depletion, and what were once thriving musical communities with a fair
share of expert musicians have whittled down to a few struggling musicians with
little equipment to tap into flows of knowledge in the modern urban musical sphere.
In this dissertation I address the question of what it means to persist in treating
heredity as a synonym for authority, authenticity and competence. Projects that
have been designed to study oral tradition and early learning in hereditary musical
families have failed to ask this question, as have Government bodies that spend
hundreds of thousands of rupees on scholarships for sustaining traditional practices
often with very little success. It has been illuminating to compare the scholarship on
Javanese cultural practices with Indian classical music in this regard. Brinner’s study
of musical competence in Javanese gamelan clearly recognizes from the start that
musical communities in Java have a whole range of competencies, where he defines
competence as “an integrated complex of skills and knowledge upon which a
musician relies within a particular cultural context” (Brinner 1995, 1). Since
Javanese music ensembles are socially organized to incorporate a whole range of
expertise from highly skilled performers to novice learners, studying competence
14
and
knowledge
in
Java
requires
Brinner
to
be
sensitive
from
the
start
to
questions
of
who
knows
what
and
how,
and
to
study
competence
as
a
function
of
age,
education
and
association.
Similarly,
when
theorizing
melodic
guidance
in
Javanese
gamelan,
Perlman
is
required
to
be
sensitive
to
how
his
three
subjects
have
learnt
their
music,
their
tendencies
towards
implicit
or
explicit
categorical
thinking,
and
how
conceptual
knowledge
is
related
to
performance
knowledge
in
different
ways
for
different
subjects
(Perlman,
2004).
As
I
show
in
Chapters
three
and
four
of
this
thesis,
investigating
musical
competence
in
relation
to
musical
environments
is
an
urgent
issue
for
the
historic
but
endangered
Dhrupad
practices
I
use
as
a
central
case
study
in
my
project.
Asked
in
the
context
of
Javanese
musical
practices,
Brinner’s
question
“who
knows
what
and
how”
is
a
singularly
important
question
to
ask,
and
it
has
to
include
who
knew
what
and
how,
in
order
to
conduct
an
archeology
of
Hindustani
music
as
a
practice
in
relationship
with
its
environment.
A
broader
consideration
of
musical
competence
in
relation
to
environment
requires
opening
up
the
field
of
inquiry
in
Hindustani
music.
While
Neuman,
Wade
and
Deshpande,
as
well
as
scholars
writing
on
Dhrupad,
Tabla,
Thumri,
and
instrumental
music
list
only
a
few
score
musical
lineages,
a
looser
definition
of
gharana
is
used
by
Amal
Das
Sharma
and
Garg
both
of
whom
document
many,
many
musical
lineages
with
more
than
three
generations
of
continuous
practice,
both
Hindu
and
Muslim,
whether
or
not
they
are
associated
with
a
widely
appreciated
characteristic
musical
style.19
Das
Sharma’s
catalogue
runs
into
a
few
hundreds
and
in
the
landed
estates
of
Eastern
UP,
Bihar
and
Bengal
alone
there
are
several
score
musical
families
with
a
continuous
history
of
practice.
Opening
up
the
definition
of
the
field
beyond
unique
style,
unbroken
lineages
and
expert
practice
allows
me
to
ask
where
all
these
liminal
singing
bodies
fit
in
a
history
of
Hindustani
music
and
to
re-‐think
what
they
may
bring
to
musical
practice
considered
not
as
stagecraft
but
as
environment
and
way
of
life.
“Invention”, “Re-‐invention”, “Tradition” and Tradition
In this section I consider more broadly the literature on the concept of Tradition in
the Humanities and its efficacy in addressing the questions I set out to investigate.
There is a great deal written on this topic, and my critical survey will only address
the theories I had the occasion to think about more carefully in the course of my
project because of their influence on work that followed and/or their relevance to
the particular configuration of my case studies.
Hobsbawm and Ranger’s concept of “invented” traditions and Benedict Anderson’s
work on nationalism are two of the most influential pieces of writing in the recent
19
Das Sharma (1993), Garg (1957)
15
history
of
the
Humanities
(Hobsbaum
and
Ranger
1983;
Anderson
1991,
1983).
Particularly
the
former
nurtured
a
hermeneutics
of
suspicion
in
academic
scholarship
by
instigating
a
serious
inquiry
into
the
claims
to
history
made
by
the
diverse
societies
of
the
world.
The
notion
of
invented
tradition
has
been
a
foundational
concept
in
the
birth
of
postcolonial
studies,
and
in
relation
to
India,
for
Partha
Chatterjee’s
influential
book
on
nationalism
(Chatterjee,
1993).
Proposing
that
traditions
that
are
most
interesting
to
the
historian
are
‘invented’
traditions,
Hobsbawm
and
Ranger
define
“invented”
traditions
thus:
“’Invented
tradition’
is
taken
to
mean
a
set
of
practices,
normally
governed
by
overtly
or
tacitly
accepted
rules
and
of
a
ritual
or
symbolic
nature,
which
automatically
implies
continuity
with
the
past….
They
normally
attempt
to
establish
continuity
with
a
suitable
historic
past…
the
peculiarity
of
‘invented’
traditions
is
that
the
continuity
with
it
is
largely
factitious…”
(Hobsbawm
1983,
2).
Further,
they
go
on
to
make
a
distinction
between
tradition
and
custom,
that
is
crucial
to
their
analysis:
“The
object
and
characteristic
of
‘traditions’,
including
invented
ones,
is
invariance….
‘Custom’
cannot
afford
to
be
invariant,
because
even
in
‘traditional’
societies,
life
is
not
so…
‘Custom’
is
what
judges
do;
‘tradition’
(in
this
instance
invented
tradition)
is
the
wig,
robe….”
(Hobsbawm
1983,
2-‐3).
In
taking
this
stance,
the
authors
clearly
demarcate
tradition
as
an
utterance,
and
custom
as
a
largely
uncritical
doing.
Prior
to
Hobsbaum
and
Ranger’s
influential
essay,
writings
on
tradition
acknowledge
authority,
historical
sense
and
practice
as
integral
to
definitions
of
tradition.
Discussing
historical
sense,
in
Tradition
and
the
individual
talent,
the
poet
T.
S.
Eliot
emphasizes
that
tradition
implicates
both
conformance
and
individuality
and
what
connects
them
is
a
historical
sense.
(Eliot
1919;
1950,
38).
Eliot
states
The
historical
sense
involves
a
perception,
not
only
of
the
pastness
of
the
past,
but
of
its
presence;
..
is
a
sense
of
the
timeless
and
the
temporal
together,
is
what
makes
a
writer
traditional.
..
he
must
inevitably
be
judged
by
the
standards
of
the
past.
It
is
judgment,
a
comparison,
in
which
two
things
are
measured
by
each
other.
(Eliot,
1919;
1950:
38-‐39)
Eliot’s
essay
posits
tradition
as
a
set
of
norms
that
influence,
and
is
influenced
by
practice.
He
speaks
of
tradition
as
a
historical
sense
involving
a
“conception
of
poetry
as
a
living
whole
of
all
of
the
poetry
that
has
ever
been
written”
(ibid.,
40).
Within
musicology,
Charles
Seeger
emphasizes
that
musical
tradition
is
a
dynamical
concept
which
he
describes
as
a
Conspectus
of
principal
accumulations
of
traditions
as
a
field
Within
which
tradition
as
a
process
Operates
under
instrinsic
traditions
of
control
In
an
environment
of
extrinsic
traditions
of
control.
(Seeger
1950,
827)
16
By
clearly
delineating
the
practice,
the
process,
internal
and
external
control,
Seeger’s
definition
stays
close
to
a
concept
that
can
be
used
to
study
traditions
analytically.
Scholars
working
on
expressive
culture
have
also
defined
tradition
to
mean
a
set
of
norms
that
shape
practice.
Hepokoski,
writing
on
19th
century
sonata
form
and
the
Beethoven
tradition,
views
tradition
as
an
agent
of
change,
a
conception
very
close
to
how
Indian
musicians
speak
about
tradition.
Hepokoski
proposes
a
model
of
structural
deformation
whereby
individual
works
are
in
dialogue
with
norms
(in
this
case,
Beethoven’s
compositional
practices),
even
though
“certain
central
features
of
the
sonate-‐concept
have
been
reshaped,
exaggerated,
marginalized
or
overridden
altogether”
(Hepokoski
2001,
447).
Reviewing
this,
Taruskin
suggests
that
while
Hepokoski’s
formulation
offers
a
useful
tool
for
historical
inquiry,
Hepokoski
“fudges
the
matter
of
agency”
(Taruskin
2005,
201).
In
short,
something,
or
someone
decides
where
to
draw
the
line
that
differentiates
between
inside
and
outside
tradition,
and
Hepokoski
fails
to
address
this.
More
significantly,
the
discussion
about
change
immediately
begs
the
question
of
authority.
As
Taruskin
cautions
us
in
his
essay
on
Tradition
and
Authority
(Taruskin
1995),
it
is
easy
to
slip
from
one
to
the
other
in
analysis
but
the
two
concepts
have
to
be
kept
distinct
for
meaningful
interventions
on
tradition.
Speaking
of
tradition,
Taruskin
states
that
Until
recently..
conformity
with
oral
tradition
used
to
be
what
conferred
authenticity
on
interpretation20…
Traditions,
according
to
any
informed
definition,
modify
what
they
transmit
virtually
by
definition…
Oral
traditions,
especially
in
a
musical
culture
as
variegated
as
the
fine
art
of
Western
music,
are
multiple,
always
contaminated,
and
highly
suggestible,
receptive
to
outside
influence”
(Taruskin
1995,
180-‐182
emphasis
mine).
This
emphasis
on
multiplicity,
and
receptivity
to
outside
influence
is
negated
in
the
separation
of
tradition
from
custom
in
Hobsbaum
and
Ranger’s
definition
and
the
substantial
body
of
scholarly
literature
it
has
influenced.
Yet,
their
definition
and
its
explicit
erasures
have
not
gone
unchallenged
in
recent
scholarship
on
tradition.
The
challenges
have
come
from
several
places
in
a
few
different
ways.
Scholars
have
pushed
back
against
the
opposition
made
explicit
in
this
definition
between
Tradition
and
custom.
Critiquing
the
understanding
of
Tradition
in
the
above
definition,
Clifford
observes
that
“Always
a
foil
to
the
modern,
tradition
cannot
be
transformative
or
forward-‐looking”(Clifford
2004,
152).
Clifford
goes
on
to
observe
that
“One
post-‐sixties
sign
that
peripheral
‘traditions’
weren't
going
to
stay
put
was
the
moment
when
the
widely
accepted
notion
of
‘invented’
traditions
began
to
run
afoul
of
contemporary
indigenous
politics.
Even
as
anthropologists
spoke
of
20
Taruskin makes this observation in the context of early music debates on authentic performance.
17
invented
traditions
or
cultures
in
non-‐judgmental
ways, the
taint
of
inauthenticity
(explicit
in
Hobsbawm
and
Ranger's
influential
definition)
clung
to
the
term.
Indigenous
intellectuals
rejected
the
implication
that
dynamic
traditions
were
merely
political,
contrived
for
current
purposes.
There
was
residual
imperialism
in
the
outside
expert's
claim
to
distinguish
between
invented
tradition
and
organic
custom,
between
conscious
fabrication
and
the
constant
recombination
or
bricolage
of
any
society
in
transition.
Definitions
of
‘traditional’
authenticity
became
sites
of
struggle”
(ibid.,
156).
Writing
in
1990
based
on
his
ethnographic
work
in
South
Africa,
Coplan
observes
that
in
contemporary
scholarship
“it
is
now
just
short
of
impossible
to
use
(tradition)
without
quarantine
between
quotation
marks
(Coplan
1990,
35)”.
But,
he
goes
on
to
add
“Tradition
is
a
core
concept
common
and…
has
remained
current
and
indispensable
despite
its
inherent
contradictions,
doubtful
empirical
status
and
ideological
entanglements
(ibid.,
36)”.
While
Coplan
acknowledges
the
crucial
contributions
of
Hobsbawm
and
Ranger
in
“identifying
the
reification
of
cultural
patters
as
invariant
group
identifiers
for
political
purposes”
(ibid.,
37)
he
finds
their
distinction
between
‘tradition’
and
‘custom’
breaks
down
in
their
attempt
to
use
this
distinction
to
identify
exploited
groups.
In
the
context
of
South
Africa,
he
observes
that
equating
tradition
with
invariance
has
led
to
an
alienation
of
urban
Africans
from
the
concept
of
cultural
tradition,
an
alienation
that
cultural
activists
have
worked
hard
to
reverse,
recognizing
the
“importance
of
a
sense
of
tradition
to
a
positive
and
autonomous
definition
of
African
identity
and
wellbeing”.
Thus,
scholars
who
conceive
of
tradition
as
a
dynamical
concept
with
continued
relevance
as
an
explanatory
force
in
different
scales
in
society
have
recognized
the
separation
between
tradition
and
custom
as
deeply
problematic.
Often
this
scholarship
is
based
in
the
study
of
small
societies
and
indigenous
societies
–
some
of
which
have
undergone
cataclysmic
ruptures
in
the
wave
of
colonialism,
industrialization
and
modernization,
soon
followed
by
globalization.
A
second
strong
critique
has
come
from
the
study
of
religion,
particularly
the
study
of
Islam.
Using
Alisdair
MacIntyre’s
conception
of
tradition
as
his
point
of
departure,
Talal
Asad
delinks
the
notion
of
Tradition
from
the
unitary,
homogeneous
concept
that
is
the
Other
of
Modernity,
and
retrieves
it
as
a
discursive
tradition
that
is
dynamical,
heterogeneous
and
inclusive
of
contradictions
(Asad,
1986).
While
MacIntyre
himself
does
not
delink
Tradition
as
a
historical
concept
from
Modernity,
but
rather
sees
a
rupture
in
which
society
in
the
Western
World
goes
from
a
tradition
of
Virtues
to
Virtue
to
After
Virtue,
the
juxtaposition
between
MacIntyre
and
the
invented
tradition
concept
is
relevant
to
my
discussion
here.
In
sharp
contrast
to
Hobsbawm
and
Ranger,
MacIntyre
defines
tradition
as
“an
historically
extended,
socially
embodied
argument,
and
an
argument
precisely
in
part
about
the
goods
which
constitute
that
tradition”
(MacIntyre
2007,
222).
MacIntyre
explicitly
recognizes
that
intelligibility
is
central
to
the
functioning
notion
of
tradition
–
he
observes
that
the
history
of
a
practice
is
“…characteristically
embedded
in
and
made
18
intelligible
in
terms
of
a
larger
and
longer
history
of
the
tradition
in
which
the
practice
in
the
present
form
is
conveyed
to
us”
(ibid.,
222).
To
this
definition
founded
on
embodied
practices
and
intelligibility,
Hirschkind
brings
attention
to
the
senses
and
their
role
in
crafting
dispositions.
Focusing
on
sermon
audition
among
contemporary
Muslims
in
Egypt
,
Hirschkind
shows
“how
traditions
presuppose,
and
provide
the
means
to
produce,
the
particular
sensory
skills
on
which
the
actions,
objects,
and
knowledges
that
constitute
these
traditions
depend.
Such
tradition-‐cultivated
modes
of
perception
and
appraisal
coexist
within
the
space
of
the
modern
and
are
enabled
in
some
ways
by
the
very
conditions
that
constitute
modernity.
Thus,
through
an
analysis
of
a
particular
cultural
practice
geared
to
this
task,
I
hope
to
contribute
to
the
important
and
ongoing
task
of
rethinking
the
decidedly
stubborn
opposition
between
tradition
and
modernity
(Hirschkind
2001,
624).
A
dynamical
conception
of
tradition
as
heterogeneous,
embodied,
dispositional,
a
mode
of
sensory
discipline
that
can
coexist
with
the
modern
has
synergy
with
the
questions
I
seek
to
ask
in
my
dissertation.
In
the
next
chapter,
I
develop
an
analytical
framework
to
investigate
the
processes
through
which
Dhrupad
musicians
come
to
develop
senses
of
tradition
whose
strength
lies
not
in
unitarity
and
homogeneity
but
in
coherence
and
heterogeneity.
In
the
remaining
chapters
of
the
dissertation,
I
use
this
framework
to
investigate
the
forms
of
knowledge
produced
in
the
vocal
practice
of
Dhrupad
in
and
as
environment,
using
a
case
study
of
multiple
Dhrupad
lineages
of
the
Bettiah
gharana.
I
debate
the
fundamental
assertion
that
prior
to
the
cultural
nationalism
of
the
19th
century,
Hindustani
music
was
an
un-‐marked
practice
confined
to
small
lineages,
with
little
indexical
or
discursive
reach
to
make
claims
to
the
status
of
an
organized
Great
Tradition.
I
take
the
analysis
of
sound
in
and
as
environment
well
beyond
pointing
to
“context”.21
With
a
sound
studies
commitment
to
theorizing
the
phenomenological
relationship
of
sound
and
environment
in
sound,
I
argue
that
the
categories
and
codes
of
Hindustani
music
are
dialogic
with
forms
of
knowledge
produced
in
emplaced
performance
within
inter-‐subjective
communities
in
particular
locales.
21
I take Latour’s critique of sociological context analysis seriously (Latour, 2005). Beginning with pages 3-
4, Latour critiques the default position of sociologists that apply their tools in domains as far ranging as
science, law, economics, psychology, medicine, and the Arts, taking recourse to “social context” to explain
the “social aspects of non-social phenomena” (3) as if “social context” were simply a given. An approach
he characterizes as a“sociology of the social”, Latour proposes instead a move towards a “sociology of
associations” that he calls “critical sociology” (8-9). Although I did not use Actor Network Theory (ANT)
as a theoretical framework for my analysis and I don’t focus on the formation of social groups in this
dissertation, the attention I give to matters of concern, to tracing the procedures that stabilize
contradictions, to the interaction of local and global, the resistance to premature unification (117) and to
insisting that “multiplicity is not reduced to interpretive flexibility” (120), I found inspiration in Latour’s
critique.
19
Dissertation
chapters
The
dissertation
contains
six
chapters
including
the
Introduction
and
Conclusion.
In
Chapter
two,
I
develop
an
analytical
framework
where
I
introduce
place
and
emplacement
as
theorized
by
Edward
Casey,
Steven
Feld
and
Keith
Basso
as
a
integral
part
of
my
analytical
framework.
I
then
introduce
and
inflect
the
term
acoustic
communities
from
the
World
Soundscape
project
to
define
communities
within
which
Dhrupad
practices
become
emplaced,
and
define
grids
of
intelligibility
as
forms
of
knowledge
produced
and
sustained
in
processes
of
emplacement.
I
then
go
on
to
complete
my
analysis
of
individual
musical
practice
by
introducing
the
concept
of
thick
sound
to
index
personal
histories
of
practice
and
interactivity,
and
define
the
term
acoustemic
anchor
to
denote
sites
of
cognitive
intertwining
where
musical
memory
and
emotional
memory
become
co-‐located
in
the
interactivity
of
musical
life.
I
use
the
term
affordance
to
investigate
the
potentiality
of
musico-‐
aesthetic
forms
in
Indian
classical
music
for
experience
of
emotion
and
memory
in
performance
–
processes
essential
to
emplacement.
I
conclude
the
chapter
with
a
consideration
of
scale
in
which
I
argue
that
being
local
in
a
place
like
Bettiah
requires
attending
to
histories
of
migration
and
circulation
of
bodies,
materials,
practices
and
forms
of
knowledge.
I
use
this
to
argue
that
the
categories
of
Hindustani
music
are
integrally
connected
to
the
exercise
of
judgment
in
individual
family
lineages
emplaced
within
local
communities
that
are
connected
to
circulatory
flows.
In
Chapters
three
and
four,
I
juxtapose
case
studies
of
two
expert
Dhrupad
performers
to
investigate
how
repeated
practice
of
Dhrupad
songs
in
particular
places
generates
specific
forms
of
acoustemic
knowledge
in
interaction.
In
chapter
3,
I
introduce
my
first
case
study:
Indra
Kishore
Mishra,
a
contemporary
musician
from
the
hereditary
Mullick
families
of
Bettiah.
I
analyze
the
interactive
basis
of
musical
judgment
and
strong
notion
of
fidelity
to
tradition
by
investigating
the
interactive
processes
through
which
Indra
Kishore
develops
a
sense
for
his
musical
inheritance
as
thick
sound.
I
specifically
consider
three
kinds
of
anchors
in
my
analysis
–
material
anchors
such
as
paper,
possessions,
and
geographies,
sentient
anchors
such
as
the
embodied,
sensory
and
cognitive
capacities
of
individuals
and
groups
of
people,
and
auditory
anchors
–
the
special
cognitive
status
of
musical
objects
such
as
music
notation,
musical
terms,
musical
concepts,
musical
forms
and
musical
instruments
in
a
musician’s
life.
In
Indra
Kishore’s
case,
my
analysis
of
acoustemic
anchors
includes
family
lineage,
repertoire,
personal
possessions,
music
notation,
trauma
memory,
patronage
relationships,
auditory
connections
to
places
and
events.
I
focus
on
both
habitual
and
catalytic
interactions
in
which
grids
of
intelligibility
for
Dhrupad
practice
have
been
sustained
in
Bettiah
and
the
changing
acoustic
communities
for
Dhrupad
practice
in
the
twentieth
century.
I
complete
the
20
chapter
with
a
discussion
of
the
interactive
basis
of
Indra
Kishore’s
musical
judgments
and
ethical
sense
as
a
hereditary
musician
living
in
Place.
I
show
through
my
analysis
that
self-‐reflexivity
about
right
practice
and
debates
about
tradition
in
Indian
classical
music
are
tethered
by
the
interactivity
of
classical
music
practice
as
an
acoustemic
environment.
In
Chapter
four,
I
introduce
my
second
case
study:
Falguni
Mitra,
an
expert
non-‐
hereditary
musician
whose
performing
career
began
at
age
nine.
Through
an
extended
analysis
of
musical
environments,
acoustemic
anchors
and
acoustic
communities
I
establish
that
Mitra’s
musical
knowledge
is
sustained
by
an
interactive
nexus
of
associations
that
intertwine
body
memory,
sense
memory,
musical
associations
and
cognitive
capacity
in
the
interactive
work
of
churning
musical
materials
as
thick
sound.
Through
an
extended
analysis
of
catalytic
moments
in
engagement
with
musical
materials,
I
demonstrate
the
interactive
basis
of
Mitra’s
musicianship
and
creativity.
By
considering
both
the
catalytic
and
the
habitual
interactivity
of
Mitra’s
musical
life,
I
demonstrate
conclusively
that
musical
judgment
and
strong
notions
of
fidelity
to
tradition
are
sustained
by
thick
sound
-‐
heterogeneous
domains
of
acoustemic
interactivity
that
are
irreducible
to
literacy,
literalism
and
the
technological
determinism
of
authenticity
understood
solely
as
a
response
to
recorded
sound.
In
Chapter
five,
I
shift
my
focus
to
Dhrupad
performance
as
musical
action,
to
show
that
musical
objects
develop
both
heterogeneity
and
ontological
weight
in
the
interactivity
of
Dhrupad
vocal
performance.
Using
phenomenological
analysis
of
generative
events
in
Dhrupad
performance,
I
show
that
musical
forms
in
north
Indian
classical
music
have
affordance
for
emotional
memory
and
associative
memory,
and
exhibit
many
of
the
topographic
qualities
of
Place
as
defined
by
Edward
Casey.
I
analyze
a
variety
of
musical
acts
to
demonstrate
that
repeated
engagements
with
musical
forms
interweave
and
co-‐locate
emotion,
memory,
structure
and
form
through
processes
of
emplacement
in
ways
that
render
heterogeneous
pathways
available
to
musical
action.
I
use
specific
case
studies
of
raga
alap
and
the
banis
of
Dhrupad
-‐
esoteric
and
poorly
understood
aesthetic
concepts
in
Dhrupad
practice
-‐
to
show
that
categories
of
soma-‐aesthetic
and
verbalized
knowledge
about
Dhrupad
as
classical
music
are
dialogically
transformed
by
the
forms
of
knowledge
generated
in
repeated
acoustemic
engagement
with
musical
materials.
I
demonstrate
that
the
categories
and
codes
of
a
formal
system
of
knowledge
become
available
as
human
sensibility
and
soma-‐aesthetic
experience
in
performance
through
interactive
musical
processes
that
inter
weave
structure
with
affect
and
form
with
feeling.
Through
this
extended
analysis,
I
investigate
how
the
two
musicians
in
my
case
studies
develop
coherent,
stable,
strong
and
diverse
interpretations
of
Truth
in
song
to
argue
that
the
categories,
codes
and
musical
forms
of
a
Great
Tradition
both
pluralize
and
develop
ontological
weight
in
interaction.
A
brief
conclusion
is
presented
in
Chapter
six.
21
Chapter 2 -‐ Tradition, intelligibility and musical judgment in
Dhrupad
In this chapter I develop a framework to establish that the categories, codes and
ontologies of Hindustani classical music are transformed in the interactive
processes through which the practice of music becomes intelligible as tradition
within emplaced communities. These processes also tether individual musical
judgment and strong notions of fidelity to tradition. I integrate theorizations of
performance, place and community to bridge the logics of a Great Tradition
understood as a set of institutions, canons and norms, with the strength and tenor of
individual musical judgment and strong notions of fidelity to tradition in the small
world of musical lineages.
FIGURE
2-‐1
22
To
distinguish
forms
of
knowledge
produced
in
the
emplacement
of
musical
practices
within
inter-‐subjective
communities,
I
introduce
the
term
“grids
of
intelligibility”.
These
grids
of
intelligibility
are
influenced
by
-‐
but
not
reducible
to
-‐
norms
or
individual
musical
judgment.
Therefore
relationship
between
tradition
as
a
set
of
norms,
intelligibility,
and
individual
musical
judgment
is
not
teleological
but
dialogic.
In
systems
language
they
are
connected
not
in
a
waterfall
model
but
by
an
interactive
network.
The
connection
may
be
visualized
in
the
simple
diagram
shown
in
Fig.
2.1
To
investigate
the
contours
of
the
dialogic
engagement
(indicated
by
double-‐pointed
arrows
in
the
above
figure),
I
use
and
inflect
two
critical
concepts
–
emplacement
and
acoustic
communities
-‐
and
introduce
the
term
thick
sound
all
of
which
help
me
scale
my
argument
from
an
analysis
of
individuals
and
small
lineages
to
arguments
about
colonial
forms
of
knowledge,
modernity
and
technology.
Acoustemic environments, emplacement and place
A musician is a person whose very way of being in the world is shaped by and in
sound. It stands to reason that for someone who spends the better part of a musical
life dealing with songs, ragas, talas, and categories of aesthetic experience, the
practice of classical music is a way of being. But what is less obvious perhaps is how
being
a
musician
prepares
a
person
to
respond
to
her
environment
in
some
tangible
and
very
particular
ways.
The
central
question
that
I
seek
to
investigate
is
this:
how
might
the
practice
of
classical
music
construct
a
sense
of
place
for
the
musicians
in
my
project,
and
how
might
place
in
turn
transform
musical
judgment
and
aesthetic
sense?
When
used
this
way,
the
term
“place”
is
not
simply
a
geographical
location
on
a
satellite
map,
a
location
where
things
happen,
or
a
mute
container
for
culture.
Rather,
perception
of
place
is
co-‐produced
by
the
emplacement
of
cultural
practices.
Setting
out
to
ask
how
the
perceptual
engagements
we
call
sensing
are
critical
to
conceptual
constructions
of
place,
Steven
Feld
most
effectively
captures
this
reciprocity
of
senses
of
place
–
the
co-‐production
of
senses
of
place
and
the
emplacement
of
the
senses
-‐
“as
place
is
sensed,
senses
are
placed;
as
places
make
sense,
senses
make
place”
(Feld
1996,
91).
I
am
specifically
indebted
to
the
anthropologists
and
philosophers
of
the
senses
for
the
understanding
of
Place
I
use
here.
Each
of
the
scholars
I
draw
on
discusses
constructions
of
Place
in
relation
to
the
senses,
memory,
emotion,
community
and
practices,
and
my
use
of
the
term
Place
implicates
all
these
entanglements.
Processes
of
emplacement
work
to
connect
individual
judgments
produced
in
the
so-‐called
privacy
of
music
rooms
with
both
the
inter-‐subjective
forms
of
knowledge
sustained
by
communities
in
places
and
the
categories,
codes
and
norms
of
an
organized
Great
Tradition.
23
But,
before
I
dive
completely
into
an
analysis
of
how
Dhrupad
vocal
practice
co-‐
produces
senses
of
place
for
the
musicians
and
communities
in
my
project,
I
have
to
attend
not
only
to
place,
but
also
to
the
tendencies
of
sensory
dominance
that
my
particular
project
implicates.
According
to
Feld,
processes
of
emplacement
implicate
the
intertwining
of
sensual
bodily
presence
and
perceptual
engagement,
and
an
analysis
of
tendencies
for
sensory
dominance
must
take
into
account
the
contexts
of
bodily
emplacement.
The
main
subjects
in
my
project
are
musicians
that
spend
much
of
their
waking
(and
maybe
sleeping)
hours
making
sound,
listening
to
sound,
thinking
about
sound,
visualizing
sound,
reading
sound,
shutting
their
ears
to
sound,
and
responding
through
sound.
Hence,
from
the
outset,
the
constructions
of
place
I
attend
to
in
my
case
studies
come
animated
by
and
intertwined
with
sound
–
not
just
any
sound,
but
vocalizations
of
Dhrupad,
arguably
the
oldest
and
most
authoritative
genre
of
Hindustani
music.
Feld
introduces
the
term
acoustemology
to
“argue
for
the
potential
of
acoustic
knowing,
of
sounding
as
a
condition
of
and
for
knowing,
of
sonic
presence
and
awareness
as
potent
shaping
forces
in
how
people
make
sense
of
experiences”.
My
analysis
of
Dhrupad
vocal
practice
as
acoustemic
environment
will
attend
to
the
forms
of
knowledge
produced
in
the
emplacement
of
Dhrupad
vocal
practice,
and
the
inter-‐subjective
shaping
of
categorical
knowledge
and
notions
of
fidelity
to
tradition
in
the
process.
With
Feld’s
definition
of
acoustemology
in
hand,
I
turn
to
philosopher
Edward
Casey,
for
a
critical
understanding
of
place
as
a
conceptual
category.
In
an
opening
essay
in
the
volume
“Senses
of
Place”,
Casey
brings
together
his
many
decades
of
phenomenological
attention
to
place
in
an
essay
that
is
densely
packed
with
insights.22
According
to
Casey,
place
is
never
pre-‐cultural,
much
as
culture
is
never
without
place.23
Observing
that
“the
abiding
emplacement
of
cultural
practices
has
often
gone
unacknowledged”
(33),
Casey
goes
on
to
enumerate
the
qualities
of
Place
that
are
dialectic
with
enculturation
-‐
a
dialectic
he
describes
as
“unending
and
profound
(19).
Casey
identifies
the
living-‐moving
body
as
essential
to
processes
of
emplacement
–
bodies
and
places
inter-‐animate
each
other
(24).
But
he
points
to
an
essential
distinction
between
the
individual
human
subject
and
place
–
and
that
is
the
power
22
Casey (1996). I simply list Casey’s observations here that are most important to my investigation of
Dhrupad vocal practice as an emplaced cultural practice. The chapters that follow will provide a detailed
consideration of how each of these qualities of place makes sense in my project.
23
According to Casey, “cultural categories permeate the most primordial level of perception… Culture
pervades the way places are perceived (Casey 1996, 35)”.
24
of
gathering
that
he
ascribes
to
place
itself.
Minimally,
places
gather
(animate
and
inanimate)
things.
More
extensively,
they
hold
together
configurations
of
things
and
associations;
they
keep
un-‐body
like
things
like
thoughts
and
memory;
they
gather
together
lives
and
things
into
an
area
of
common
engagement.
And
because
of
this
complex
capacity
to
gather
and
hold,
places
are
generative
(25
–
26).
Feld
reflects
and
amplifies
Casey’s
words,
this
time
in
relation
to
creative
flow
in
emplacement.
Summing
up
the
relationship
of
place,
experience
and
expression,
Feld
states
“..places
make
sense
in
good
part
because
of
how
they
are
made
sensual
and
how
they
are
sensually
voiced.
Poetic
and
performative
practices
centralize
the
place
of
sense
in
making
a
local
sense
of
place.
This
is
how
poetics
flows
from
everyday
experience…”
(Feld
1996,
134).
Casey
goes
onto
qualify
that
a
Place
is
an
event;
places
not
only
are,
they
happen
(Casey
1996,
27).
The
gathering
quality
he
ascribes
to
place
makes
emotion
and
memory
primary
to
the
eventfulness
of
places.
This
gathering
depends
on
the
lived
body
but
is
not
circumscribed
by
it.
Thus,
to
be
located,
culture
has
to
be
embodied
and
knowledge
of
place
by
means
of
the
body
is
basic
to
local
knowledge
(ibid.,
34).
But,
place
cannot
be
completely
subsumed
into
known
categories.
It
forces
us
to
keep
inventing
new
understandings.
Casey
terms
this
quality
of
place
as
eventfulness.
Finally,
Casey
observes
that
place
is
deconstructive
of
oppositions….
“these
oppositions
include
binary
pairs
of
terms
that
have
enjoyed
hegemonic
power
in
Western
epistemology…
such
dichotomies
as
subject
and
object,
self
and
other,
formal
and
substantive,
mind
and
body,
inner
and
outer,
perception
and
imagination
(or
memory),
and
nature
and
culture.
To
be
emplaced
is
to
know
the
hollowness
of
any
strict
distinctions
between
what
is
inside
one’s
mind
or
body
and
what
is
outside…
Most
importantly,
space
and
time
come
together
in
place
–
we
experience
space
and
time
together
in
place”(ibid.,
37).
In
summary,
Casey’s
characterization
of
places
tells
us
that
the
emplacement
of
cultural
practices
produces
forms
of
knowledge
that
are
reflective
of
the
gathering
quality
of
particular
places.
They
can
neither
be
put
down
simply
to
individual
subjects
or
to
a
generic
universal
category
of
place.
Since
a
place
takes
on
the
qualities
of
its
occupants,
forms
of
knowledge
generated
in
emplacement
are
understandings
that
rightfully
belong
at
the
level
of
the
emplaced
collective,
that
transform
understandings
of
public
and
private,
universal
category
and
individual
judgment.
Picking
up
similar
themes
as
Feld
and
Casey,
Basso
attends
to
the
individual,
communal,
catalytic
and
generative
dimensions
of
a
sense
of
place.
Basso
coins
the
term
inter-‐animation
to
index
the
dialogic
between
place
and
lived
bodies
that
sense
them.
Building
on
Heidegger’s
concept
of
dwelling
as
forms
of
consciousness
with
25
which
individuals
perceive
and
apprehend
geographical
space
(Basso
1996,
54),
he
observes
that
attention
to
place
is
fleeting,
unselfconscious,
and
spontaneous
but
the
sensing
of
place
catalyzes
subjects
to
dwell
on
dwelling.
This
catalytic
action
described
by
Casey
as
generativity
and
eventfulness
and
Feld
as
poesis
and
thought,
is
referred
to
by
Basso
as
“roundly
reciprocal
and
incorrigibly
dynamic…
(simultaneously)
inwards
towards
facets
of
the
self
and
outwards
towards
aspects
of
the
external
world…
(the
dynamics
of
which)
cannot
be
known
in
advance”
(ibid.,
55).
Many,
many
times
in
my
fieldwork
with
Dhrupad
musicians,
I
found
activities
that
entangled
the
sonic
catalyzed
moments
of
reflection
and
poesis,
emotion
and
musical
action.
As
Casey
and
Feld
recognize,
these
catalytic
moments
are
engendered
by
habitus,
but
as
Casey
and
Basso
note,
they
are
not
predictable
or
repeatable,
nor
can
their
outcomes
be
forecast.
My
analytical
turn
to
Place
was
sourced
by
these
moments
of
catalysis
on
the
field
that
transformed
the
experience
of
sound
and
place
into
a
dwelling
in
the
voice.
In
turning
to
place
as
defined
by
Casey,
and
attending
to
senses
of
place
as
defined
by
Feld
and
Basso,
I
have
the
apparatus
to
investigate
how
the
vocal
performance
of
Dhrupad
in
particular
places
amongst
emplaced
communities
is
generative
of
grids
of
intelligibility
–forms
of
knowledge
that
constitute
an
acoustemology,
produced
in
processes
of
emplacement
amongst
communities.
I
now
discuss
how
to
analyze
emplacement
in
the
context
of
individual
musical
practice
in
community,
accounting
for
both
heterogeneity
and
musical
effort.
Acoustic
communities
Basso
describes
the
communal
sensing
of
place
by
observing
that
lived
experience
of
place
does
not
happen
in
social
isolation.
Rather,
it
occurs
in
the
company
of
other
people
–
a
shared
sensing
of
place.
Both
Basso
and
Feld
in
their
respective
ethnographic
projects
attend
to
emplacement
as
a
differentiated
act
in
community
that
brings
with
it
a
morality.
Wisdom
sits
in
places
for
Basso’s
Apache,
who
have
a
differentiated
idea
of
what
it
means
to
be
wise
and
have
both
a
private
and
public
aspect
for
cultivating
the
three
qualities
of
mind
that
denote
perfect
wisdom
-‐
a
state
every
Apache
can
aspire
to,
but
not
all
are
set
up
to
achieve.
Basso
goes
so
far
as
to
say
“Senses
of
place
are
not
possessed
by
everyone
in
a
similar
manner”
(84).
My
contention
is
that
in
order
to
understand
the
aesthetic
categories
in
contemporary
Dhrupad
performance
of
the
Bettiah
gharana,
it
is
necessary
to
attend
to
emplacement
of
the
Bettiah
gharana’s
Dhrupad
practices
within
heterogeneous
communities
at
different
periods
of
history
in
its
different
places
of
gathering.
Mapping
community
is
a
part
of
mapping
place
and
mapping
sound,
and
of
mapping
emplaced
sound.
This
emplaced
community
dimension
of
a
classical
practice
has
been
all
but
erased
in
the
current
rhetoric
about
Dhrupad
as
pure
26
unmarked
universally
available
ancient
sound.24
Thus,
theorizing
inter-‐subjective
communities
as
heterogeneous
entities
with
particular
auditory
histories
is
the
mandatory
next
step
in
my
analysis.
In
a
review
paper
on
the
term
community
as
used
in
the
field
of
ethnomusicology,
Shelemay
makes
a
call
for
the
comeback
of
community
as
a
unit
of
analysis
in
ethnomusicological
studies
(Shelemay
2011).
She
observes
that
community
went
from
center
to
periphery
in
different
disciplines
in
the
Humanities
but
was
now
making
its
way
back
as
an
important
unit
of
analysis.
According
to
Shelemay,
within
ethnomusicology,
the
word
became
diffuse
through
non-‐discriminate
use
and
was
de-‐emphasized
for
other
terms
such
as
subculture,
scene,
collective,
and
art
worlds
as
alternatives.
Shelemay
offers
a
redefinition
for
musical
communities
and
identifies
three
processes
of
community
formation
–
descent,
dissent
and
affinity
–
that
accommodate
both
change
and
heterogeneity
into
the
term
community,
to
bring
it
back
into
the
analytical
fold
as
a
powerful
concept.
In
line
with
Shelemay’s
historiographic
critique,
I
avoid
thinking
of
community
as
a
homogeneous,
already
formed,
static
entity
and
retain
the
dynamism
of
histories
and
forms
of
knowledge
produced
in
a
group
of
people
connected
by
heterogeneous
practices.
But,
rather
than
follow
her
framework
for
analysis,
I
analyze
communities
for
Dhrupad
performance
at
the
nexus
of
a
whole
set
of
dynamic
relations
in
which
practices
are
dialogically
connected
to
categories
and
forms
of
knowledge.
In
a
practice
such
as
music,
the
senses
are
centrally
implicated
in
this
analysis.
Art
music
is
also
music
that
is
grasped
by
the
senses,
music
that
affects
and
disciplines
the
senses
in
specific
ways
in
different
historical
conditions.
To
investigate
the
dynamics
of
emplacement
and
the
forms
of
knowledge
generated
within
communities,
I
specifically
attend
to
Dhrupad
practice
as
soundscape
and
a
musical
community
as
a
community
that
shares
soundscapes.
I
use
and
inflect
Barry
Truax’s
notion
of
acoustic
community,
which
he
defines
as
”any
soundscape
in
which
acoustic
information
plays
a
pervasive
role
in
the
life
of
inhabitants,
(no
matter
how
the
commonality
of
such
people
is
understood)”
[emphasis
his]
(Truax
2001,
66).
Truax’s
original
definition
comes
from
the
discipline
of
environmental
engineering.
However,
like
Schafer’s
notion
of
soundscape,
this
powerful
term
from
the
World
Soundscapes
Project
has
the
potential
to
morph
into
a
concept
applicable
outside
its
source
domain.
The
first
inflection
I
make
is
to
turn
acoustic
community
from
a
soundscape
to
a
community
in
which
acoustic
information
is
configured
in
24
For instance, in a recent interview contemporary Dhrupad musicians Gundecha Brothers reply to the
question “What is the essence of Dhrupad for you?” thus: “To us Dhrupad symbolises the real meaning of
the earth, of existence. As long ago as 2000 years ago, people have described this music. Wherever we have
travelled — Australia, China, the Gulf region and Africa — people respond to this music. It has universal
appeal.” (Tehelka magazine, January 2008).
27
specific
ways
through
practices.
Unlike
Truax’s
soundscape,
objective
measurements
of
data
or
objective
description
of
grids
of
intelligibility
determined
by
sonic
environment
do
not
circumscribe
acoustic
communities
in
my
project.
Rather,
I
am
inspired
by
Steven
Feld’s
term
acoustemology
that
takes
soundscapes
from
acoustic
environments
to
acoustemic
environments,
by
centering
ways
of
knowing
in
and
through
sound.
Consequently,
I
use
and
inflect
Truax’s
term
acoustic
community
to
denote
communities
that
are
gathered
around
particular
auditory
practices
and
ways
of
knowing
in
and
through
sound.
Specifically
in
the
context
of
the
Dhrupad
practice
of
the
Bettiah
tradition,
acoustic
communities
are
communities
gathered
by
the
practice
of
Dhrupad
in
places
–
in
which
forms
of
knowledge
about
Dhrupad
are
generated
in
the
interactive
processes
through
which
the
practice
of
music
becomes
emplaced,
and
in
turn
emplacing.
These
communities
are
not
necessarily
expert
listeners
or
performers.
Rather
they
engage
in
a
constellation
of
practices
within
which
Dhrupad’s
sound
has
the
potentiality
to
become
acousteme,
dialogically
transforming
grids
of
intelligibility
for
Dhrupad
as
ways
of
knowing
in
and
through
sound.
It
is
important
to
emphasize
that
I
do
not
conceive
of
acoustic
communities
as
static,
homogeneous,
emplaced
entities.
They
implicate
heterogeneity,
contradictions,
contestation
and
the
porousness
of
different
forms
of
engagement
that
a
collection
of
individuals
might
bring
to
audition
and
performance.25
With
these
definitions
as
frames
for
analysis,
I
investigate
the
transformation
of
acoustic
communities
for
Dhrupad
in
the
different
locations
in
which
Bettiah
gharana
lineages
practiced
Dhrupad
at
particular
historical
moments.
I
attend
to
the
specific
constellation
of
practices,
competencies,
and
inter-‐subjective
forms
of
knowledge
within
which
grids
of
intelligibility
for
Dhrupad
performance
were
shaped
in
these
communities,
and
Dhrupad
as
tradition
was
transmitted
and
transformed
in
acts
of
creativity,
developing
coherence
and
heterogeneity
in
the
interactivity
of
musical
practice.
Investigating
emplacement,
I
attend
not
only
to
interactions
within
communities
of
practice,
but
also
to
the
conditions
of
possibility
determined
by
larger
scale
forces
of
princely
patronage
networks,
colonial
institutions,
and
cultural
nationalist
networks,
and
the
availability
of
technologies
of
music
notation
and
music
printing.
25
In a definition that spans two full paragraphs, Shelemay describes a musical community as “a social
entity that is an outcome of social and musical processes” (Shelemay, 2011:365). Her definition does not
consider social and musical as interacting dimensions. On the other hand, sound is ontologically integral to
the very definition of acoustic community in the World Soundscape Project definition and in my inflexion
here.
28
Grids
of
intelligibility,
thick
sound
and
musical
judgment
While
grids
of
intelligibility
are
sustained
in
the
emplacement
of
Dhrupad
performance
among
acoustic
communities
that
participate
in
sustaining
a
soundscape,
these
collectively
sustained
modes
of
dialogic
listening
do
not
index
the
hard
work
of
acquiring,
transforming,
and
transmitting
musical
tradition
that
is
the
primary
work
effort
of
a
small
group
of
individuals
in
community
–
namely,
the
tradition
bearers.
The
primary
focus
of
my
research
is
the
production
of
musical
judgment
in
expert
musicians
who
spend
hours
and
hours
immersed
in
the
hard
work
of
churning,
polishing,
repeating
and
ruminating
on
musical
materials.
These
musicians
spend
substantial
amounts
of
time
singing
and
practicing
on
their
own,
or
with
their
students
at
home.
Hence
I
have
to
develop
analytical
tools
to
investigate
the
phenomenological
interactivity
between
musical
subject
and
musical
object
–
an
interaction
that
is
in
dynamic
relation
with,
but
not
reducible
to,
the
emplacement
of
Dhrupad
performance
within
heterogeneous
inter-‐subjective
acoustic
communities.
Thus,
emplacement
in
my
analytical
framework
functions
not
only
at
the
level
of
community,
but
also
significantly
at
the
level
of
the
individual.
But,
my
next
stop
is
not
the
fishbowl
of
performance
and
transmission
studies
that
focus
on
pure
sound
as
environment.
Rather,
I
turn
once
more
to
the
anthropologists
of
the
senses,
and
to
works
on
distributed
cognition
to
set
up
my
investigation.
As
Casey,
Feld
and
Basso
conclusively
demonstrate
in
their
analytical
essays,
even
in
the
relative
social
isolation
of
a
musician
alone
in
a
music
room
for
hours
on
end,
an
emplaced
cultural
practice
is
gathering
and
has
the
potentiality
for
eventfulness.
But,
we
do
not
have
to
just
take
their
word
for
it,
for
I
will
show
this
to
be
the
situation
repeatedly
in
my
case
studies
of
individual
musicians
and
their
musical
lives.
I
recognize
place
as
singularly
important
to
my
analysis
because
it
both
functions
as
and
gathers
anchors
that
engender
perceptual
connections
to
musical
forms
in
the
interactivity
of
musical
life.
Specifically,
I
will
show
that
the
interactivity
of
musical
lives
results
in
the
inter-‐animation
of
musical
forms
with
the
qualities
of
place
–
but
this
doesn’t
happen
without
musical
effort
and
musical
action.
The
analytical
model
needs
to
be
expanded
to
allow
me
to
investigate
the
specific
dynamics
of
cognitive
intertwining
in
the
context
of
individual
musical
lives.
Drawing
from
Edwin
Hutchins’
work
on
distributed
cognition
I
define
the
term
acoustemic
anchor
to
denote
anchors
of
cognitive
intertwining,
where
emotional
and
acoustic
memories
become
co-‐located
in
the
activities
of
musical
life.26
26
Hutchins (2005). Although I use Hutchins as my inspiration, I have to distinguish the fact that Hutchins’s
distributed network has a multiplicity of human agents and material anchors whereas most of my anchors
are non-human.
29
Acoustemic
anchors
hold
the
potentiality
of
histories
of
interactivity
and
forms
of
knowledge
produced
in
the
dialogic
of
sound
and
environment.
To
investigate
the
contours
of
perceptual
connections,
I
draw
from
Seremetakis
who
defines
the
term
perceptual
completion
as
referring
to
the
potentiality
of
objects
to
engender
connections
through
sedimented
histories
of
sensory
engagements27.
While
Seremetakis
uses
the
word
sedimentation,
I
prefer
to
investigate
the
potentiality
of
musical
forms
in
terms
of
a
more
dynamic
concept
that
indexes
the
dialogic
of
an
individual
musician’s
repeated
engagement
with
musical
forms
in
situated
practice.
I
term
this
concept
thick
sound.
Thick
sound
I
define
thick
sound
as
sound
that
is
cognitively
intertwined
with,
and
inter-‐
animated
by
the
interactions
of
musical
life
in
places.28
Thick
sound
is
acoustemic
sound;
it
is
heard
within
a
nexus
of
associations
that
engender
ways
of
knowing
in
and
through
sound.
It
indexes
the
dialogic
of
an
individual
musician's
repeated
engagement
with
musical
forms
and
musical
inheritances
in
situated
practice.
At
the
same
time,
thick
sound
is
marked
by
the
gathering
quality
of
emplaced
cultural
practice,
intertwined
with
memory
and
emotion.
It
is
marked
sound
that
become
available
to
performance
as
potentiality
and
eventfulness.
Thick
sound
in
my
definition
is
not
necessarily
available
to
thick
description;
it
is
not
sound
that
can
be
read
transparently
for
culture.29
Rather,
it
is
sound
made
eventful
by
the
potentialities
of
practice.
Engaging
with
thick
sound
may
be
habitual,
automatic,
and
performative,
or
generative,
catalytic
and
eventful.
Thick
sound
invites
sensuous
scholarship
and
phenomenal
engagement
with
histories
of
practice,
rather
than
the
stable
codes
and
formats
of
hermeneutic
analysis.30
The
most
significant
quality
of
thick
sound
as
defined
here
is
its
heterogeneity
-‐
its
27
Seremetakis (1994).
28
I borrow the concept of cognitive intertwining from Basso (1996). The term thick sound is inspired by
Feld’s conception of acousteme, and David Novak’s phrase “listening in and feeding back” that was coined
as a conference title for a sound studies seminar in the early history of this discipline.
29
I am clearly inspired by Geertz’s seminally influential notion of thick description (Geertz, 1973). In using
the term thick sound, I am both acknowledging the necessity for engaging with interpretation as well as
insisting that eventfulness and dynamism make it impossible to describe culture using an input – output
model. Some aspects of culture remain outside hermeneutic interpretation and the repeatability of
predictable phenomenal engagement.
30
For representative discussion of sensuous scholarship see Stoller (1997) and Seremetakis(1994); to
juxtapose the methods of sensuous phenomenology and interpretation of thick descriptions, see the leading
and concluding essays by Casey and Geertz respectively in the volume Senses of Place.(Edited by Basso
and Feld, 1996).
30
potentiality
to
gather,
associate,
correlate
and
emplace.
The
antonym
of
thick
sound
is
not
thin
sound,
but
pure
sound,
sound
that
is
homogeneous.
I
show
in
my
analysis
that
thick
sound
is
primary
to
musical
judgment
and
categorical
knowledge
in
Hindustani
music.
Musical
judgment
is
tethered,
nurtured
and
entangled
in
thick
sound,
not
pure
sound.
I
will
demonstrate
that
aesthetic
categories
are
not
just
cognitive
grids
that
organize
pure
sound;
they
are
soma-‐aesthetic
experiences
felt
and
sensed
through
thick
sound.
Hence
my
framework
for
analyzing
thick
sound
in
Dhrupad
vocal
practice
has
two
complementary
dimensions.
In
one
section
using
two
case
studies,
I
will
investigate
how
musical
judgments
about
Dhrupad
as
a
classical
genre
are
tethered,
reinforced,
and
transformed
through
processes
of
cognitive
intertwining
that
sustain
and
catalyze
acoustemic
anchors
for
thick
sound.
One
of
the
outcomes
of
cognitive
intertwining
is
that
both
human
and
non-‐human
elements
can
be
agentive
in
transforming
pure
sound
to
thick
sound.
They
can
both
function
as
potential
catalysts
for
the
experience
of
thick
sound,
even
if
only
sentient
beings
can
willfully
exercise
agency.
I
specifically
consider
three
kinds
of
anchors
in
my
analysis
–
material
anchors
such
as
paper,
possessions,
and
geographies,
sentient
anchors
such
as
the
embodied,
sensory
and
cognitive
capacities
of
individuals
and
groups
of
people,
and
auditory
anchors
–
the
special
cognitive
status
of
musical
objects
such
as
music
notation,
musical
terms,
musical
concepts,
musical
forms
and
musical
instruments
in
a
musician’s
life.
In
a
complementary
section,
I
will
focus
on
how
thick
sound
functions
as
an
acoustemic
guide
in
musical
acts.
To
do
this,
I
need
to
use
one
more
concept
–
that
of
musical
affordance.
While
the
framework
for
analysis
is
general,
specificity
has
come
in
at
the
level
of
detailed
attention
to
the
particularities
of
communities,
places,
acoustemic
anchors
and
processes
of
emplacement.
But
now,
I
have
to
pay
special
attention
to
how
Indian
classical
music,
and
specifically
Dhrupad
vocal
performances,
and
even
more
specially,
Dhrupad
performance
in
the
traditions
I
investigate,
have
affordance
for
thick
sound
in
performance.
This
said
affordance
is
central
to
the
efficacy
and
meaningfulness
of
my
proposal
that
Dhrupad
vocal
practice
functions
as
an
emplaced
acoustemic
environment.
In
my
analysis,
I
will
show
how
musico-‐aesthetic
forms
such
as
raga,
and
Dhrupad
bani
–
an
esoteric
aesthetic
category
in
Dhrupad
performance
–
have
affordance
for
emotion
and
memory,
and
exhibit
many
of
the
topographic
qualities
of
Place
detailed
by
Casey.
This
affordance
for
place-‐ness
makes
Indian
classical
music
a
special
kind
of
classical
music
in
which
the
categories
and
codes
of
a
formal
system
of
knowledge
become
available
as
human
sensibility
and
soma-‐aesthetic
experience
in
performance.
In
summary,
through
a
consideration
of
the
different
scales
implicated
in
an
analysis
of
the
production
of
individual
musical
judgment
and
notions
of
fidelity
to
tradition
in
emplaced
Dhrupad
vocal
performance,
my
analytical
model
has
expanded
beyond
31
the
simple
interactive
diagram
I
started
out
with.
I
capture
this
expanded
framework
in
Figure
2.2
below
which
shows
the
key
concepts
I
need
for
my
working
model.
FIGURE
2-‐2
Mapping the field: Places, musical communities and musicians
The Bettiah court, an erstwhile princely court in the West Champaran district of the
modern state of Bihar, is unique in the history of Dhrupad for the intense
compositional activity that took place in the early 19th century during the reigns of
Maharaja Anand Kishore Singh and Naval Kishore Singh. The kings of Bettiah
themselves were very prolific composers and poets, and they attracted many
talented Dhrupad musicians to their courts from the late 17th century onwards. The
Bettiah court witnessed intense compositional activity in the 19th century and the
Dhrupad form itself underwent a period of flowering in the hands of these very
talented composers. As a result, the repertoire of the Bettiah gharana assumed a
conceptual complexity and sophistication that is its distinguishing feature. Over a
thousand compositions are still extant from the repertoires of two important
lineages associated with the 19th century Bettiah court, and the centrality of this
repertoire to the musical expression of the Bettiah performers is extremely
important to the musical lineages whose notions of tradition are foregrounded in
32
this
dissertation.
A
unique
feature
of
Bettiah
Dhrupads
is
that
many
of
them
are
set
to
specific
banis,
or
aesthetic
models.
This
dissertation
focuses
on
investigating
musical
judgment
and
aesthetic
sense
in
two
individual
expert
musicians
in
relation
to
the
places,
practices,
communities,
repertoires
and
constellation
of
competencies
that
are
gathered
by
the
performance
of
Dhrupad
in
their
musical
lives,
and
in
the
near
history
of
their
musical
traditions.
The
two
musicians
I
focus
on
in
this
dissertation
come
from
two
different
Dhrupad
lineages
associated
with
the
Bettiah
court.
Indra
Kishore
Mishra
is
a
hereditary
musician
whose
tradition
was
received
in
place
where
his
ancestors
have
lived
and
sung
since
the
late
17th
century
though
under
very
different
circumstances.
Falguni
Mitra
is
a
non-‐hereditary
musician
whose
tradition
was
received
through
a
history
of
double
displacement
-‐
beginning
with
migration
into
Bettiah
in
the
late
18th
century,
and
migration
to
Benares
and
Kolkata
in
the
late
19th
century,
before
he
acquired
this
tradition
in
the
teeming
musical
culture
of
1950s
Kolkata.
Juxtaposing
these
musicians
allows
me
to
constructively
study
the
emplacement
of
musical
practices
and
their
relationship
to
categorical
knowledge,
musical
judgment,
and
notions
of
fidelity
to
tradition.
Since
emplacement
as
theorized
by
Edward
Casey,
Steven
Feld
and
Keith
Basso
is
the
central
frame
I
chose
for
analysis,
I
have
approached
the
study
of
individual
musicianship
as
a
fundamentally
interactive
process
that
gathers
and
holds
people,
places,
memories,
emotion
and
things.
I
focus
on
grids
of
intelligibility
for
Dhruapd
performance
in
the
near
past
and
in
contemporary
times
by
analyzing
the
emplacement
of
Dhrupad
vocal
performance
in
particular
places
and
particular
communities
gathered
by
the
practice
of
Dhrupad
in
the
Bettiah
gharana.
The
places
and
communities
I
analyze
include
the
originary
source
of
tradition
–
the
town
of
Bettiah
–
and
its
surrounding
villages,
places
and
communities
associated
with
the
practice
of
Dhrupad,
the
places
and
communities
in
Benares
that
became
a
center
for
the
migratory
lineage
of
Dhrupad
musicians
from
the
Bettiah
court,
and
the
music
rooms,
musical
households,
concert
stages,
listening
circles
and
communities
that
constitute
place
for
a
contemporary
urban
non-‐hereditary
musician.
Mapping sound: Dhrupad vocal performance
Dhrupad has a documented history of composing since at least the fifteenth century.
Historians are in general agreement that the modern Dhrupad compositional form
was consolidated during the course of the 15th and 16th centuries by musicians in
the courts of Gwalior, Delhi, Bijapur and Rewa, and in the devotional communities of
Braj (Brindavan), although the earliest composers such as Gopal Nayak are said to
33
have
been
in
the
court
of
Allauddin
Khilji
(1296-‐1316).31
In
its
etymological
basis,
Dhrupad
derives
from
dhruva
+
pada,
usually
translated
as
fixed
+
text.
In
its
structure
and
form,
Dhrupad
is
said
to
have
continuities
with
the
Prabandha,
song
forms
that
go
back
to
the
first
millennium32.
The
credit
for
establishing
Dhrupad
as
a
distinctive
genre
of
court
/
art
music
and
standardizing
its
form
is
ascribed
to
Raja
Man
Singh
Tomar
of
Gwalior
(1486
–
1516).33
He,
together
with
the
famous
composer-‐musicians
of
his
court
such
as
Nayak
Bakshu
and
Nayak
Dhondhu,
are
said
to
have
established
Dhrupad
in
its
contemporary
structural
form
of
four
parts,
sthayi,
antara,
sancari
and
abhog,
each
with
distinctive
musical
structure
and
function.34
The
historicity
and
significance
of
Dhrupad
as
a
musical
form
is
most
evident
through
the
compositions
that
have
survived
in
oral
tradition
and
in
song
text
compilations
that
were
produced
in
major
courts
from
the
17th
century
onwards.35
Musicians
were
rated
not
only
by
their
ability
to
sing
Dhrupad,
but
also
by
their
ability
to
compose
Dhrupad.
The
Sahasras
-‐
a
17th
century
compilation
of
1000
Dhrupads
by
the
15th
century
composer
Nayak
Bakshu,
recognizes
that
compositions
(pada)
sounded
best
when
sung
with
a
knowledge
of
the
style
of
the
composer.
Thus,
from
earliest
times,
Dhrupad
has
been
distinguished
as
a
song
form
31
Several authors have discussed Dhrupad from historical, biographical and analytical perspectives. The
recent work by Sanyal and Widdess (2004) contains a comprehensive bibliography and detailed discussion
of the genre. See also Widdess (2010). The temple vs. court origins of the genre has generated some
polarizing debate amongst scholars, for example see discussions by Delvoye (1996, 322 -324), Thielemann
(2001, 20 – 23), Ho (2006, especially Chapter 9). Rather than adopt a polarized position in this debate, I
adopt a view that acknowledges both courts and devotional communities as important places in the early
history of Dhrupad. The crystallization of the modern compositional form and genre occurred through
intense compositional activity and musical performance over a few centuries, under the patronage of the
princely courts.
32
A number of scholars have shown the continuity of the most important structural aspects of Dhrupad
compositional form to the Prabandha, particularly the salaga suda Prabandha (Singh1983, 29-35;
Srivastava1980, Chapter 2).
33
The dates in brackets refer to the Dates of reign
34
While two and three part Dhrupads continued to be composed in the next several centuries, the
dominance of four part compositions stands out in all traditional repertoires extant in contemporary oral
traditions, as well as song text compilations produced from the 17th century onwards and the many notated
music compilations produced in the early 20th century based on oral tradition
35
Examples of early song text compilations are the Kitab-i-nauras of Ibrahim Adil Shah II, Sultan of
Bijapur (Edited by Ahmed 1956), the Sahasras, a compilation of 1004 Dhrupads ascribed to Nayak Bakshu
produced at the court of Shah Jahan (Edited by Sharma 1972), Dhrupads contained in Bhavabhatta’s 17thc
works produced in the Jaipur court, the Sangita Rag Kalpadrum of Krishnanand Vyas (1842). See Delvoye
(2010) and references therein for a discussion of these early compilations of lyrics. Collections of
Dhrupads in Persian and Urdu texts from kalawants of different lineages connected with the Delhi court
and other regional courts of North India and Nepal are still being identified as part of ongoing research. An
example of the latter is Khushhal Khan kalawant’s massive compendium of the repertoire of the Delhi
kalawants (c. 1800 – 30). (Schofield, 2013:3, footnote 14).
34
and
its
composers,
who
were
vaggeyakaras,
were
recognized
as
the
carriers
of
distinctive
stylistic
idiom.36
Intelligibility
in
Dhrupad
-‐
pure
raga,
pure
song,
or
pure
sound?
Dhrupad
is
generally
considered
the
bedrock
of
classicism
in
the
Hindustani
tradition
as
it
was
the
primary
compositional
medium
in
which
the
modal,
formal,
temporal,
rhythmic
and
musico-‐aesthetic
dimensions
of
Hindustani
music
were
worked
out.
For
over
four
hundred
years,
musicians
in
the
royal
courts
and
devotional
communities
of
North
India
gave
lasting
definition
and
form
to
the
major
ragas
of
Hindustani
music
by
composing
and
performing
Dhrupad.37
The
encapsulation
of
fundamental
aspects
of
aesthetics
and
grammar
in
the
compositions
of
Dhrupad
make
it
a
reference
point
for
a
raga
and
its
characteristics
(lakshana).
Ratanjankar
and
Prem
Lata
Sharma
both
emphasize
that
Dhrupad
as
a
compositional
form
perfectly
balances
the
three
dimensions
of
melody,
rhythm
and
text
(Ratanjankar
1948,
81,
Sharma
1990,
6).
Even
until
recently,
traditionally
trained
musicians
in
both
vocal
and
instrumental
lineages
learnt
a
number
of
Dhrupad
compositions
to
acquire
a
thorough
grounding
in
raga,
tala,
laya
(tempo)
and
pada
as
praxis.
Thus,
as
Indian
classical
music’s
oldest
extant
genre
in
which
composers,
composition,
lineage
and
style
have
been
recognized
as
overlapping
dimensions
of
tradition,
Dhrupad
is
a
very
suitable
genre
for
a
dissertation
that
investigates
the
interactive
basis
of
categories,
ontologies
and
notions
of
tradition
in
Indian
classical
music.
The
second
reason
that
makes
Dhrupad
a
particularly
good
choice
of
case
study
for
my
project
concerns
a
much
less
acknowledged
dimension
of
its
history.
While
Dhrupad
is
the
quintessentially
classical
genre
of
modern
Hindustani
music,
Dhrupad
has
also
had
a
persistent
connection
to
song
forms
in
community.
Musicologist
Ashok
Ranade
takes
the
position
that
Dhrupad
crystallizes
the
tendency
towards
nibaddha
sangita,
while
Khayal
tends
towards
anibaddha
sangita
(Ranade
1999,
16).
Interpreting
nibaddha
as
pre-‐composed,
he
observes
that
Dhrupad
as
Art
music
has
traditionally
been
bound
closely
to
different
facets
of
human
life,
an
intersection
in
the
territory
of
poetic
form.
This
interactive
nexus
relies
on
Dhrupad’s
strong
nibaddha
character
that
admits
the
possibility
of
all
elements
being
pre-‐composed
(ibid.,
20).
Ranade’s
observation
speaks
to
the
persistent
intersection
of
classical
Dhrupad
with
its
closest
parallel,
the
Haveli
Dhrupad,
as
well
as
other
related
forms
of
musical
composition
such
as
Vishnupad,
36
See Delvoye (2010) and Schofield (2013, 3) for discussions of the qualities that characterize expert
composers in these centuries, metrics that draw on the authoritative medieval text Sangita Ratnakara.
37
Raga is the fundamental modal melodic form in Indian classical music. For historicized introductions see
Rowell (1992), Ramanathan (1999), Powers and Richard Widdess (2001).
35
Bengali
Kirtan
(ibid.,
18)
and
Shabad
Kirtan.38
It
surfaces
in
Dhrupad’s
companion
form
-‐
the
Dhamar
-‐
a
song-‐form
associated
with
celebration
of
Holi
in
the
Braj
region
(ibid.,
18).
It
reflects
in
the
use
of
Dhrupad
as
the
chosen
song
form
for
celebrating
life
cycle
events
such
as
birth,
marriage
and
thread
ceremonies,
practice
that
continued
till
the
early
20th
century
in
some
places.39
It
also
manifests
in
the
adoption
of
Dhrupad
as
the
song
form
of
choice
by
the
Brahmo-‐Samaj,
and
its
influence
on
the
compositions
of
two
very
influential
figures
of
the
19th
century,
Swami
Vivekananda
and
Gurudev
Rabindranath
Tagore.40
While
these
profoundly
emplaced
histories
shaped
the
intelligibility
of
Dhrupad
in
listening
circles
right
up
to
the
mid
twentieth
century
in
some
parts
of
north
India
-‐
notably
its
Eastern
states
-‐
since
the
1960s
these
grids
of
intelligibility
for
Dhrupad
performance
have
been
largely
erased
in
public
and
scholarly
consciousness
of
the
genre.
The
so-‐called
Dhrupad
revival
has
accomplished
this
in
the
hegemonic
formatting
of
Dhrupad’s
sounds
by
the
normative
practice
of
a
single
influential
Dhrupad
tradition
–
the
Dagar
tradition.
Today
Dhrupad
is
celebrated
not
for
its
nearness
to
song
but
for
its
nearness
to
sound.
The
Dagar
family
is
often
credited
with
saving
Dhrupad
from
extinction
in
the
20th
century.
This
revival
consolidated
a
new
episteme
for
Dhrupad
as
“a
journey
into
the
realm
of
pure
sound”,41
redefining
its
sounds
to
align
with
a
rhetoric
of
ancientness
and
purity
claiming
roots
in
the
Vedas
–
the
sacred
texts
of
sanatana
dharma. In
the
decades
since
the
celebrated
UNESCO-‐sponsored
tour
of
Europe
by
the
senior
Dagar
brothers
in
1964,
Dhrupad
has
shifted
from
the
duality
of
pure
song
and
pure
raga,
to
a
duality
of
pure
raga
and
pure
sound,
in
the
process
rendering
musical
lineages
that
value
song
as
integral
to
tradition
largely
38
Dhrupad’s early history as court music has been closely allied with the early history of devotional
dhruvapada, a literary form and song form that is widespread in devotional communities of Krishna
worship, especially the music of the Vallabha Sampradaya tradition of the 16th century saint Swami Haridas
in Brindavan. While some scholars rightly stress the fine distinctions between classical Dhrupad and
devotional Dhrupad in metrical structure, metaphorical import and aesthetic goal (Delvoye 2010), careful
and detailed comparative analysis of the repertoires of the classical Dhrupad traditions and the Vaishnavite
traditions of Braj show plenty of evidence of cross-over and cross-fertilization in terms of lyrical themes,
stock metaphors, tunes, composers and songs (Thielemann 2001; Ho 2006; Sanford 2008).
39
Dhrupads composed for such occasions can be found in some 19th century song text compilations. A few
examples are found in Qanun-i-sitar (Khan, Mohammad Safdar Husain. 1st ed. 1871). Songs composed for
life cycle ceremonies, ritual goat sacrifice and tantric worship also form a part of the repertoire of the
Mullicks of Bettiah, ancestors of Indra Kishore Mishra of the Bettiah gharānā.
40
Several authors have written on Dhrupad’s influence in Bengal, and specifically on Rabindranath Tagore.
See for instance Mukhopadhyaya, Dhurjati Prasad (1944). Also Chatterjee (1996).
41
Raja (1999, 13)
36
unintelligible
to
modern
ears.42
Thus
Dhrupad
as
a
genre
manifests
the
complex
dynamics
of
a
Great
Tradition
of
Hindustani
music,
a
normative
regime
of
intelligibility
that
consolidated
post
1960
and
multiple
competing
grids
of
intelligibility
whose
histories
have
to
be
excavated
through
historical
analysis
that
is
attends
to
the
complex
relationship
between
aesthetic
categories,
intelligibility
and
musical
environments.
Using
an
analysis
of
grids
of
intelligibility
for
Dhrupad
performance
in
the
Bettiah
gharana,
I
will
show
that
this
narrative
of
the
extinction
of
Dhrupad
and
its
revival
as
pure
sound
is
predicated
on
erasing
its
historically
complex
existence
as
an
expressive
form.
I
will
argue
Dhrupad
was
firmly
established
in
the
categories
of
a
largely
expert-‐oriented
classical
music
even
while
it
engendered
ritual,
devotional
and
lyrical
expression
amongst
communities
that
had
very
different
goals
and
measures
of
competence
for
the
musical
genre.
By
attending
to
processes
of
emplacement
in
the
performance
of
Dhrupad,
I
will
show
that
the
categories
that
mark
the
classical
in
a
genre
such
as
Dhrupad
are
indelibly
marked
and
transformed
by
interactions
of
musical
life
in
places
amongst
people.
This
places
matters
of
grammar
and
aesthetics
within
the
grasp
of
human
sensibility.43
Categories
of
the
classical
in
Dhrupad
performance
In
this
section,
I
introduce
the
categories
that
define
Dhrupad
as
a
genre
of
classical
music,
focusing
specially
on
the
melodic
category
of
raga
and
the
aesthetic
category
of
bani.
In
contemporary
Hindustani
music
parlance,
the
word
Dhrupad
is
used
to
refer
to
the
compositional
form,
as
well
as
the
genre
of
Dhrupad.
The
genre
itself
has
a
complex
definition
that
could
include
several
or
all
of
the
following:
a
performance
ideology
that
includes
performance
format,
choices
of
characteristic
tempi,
avoidance
or
inclusion
of
certain
instrumentation,
aesthetic
ideologies,
philosophical
or
spiritual
associations,
and
more
specifically,
the
emphasis
on
certain
ornamentations
(alankars)
and
the
avoidance
of
others.44
Rather
than
undertake
an
extensive
assessment
of
Dhrupad
as
a
genre,
I
will
only
introduce
the
terms
that
help
me
investigate
the
central
questions
in
my
dissertation
in
relation
to
musical
judgment,
categorical
knowledge
and
ontological
status,
and
explain
their
42
Analysis of post-1960s redefinition of Dhrupad’s regimes of intelligibility was presented in conference
papers delivered at Stanford (2011), Berkeley (2011) and Mumbai (2013), and will be the subject of a
forthcoming publication.
43
This dialogic analysis can be easily extended to the dominant normative regime of contemporary
Dhrupad as pure sound, but I leave this for future work.
44
It is worth emphasizing that the genre of Dhrupad operates within a range of choices very much as the
genre of Khayal functions as “one genre performed in distinctive group ways while comprehending
incredible diversity.. as cultivated by individual musicians” (Wade 1984, 275). Musicians from different
lineages often differ from one another on what constitutes correct practice in Dhrupad, but competent
performers usually develop a self-consistent and coherent worldview based on a variety of factors that they
defend with great conviction.
37
function
in
a
typical
performance
of
Dhrupad
as
a
classical
genre
on
the
contemporary
stage.
Specifically
the
terms
are:
(i)
the
raga
–
the
fundamental
melodic
category
in
Indian
classical
music,
(ii)
pada
-‐
the
Dhrupad
composition,
(iii)
Dhrupad
bani
–
an
aesthetic
category
in
Dhrupad
performance
(iv)
raga
alap
–
the
melodic-‐rhythmic
development
of
raga
form
and
emotion
in
performance
and
(v)
layakari
–
the
melodic-‐rhythmic
development
of
composition
in
performance.
(i)
Raga:
A
performance
of
Dhrupad
usually
focuses
on
one
or
more
ragas
in
presentation.
Raga
is
the
fundamental
melodic
concept
in
Indian
music
and
one
of
the
most
important
aspects
of
Indian
classical
music
performance.
It
has
scalar,
modal
and
aesthetic
dimensions
that
are
equally
important.
As
is
often
the
case
in
Hindustani
music,
a
performance
or
piece
of
composition
is
judged
by
how
well
it
captures
and
communicates
the
musico-‐aesthetic
features
of
the
raga
chosen.45
Hence
raga
is
one
of
the
central
categories
I
explore
in
this
dissertation.
The
epistemological
status
of
raga
as
enumerated
knowledge
in
practice
was
a
source
of
anxiety
in
the
early
20th
century,
and
a
source
for
scrutiny
in
recent
postcolonial
scholarship
on
Indian
music.
Scholars
ranging
from
Bhakle,
Subramanian,
Farrell
and
Allen,
to
Rahaim,
and
Dard
Neuman
in
different
ways
and
to
different
extents
have
suggested
that
enumerated
knowledge
of
musical
systems
was
a
decidedly
colonial
episteme.
Of
these,
Rahaim
acknowledges
that
enumerated
knowledge
has
been
a
part
of
musicians
consciousness
for
about
as
long
as
non-‐
enumerated
knowledge,
yet
he
too
makes
the
strong
claim
that
musician-‐
grammarians
such
as
Bhatkande
did
not
recognize
the
“phrase”
as
a
unit
of
musical
knowledge,
whereas
musicians
routinely
could
and
do
transition
between
“phrase
land”
and
“note
land”,
and
he
uses
gesture
as
a
way
of
demonstrating
that
ragas
use
phrases
as
fundamental
units
for
melodic
action.
On
the
other
hand,
I
resist
the
move
of
equating
cultural
nationalism
with
the
beginnings
of
musicology
in
India
and
take
the
position
that
aestheticians
of
Indian
classical
music
right
from
medieval
times
have
recognized
the
expressive
qualities
of
raga
to
be
integral
to
its
formal
definition
as
a
musico-‐aesthetic
form.46
Since
at
least
the
9th
century,
theoreticians
have
recognized
that
a
description
of
raga
requires
discussion
of
both
grammar
and
aesthetics.
Secondly,
while
raga
may
45
While raga development is improvisation centric in some traditions, in traditions such as the Bettiah
gharana, all three dimensions of performance integrate the experience of raga in different ways – while
alap is experience of melody and rhythm, pada and layakari integrate experience of melody, rhythm, and
text, with musical meaning and lyrical meaning enhancing each other in the expressive dimension.
46
The first use of the term raga by Matanga and its very etymology show this to be the case. See Rowell
(1992), and Satyanarayana (2004) for detailed and nuanced assessments of aesthetics in Indian thought in
relation to music and Ramanathan (2004) for a very perceptive essay on the concept of swara in Indian
music, using examples from composed music through many centuries. See also Powers and Widdess (2001)
for discussions of raga spanning both structural and aesthetic dimensions.
38
admittedly
be
invoked
and
discussed
as
an
abstract
concept,
musicians
would
rarely
conceive
of
ragas
as
abstract.
Aestheticians
have
recognized
this
in
the
past,
as
ragas
have
been
defined
not
only
by
scales
and
note
combinations
but
also
by
many
anthropomorphic
and
emotive
qualities.
Raga
iconification
and
personification
date
from
the
16th
c.,
and
the
humanization
/
anthropomorphization
of
swara,
or
the
musical
note,
was
theorized
as
early
as
the
second
century.
I
understand
these
efforts
as
creative
responses
by
grammarians
to
encode
the
relationship
of
modal
entities
to
consciousness.
In
keeping
with
this
line
of
thinking,
this
dissertation
will
explore
ragas
as
ontologies
that
are
inhabited
through
processes
of
emplacement
engendered
by
the
topographical,
memorial
and
affective
qualities
of
raga
as
a
musico-‐aesthetic
form.47
I
will
show
through
extended
analysis
of
habitual
and
catalytic
moments
in
Dhrupad
performance
that
ragas
have
affordance
for
emotion
and
associative
memory
which
brings
to
them
the
qualities
of
place
as
discussed
by
philosopher
Edward
Casey.
I
trace
both
ontological
status
and
the
existent
of
diverse
interpretations
of
raga
to
processes
of
emplacement
that
tether
and
transform
categorical
knowledge
of
raga
in
performance.
(ii)
pada,
or
Dhrupad:
is
the
compositional
form
that
gives
Dhrupad
its
name
and
identity
as
a
genre
and
its
etymology
reflects
its
basis
in
pada,
which
is
a
poetic
verse
set
to
tune.
But,
not
every
song
qualifies
as
pada.
A
pada
must
be
set
to
raga
and
tala
and
conform
to
certain
rules
of
structure
and
form
that
have
been
explicated
by
grammarians
since
the
second
century.
These
structures
developed
and
morphed
over
time
into
a
whole
suite
of
songs,
the
Prabandhas,
that
have
been
discussed
in
depth
in
the
treatises
of
the
middle
ages.
Scholars
have
argued
that
the
Salaga
Suda
Prabhanda
suite
is
the
direct
ancestor
of
the
Dhrupad
compositional
form
that
came
into
practice
around
the
14th
century
and
stabilized
in
its
contemporary
form
by
the
late
15th/early
16th
century
(Srivastava
1980,
Thakur
Jaidev
Singh
1983,
Tailanga
1995).
The
oldest
extant
compositions
in
Hindustani
music
are
Dhrupads.
This
was
the
main
mode
of
raga-‐based
composition
in
the
royal
courts,
temples
and
communities
of
North
India
since
the
14th
century
until
the
18th
century,
and
in
some
places,
it
remained
the
dominant
mode
of
musical
composition
until
the
20th
century.
Juxtaposed
against
this
account
that
emphasizes
continuity
is
recent
work
in
post-‐
colonial
studies,
particularly
by
Weidman.48
Postcolonial
scholars
have
argued
that
“composers”
and
“compositions”
are
colonial
epistemes,
while
historically
and
textually
oriented
ethnomusicologists
conceive
of
Indian
music
compositions
as
oral
archetypes
and
procedures,
rather
than
works.
Add
to
that
the
fact
that
some
47
Rahaim (2009) explores raga as objects in gestural and melodic space, and I will reference some of his
key observations. However, our approaches, though related, are quite different in their theoretical moorings
and hence scope. I will discuss the similartities and differences in some depth in a subsequent chapter.
48
Weidman (op. cit.)
39
dominant
Dhrupad
traditions
in
contemporary
times
have
de-‐emphasized
the
pada
in
performance
in
ways
that
have
re-‐invented
the
genre
in
its
instrumental
image,
clearly
Dhrupad
has
plenty
of
grist
to
provide
the
ontology,
epistemology,
politics
of
aesthetics
mill
in
the
realm
of
composition.
Perhaps
most
significant
to
this
work,
the
musicians
in
my
project
hold
the
pada
intrinsic
to
Dhrupad
performance,
both
in
the
pre-‐composed
and
developmental
sections.
I
began
this
dissertation
with
Indra
Kishore
Mishra
invoking
Hamsa
the
bird
in
relation
to
a
debate
over
interpretation
of
a
pada
–
suggesting
that
songs
are
not
just
archetypes
or
models
for
improvisation
–
rather
they
approach
the
ontological
status
of
works
stabilized
by
the
interactive
nexus
of
associations
that
tether
judgments
about
right
practice.
Hence
pada
is
the
heartbeat
of
this
dissertation
and
musical
concepts
and
musical
judgments
that
relate
to
the
pada
will
be
centered,
especially
to
get
at
the
question
of
ontologies.
The
discussion
of
pada
will
be
approached
here
from
two
related
standpoints
–
the
contemporary
status
of
Dhrupad
as
nibaddha
sangita,
namely,
pre-‐composed
music
bounded
by
metric
cycles,
and
the
ontological
status
of
composition
as
a
musical
work.
(iii)
Dhrupad
bani:
Style
is
an
integral
aspect
of
aesthetics,
and
I
address
it
in
this
dissertation
through
the
concept
of
bani,
which
is
directly
concerned
with
the
aesthetics
of
compositional
forms
in
the
Dhrupad
traditions
I
study
here.49
The
distinction
of
Dhrupad
as
a
genre
has
been
closely
associated
with
stylistic
concepts.
Sanyal
and
Widdess
identify
ang
(overarching
Dhrupad
style),
gayaki
(composite
style
of
a
tradition
or
individual)
and
bani
as
three
concepts
in
the
domain
of
style
that
are
relevant
to
Dhrupad.50
The
Dhrupad
banis
probably
require
a
dissertation
in
their
own
right
as
they
are
the
proverbial
musical
unicorn.
Sanyal
and
Widdess
(2006,
Chapter4)
provide
an
excellent
analysis
of
what
is
known
from
the
different
traditions,
recordings
and
written
sources
they
had
access
to,
but
that
did
not
include
the
primary
sources
that
are
the
core
of
this
project.
The
Bettiah
gharana’s
performance
practice
in
the
banis
of
Dhrupad
is
a
source
that
is
quite
unique
in
the
history
of
North
Indian
music.
The
banis
of
Dhrupad
as
understood
and
practiced
in
the
different
schools
of
the
Bettiah
gharana
are
hence
extremely
important
to
my
project.
While
I
have
to
leave
a
full
treatment
to
future
publications,
I
will
discuss
49
Rowell and Sathyanarayana both observe that studies of style “are in their infancy in Indian musicology”
(Rowell (1992), Sathyanarayana (2004, 74)). Style in Dhrupad is a complex constellation of concepts and
requires exclusive discussion. Here, I have addressed it to the extent necessary for a discussion of aesthetic
categories.
50
Lath argues that it is only with the emergence of Khayal that the notion of Dhrupad as an overarching
style, or ang, came into being. (Lath 1987). Building on earlier work with Sanyal, Widdess has argued that
the notion of a personal performance style, and of singing in the style of a founder/composer began to be
important in the 17th century itself (Widdess 2010, 134). I investigate the interactive basis of musical
judgment and fidelity to tradition, and notions of composer and work in chapters 3, 4, and 5.
40
how
knowledge
of
particular
banis
as
aesthetic
categories
is
stabilized
and
catalyzed
for
the
musicians
in
my
project.
I
draw
on
literature
in
music
cognition,
music
theory,
the
anthropology
of
the
senses
and
Indian
music
to
build
out
my
theorization
of
the
banis
as
aesthetic
categories.
The
claim
made
here
is
that
understanding
this
musical
unicorn
requires
a
complex
approach
that
recognizes
the
demands
made
by
a
classical
system
as
a
formal
system
of
organization
of
aesthetics
in
which
systematic
approaches
to
composition
and
creative
development
of
musical
ideas
shape
and
are
shaped
by
categories.
At
the
same
time
these
cultivated
aesthetic
categories
are
enmeshed
in
the
sensorial
and
the
local,
in
the
shaping
of
aesthetic
judgment
as
human
sensibility.
Thus
my
investigation
of
the
aesthetic
concept
of
bani
is
an
exciting
foray
into
bridging
musicology
with
music
cognition
and
the
anthropology
of
the
senses.
Working
with
the
musicians
of
the
Bettiah
gharana,
we
also
come
very
close
to
understanding
how
compositional
activity
and
the
closed
structure
of
compositions
helped
transform
the
banis
from
what
may
have
been
fuzzy,
loose
stylistic
concepts
into
aesthetic
categories
with
very
well
defined
characteristics.
(iv)
Raga
alap,
or
the
unmetered
development
of
a
raga’s
modal
possibilities,
is
an
integral
aspect
of
Indian
classical
music
performance.
Theorized
at
least
since
the
12th
century,
alap
has
its
South
Indian
counterpart
in
raga
alapana
(called
alati
in
medieval
Tamil
texts).
A
Dhrupad
performance
normally
begins
with
raga
alap
in
which
the
raga
is
explored
in
different
melodic
registers,
at
different
tempi.
The
duration,
structure
and
depth
of
the
alap
depend
on
the
tradition
and
the
individual
performer.
In
modern
times,
long
alap
has
become
the
signature
of
Dhrupad,
so
much
so
that
some
people
equate
Dhrupad
with
alap
and
creativity
and
imagination
with
the
ability
to
sing
lengthy
alap.
In
my
project
this
is
explicitly
not
the
case,
as
alap
never
stands
alone
as
a
representation
of
Dhrupad
performance.
Hence
alap,
and
its
place
in
Dhrupad
performance
is
one
of
the
areas
in
which
individual
musical
judgment
will
be
explored
in
depth,
from
the
perspective
of
Dhrupad’s
contemporary
ideologies
and
norms.
At
the
same
time,
musicians
and
audiences
would
agree
that
raga
alap’s
reason
for
being
is
to
develop
a
raga’s
form
and
affect
in
performance.
It
is
hence
a
good
medium
to
consider
how
musicians
develop
consciousness
of
raga,
and
what
actually
tethers
and
feeds
the
development
of
raga
in
performance.
I
will
examine
the
relationship
between
musical
creativity,
and
the
interactions
of
musical
life,
the
factors
that
may
lead
to
an
ethics
of
improvisation
(a
dharma
of
manodharma),
and
the
importance
of
the
body,
emotion
and
the
senses
in
making
heterogeneous
maps
available
to
guide
performance
in
flow.
(v)
A
discussion
of
approaches
to
layakari,
the
melodic-‐rhythmic
development
of
pada
in
performance,
is
embedded
in
discussions
of
musical
judgment
about
song.
The
musicians
in
my
project
take
deep
cognizance
of
the
integrity
of
the
pada
as
a
musical
work
and
as
song.
I
will
argue
that
the
musical
judgment
applied
to
creative
exploration
of
pada
in
performance
is
shaped
by
an
ethics
of
improvisation.
Drawing
41
contrasts
to
other
traditions
of
Dhrupad
I
will
argue
that
while
the
pada
may
function
as
an
archetype
and
as
fodder
for
improvisation
in
some
traditions,
in
the
Bettiah
gharana
it
constitutes
ontology,
approaching
a
musical
work.
Much
of
my
discussion
of
pada
focuses
on
the
ways
in
which
this
central
ontology
is
stabilized
in
the
dialogic
interaction
of
musical
practice
and
musical
life.
Sources and methodology
My methodology comprised a lot of ethnographic work beating the footpaths, and
hours and hours spent in music rooms, with some forays into the archives that
turned up little in terms of sources but gave me a feeling for the history of the
Bettiah Estate. The primary sources for my project are the musicians and musical
communities associated with Dhrupad performance in the Bettiah gharana, and the
musical expertise and materials available with them. After brief visits in previous
summers, I spent extended time during my year of fieldwork in 2010 – 2011 in
Bettiah, living amidst the hereditary musical families of the village of Bhanu Chapra.
I learnt Dhrupad from Indra Kishore Mishra while living in Bettiah, and also
interacted with him during several visits to Kolkata, Chennai, Benares, and Patna.
We spent extended time on music, cataloguing, structured and unstructured
interviews, visiting sites, spending time with the family and people in the
community. I also travelled to other villages and to Muzzafarpur to meet two older
musicians from the Mullick families, both of whom have since passed away. I
interviewed many octagenarians in Bettiah, especially from the important
hereditary families associated with the Bettiah Estate, who had witnessed some of
the community practices in which Dhrupad was an integral part. Community
members I interviewed in depth included family members, students, mentors, close
musical friends, patrons, community elders and historians and archivists of the
tradition – especially Padmashri Gajendra Narain Simha who has done invaluable
work in documenting and sustaining the Mullick families of Bettiah as carriers of
heritage, and Kartik Lahiry who documented both the local Bettiah and migrant
Kolkata lineages of the Betitah gharana.51
In marked contrast, my process of research into Falguni Mitra’s music required
stepping back before stepping in. I started regular lessons from Falguni Mitra in
1989 and despite extended time away since 1995, I kept up my lessons whenever
we had occasion to meet. So, by the time I began the preliminary research into this
project in 2006, I was familiar with his music as a student and listener. Yet, the
process of research has opened up my ears in ways that are comparable to my
experience with Indra Kishore. I have learnt to listen to him and think about his
music and musicianship in entirely different ways through the process of many,
51
Simha (1990), Lahiry (1977)
42
many
hours
spent
in
music
rooms
in
going
over
notation,
music
analysis,
setting
compositions,
preparing
for
recordings,
structured
and
unstructured
interviews
and
the
many
hours
spent
going
over
his
notebooks,
books,
recordings
and
collections.
In
addition
to
extended
work
with
him,
I
spent
time
with
his
musical
family,
students,
accompanists,
musical
friends
and
long
term
associates.
To
understand
the
source
of
his
tradition,
I
made
multiple
visits
to
Benares,
where
I
interviewed
two
senior
musicians
from
the
musical
community
of
the
Bettiah
gharana
in
Benares,
and
visited
the
important
sites
for
Dhrupad
of
the
Bettiah
gharana
in
Benares.
I
specially
benefitted
from
multiple
interactions
with
Dr.
Rai
Anand
Krishna
from
an
old
and
famous
Benares
family,
whose
father
Padma
Bhushan
Dr.
Rai
Krishna
Dasa
was
at
the
helm
of
the
cultural
Nationalist
movement
in
Benares.
Dr.
Rai
Krishna
Dasa
commissioned
the
important
Dhrupad
compilation
Sangit
Samucchai
(Basu
1924),
the
earliest
written
source
on
the
history
and
notated
music
of
Falguni
Mitra’s
Bettiah
lineage.
I
benefited
from
multiple
site
visits
and
interactions
with
Krishna
Kumar
Rastogi
whose
family
has
been
associated
with
the
Kashi
Sangit
Samaj
for
more
than
a
hundred
years,
as
well
as
historian
Kameshwar
Mishra
who
has
documented
the
musical
traditions
of
Benares.52
Through
these
intensely
participatory
modes
of
engagement
I
developed
a
sense
for
the
emplacement
of
the
musical
practices
of
the
Bettiah
tradition
in
its
different
contexts.
I
did
not
try
to
follow
the
lineage
of
the
Mishras
of
Benares
that
migrated
to
Kolkata
in
the
late
19th
century,
because
there
are
no
active
teaching
lines
remaining
in
that
migratory
lineage.
My
engagement
with
documentary
sources
was
most
productive
in
relation
to
musical
materials
available
with
Falguni
Mitra,
Indra
Kishore
Mishra
–
including
handwritten
bhojpatra
(birch-‐leaf)
manuscripts
from
the
19th
century
containing
Dhrupads
of
the
Bettiah
Maharajas
-‐
and
some
of
the
corroborative
material
I
obtained
at
the
Kashi
Sangit
Samaj
in
Benares
and
from
musical
circles
in
Kolkata.
I
also
looked
at
land
records
of
the
Mullick
families
and
verified
their
family
trees
until
the
mid
19th
century
through
these
records.
I
spent
three
weeks
at
the
India
Office
Archives
in
the
British
Library
researching
the
political,
social
and
economic
history
of
the
Bettiah
Estate
and
managed
to
find
a
few
stray
references
to
the
culture
of
the
times.
I
visited
the
Bettiah
palace
and
their
records
rooms
several
times
but
the
main
thing
I
got
from
the
visits
was
fuel
for
my
historical
imagination.
I
had
been
forewarned
by
Michael’s
ethnographic
report
of
the
rigors
of
doing
archive
research
on
the
Bettiah
Estate.53
Even
so,
I
was
disappointed
at
not
making
much
headway
there.
I
tried
repeatedly
to
get
old
recordings.
I
was
sorely
disappointed
to
learn
that
a
valuable
interview
of
Indra
Kishore’s
grandfather
Shyama
Prasad
Mullick
done
in
1961
by
All
India
Radio,
Patna
in
Bettiah
had
been
52
Mishra (1997)
53
Michael, Bernardo (1999) at http://www.hawaii.edu/csas/SAnewsfall99.html; last accessed August 13,
2015
43
lost
in
a
flood.
The
few
older
recordings
I
managed
to
get
were
obtained
from
an
officer
of
the
Indian
Administrative
Service
who
had
recorded
some
of
the
Bettiah
Dhrupad
musicians
while
posted
in
Bettiah
as
the
District
Magistrate
and
Collector
sometime
in
the
nineteen
eighties.
I
also
obtained
some
older
recordings
from
Krishna
Kumar
Rastogi
of
the
Kashi
Sangit
Samaj.
I
consulted
a
number
of
secondary
sources
on
political,
social,
economic
and
cultural
history
of
the
places
and
regions
in
my
project,
and
on
Dhrupad
in
the
early
20th
century.
I
even
did
a
survey
of
18th
and
19th
century
migrations
to
the
Caribbean
from
the
Bhojpuri
region
in
the
hope
of
finding
links
between
the
Chautal
traditions
in
the
Caribbean
and
the
Dhrupad
traditions
of
Bettiah
and
Benares.
I
did
find
a
reference
to
a
girl
named
Bettiah
in
a
collection
of
folk
songs
of
Guyana
,54
but
I
left
that
tantalizing
trail
for
another
day.
54
Brathwaite, Percy A., and Serena U. Brathwaite. 1970. Folk songs of Guyana: chanties, ragtime, ballads,
queh-queh, traditional plantation themes. S.l: s.n. The song is titled “Bettiah from Berbice” and is about an
East Indian girl named Bettiah.
44
Chapter 3 -‐ Thick sound on an ancestral street
“That is not my voice. This is my body but that is not my voice; it is my father’s
voice – he is sitting in my throat…”55
It happened twice under strikingly similar vocal conditions. The first time, still
somewhat new to the village of Bhanu Chapra and its sole contemporary expert
Dhrupad musician Indra Kishore Mishra, I brushed the incident off as fanciful. The
second time I realized that a very particular vocalization catalyzed Mishra into
remembering his father and experiencing memory not as thought but aurally and
physically, as a vocal inhabiting lodged in the throat.
A long vocal movement that traverses a cluster of adjacent notes in a series of slow
loops, the vocal gesture that catalyzed remembering as vocal inhabiting is a central
mode of expression in Indra Kishore Mishra’s Dhrupad practice. Sung with vocal
chords barely engaged, the voice is moved by the breath circulating through the
body, stomach muscles pulling in slowly, the breath pushed up into a slowly
expanding chest while the series of loops are executed by the voice. Excruciating for
a learner, the gesture has as its basis a series of meends, a vocal technique that is at
the heart of Dhrupad in the gaurhar bani, the aesthetic style that constitutes the
acoustic world as a way of being for Indra Kishore Mishra. Carrying sound marks of
affective associations to family, patron and place, the characteristic vocalization of
Indra Kishore’s gaurhar bani is thick sound that interrupts consciousness in an
intense remembering that is critical to vocal epistemology in Indra Kishore’s
musical world.
In this chapter, I investigate the interactive basis of musical judgment for the first of
my two case studies. Indra Kishore Mishra is a hereditary musician from the Mullick
families of Bettiah – multi-‐generational families of Dhrupad musicians who migrated
into Bettiah at the end of the 17th century in the service of the Bhumihar kings of the
Bettiah Estate, and have remained there since. Fighting conditions of poverty and
cultural isolation since the end of princely patronage, the musical families that
remained in Bettiah have largely abandoned the practice of Dhrupad. Today Indra
Kishore Mishra is the sole expert performer of Dhrupad on a street that had dozens
55
Indra Kishore Mishra, Bettiah, October 2010. All quotations of Indra Kishore have been translated from
Hindi unless otherwise indicated.
45
of
Dhrupad
musicians
composing
and
singing
from
the
late
17th
century
until
the
twilight
years
of
zamindari
patronage
in
the
early
20th
century.
Despite
the
erosion
in
musical
environment
and
the
lack
of
local
patrons,
listeners
or
peers,
Indra
Kishore
still
lives
and
sings
in
Place
in
his
ancestral
village
of
Bhanu
Chapra
just
across
the
railway
tracks
from
the
central
Chowk
area
of
Bettiah.
Staying
in
place
and
staying
singing
are
deeply
connected
conditions
in
Indra
Kishore
Mishra’s
musical
life
as
a
contemporary
performer
of
Dhrupad.
Indra
Kishore’s
auditory
consciousness
is
deeply
entangled
in
the
memorial
associations
of
family,
patron
and
place,
which
include
the
pain
of
trauma
memory.
Even
when
Mishra
is
traveling
on
the
music
circuit,
he
carries
Place
in
myriad
ways
that
are
intertwined
with
the
sonic.
In
the
sections
that
follow
I
demonstrate
conclusively
that
Indra
Kishore’s
music
and
his
voice
have
been
shaped
in
dialogic
with
the
changing
soundscapes
of
Bettiah
town,
inflected
by
inter-‐subjective
pressures
of
performing
on
the
national
Dhrupad
circuit
in
contemporary
times.
I
show
that
the
strength
and
tenor
of
Indra
Kishore’s
judgment
about
Dhrupad
as
classical
music
can
only
be
understood
by
attending
to
the
dialogic
practices
through
which
the
sounds
of
Indra
Kishore’s
Dhrupad
are
transformed
to
thick
sound
cognitively
entangled
with
family,
patron
and
place
in
daily
musical
life.
I
trace
the
strength
of
Indra
Kishore’s
musical
judgment
and
the
ethical
register
of
his
aesthetic
choices
to
the
interactive
forms
of
knowledge
produced
singing
in
Place
while
dwelling
in
the
Voice.
I
begin
with
a
description
of
Indra
Kishore’s
Dhrupad
lineage
and
his
rich
and
historic
repertoire
of
compositions.
I
quickly
exit
the
fishbowl
of
transmission
studies
by
analyzing
the
interactive
nexus
of
habitual
practices
through
which
Indra
Kishore
sustains
a
sense
for
his
khazana
as
thick
sound,
invoking
soundscapes
long
gone
through
processes
of
inter-‐animation
in
which
interactions
anchor
sound
and
sound
in
turn
is
marked
by
interactions.
I
investigate
the
grids
of
intelligibility
that
constitute
a
habitual
epistemology
for
Indra
Kishore’s
music
by
conducting
an
archeology
of
thick
sound
in
Bettiah
town
in
near
history.
I
show
that
epistemologies
of
Dhrupad
in
Bettiah
have
been
dialogically
shaped
within
a
constellation
of
practices
in
which
Dhrupad
practice
came
to
be
emplaced
in
the
centuries
of
Princely
patronage.
To
analyze
musical
life
as
an
acoustemic
environment,
I
consider
the
inter-‐
animation
of
Dhrupad
vocal
practice
with
heredity,
geographies
of
practice,
patronage
circuits,
cultural
practices
associated
with
singing
Dhrupad
in
community
and
the
expert
practice
of
Dhrupad
as
a
genre
of
Classical
music
amongst
the
musical
families
of
Bettiah.
I
consider
the
acoustic
communities
and
inter-‐subjective
interactions
in
which
Indra
Kishore
and
his
immediate
forefathers
shaped
their
sense
of
judgment
and
right
practice
in
Dhrupad.
I
investigate
the
forms
of
46
knowledge
produced
in
the
development
of
musicianship
and
expertise
through
repeated
engagements
with
a
historic
khazana
that
has
been
put
through
a
few
centuries
of
churning
by
generation
after
generation
of
Dhrupad
musicians
composing
music
for
singing
in
Places.
Through
this
layered
analysis
I
establish
the
interactive
epistemological
basis
of
musical
judgment
and
strong
notions
of
fidelity
to
tradition
in
Indra
Kishore’s
life
as
a
contemporary
performer
of
Dhrupad.
Lineage: the fertile grounds of family musical practice
Indra Kishore comes from a family of composers and tunesmiths. The version of his
family tree drawn up by his father Mahant Mishra begins in the early 17th century
with two originary Dhrupad musicians -‐ one a vocalist and the other a been player.
These musicians are said to have migrated from Kurukshetra via Shah Jahan’s
Imperial court to Bettiah in the late 17th century. As oral history has it, the Mughal
Emperor himself gifted them to Raja Gaj Singh -‐ the second king in the Bettiah Raj
lineage -‐ during one of the latter’s periodic visits to the Emperor’s Court. After
recording this early origin, a continuous family tree with multiple branches of
composer-‐musicians begins in the late 18th century and continues till today.
Indra Kishore’s family is one of three main lineages of Mullicks that claim presence
in Bettiah from the late 17th century. The three families have different origin stories
and distinct lineages, and all of them were awarded land and farmland by the
Maharajas of Bettiah. While under the patronage of the Maharajas of Bettiah and the
Bettiah Estate until the early 20th century, and until the mid 20th century while there
was still a network of dwindling patronage in neighboring estates, these families
sang only Dhrupad. With waning patronage, in the last two generations family
members have moved away from Dhrupad to specialize in pakhawaj for Kirtan
accompaniment, Kirtan singing, tabla, and Khayal, and some have left music
altogether to find other occupations.56
In the early 20th century, the number of active Dhrupad musicians in just Indra
Kishore’s lineage numbered more than ten, and they all lived in the village of Bhanu
Chapra on one half of a street about 500 meters long. Indra Kishore still lives on this
street, on ancestral property gifted by the Maharajas of Bettiah to his forefathers.
Today he is the only practicing Dhrupad musician on his street. The other half of the
56
Indra Kishore observed that it would be interesting to document the kinds of professions erstwhile
Dhrupad families have taken up. He lists porters, brick layers, cement workers, clerks, shoe smiths, traders,
teachers, Kirtan singers, pundits and priests as occupations of people that used to sing Dhrupad in Bettiah.
He himself inherited his father’s job as a chowkidar (office assistant) of the Bihar Government, a position
most educated middle class people would view as a servile position with no authority or dignity. This job is
what keeps him hovering above poverty, as being a full time Dhrupad performer in a rural town does not
feed the stomach.
47
same
street
is
occupied
by
a
different
extended
family
of
Mullicks,
unrelated
to
Indra
Kishore’s
family.
This
family
too
had
half
a
dozen
or
more
active
Dhrupad
musicians
in
the
early
20th
century
but
after
the
1960s
there
have
been
no
regular
performers
of
Dhrupad
in
this
lineage.
Knowledge
of
Dhrupad
has
become
attenuated
in
the
subsequent
generations
though
many
still
sing
Khayal,
Bhajan
and
other
genres.
The
third
large
extended
family
of
Mullicks
lives
some
miles
away
in
Bettiah
town
in
the
area
known
as
Raj
Deori,
right
outside
the
Bettiah
Palace
grounds.
This
extended
family
had
half
a
dozen
active
Dhrupad
and
sitar
musicians
in
the
early
twentieth
century
but
by
the
mid
twentieth
century,
a
single
Dhrupad
musician
-‐
Raj
Kishore
Mishra
-‐
carried
this
lineage’s
repertoire
and
practice.
By
the
21st
century,
this
octogenarian
too
has
moved
on.
With
him,
a
distinctive
branch
of
the
Bettiah
gharana
ended,
leaving
only
attenuated
traces
in
his
son
and
grandchildren,
none
of
whom
have
put
in
much
work
into
receiving
tradition.
The
varied
strands
of
transmission
within
an
extended
family
results
in
an
incredibly
strong
connection
to
shared
historical
soundscapes
for
Dhrupad
practice
and
a
communal
memory
for
the
aesthetics
of
Dhrupad.
Often,
knowledge
of
Dhrupad
arises
from
listening
to
a
song
learnt
by
members
of
the
family;
at
other
times,
it
is
engendered
by
hearing
more
focused
learners
practice,
and
sometimes
through
targeted
training,
discipleship
and
practice.
The
intelligibility
of
Dhrupad
in
Bettiah
is
strongly
tethered
in
these
shared
auditory
histories.
In
Indra
Kishore’s
lineage,
the
figure
of
his
grandfather
Shyama
Prasad
Mullick,
also
called
Shyama
Mulick
(1881
–
1961)
stands
out
both
in
oral
history
and
in
the
repertoire.
A
prolific
composer
and
outstanding
musician
by
all
accounts,
Indra
Kishore
told
me
that
Shyama
Mullick
has
been
a
key
musical
voice
in
consolidating
and
transmitting
the
signature
aesthetics
of
the
gaurhar
and
khandar
banis,
the
two
aesthetic
styles
associated
with
Dhrupad
performance
and
composition
in
Indra
Kishore’s
lineage.
The
generations
prior
to
Shyama
Mullick
record
the
names
of
Mahavir
Mullick
and
his
brother
Ramprasad
Mullick,
both
of
whom
composed
actively,
and
their
father
Digambar
Mullick,
also
an
active
composer.
Their
ancestors
in
turn
figure
in
the
repertoire
as
active
composers,
taking
us
right
to
the
times
of
Anand
Kishore
Singh
and
Naval
Kishore
Singh,
the
Maharajas
of
Bettiah
who
were
famous
as
composer-‐patrons
of
Dhrupad
in
the
19th
century.57
In
the
early
20th
century,
Shyama
Mullick
had
a
performing
partner
in
Bhagawat
Mullick,
his
brother
and
next
door
neighbor
who
died
in
the
nineteen
forties.
The
57
Different Mullick families in Bettiah contest each other’s family trees and claims to musical prowess. I
have reported what was provided by members of each lineage, verified as far back as possible using
property documents. For family trees see Lahiry (1977) and Simha (1990).
48
brochure
of
the
All
India
Music
Conference
in
Muzzafarpur
in
1936,
which
is
in
the
possession
of
Indra
Kishore,
lists
jugalbandi
Dhrupad
performances
by
them
as
well
as
their
rivals
down
the
street,
Kunj
Behari
and
his
nephew
Anant
Behari
Mullick.
Shyama
Mullick’s
stature
as
a
musician
and
inheritor
of
a
valuable
musical
tradition
attracted
the
well
known
Gwalior
gharana
Khayal
musician
Narayan
Rao
Vyas,
then
director
of
AIR
Patna
to
Bettiah
in
1960,
with
a
team
that
recorded
him.
AIR
also
interviewed
Shyama
Mullick
and
many
others
living
on
the
same
street,
some
of
whom
I
met.
The
recording
cannot
be
traced
though
the
contract
signed
by
AIR
with
the
artist
is
in
the
possession
of
Indra
Kishore.
In
the
next
generation,
Bhagawat
Mullick’s
family
moved
away
from
Dhrupad
as
its
primary
genre.
Only
his
son
Shankar
Lal
Mishra
retaining
a
level
of
engagement
with
Dhrupad
to
imbibe
and
transmit
some
of
his
father’s
repertoire,
in
addition
to
playing
tabla,
his
primary
instrument.58
In
contrast,
much
of
Shyama
Mullick’s
heritage
was
passed
in
close
transmission
mainly
to
his
eldest
son,
Mahant
Mishra,
Indra
Kishore’s
father,
whose
life
force
was
keeping
his
family
tradition
going.
Mahant
Mishra
spent
over
forty
years
with
his
father,
often
traveling
with
him
to
neighboring
estates
to
perform
and
teach,
and
acquiring
and
polishing
the
repertoire
throughout
this
time.
Local
lore
has
it
that
Shyama
Mullick
knew
thousands
of
songs,
some
portion
of
which
he
taught
his
son
Mahant
Mishra,
who
took
the
step
of
notating
the
music
in
the
two
decades
after
his
father’s
death,
while
teaching
his
son
Indra
Kishore
as
many
songs
as
he
could.
The musical inheritance -‐ Indra Kishore’s khazana
The khazana Indra Kishore inherited is one that has been transformed by the
polishing and creative work of several generations of musicians, most recently put
through the individual musical mill of his grandfather Shyama Mullick and sustained
by his father Mahant Mishra. Indra Kishore’s corpus is truly unique and an objective
description suffices to demonstrate this. I catalogued over 600 songs that were
notated by his father. Aside from this, there are texts of many songs without
notation on scraps of paper, diaries, manuscripts and books. My discussion here is
restricted just to the notated repertoire.
While the heart of the corpus are four-‐part Dhrupads and four-‐part Dhamars, the
repertoire has many songs in less-‐heard forms such as Chaturang, Swaramalika,
58
Even within a single extended family, each patrilineal branch has some compositions they consider their
own, not sharing even with close cousins. Indra Kishore told me Shankar Lal Mishra has some very
interesting compositions he has taught his sons but not Indra Kishore. The sons of Shankar Lal Mishra have
learnt Dhrupad from their father but have not pursued it as a primary expertise. Their transmission line for
Dhrupad has two generations that did not sing Dhrupad as a primary genre. Yet, their aesthetic sense for
song is strikingly coherent.
49
Trivat
and
Tarana,
many
of
which
were
composed
by
his
forefathers.
The
four-‐part
Dhamars
also
stand
out
in
the
corpus
against
the
two-‐part
varieties
more
commonly
found
in
other
repertoires.
The
repertoire’s
range
of
ragas
contains
the
common
ragas
of
Hindustani
music
but
also
some
unusual
varieties
of
common
ragas59.
It
also
has
some
ragas
such
as
Salankh,
Salankhi,
Mallari
that
are
not
listed
in
contemporary
raga
compilations.
Indra
Kishore’s
understanding
of
these
ragas
is
entirely
based
on
the
few
songs
in
his
repertoire.
The
range
of
talas
include
Chautal,
Adi
tal,
Sadra
all
sung
in
very
slow
and
slow
tempo,
Dhamar
sung
in
medium
slow
tempo,
Adi
tal,
Sulfakta
and
Teovra
in
fast
and
very
fast
tempo
as
well
a
few
songs
in
now
rare
talas
such
as
Brahma
tala
of
28
beats.
The
bani
to
tempo
map
is
almost
automated.
Very
slow
to
medium
slow
tempo
is
automatically
sung
with
gaurhar
bani
cognition,
whereas
khandar
bani
songs
start
at
medium
fast
and
then
increase
tempo
up
to
very
fast.
For
forms
such
as
Chaturang,
Swaramalika
and
Trivat,60
where
rhythmicity
and
sonority
of
syllables
is
part
of
the
effect,
Indra
Kishore
begins
at
fast
and
speeds
up
to
very
fast
singing
as
fast
he
can
enunciate,
with
faster
gamak
adding
to
the
increase
in
intensity.
The
range
of
composers
in
this
repertoire
begins
with
the
figure
of
Vyas
Das,
all
of
whose
compositions
are
in
the
now
rare
raga
Nat
Narayan.61
A
number
of
Dhrupads
of
Swami
Haridas,
Tansen,
and
Baiju
form
a
bulk
of
the
early
corpus,
before
going
onto
the
composers
of
the
17th
and
18th
centuries
such
as
Buddhiprakash,
and
Sadarang,
Adarang
and
their
brother
Nur
Rang
who
seems
to
have
been
the
lesser
known
brother
of
the
more
famous
duo.
Less
common
forms
such
as
Chaturang
and
Swaramalika
begin
to
appear
even
with
the
middle
centuries
composers.
Nur
Rang’s
composition
is
a
Swaramalika,
whereas
a
Chaturang
of
Buddhiprakash
is
in
the
repertoire.
The
19th
century
composers
in
his
repertoire
include
a
substantial
number
of
59
Examples include Sampoorna Hindol, Shuddh Dhaivat Adana, Shuddh Dhaivat Lalit, a Megh with komal
gandhar and two nishads that is more a Malhar than a pentatonic variety of Megh, Jaaj Bilawal, Sindhoora
Malhar, Pancham with 4 notes (which doesn’t include the note pancham), 3 types of Malashri with 3, 4 and
5 notes respectively.
60
See Bharali (2008) for a discussion of these musical forms.
61
I
have
not
come
across
a
Vyas
Das
in
my
review
of
repertoires.
Indra
Kishore
says
he
has
heard
that
Vyas
Das
was
Swami
Haridas’s
guru.
Swami
Haridas
is
a
patron
saint
and
founder
of
the
Vallabha
Sampradaya
sect
of
Krishna
devotion
and
known
in
Hindustani
music
lore
as
the
teacher
of
Mia
Tansen.
His
Dhrupad
songs
are
extant
in
classical
repertoires
and
while
Delvoye
(2010)
insists
these
are
metrical
and
unlike
Dhrupads,
Rosenstein
has
analyzed
the
entire
Vallabha
Sampradaya
repertoire
and
finds
them
comparable
to
Dhrupads
(Rosenstein,
1997).
Falguni
Mitra
based
on
his
experience
of
singing
hundreds
of
Dhrupads
composed
through
the
ages,
says
that
Swami
Haridas’s
compositions
are
definitely
written
for
singing
even
though
some
of
his
songs
are
long,
more
like
Prabandhas
and
some
are
unusual
in
their
structure.
Still
they
fit
very
well
within
the
structural
varieties
of
Dhrupads
from
different
composers.
50
Dhrupads
of
the
Maharajas
of
Bettiah,
Anand
Kishore
Singh
and
Naval
Kishore
Singh.
Fighting
for
place
with
the
Maharaja’s
compositions
are
a
number
of
songs
composed
by
at
least
10
different
composers
from
Indra
Kishore’s
lineage
over
150
years.
The
composers
include
Gopal
Mullick,
Dina
Mullick
from
the
early
19th
century,
Digambar
Mullick
and
Mahavir
Mullick
from
later
in
the
19th
century,
prolific
composing
by
Shyama
Prasad
Mullick
in
the
20th
century
and
songs
tuned
as
well
as
composed
by
Indra
Kishore
who
continues
his
family
tradition
as
a
vaggeyakara.62
A
few
songs
from
other
Mullick
lineages
also
find
a
place
in
the
repertoire.
The khazana as thick sound
Indra Kishore’s sense of family is anchored in more than a family tree drawn on a
piece of paper. It is anchored in and feeds sound. Consequently, the temporality of
song is not simply loosely anchored nostalgia or narrativity in Indra Kishore’s
musical life -‐ it has audible sonic footprint and is entrenched in the sonic. Several
times during my fieldwork with Indra Kishore, he would experience moments of
intense remembering in connection with Dhrupad practice. Triggered by activity
that was not always aural, but almost always centered in his khazana and its
connection to family, patron and place, it happened when singing, cataloguing, even
simply handling the notebooks and documents with songs in them, sifting through
trunks, walking on the street near places marked by music, walking by his family’s
graves, or talking of family, music, places and events. One minute we would be doing
something, the next an intense remembering would be triggered in which Indra
Kishore would be catalyzed to listen in to sound within a nexus of associations that
would feed right back into sound, thickening it further with potentiality and
eventfulness.
In the following, I investigate the habitual and catalytic interactions through which
the vocal practice of Dhrupad functions as thick sound -‐ an acoustemic environment
which transforms individual musical judgment in Indra Kishore’s life as a hereditary
musician, and its relation to individual musical judgment and aesthetic sense. I
organize my investigation of thick sound in four related sections. The first two
sections demonstrate how soundscapes long gone become inter-‐animated in the
practices through which singing Dhrupad becomes emplacing for Indra Kishore as a
hereditary musician living and singing on an ancestral street in contemporary
Bettiah. First I discuss acoustemic anchors and their agentive role in transforming
the vocal practice of Dhrupad into an acoustemic environment where vocal
62
A vaggeyakara refers to a musician who composes the lyrics and sets it to music.
51
knowledge
is
inter-‐animated
with
epistemologies
of
family,
patron
and
place.63
Some
of
the
acoustemic
anchors
I
study
in
Indra
Kishore’s
case
include
the
hereditary
musical
family,
trauma
memory,
paper
and
notation,
material
possessions
and
sense
of
Place
In
the
next
sub-‐section
I
focus
on
the
vocal
epistemologies
produced
in
the
cognitive
intertwining
of
Dhrupad
vocal
practice
with
places
and
events
that
gathered
community
in
Bettiah
town.
In
the
third
section
I
investigate
the
transformations
in
the
heterogeneous
acoustic
communities
that
sustained
the
practice
of
Dhrupad
in
Bettiah
as
an
acoustemic
environment,
and
the
consequent
impact
on
grids
of
intelligibility
for
Dhrupad
performance
in
Bettiah
and
outside.
I
focus
on
Indra
Kishore
Mishra’s
family
practice
in
relation
to
this
environment
to
argue
that
the
categories
of
Dhrupad
as
an
expert
practice
are
dependent
on
the
inter-‐subjectivity
of
acoustic
communities
that
engage
in
dialogic
modes
of
listening
in
performance.
I
focus
on
the
erosion
of
acoustic
communities
for
Dhrupad
in
Bettiah
and
Indra
Kishore
Mishra’s
attempts
to
straddle
the
worlds
of
being
a
hereditary
musician
in
a
denuded
rural
environment
for
music
and
a
musician
occasionally
at
large
on
the
national
Dhrupad
circuit.
In
the
fourth
and
final
section,
I
discuss
the
tethering
of
Indra
Kishore’s
musical
judgment
and
notions
of
fidelity
to
tradition
in
relation
to
processes
of
emplacement.
Emplacing sound: Acoustemic anchors for the catalytic khazana
When a musician recognize songs by the relationship he has to the composer, the
composer-‐patrons that sustained musical community, and the places where songs
were written and performed, the aural becomes marked with a sense of family,
patron and place, and vocal practice becomes an acoustemic environment that
transforms both the voice within and the world without.
But, it is critical to emphasize that it is not in sound alone that these connections are
sustained. Connections to the aural are materialized in different objects and kept
alive through the memorial practices of everyday life as a hereditary musician
engaged in the work of churning his family khazana in intense musical practice.
Living and singing in the midst of these anchors for acoustemic memory transforms
Indra Kishore’s khazana to thick sound in catalytic and habitual ways.
Family as acoustemic anchor
Music, family, and consciousness are synonymous to Indra Kishore. This is a man
that knows his own self and the world primarily through sound and the associations
that mark and anchor sound. His life story soon reveals that sound has played a
63
I have defined acoustemic anchors as distributed anchors for thick sound – often they anchor acoustic
memory entwined with emotional memory, body memory, associative memory, correlative memory and so
on – bringing Hutchins (2005) and Basso (1996) together, they are distributed anchors or sites of cognitive
intertwining.
52
great
part
in
compensating
a
childhood
rendered
lonely
by
circumstance.
A
mother
who
died
in
childbirth
brought
Indra
Kishore
into
the
world
as
the
only
child
of
a
poverty
stricken
and
grieving
father
whose
impetus
to
survive
was
sourced
and
sustained
in
sound.
According
to
family
and
a
few
close
friends,
Indra
Kishore’s
father
Mahant
Mishra
became
a
recluse
after
losing
both
his
wife
and
his
father
within
a
few
years
of
each
other.
Rarely
given
to
speech,
Mahant
Mishra
put
whatever
fire
he
had
into
learning,
singing,
transmitting
and
notating
his
family
Dhrupad
repertoire,
letting
his
family
lands
run
wild,
his
mud
house
crumble
and
his
stomach
go
hungry.
To
feed
his
son
and
put
him
through
school,
he
was
forced
to
earn
a
meager
living
cracking
betel
nuts
in
the
bazaar,
teaching
a
few
students
in
town
and
doing
a
job
as
a
low
salary
employee
in
the
local
government
office.
The
rest
of
the
time
he
would
teach
his
son,
making
him
practice
song
after
song,
trying
to
impart
not
just
the
music
but
the
intense
feeling
for
family
and
inheritance
that
kept
him
going
through
years
of
struggling
to
survive.
Indra
Kishore
imbibed
complex
musical
knowledge
in
relation
to
ragas,
talas,
song
forms
and
aesthetics,
at
the
same
time
he
internalized
stories
of
patrons,
events,
community
and
family
feats
of
composing.
Trauma
memory
and
triumph
as
anchors
While
singing
Dhrupad
generated
soundscapes
with
feeling
for
family,
patron
and
place,
the
actual
details
of
Indra
Kishore’s
life
in
childhood
suggest
that
this
vocal
knowledge
compensated
the
loneliness
he
had
to
deal
with
early
in
life.
As
Indra
Kishore
recalls
it,
his
father
would
not
spend
much
time
at
home.
Rather,
he
would
wake
his
son
early,
get
him
to
start
singing,
teach
him
songs
and
then
leave,
coming
back
in
the
afternoons
before
going
out
again
in
the
evening.
But
Indra
Kishore
was
expected
to
practice
as
much
as
he
could
when
home
from
school,
and
was
banned
from
listening
to
other
music.
Failure
to
practice
and
waywardness
in
listening
would
bring
his
father’s
wrath
down
on
him
hard.
A
lonely
childhood
seems
to
have
left
deep
marks
on
Indra
Kishore.
He
recalls
with
pain
and
anger
the
doors
that
were
shut
in
the
face
of
their
poverty
by
many
families
on
their
street
and
in
the
town
when
his
father
went
knocking
for
school
fees
or
medical
help,
the
musical
events
to
which
his
father
would
no
longer
be
welcome
because
of
poverty
and
depression,
and
the
pain
of
watching
his
father
slowly
go
more
and
more
into
isolation
barring
a
few
friends
who
kept
him
going
musically.
Special
songs
mark
incidents
in
his
struggle
to
keep
connected
with
his
father
through
difficult
years.
Sitting
with
a
broken
reed
harmonium
in
his
schoolhouse,
Indra
Kishore
told
me
how
his
father
once
broke
the
harmonium
cover
by
hitting
him
with
it.
The
occasion
was
finding
his
son
singing
a
film
song
by
the
playback
singer
Mukesh.
Indra
Kishore
says
he
was
soon
cured
of
the
tendency
to
sing
film
music,
but
when
I
listen
to
his
sweet
and
clear
voice
today,
I
am
led
to
imagine
that
he
was
drawn
to
Mukesh
because
of
a
resonance
in
his
own
vocal
chords.
53
Many
of
Indra
Kishore’s
stories
are
marked
by
heroic
personal
effort
in
relation
to
family
inheritance.
One
day
in
the
midst
of
a
grueling
3-‐hour
cataloguing
session,
he
called
in
his
wife
to
describe
how
his
father
tore
up
notebooks
filled
with
precious
notations.
The
notebooks
we
were
cataloguing
were
salvaged
from
his
father’s
frustration
at
not
being
able
to
teach
Indra
Kishore
as
much
of
the
family
repertoire
as
he
could.
A
song
in
raga
Bageshri
broke
the
six-‐month
tundra
of
silence
his
father
subjected
him
to
when
he
found
his
son
wasn’t
practicing
regularly.
Indra
Kishore
cannot
sing
the
song
in
Bageshri
without
remembering
this
association,
and
he
often
chooses
to
sing
this
song
precisely
so
that
he
can
relive
feeling
in
sound.
Relief
for
Indra
Kishore
finally
came
in
the
form
of
a
young
wife,
and
then
the
children
followed.
But
Indra
Kishore’s
music
would
not
have
survived
but
for
an
incident
that
was
to
change
his
life.
In
1980
when
a
team
of
revivalists
came
looking
for
the
lost
Dhrupad
tradition
of
Bettiah,
they
were
taken
to
the
house
of
many
families
that
had
since
given
up
singing
Dhrupad
but
were
not
even
give
a
hint
that
the
village
of
Bhanu
Chapra
had
a
living,
breathing
tradition
in
Indra
Kishore’s
father
Mahant
Mishra.
Through
a
local
benefactor,
Indra
Kishore
managed
to
force
his
way
into
the
presence
of
two
men
who
were
to
play
a
decisive
role
in
his
musical
career
for
the
next
three
decades
–
Ustad
Fariduddin
Dagar
arguably
the
20th
century’s
most
influential
Dhrupad
musician,
and
Gajendra
Narain
Singh,
then
Secretary
of
the
Bihar
Sangit
Natak
Akademi.
Dead;
they
thought
Bettiah
gharana
was
dead.
Dead…
Almost
always
said
in
English,
Indra
Kishore’s
tone
would
show
panic
and
amazement
every
time
he
recounted
the
story
of
how
a
Dhrupad
tradition
that
was
almost
dead
was
brought
back
to
life,
and
his
own
rise
as
the
person
to
bring
life
back
to
it.
Recognizing
heritage
and
talent
in
Indra
Kishore
despite
his
bare
feet
and
torn
clothes,
Fariduddin
Dagar
and
Gajendra
Narain
Singh
fought
many
battles
to
give
Indra
Kishore
a
break
on
the
Dhrupad
concert
circuit.
Today
Indra
Kishore
is
a
regular
in
all
state
musical
events
and
on
the
national
Dhrupad
circuit.
He
is
well
recognized
as
a
carrier
of
heritage
in
contemporary
Dhrupad
where
heredity
and
long
lineage
has
a
great
deal
of
authority.
Reliving
the
past
serves
little
political
or
practical
purpose.
Yet,
the
shock
of
almost
fading
into
oblivion
remains
strongly
with
Indra
Kishore.
He
cannot
go
through
an
important
concert
or
crucial
meeting
without
telling
at
least
some
part
of
this
story.
Intermixed
with
trauma,
some
songs
mark
happier
events.
A
song
in
raga
Todi
that
he
had
to
partially
re-‐compose
due
to
his
father’s
loss
of
memory
causes
him
to
hear
his
father’s
words
as
thick
sound
in
feedback
“Somehow
you
recovered
the
tune
of
your
ancestors…”
54
This
acknowledgment
from
his
father
not
only
proclaimed
him
a
true
carrier
of
tradition,
it
gave
him
the
ethical
basis
to
“complete
the
work
of
(my)
ancestors”
with
his
own
musical
efforts
–
work
he
strongly
opposes
labeling
as
“new”.
But,
nothing
came
easy
-‐
it
had
to
be
worked
for,
and
the
effort
put
in
was
both
musical
and
personal
intertwining
acoustic
memory
with
emotional
memory,
marking
sound
with
trauma,
and
struggle.
The
hours
and
hours
of
reiterative
effort
are
integral
to
the
processes
through
which
Indra
Kishore
connects
to
his
khazana
as
thick
sound
that
constitutes
both
habitual
epistemology
and
interruptive
consciousness.
Trauma
memory,
place
memory
and
acoustic
memory
Indra
Kishore’s
acoustemic
memory
is
shot
through
with
anchors
that
often
surface
in
musical
action
to
interrupt
consciousness
while
waking
or
sleeping,
walking
or
talking,
singing
or
surveying
his
musical
inheritance.
Trauma
memory
kicks
in
often
in
daily
life,
intertwined
with
sound
and
place.
Right
after
Indra
Kishore
was
extended
a
musical
lifeline
by
his
two
benefactors,
he
was
dealt
two
blows
in
quick
succession
that
have
marked
him
deeply.
Walking
through
the
village,
past
the
graves
of
his
grandfather,
father
and
eldest
daughter
with
me,
Indra
Kishore
recounted
his
extreme
pain
at
losing
his
eldest
child
Deepmala
when
she
was
barely
15,
the
one
with
the
sweetest
voice,
already
learning
Dhrupad
from
him
and
his
father.
The
next
year
was
even
worse
with
his
father
ill
and
no
money
to
buy
medicines.
What
is
miscible
in
the
mud
is
also
memorialized
in
other
ways.
Indra
Kishore
keeps
photographs
locked
away
from
those
times.
A
photograph
with
his
eldest
daughter
in
it,
another
of
his
father
stick
thin
with
eyes
shining
from
a
sunken
and
hollowed
out
face,
a
third
one
of
himself
looking
distraught
and
thin
in
ragged
clothes.
Those
were
very
difficult
days
for
the
young
man
and
his
family.
The
night
Indra
Kishore’s
father
died,
he
had
a
dream
in
which
his
father
taught
him
a
raga
he
had
not
yet
learnt
-‐
Devshak.
Indra
Kishore
insists
that
he
heard
this
raga
first
in
a
dream
and
only
then
learnt
it
from
songs
in
his
repertoire.
The
point
to
take
away
for
me
is
that
Indra
Kishore
is
sensitized
to
feeling
in
and
through
sound.
Material
anchors
are
created
through
repeated
recounting
and
memorial
practices
and
Indra
Kishore’s
habit
of
walking
through
the
village
remembering
ancestral
voices,
fame
and
pain
retains
these
memories.
Such
memories
are
available
to
the
senses
at
a
later
time
when
musical
memory
is
triggered
by
any
activity
that
anchors
acoustemic
memory
such
as
working
with
paper,
possessions
or
music.64
Why
relive
trauma?
I
came
to
the
conclusion
that
Indra
Kishore’s
memories
serve
a
purpose
that
is
beyond
nostalgia.
They
are
an
essential
condition
to
keep
Indra
64
For a discussion of trauma memory see Casey (1987; 2000)
55
Kishore
singing
in
a
denuded
environment
for
music
at
home,
and
to
re-‐energize
structures
of
feeling
in
sound
when
on
the
circuit.
They
serve
to
remind
Indra
Kishore
that
he
has
survived
to
tell
the
tale
when
the
danger
of
being
silenced
was
very
real.
They
serve
to
keep
him
positive
in
the
face
of
great
odds
today
when
he
struggles
to
re-‐create
a
supportive
environment
in
modern
day
Bettiah
to
transmit
his
heritage
to
his
children
and
students.
They
serve
to
keep
him
singing
in
a
place
where
he
has
no
listeners
through
most
of
the
year
-‐
for,
unlike
his
grandfather’s
time
or
even
his
father’s,
a
listening
community
for
Dhrupad
in
his
village
and
town
has
dwindled
to
vanishing.
Trauma
memory,
musical
memory
and
place
memory
that
became
co-‐located
in
the
sound
marks
of
Indra
Kishore’s
early
musical
practice
with
his
father
urging
him
repeatedly
not
to
let
their
heritage
die
feedback
in
musical
action
today
when
his
stomach
is
relatively
full.
Reiterated
through
re-‐telling
and
remembrance
that
is
catalyzed
both
by
the
sounds
of
his
family
music
and
by
the
many
anchors
for
this
sound
in
his
daily
life
as
a
hereditary
musician
living
in
place,
the
dialogic
of
marked
sound
and
sound
marks
makes
consciousness
in
sound
both
habitual
and
eventful.
Anchoring
sound
and
emotion
in
paper
and
notation
With
depleted
soundscapes
for
Dhrupad
in
his
current
situation,
Indra
Kishore
guards
his
material
musical
possessions
as
he
guards
his
children.
No
one
including
his
family
knows
where
he
keeps
the
collection
of
notebooks
that
contain
the
family
repertoire
carefully
notated
by
his
father.
If
I
wanted
to
catalogue,
I
had
to
tell
him
the
previous
day.
He
would
then
bring
a
few
notebooks
into
the
schoolroom.
Once
we
were
done
for
the
day,
he
would
take
them
away.
On
many
days
while
I
was
living
in
Indra
Kishore’s
village,
we
would
finish
singing
in
the
morning
and
then
settle
into
a
few
hours
of
working
with
paper
and
things,
taking
a
break
before
sitting
down
for
music
again
in
the
evening.
Cataloguing
Indra
Kishore’s
repertoire
and
going
through
the
trunks
in
his
attic
was
a
surprisingly
generative
activity.
I
expected
it
to
be
a
chore,
something
to
be
got
through.
But,
going
through
the
notebooks
catalyzed
bodily,
emotional
and
musical
memory
during
the
activity
and
even
several
hours
after
handling
the
materials.
Physically
turning
the
pages
crammed
with
his
father’s
writing
was
invariably
both
musically
and
emotionally
overwhelming.
Many
songs
Indra
Kishore
had
pushed
to
the
back
of
his
memory
had
a
phenomenal
effect
on
him.
They
would
cause
him
to
dream
of
his
father
at
night,
to
dream
of
singing.
They
caused
him
to
remember
incidents
associated
with
particular
songs
and
activities.
He
would
come
into
the
music
room
charged
to
respond
to
sound.
When
singing
a
demanding
gaurhar
bani
Dhrupad
after
one
such
affective
exercise
of
working
with
paper
and
notation,
he
was
catalyzed
into
remembering
his
father
as
a
vocal
inhabiting.
Since
it
was
the
second
time
this
happened,
it
dawned
on
me
that
singing
Dhrupad
was
a
deeply
56
temporalizing
experience
for
Indra
Kishore.
It
took
a
few
more
months
for
me
to
understand
that
the
temporalization
went
beyond
a
generalized
embodied
experience.
It
was
dialogically
tethered
in
the
specifics
of
sound,
place,
patron
and
family,
and
these
intersected
most
significantly
in
the
family
khazana
that
was
central
to
Dhrupad
epistemology
in
Indra
Kishore’s
practice.
Having
to
crane
our
heads
over
several
notebooks
where
Mahant
Mishra
had
filled
even
the
margins
on
all
three
sides
with
notation,
Indra
Kishore
was
moved
into
remembering
the
circumstances
under
which
his
father
worked
on
the
collection.
Hungry,
scrounging
for
money
to
buy
notebooks
and
fuel
for
his
kerosene
lamp,
Mahant
Mishra
would
spend
hours
by
the
pond
at
the
entrance
of
the
village,
notating
songs
at
night.
One
evening
after
an
intense
few
hours
cataloguing,
walking
alone
by
the
pond
in
the
pitch
dark
on
his
way
to
the
busy
Chowk
area,
Indra
Kishore
experienced
a
visceral
recall
of
the
acute
poverty
that
was
a
constant
companion
in
those
years,
causing
him
to
break
out
in
fear
and
sweat
before
he
was
jerked
back
into
the
present
by
a
passer
by
greeting
him.65
The
next
day
he
told
me,
“I
was
quiet
till
you
came;
now
you
have
woken
the
sleeping
tiger
in
me.
I
had
forgotten
about
these
things
–
put
them
away
with
the
pain
because
after
my
father
there
is
nobody
to
make
me
remember
all
these
songs.
For
concerts,
I
sing
some
things
but
many,
many
more
songs
–
their
time
hasn’t
come.
It
has
to
come
soon…
I
may
not
have
much
time
-‐
life
here
is
so
hard”.
In
addition
to
the
notebooks,
Indra
Kishore’s
most
precious
possession
is
a
set
of
tattered
pages
from
a
19th
century
bhojpatra
(birch-‐leaf)
manuscript.
Said
to
be
in
the
writing
of
the
kings
themselves,
these
pages
are
a
part
of
the
Durga
Anand
Sagar,
the
collection
of
Dhrupads
composed
by
Maharajas
Anand
Kishore
Singh
and
Naval
Kishore
Singh.
Indra
Kishore
keeps
the
torn
pages
carefully
wrapped
in
sheets
of
newspaper,
rolled
up
and
put
away
in
a
faded
old
cloth
bag.
According
to
him,
the
pages
were
dispatched
on
horseback
to
his
ancestors,
so
they
could
be
set
to
tune
and
sung
in
the
court
the
following
day.
He
was
filled
with
pride
the
days
we
went
over
the
pages,
poking
with
one
finger
at
each
composition
to
point
out
the
composer’s
name
where
it
occurred,
point
out
songs
he
had
already
taught
me,
songs
we
had
catalogued
in
his
father’s
notebooks,
songs
in
rare
ragas
and
songs
with
unusual
lyrical
structure.
Every
such
exercise
was
charged
not
with
nostalgia
or
narrativity
but
with
the
dialogic
connection
to
sound
that
had
been
built
by
hours
of
repeated
practice
in
learning,
churning,
polishing
and
perfecting
some
of
these
very
songs,
and
many
other
songs
such
as
these,
both
alone
and
in
the
company
of
his
father.
The
manuscript
is
not
a
museum
of
works
but
a
dynamic
archive.
Indra
65
His
description
of
the
experience
was
akin
to
the
slippage
of
consciousness
that
can
be
caused
by
dreams
that
activate
physical
and
sensory
memory
of
experiences
from
the
far
past
that
have
been
pushed
out
of
active
memory.
57
Kishore
turns
to
them
as
sources,
as
his
father
and
grandfather
did
before
him.
One
of
Indra
Kishore’s
dreams
is
to
set
tune
to
the
songs
he
hasn’t
received
through
oral
tradition
–
an
activity
that
marks
sound
with
the
recognition
that
he
is
a
true
inheritor
of
ancestral
prowess
in
setting
tune
to
the
song-‐texts
written
by
the
Kings
of
Bettiah.
These
heterogeneous
modes
of
connecting
with
musical
inheritance
demonstrate
that
Indra
Kishore
is
not
a
man
alone
with
his
music.
The
interactivity
of
thick
sound
is
ontologically
integral
to
the
musical
objects
in
Indra
Kishore’s
treasure
chest.
It
opens
up
pathways
in
performance
by
feeding
back
as
habitual
acoustemic
guidance
and
generative
eventfulness
in
Indra
Kishore’s
vocal
practice,
tethering
musical
judgment
and
notions
of
fidelity
to
tradition
in
thick
sound
that
entangles
an
acoustemology
of
place.
Possessions
and
a
sense
of
Place
Indra
Kishore
keeps
his
other
musical
possessions
locked
away
in
tin
trunks
kept
on
attic
shelves
in
his
house.
A
small
bundle
of
things
capture
his
father’s
life.
A
few
photographs
of
a
thin,
hollowed
out
face
with
bright
eyes,
one
with
a
tanpura,
a
few
newspaper
clippings,
a
betel
nut
cracker
and
some
stones
–
the
tools
of
Mahant
Mishra’s
trade
during
the
day.
To
earn
a
few
annas
a
day,
this
musician
would
sit
and
crack
betel
nut
for
people
that
would
buy
pan
in
the
Chowk,
the
busy
market
area
across
the
railway
tracks
from
Bhanu
Chapra
village.
Indra
Kishore
keeps
these
reminders
of
gut
pinching
poverty
around
because
his
environment
gives
him
very
little
feedback
for
continuing
his
music.
Keeping
his
father’s
few
material
possessions
around
gives
Indra
Kishore
the
impetus
to
keep
singing
because
it
reminds
him
that
a
life
was
given
to
save
their
family
heritage.
It
also
reminds
him
not
to
be
like
his
father
and
give
in
to
hardship
and
isolation.
He
often
told
me
that
had
he
not
revived
their
farm
lands,
built
a
concrete
house,
put
seven
children
through
school
and
taken
steps
to
get
himself
concerts
and
financial
support
by
knocking
down
doors,
his
tradition
would
have
ended
without
anyone
noticing.
Since
the
battle
is
far
from
over,
he
keeps
these
material
objects
around
to
remind
himself
to
keep
trying.
Other
papers
and
photographs
in
the
iron
trunks
of
papers
in
Indra
Kishore’s
possession
point
to
the
knowledge
flows
and
patronage
networks
in
which
the
Bettiah
musicians
participated.
Lists
of
ragas
written
by
hand
fill
the
back
pages
of
the
bhojpatra
manuscript.
Probably
compiled
sometime
in
the
late
19th
century,
the
list
includes
many
exotic
varieties
no
longer
heard
today
in
performance.
Lists
sent
from
Varanasi
(Benares)
indicate
that
Indra
Kishore’s
grandfather
was
in
the
loop
with
Dhrupad
musicians
in
Varanasi,
a
connection
that
lapsed
in
his
son’s
time.
Indra
Kishore
says
his
grandfather
did
not
agree
with
his
counterparts
in
Varanasi
on
matters
of
raga
classification
as
he
went
strictly
by
the
family
repertoire.
58
A
few
photographs
of
patrons
from
Sheohar,
Ramnagar
and
other
landed
estates,
and
a
few
old
books
remind
Indra
Kishore
that
many
patrons
sought
his
family
out
as
musicians
of
great
prowess.
In
addition
to
composing
songs
and
setting
tunes
to
the
kings’s
song
texts,
just
occasionally
songs
were
also
taken
from
other
compilations
and
set
to
tune
by
Indra
Kishore’s
forefathers.
The
texts
of
a
very
few
songs
in
Indra
Kishore’s
repertoire
are
also
found
in
the
19th
century
compilation,
Qanoon
Sitar,
a
copy
of
which
I
found
in
Indra
Kishore’s
house.
A
few
other
songs
in
Indra
Kishore’s
repertoire
appear
to
be
part
of
a
compilation
called
Din
Vinay
whose
front
pages
are
missing.66
Both
these
19th
century
compilations
contain
only
song
texts.
These
few
signs
of
connections
in
the
past
mean
a
great
deal
to
Indra
Kishore.
They
enliven
a
past
where
his
forefathers
were
feted
musicians
in
contrast
to
the
isolation
he
faced
as
a
child
growing
up
with
a
struggling
father.
But
the
boxes
are
not
mere
containers
of
memory.
They
also
anchor
the
present.
Taking
these
boxes
down
and
going
through
them,
I
found
that
Indra
Kishore
has
kept
almost
every
brochure
from
every
Dhrupad
festival
he
has
performed
in,
with
a
few
newspaper
reviews
and
letters.
The
list
begins
in
1980
and
continues
well
into
the
21st
century.
The
act
of
going
through
the
trunk
revealed
Indra
Kishore
as
a
musician
that
has
been
plugged
into
the
national
Dhrupad
circuit
for
almost
thirty
years.
Ill
fitting
and
unintelligible
sometimes
but
present
nevertheless.
It
also
revealed
a
complex
personal
ethics.
“My
ancestors
were
great
musicians
but
nobody
knew
them.
From
that
perspective
I
can
say
I
am
the
one
who
brought
them
fame
by
making
their
name
known”.
Looking
forward
and
looking
back,
Indra
Kishore
was
acknowledging
both
a
musical
and
practical
need
to
be
Janus-‐faced
as
a
Tradition
bearer.
It
is
critical
to
emphasize
that
Indra
Kishore
represents
himself
as
a
tradition
bearer
of
valuable
heritage
in
Hindustani
music,
not
just
a
local
family
practice.
This
consciousness
has
not
emerged
in
the
20th
century
-‐
his
ancestors
too
saw
themselves
in
relation
to
a
great
tradition
of
Hindustani
music.
The
conscious
quotation
and
extension
of
older
canonical
models
in
the
repertoire
shows
that
his
ancestors
composed
in
inter-‐subjective
spaces
with
historical
consciousness.67
When
one
takes
into
account
the
circulatory
flows
implicated
in
the
constitution
of
Bettiah
as
a
place
at
different
periods
of
its
history,
in
varying
domains
such
as
religion,
architecture,
music,
scripture,
polity,
kingship,
market
practices,
fairs
and
sporting
events,
Bettiah’s
musical
history
seriously
tests
Bakhle’s
contention
that
Hindustani
music
was
an
unmarked
practice
within
the
little
local
worlds
of
66
A Google search recently yielded some information about this mystery volume. Apparently it is a volume
printed and circulated from the Press of a nearby zamindari estate and Din refers to the Bhumihar poet-
monarch of the estate.
67
See discussion of repertoire pp. 50-51.
59
scattered
hereditary
families
prior
to
the
late
19th
century.68
At
the
same
time,
the
local
is
extremely
important
to
the
constitution
of
categorical
knowledge
and
notions
of
tradition
in
Indra
Kishore’s
practice.
It
is
strongly
marked
in
the
repertoire
in
three
distinct
ways
–
first,
the
dozens
of
compositions
from
about
ten
composers
in
Indra
Kishore’s
own
family,
secondly,
scores
of
compositions
whose
verses
were
written
by
the
Maharajas
of
Bettiah
but
whose
tunes
were
set
by
Indra
Kishore’s
forefathers,
and
finally,
many
songs
written
for
singing
at
particular
events
and
sites
in
Bettiah.69
All
these
associations
make
repertoire
itself
a
strong
anchor
for
processes
of
emplacement
in
the
performance
of
Dhrupad
as
an
expert
practice
by
the
Mullick
families.
This
is
evident
in
how
daily
musical
practice
becomes
emplacing
today
for
Indra
Kishore
as
the
sole
expert
musician
living
still
in
Bettiah,
reinforced
by
the
material
reminders
of
paper,
land,
houses,
musically
eventful
locations,
lineage,
and
the
intense
work
of
churning
a
family
musical
inheritance
in
vocal
practice.
An acoustemology of Bettiah’s musical places
One of the most significant anchors of acoustemic memory in Bettiah is physical
geography. Geography is not an inert site or a mute container for the Bettiah
gharana’s Dhrupad. It is a Place that is historically inter-‐animated with the practice
of Dhrupad at the nexus of court and community in ritual, religious and cultural life.
The connections animated in the sounds of Dhrupad are physically and cognitively
distributed, anchored in other associations intertwined with landscape all within a
few kilometers of where Indra Kishore was born. They are reinforced by physical
geographies of ancestral land, ancestral graves, ancestral house, ancestral street,
and ancestral repertoire all of which materialize the connection between sound,
place, patron and patrilineage.
When Indra Kishore stands outside the schoolhouse that carries his father’s name, if
he looks back he looks at his father’s house and the street in which the two different
families of Mullick hereditary Dhrupad musicians have lived for a few centuries. If
he looks ahead he can see the road leading to the fields gifted by the kings of Bettiah
to his forefathers. Walking down the street, the inter-‐vocality of rival families and
stories of overhearing are animated as soundscapes. Take a left turn and half a mile
68
See Introduction for a discussion of Bakhle’s arguments.
69
While the compositions by the Bettiah composers are clearly placed within the classical corpus in terms
of compositional models, ragas, talas, and musical forms, the presence of lesser-known varieties of ragas,
and songs written for specific purposes mark these musical objects with the interactivity of community life,
even though they may align formally and structurally with the rest of the classical repertoire.
60
away,
the
Shiva
Temple
in
the
village
echoes
with
communal
and
individual
memory
of
Dhrupads
sung
during
Holi
–
the
Spring
festival
-‐
and
on
Monday
evening
walks.
On
the
other
side
of
the
temple
pond,
grandfather,
father
and
eldest
daughter’s
cremation
sites
sound
connections
to
lineage.
Turn
to
go
to
the
railway
tracks
at
the
head
of
the
village,
the
homes
of
multiple
families
of
Jhas
remind
him
of
the
near
history
of
his
ancestors
composing
for
the
socially
well-‐placed
families
in
the
village.
Cross
the
tracks,
sites
in
Bettiah
town
assume
the
dynamism
and
emotionality
of
Place
through
their
links
to
the
histories
of
family
Dhrupad
practice
under
the
patronage
of
the
Maharajas
at
ritual
sites,
temples,
and
in
the
sprawling
grounds
and
buildings
of
the
Bettiah
Estate.
The
epistemology
of
Dhrupad
as
a
vocal
practice
in
Bettiah
is
hence
deeply
entangled
with
Place.
Most
importantly,
for
Indra
Kishore
as
the
lone
expert
musician
living
in
his
ancestral
village,
the
acoustemic
potentiality
held
by
places
in
part
aurally
compensates
the
erosion
in
contemporary
soundscapes
for
Dhrupad
in
Bettiah.
It
provides
grids
of
intelligibility
not
only
for
him,
but
for
the
hereditary
families
of
litterateurs,
scribes,
priests,
pundits,
spiritual
gurus,
rich
patrons
and
musicians
that
were
historically
associated
with
the
practice
of
music
as
part
of
court
and
community
life
in
Bettiah,
many
of
whom
still
live
in
Bettiah
or
at
least
retain
strong
local
connections
through
land
ownership
and
kinship.
It
is
hence
important
to
critically
investigate
the
forms
of
knowledge
and
grids
of
intelligibility
generated
by
place
for
Indra
Kishore’s
contemporary
practice
as
a
musician
living
in
Bettiah
and
performing
on
the
national
Dhrupad
circuit.
In
the
analysis
that
follows,
I
confine
myself
to
the
practices
that
have
persisted
in
communal
memory
and
in
transmission
of
expert
practice.
Even
such
an
analysis
immediately
reveals
the
different
scales
involved
in
an
acoustemology
of
Place
as
it
requires
attending
to
the
historical
networks
of
communities,
practices,
events
and
sites
in
which
Dhrupad
has
come
to
be
emplaced
and
their
valence
to
different
groups
of
actors
in
contemporary
times.
It
also
requires
attending
to
the
inter-‐
subjectivity
of
circulatory
forms
of
knowledge
both
in
the
past
and
in
contemporary
times,
and
their
bearing
on
categorical
knowledge
in
Dhrupad
performance.
The
musical
history
of
the
Mullicks
of
Bettiah
demonstrates
that
in
the
case
of
Bettiah,
substantial
portions
of
a
classical
music
repertoire
were
emplaced
in
a
constellation
of
community
practices
that
cannot
be
reductively
dubbed
“court
music”.
For
one
thing,
a
court
at
any
historical
moment
is
a
specific
kind
place
that
affords
a
distinctive
environment
for
the
practice
of
music.
Secondly,
a
court
such
as
Bettiah
that
had
composer
kings
and
a
very
active
musical
culture
for
Dhrupad
performance
is
a
soundscape
of
a
particular
kind,
where
epistemologies
are
acoustemologies.
Thirdly,
the
court
was
only
one
amongst
several
sites
at
which
musicians
from
the
hereditary
Mullick
families
sang
Dhrupad.
Fourthly,
and
perhaps
most
significantly,
the
practice
of
music
whether
in
the
court
or
in
community
occurred
within
a
whole
constellation
of
other
situated
practices,
a
fact
that
has
61
direct
bearing
on
the
forms
of
knowledge
produced
in
the
emplacement
of
Dhrupad
as
classical
music
in
Bettiah.
While
there
are
no
living
witnesses
to
the
court
culture
that
persisted
until
the
early
20th
century,
musical
families
as
well
as
older
residents
of
the
town
shared
personal
memories
of
practices
from
the
near
past,
and
handed
down
narratives
of
practices
from
earlier
in
the
19th
century
in
which
musicians
from
the
hereditary
families
of
Mullicks
participated
even
until
the
mid
20th
century.70
The
dialogic
of
place
with
dhrupad
vocal
practice
embeds
interactivity
at
many
different
levels.
First,
and
in
Indra
Kishore’s
case
the
most
significant,
is
the
nexus
of
patron,
patrilineage
and
place
that
intersects
in
his
family
repertoire,
a
soundscape
shared
by
many
hereditary
families
in
Bettiah.
In
the
section
that
follows,
I
attempt
to
investigate
the
constellation
of
practices
within
which
Dhrupad
performance
came
to
be
emplaced
in
Bettiah
and
the
dialogic
constitution
of
the
classical
in
the
process.
Dhrupad
as
expert
practice
on
an
ancestral
street
The
expert
practice
of
Dhrupad
in
Bettiah
didn’t
just
happen
in
court
–
it
happened
in
musicians’
homes,
where
the
work
of
composing,
singing,
churning
and
polishing
occurred
amidst
the
interactions
of
community
life
in
villages
and
towns,
while
meeting
the
many
demands
made
on
musicians
in
the
service
of
a
princely
court.
The
musicians’
street
in
the
village
of
Bhanu
Chapra
has
had
a
few
centuries
of
such
activity
in
the
dozen
houses
that
line
the
street
–
activity
that
peaked
in
the
19th
century,
to
slowly
attenuate
after
the
mid-‐twentieth
century
leaving
intense
soundscapes
for
Dhrupad
in
just
one
family
home.
Indra
Kishore’s
earliest
memories
(as
a
child
of
five)
are
of
hearing
his
grandfather
and
father
singing
at
home,
and
his
granduncle
and
the
latter’s
sons
singing
next
door.
He
learnt
his
first
few
songs
from
his
grandfather
while
still
a
toddler,
a
period
when
his
street
was
still
known
for
housing
great
musicians.
Many
older
residents
of
Bhanu
Chapra
village
recalled
the
previous
two
generations
of
musicians
in
Bhanu
Chapra
and
their
status
amongst
landed
patrons
as
sought
after
teachers
and
performers.
Even
as
late
as
1950,
Bhanu
70
I
cannot
state
with
certainty
that
it
was
only
the
Mullick
families
that
were
closely
integrated
into
the
cultural
life
of
the
Bettiah
Estate
and
its
surrounding
communities
in
the19th
century,
but
this
seems
highly
probable.
It
does
appear
that
the
Ustads
of
Kalpi
and
the
Mishras
of
Benares,
two
of
the
important
non-‐Mullick
Dhrupad
ineages
associated
with
the
Bettiah
court,
were
primarily
court
musicians
from
Seniya
gharana
preceptor
lines.
Although
the
Ustads
settled
in
Bettiah,
the
available
data
suggests
that
they
sang
mostly
in
the
court,
and
in
small
musical
soirees
held
in
patrons
houses
and
in
societies
that
sprang
up
after
the
end
of
princely
patronage.
Their
repertoire
was
a
mix
of
Dhrupad,
Khayal,
Ghazal,
and
Thumri,
and
later
descendants
became
well
known
composers
of
classical-‐based
popular
music
for
films
and
radio.
The
Mishras
of
Benares
have
a
very
rich
repertoire
of
Dhrupad
and
Dhamar
that
is
a
middle
of
the
line
classical
repertoire.
This
lineage
was
present
in
Bettiah
throughout
the
19th
century
but
there
are
no
physical
traces
of
their
historical
emplacement
in
community
cultural
practices
in
Bettiah,
barring
the
songs
in
their
repertoire
composed
in
the
19th
century
in
Bettiah,
that
are
thematically,
aesthetically
and
structurally
reflective
of
the
Bettiah
composers,
and
strongly
marked
by
the
culture
of
Devi
and
Mahadev
worship
in
Bettiah
as
a
place.
62
Chapra
village
was
a
musically
vibrant
place,
as
were
several
other
locations
in
Bettiah
town.
Indra
Kishore’s
connection
to
repertoire
from
the
early
centuries
of
Dhrupad
composing
emphasizes
its
antiquity
and
historical
depth.
His
repertoire
contains
a
significant
number
of
dhrupads
that
are
from
the
canonical
classical
repertoire
in
Hindustani
music,
with
composers
from
the
15th
to
the
19th
centuries,
all
sung
in
the
characteristic
aesthetics
of
his
family
practice
in
the
gaurhar
and
khandar
banis.
Indra
Kishore
often
quotes
his
old
compositions
as
a
way
of
asserting
the
authenticity
and
antiquity
of
his
tradition,
and
of
the
heritage
the
Mullicks
brought
with
them
to
Bettiah
in
the
late
17th
century.
Authenticity
is
reinforced
in
family
lore
as
a
distant
kinship
relationship
to
the
legendary
musician
Mia
Tansen,
who
was
a
Gaud
Brahmin
by
caste
and
an
expert
in
gaurhar
bani
much
like
Indra
Kishore’s
forefathers.
Indra
Kishore
reminds
himself
daily
of
this
connection
in
his
early
morning
practice
ritual,
and
also
every
time
he
sings
a
song
of
Tansen,
Swami
Haridas
or
Vyas
Das,
as
the
lineage
of
preceptors
his
family
points
to
as
the
fountainhead
of
tradition.
By
the
early
19th
century,
the
songs
in
the
repertoire
become
intensely
local
while
following
and
extending
the
models
established
by
the
canonical
composers
of
the
previous
centuries.
Songs
attributed
to
the
two
composer-‐kings
of
Bettiah
Anand
and
Naval
Kishore
Singh
in
gaurhar
and
khandar
bani
are
plentiful
as
the
Mullicks
say
that
their
ancestors
set
tunes
to
the
Maharajas
verses.
Fighting
for
place
with
the
Maharaja’s
compositions
are
a
number
of
songs
composed
by
at
least
ten
different
composers
from
Indra
Kishore’s
lineage
over
150
years.
The
crucial
difference
between
Indra
Kishore
and
other
musicians
on
his
street
today
is
that
his
connection
to
place,
and
heritage
has
been
dialogically
produced
in
the
hours
and
hours
of
churning
he
has
done
in
the
company
of
his
teacher
and
in
his
own
practice.
His
connection
to
ancestry,
patron
and
place
is
inter-‐animated
by
the
sounds
of
Dhrupad
and
place
itself
is
transformed
in
the
process.
Such
is
the
dialogic
pull
of
cumulative
khazana
even
I
began
to
feel
a
connection
to
Indra
Kishore’s
father,
grandfather,
great
grandfather,
great
great
grandfather
and
a
few
more
generations
before
that,
in
learning
the
songs
they
composed
over
a
few
centuries
right
where
they
were
handed
down,
set
to
tune,
composed
and
sung.
For
someone
from
the
family
and
living
in
Place,
it
is
no
wonder
that
singing
the
songs
of
patrons
and
ancestors
catalyzes
intense
temporality
and
affect.
Not
surprisingly,
any
activity
that
Indra
Kishore
and
I
took
on
related
to
repertoire
was
invariably
generative.
While
cataloguing
the
repertoire
or
singing
certain
songs
with
Indra
Kishore,
the
activity
would
cause
a
flood
of
remembrance
about
sound
and
its
associations.
The
very
existence
of
a
large
repertoire
anchors
feeling
for
family
inheritance
that
is
strongly
associated
with
anecdotes
of
ancestral
feats
of
composing.
Handed
down
stories
would
begin
to
flow
when
I
sat
down
with
Indra
63
Kishore
to
catalogue
yet
another
notebook
crammed
with
notation,
of
how
messengers
would
arrive
on
horseback
from
the
Palace
carrying
bhojpatra
leaves
on
which
poems
composed
by
the
Maharajas
would
be
brought
to
the
musician’s
homes,
setting
off
a
frenzy
of
composing
and
tune
setting
before
the
musicians
would
set
forth
to
the
Palace
in
the
evening
and
sing
the
songs
in
front
of
their
patron.
While
some
of
the
stories
have
the
tenor
of
tropes,
others
would
mention
specific
people,
events
and
places
in
connection
with
a
particular
song.
Many
songs
are
strongly
marked
by
hearing
them
in
his
father’s
voice,
and
of
learning
them
from
his
father,
and
learning
with
the
voice
to
connect
to
khazana
as
thick
sound
through
sound,
story
and
sentiment.
Gathering
acoustic
communities
-‐
temples
Older
family
members
as
well
as
Indra
Kishore
told
me
that
his
ancestors
were
not
only
court
musicians,
they
were
vaggeyakaras
for
the
Bettiah
Estate.
In
this
function,
they
would
be
called
upon
to
sing
in
temples
for
daily
worship
and
special
rituals,
and
they
would
often
compose
songs
for
these
occasions.
They
were
not
“temple
musicians”
but
rather
Dhrupad
musicians
who
would
be
called
upon
to
sing
for
many
occasions
in
court
and
community.
Many
of
these
songs
are
available
in
Indra
Kishore’s
corpus
today,
and
they
are
indistinguishable
from
court
repertoire
except
that
their
lyrical
themes
and
chosen
aesthetics
would
be
resonant
with
the
place
and
event
at
which
they
were
being
sung.
Exquisite
compositions,
the
setting
of
words,
tune
and
tala
work
together
to
create
the
aesthetics
of
the
gaurhar
and
khandar
banis,
the
two
aesthetic
styles
in
which
Indra
Kishore’s
family
specializes.
A
few
songs
however
are
markedly
different
than
the
court
repertoire.
Indra
Kishore
told
me
that
two
songs
on
the
goddess
in
khandar
bani
were
written
for
singing
during
tantric
worship
to
induce
trance-‐like
states
–
the
rhythmicity
of
reciting
Kali’s
names
with
increasingly
dense
gamak
has
a
palpable
sensory
effect
even
outside
such
a
context.
When
the
song
is
acquired
as
thick
sound
in
Place
the
sensory
effect
is
enhanced
by
singing
them
in
Bettiah
-‐
in
the
place
where
the
songs
were
composed
more
than
150
years
ago.71
Other
songs
are
anchored
by
place
memory
that
is
cognitively
intertwined
with
musical
activity.
Thus,
Indra
Kishore
sings
a
striking
khandar
bani
song
in
raga
Adana
with
shuddh
dhaivat
that
describes
the
god
Rama
going
to
war
with
king
Ravana
in
Lanka.
I
had
assumed
he
sang
it
as
taught
to
him
by
his
father,
but
one
day
I
learnt
that
in
fact
Indra
Kishore
had
recomposed
a
part
of
the
song
and
even
found
a
clever
way
to
include
his
name
in
the
song.
The
re-‐composition
was
occasioned
by
71
It is a sobering thought that such a truly unique, historic and rich repertoire may well end with Indra
Kishore. Until today the tradition has failed to attract committed students that have the musicianship needed
to learn these songs in Indra Kishore’s very demanding style. His older children have not put in the work
Indra Kishore did in his youth. Without intervention and support, their promise as tradition bearers may
become shadows in their own ancestral fields (Kippen, 2008).
64
a
specific
event
which
was
catalyzed
by
habitual
acoustemic
activity.
The
incident
demonstrated
that
acoustemic
remembering
is
dependent
both
on
the
affective
nexus
of
associations
that
anchor
and
catalyze
recall,
and
on
the
work
done
to
build
and
sustain
the
potentiality
of
musical
objects
in
performance.
Until
the
1980s
Avadesh
Mullick
and
Indra
Kishore
would
walk
together
to
the
Shiv
Mandir
at
the
end
of
their
village
on
Monday
evenings
-‐
the
day
of
the
week
special
to
the
god
Shiva.
These
neighborhood
walks
had
a
memorial
function
as
well.
They
would
occasion
recollection
and
some
rivalry,
as
the
men
would
walk,
talk
and
sing
songs
they
remembered
from
their
respective
family
khazanas.
While
Avadesh
Mullick’s
knowledge
of
songs
came
from
assimilation
and
acculturated
hearing
Indra
Kishore
had
acquired
his
repertoire
from
the
hard
work
of
transmission.
Yet,
Avadesh
Mullick
played
the
critical
role
of
catalyzing
Indra
Kishore’s
memory
of
songs
he
hadn’t
sung
in
many
years
–
many
of
which
would
be
recalled
in
the
affective
experience
of
walking
along
to
the
temple
while
chatting
and
singing.
These
habitual
walks
could
even
occasion
forays
in
creative
recall.
Thus
Indra
Kishore’s
prized
Dhrupad
in
raga
Adana
was
recomposed
during
one
such
walk
with
Avadesh
Mullick,
who
remembered
a
few
lines
of
the
song
which
he
sang
repeatedly
with
Indra
Kishore
until
the
latter
suddenly
pulled
it
out
from
his
memory
in
an
act
of
re-‐composition
that
may
well
have
changed
the
song.
But
as
Indra
Kishore
was
quick
to
point
out,
the
re-‐composition
was
made
possible
because
of
the
amount
of
work
he
had
done
on
his
inherited
khazana.
The
unstated
implication
being
that
Avadesh
Mullick
may
have
been
useful
in
jiggering
his
memory
and
remembering
pieces
of
the
song,
but
the
task
of
reconstructing
the
song
correctly
required
the
churning,
polishing
and
dwelling
that
transforms
memory
to
knowledge,
giving
inherited
repertoire
an
interpretive
potentiality
that
only
individual
effort
can
bring.
Dhrupad
for
community
ritual
–
the
khatka
Some
of
the
most
special
songs
in
Indra
Kishore’s
repertoire
relate
to
ritual
and
community.
The
khatka
is
a
song
that
can
be
sung
only
during
goat
sacrifice
(balicaran).
The
ceremonial
sacrifice
of
goats
in
the
Maharaja’s
presence
during
annual
Durga
Puja
festivities
is
recorded
in
Maharaja
Harendra
Kishore
Singh’s
personal
diaries.
The
Maharaja
would
attend
sacrifice
at
the
Bhavani
Mandap
in
the
Bettiah
Estate
grounds
and
under
a
holy
tree
at
the
Sagar
Pokhara,
a
19th
century
Shiva
temple
and
temple
tank
built
by
his
first
wife,
Maharani
Sheoratna
Kaur.
Aside
from
the
ritual
sacrifice
in
the
presence
of
the
king,
affluent
and
powerful
families
would
conduct
sacrifices
in
their
temples
at
home,
and
several
sacrifices
would
be
conducted
in
the
towns’
many
temples.
A
few
of
these
sacrifices
would
be
accompanied
by
the
singing
of
a
special
Dhrupad
called
“khatka”
(khatna
lit.
to
cut).
Even
after
the
end
of
the
Princely
Era,
the
Managers
of
the
Bettiah
Estate
kept
up
the
practice
of
ceremonial
goat
sacrifice
at
a
few
specific
locations
in
town.
Indra
Kishore’s
uncle
clearly
recalls
the
horse-‐driven
carriages
coming
to
the
village
to
pick
up
his
father
Shyama
Mullick
and
brother
Mahant
Mishra
during
Durga
Puja
to
65
sing
the
khatka
for
the
goat
sacrifice
in
the
Durga
Bagh
Mandir.
As
late
as
the
1970s
Indra
Kishore’s
father
sang
during
goat
sacrifice
in
the
houses
of
the
ancestral
priests
of
the
Bettiah
Raj,
the
Raj
Guru
family.
The
day
I
visited
the
Raj
Guru
household
in
their
ancestral
home
in
the
Raj
Deori
during
Durga
Puja.
Anup
Yagnik,
the
contemporary
descendent
in
the
long
line
of
tantric
priests
had
smeared
goat
blood
on
his
forehead
as
an
auspicious
mark.
He
told
me
he
had
requested
Indra
Kishore
many
times
to
come
and
sing
for
the
sacrifice
but
the
latter
consistently
refused.
Indra
Kishore
does
not
approve
of
animal
sacrifice
and
he
confessed
to
me
he
was
also
scared.
The
decision
not
to
sing
the
song
occasionally
weighs
on
his
mind,
as
he
consciously
broke
with
a
family
tradition
of
participating
in
a
significant
community
ritual
event.
At
those
times
too,
Indra
Kishore
finds
his
ethical
answers
in
his
family
repertoire.
While
teaching
a
fellow
student
a
gaurhar
bani
composition
of
Maharaja
Anand
Kishore
Singh
in
the
Bettiah
variant
of
raga
Hindol,
Indra
Kishore
pointed
to
the
beginning
words
of
the
song
“sab
bida
bani
aave”
which
urges
a
devotee
to
come
to
the
Goddess
using
any
means
of
worship.
Indra
Kishore
heard
these
words
as
a
justification
for
his
decision
not
to
participate
in
the
ritual
sacrifice.
It
is
interesting
that
the
khatka
is
sung
in
a
specific
raga
not
used
for
other
songs
in
the
repertoire
–
the
raga
Salankh.
I
have
as
yet
not
found
information
about
this
raga
from
sources
outside
the
songs
in
Indra
Kishore’s
repertoire.
Being
a
musician,
Indra
Kishore
says
he
used
to
feel
tempted
to
sing
the
special
songs
for
himself,
at
home.
But
the
only
time
he
tried
to
sing
the
song
as
a
song
apart
from
ritual,
he
says
the
goddess
Bhagavati
came
and
drew
a
huge
sword
on
him
in
his
dreams
which
probably
explains
his
fear
about
singing
the
song.
So
he
decided
never
to
sing
these
songs
though
his
father
has
notated
them
in
his
collection.
We
too
looked
at
the
words
and
notation
together,
but
I
blocked
the
automatic
response
of
auralizing
in
my
head
–
I
don’t
know
what
he
did.
Dhrupad
in
community
–
family
worship,
lifecycle
events
and
festivals
Aside
from
the
temples
of
the
Bettiah
Estate
and
songs
written
for
ritual,
Dhrupad
acquired
function
as
song
in
community,
in
both
Bhanu
Chapra
village
and
within
the
Mullick
families.
While
some
of
these
songs
have
come
down
in
tradition,
others
have
been
set
to
tune
or
composed
in
the
near
past.72
There
are
songs
written
in
a
single
raga
for
the
worship
of
Hanuman,
the
family
deity.
Even
today
Indra
Kishore
conducts
Hanuman
puja
at
home.
I
don’t
know
whether
he
still
sings
these
songs
at
the
pujas
but
this
was
the
family
practice
at
least
till
his
father
was
alive.
His
great
grandfather
Mahavir
Mullick
also
assumed
72
The word “compose” indicates that the musician composes the entire song (melody, rhythm and text).
When the musician sets the music for a pre-existing lyric, I call it “set to tune”.
66
the
penname
“Hanuman”,73
and
some
wonderful
Dhrupads
in
both
gaurhar
and
khandar
bani
have
the
penname
in
the
abhog,
the
fourth
part
of
the
Dhrupad
composition.
Such
small
actions
indicate
that
musicians
did
not
compartmentalize
court
and
home
in
their
musical
lives
-‐
using
their
prowess
as
classical
musicians
to
compose
and
sing
songs
in
community,
and
bringing
their
private
and
community
practices
into
their
musical
work
as
court
musicians
composing
and
performing
for
patrons.
When
Indra
Kishore
sings
his
great-‐grandfather
Mahavir
Mullick’s
songs,
he
is
sometimes
catalyzed
into
remembering
his
forefathers
and
the
family
connection
to
the
deity,
a
feeding
back
caused
by
listening
in
to
song
as
thick
sound.
The
interactivity
of
musical
performance
tunnels
through
to
domains
usually
held
separate
and
this
feeds
right
back
into
the
music,
bringing
heterogeneity,
potentiality
and
eventfulness
to
musical
performance.
Aside
from
family
worship,
there
are
wedding
songs
in
different
languages,
and
songs
for
birth
and
thread
ceremonies.
Octogenarian
S
Jha,
from
an
affluent
and
influential
family
of
Jhas
settled
in
Bhanu
Chapra
village
told
me
his
family
would
request
Indra
Kishore’s
grandfather
and
other
Dhrupad
musicians
on
the
street
to
compose
Dhrupads
for
family
special
occasions
and
life
cycle
ceremonies.
This
practice
continued
until
the
1950,
while
the
two
Mullick
families
on
the
street
still
had
their
leading
voices
in
Kunj
Behari
Mullick
and
Shyama
Mullick
-‐
Indra
Kishore’s
grandfather.
As
poverty
threatened,
members
of
both
families
moved
away
from
singing
Dhrupad
as
a
common
part
of
life.
Many
of
these
songs
vanished
along
with
the
community
role
of
Dhrupad,
barring
the
songs
notated
by
Indra
Kishore’s
father
in
the
notebooks
retained
with
Indra
Kishore.
Indra
Kishore
does
not
sing
Dhrupad
in
community
any
longer
because
the
contexts
for
such
performance
have
disappeared,
with
hardly
any
local
acoustic
community
for
Dhrupad
performance
at
home.
Today,
the
Bhojpuri
light
music
industry
pervades
most
private
and
public
functions,74
and
even
people
that
sing
or
patronize
classical
music
have
taken
to
Khayal,
Bhajan,
Thumri
and
Ghazal
as
familiar
family
sounds.
But
for
Indra
Kishore,
these
songs
are
an
aural
and
material
reminder
of
a
recent
past
when
expert
Dhrupad
practice
was
integral
to
soundscapes
in
Bhanu
Chapra
village.
In
October
2010,
while
cataloguing
the
notebook
containing
a
particular
song,
Indra
Kishore
recalled
that
song
in
his
father’s
voice.
These
recollections
are
sourced
by
the
effort
memory
of
Indra
Kishore’s
own
practice,
attempting
to
capture
the
perfect
nuance
in
his
father’s
vocal
delivery.
Set
in
a
less
common
raga
–kukubh
73
The god Hanuman is often referred to Indian itihasa as Mahavir lit. great warrior
74
Bhojpuri is the language spoken in the western part of Bihar where Bettiah is located.
67
bilawal
-‐
the
appealing
aural
simplicity
of
the
thread
ceremony
song
masks
the
enormous
effort
it
takes
to
sustain
a
clean
gaurhar
bani
aesthetic
produced
entirely
by
controlling
the
breath.
The
song
also
demonstrates
that
an
aesthetic
intelligible
as
song
in
community
may
well
require
an
expert
musician
to
conceive
of
it
and
sustain
it
in
sound.
As
Wade’s
study
of
music
making
in
the
Mughal
miniature
paintings
shows,75
the
function
of
musicians
writing
songs
for
special
events
in
court
and
community
has
a
long
history
in
Hindustani
music.
The
function
of
Dhrupad
as
song
in
community
in
the
recent
history
of
Bettiah
guides
both
aesthetics
and
ethics
in
Indra
Kishore’s
practice
today,
as
he
takes
care
to
sing
these
songs
with
precise
vocal
delivery,
every
time.
Neither
variation
nor
improvisation
is
sought
after
or
expected
to
creep
in.
Places,
events
and
sound:
Dhrupad,
Dhamar
at
the
Shiv
Mandir
The
Shiv
Mandir
(Shiva
temple)
in
Bhanu
Chapra
village
anchors
catalytic
acoustemic
memory
in
a
nexus
of
associations
that
has
interrupted
Indra
Kishore’s
consciousness
at
many
times
in
our
association.
Probably
no
other
site
in
the
village
is
as
thick
with
sonic
association
as
this
one,
barring
perhaps
Indra
Kishore’s
family
house.
The
very
soil
traps
sound
as
the
cremation
sites
of
Indra
Kishore’s
grandfather,
father
and
eldest
daughter
lie
at
the
side
of
the
temple
pond.
Through
the
decades
of
intense
hardship
trying
to
survive
and
keep
singing,
Indra
Kishore
developed
the
habit
of
walking
to
this
spot
for
connecting
with
himself,
his
feeling
for
family,
and
feeling
for
family
music.
These
habitual
practices
were
necessary
for
him
to
keep
at
singing
when
all
around
him
family
and
neighbors
quit
singing
Dhrupad
for
other
means
of
survival.
The
Shiva
temple
holds
personal
and
communal
memory
of
song.
It
is
a
center
for
community
festivals,
especially
Holi,
and
Chat.
The
temple
pond
was
vibrant
with
the
celebrations
of
Chat
in
October
2010,
when
I
was
there.
At
other
times
when
I
have
walked
there
with
Indra
Kishore’s
family,
the
temple
was
peaceful
and
quiet,
with
many
mature
trees
and
the
large
temple
pond
close
by.
I
heard
from
the
older
residents
of
Bhanu
Chapra
about
the
celebration
of
Holi
at
the
Shiv
Mandir
that
would
include
Dhrupad,
Dhamar,
Hori,
Thumri
and
Jat
until
even
a
few
decades
earlier.76
The
traditional
breaking
of
caste
barriers
associated
with
Holi
was
observed
with
Indra
Kishore’s
grandfather
singing,
his
granduncle
playing
the
pakhawaj
and
local
musicians
of
particular
castes
playing
dapki,
jaanj
and
other
instruments.
Much
bhang,
the
intoxicating
drink
of
Holi,
is
said
to
have
flowed
at
these
events,
along
with
the
music.
Songs
sung
in
the
village
temple
included
a
Shiv
ki
Holi
repertoire
–
Holi
songs
composed
on
Lord
Shiva
-‐
in
addition
to
the
more
common
repertoire
of
songs
depicting
the
god
Krishna,
Radha
and
color
play
at
75
See Wade (1998)
76
Jat is a fourteen beat tala (here used as an identifier for the song itself) and was commonly sung during
Holi (Indra Kishore Mishra, interview Bettiah October 2010).
68
Brindavan
in
Hori
Dhamar,
Hori
and
Thumri.
Avadesh
Mullick,
Raman
Mishra
and
even
Indra
Kishore
have
strong
memories
of
community
celebrations
that
used
to
take
place
with
singing
of
such
Dhrupad,
Dhamar,
and
Hori
in
their
younger
days.
These
knowledge-‐sustaining
community
practices
have
now
lapsed,
with
Indra
Kishore
forced
into
becoming
a
solo
stage
performer
in
a
community
that
no
longer
values
Dhrupad
as
part
of
life.
The
soundscapes
of
Bhanu
Chapra
village
have
changed
a
great
deal
in
Indra
Kishore’s
own
lifetime
with
loudspeakers
blaring
Bhojpuri
light
music
at
weddings
and
festivals.
Many
a
time
during
our
working
sessions,
Indra
Kishore
would
stop
and
wait
till
a
band
procession
crossed,
stating
once
that
his
grandfather
would
do
the
same
when
British
marching
bands
passed
by
on
their
way
to
the
village
funeral
ground.
Reiterating
connections
to
a
vibrant
past
hence
becomes
a
matter
of
sonic
survival
for
Indra
Kishore.
Song
is
entangled
with
temporalizing
associations
and
these
memories
are
held
in
tangible
objects,
bodies
and
things.
Catalyzed
by
these
associations,
the
singing
voice
of
a
hereditary
musician
becomes
the
nexus
of
memory,
animating
repertoire
with
the
eventfulness
and
emotionality
of
a
Place.
Acoustic
communities
The
forms
of
knowledge
produced
by
the
emplacement
of
Dhrupad
in
Bettiah
were
sustained
within
acoustic
communities
that
were
integral
to
shaping
its
intelligibility
as
a
genre
of
classical
music
and
as
music
in
community.
These
communities
were
not
necessarily
uniform
in
their
musical
understanding
or
even
listening
habits.
Rather,
these
inter-‐subjective
communities
helped
sustain
modes
of
listening
that
were
dialogic
to
Place.
Perhaps
of
equal
significance,
when
princely
patronage
declined,
they
kept
the
struggling
musical
community
of
Bettiah
alive
and
singing.
In
this
section,
I
focus
specifically
on
the
transformation
of
acoustic
community
in
Bettiah,
starting
from
the
period
of
declining
princely
patronage.
As
discussed
above,
the
community
memory
of
being
a
musical
place
played
a
significant
role
in
compensating
the
denuded
soundscapes
for
Dhrupad
practice
in
Bettiah.
First
of
all,
Bettiah
as
a
musical
place
has
tried
to
sustain
its
struggling
and
dwindling
community
of
expert
Dhrupad
musicians
throughout
the
20th
century,
until
serendipity
and
individual
heroic
effort
put
Indra
Kishore
Mishra
back
into
the
national
Dhrupad
circuit.
Secondly,
tracking
the
transformation
of
acoustic
communities
in
Bettiah
is
critical
to
understanding
the
environmental
challenges
faced
by
Indra
Kishore
Mishra.
As
a
hereditary
musician
holding
valuable,
endangered
cultural
heritage,
Indra
Kishore
is
facing
the
very
real
possibility
of
being
Bettiah’s
last
expert
Dhrupad
musician.
While
he
has
received
some
assistance
in
the
form
of
scholarships
for
his
children
from
government
bodies,
no
attention
has
been
paid
to
his
musical
environment.
69
This
has
two
consequences.
Both
he
and
his
children
have
faced
negative
evaluations
because
their
musical
ethics
are
no
longer
intelligible
to
modern
audiences.
An
archeology
of
grids
of
intelligibility
is
a
first
step
towards
re-‐
circulating
these
elided
histories
amongst
stakeholders
and
culture
workers,
if
not
audiences.
Secondly,
no
amount
of
money
thrown
at
Indra
Kishore
can
compensate
for
the
lack
of
a
musical
environment
in
contemporary
Bettiah
where
his
children
live.
Tracking
the
transformation
of
acoustic
communities
in
Bettiah
is
critical
to
bringing
awareness
and
the
recognition
that
any
attempt
to
revive
the
Dhrupad
heritage
of
the
Mullicks
of
Bettiah
requires
re-‐vitalizing
the
environments
for
musical
practice.77
Funding
transmission
inside
the
fishbowl
does
not
suffice
by
itself.
Soundscapes
are
about
as
important
as
lineage,
and
critical
to
sustaining
endangered
cultural
practices
as
environments.
The
transition
from
princely
patronage
In
the
last
decades
of
the
Bettiah
Raj,
severe
debt,
famine
and
the
turmoil
of
land
reform
caused
a
decided
shift
in
the
patronage
for
cultural
practices
and
the
hereditary
specialists
in
the
employ
of
the
Bettiah
Estate.
After
the
death
of
the
last
Maharaja,
both
his
wives
were
known
for
their
continued
patronage
and
munificence
to
cultural
institutions
and
cultural
practices.
However,
the
pressures
of
legal
contestation,
administrative
take-‐over
under
the
British
Court
of
Wards,
and
personal
ill-‐health
put
a
stop
to
Princely
patronage.78
The
sharp
dip
in
the
fortunes
of
hereditary
musicians
in
Bettiah,
perhaps
caused
the
Mishras
of
Benares
to
leave
Bettiah
for
Benares
and
Kolkata,
where
they
managed
to
establish
migrant
lineages,
within
different
environments
and
communities
for
Dhrupad
performance.
In
Bettiah
meanwhile,
the
hereditary
Mullick
families
and
the
Ustads
of
Kalpi
had
to
fend
for
themselves
in
a
situation
of
decreasing
patronage.
From
oral
and
documentary
histories
it
is
evident
that
a
secondary
network
of
local
patrons
tried
to
keep
the
culture
of
Bettiah
and
specifically
its
musical
culture
going.
Administrators
of
the
Bettiah
Estate,
especially
those
from
local
families,
tried
to
keep
some
form
of
patronage
alive
by
continuing
to
have
musicians
sing
in
local
festivals,
events
and
rituals,
and
recommending
them
to
patrons
in
nearby
estates.79
They
also
had
strong
kinship
relations
in
Benares,
Gaya
and
other
nearby
places.
Shyama
Mullick
was
consulted
in
raga
documentation
efforts
undertaken
in
Benares.
The
few
remaining
books
in
Indra
Kishore’s
house
such
as
the
Qanoon
Sitar
77
Re-vitalizing doesn’t mean reproducing, and technology could be used to supplement erosion in physical
environment, by building archives for thick sound rather than pure sound.
78
Court of Wards was a legal body created by the East India Company to administer landed estates that
were heirless or where the heir was deemed to be minor.
79
Indra
Kishore
has
in
his
possession
letters
written
by
the
assistant
manager
of
the
Bettiah
Estate
in
support
of
his
grandfather
emphasizing
that
his
forefathers
had
been
musicians
of
the
Bettiah
Estate.
He
also
has
letters
written
by
his
father
asking
for
support
to
start
a
music
school
in
Bhanu
Chapra
village,
to
keep
their
musical
inheritance
from
dying.
70
and
the
Sangit
Sudarshan
show
that
Shyama
Mullick
was
well
aware
of
contemporary
efforts
in
music
publication.
Secondly,
like
the
Maharajas
of
Bettiah,
Indra
Kishore’s
family
composers
consciously
composed
in
older
models
and
older
ragas,
and
also
in
variants
of
extant
ragas
and
newer
ragas
–
showing
consciousness
of
flows
in
Hindustani
music
across
time
and
space.
According
to
Indra
Kishore
Shyama
Mullick
would
speak
from
a
position
of
authority
firmly
rooted
in
the
hundreds
of
compositions
in
his
repertoire–
for
which
he
was
respected
and
feted
in
his
time.
The
Raj
Guru
priestly
family
likewise
kept
up
a
level
of
patronage.
Neighboring
Estates
such
as
Sheohar,
Madhubani,
Ramnagar,
Baneilly,
Hathwa,
Muzzafarpur
and
Padrauna
provided
some
patronage
for
musicians.
Ustad
Kale
Khan
known
for
his
prowess
in
all
four
banis
of
Dhrupad
lived
for
some
time
in
the
house
of
Uma
Shankar
(Baccha)
Babu,
the
famous
patron
of
Muzzafarpur
who
had
also
hosted
Ustad
Alladiya
Khan
Saheb
–
the
founder
of
the
Jaipur
Atrauli
Khayal
gharana.
According
to
their
descendants,
musicians
from
all
three
families
of
Mullicks
used
to
travel
to
many
of
these
estates
where
they
were
welcomed
as
musicians
of
the
Bettiah
court.
Thus
Gopal
Mullick
and
Kunj
Behari
Mullick
would
go
to
Padrauna,
and
other
estates
in
eastern
Uttar
Pradesh,
and
Gopal
Mullick
taught
such
as
Dhiraj
who
became
widely
known
for
their
Dhrupad
compositions,
and
musicians
from
places
such
as
Benares
would
come
to
learn
from
Gopal
Mullick
through
their
family
kinship
ties.
Shyama
Mullick
on
the
other
hand
was
sought
out
by
Sheohar,
Madhuban,
and
Baneilly
estates
among
others,
and
in
later
years
his
son
Mahant
Mishra
would
go
with
him
to
these
places.80
But,
the
leading
musicians
of
the
families,
Gopal
Mullick,
Kunj
Behari
Mullick
and
Shyama
Prasad
Mullick
did
not
transition
well
from
being
feted
musicians
with
assured
livelihoods
singing
in
place
to
travelling
the
circuit
looking
for
patrons
in
neighboring
estates,
so
they
became
increasingly
reluctant
to
leave
Bettiah.81
At
the
same
time,
they
were
no
longer
connected
to
patronage
circuits
outside
their
region
–
a
sharp
contrast
to
the
earlier
centuries
when
the
Bettiah
court
was
in
the
thick
of
multiple
networks
of
circulation.
The
former
circulatory
history
brought
Dhrupad
to
Bettiah,
but
by
the
20th
century,
the
redefined
networks
of
patronage
left
musicians
in
Bettiah
without
support.
Struggle
and
survival
-‐
1950s
to
1980s
Today
the
different
local
and
migratory
musical
lineages
in
Bettiah
are
in
mutual
denial
of
each
other’s
claim
to
tradition,
especially
since
networks
of
connectivity
80
Recently when Indra Kishore performed at Kumar Shyamand Singh’s family estate in Baneilly, he met
elderly residents who had heard both his father and his grandfather – a meeting that caused a great welling
of emotion in Indra Kishore that transformed that evening’s concert.
81
Interviews, Raj Kishore Mishra, Raman Mishra, Indra Kishore Mishra 2010
71
have
been
absent
for
almost
100
years.
So
quick
has
been
the
erasure
of
these
histories
that
even
locally,
the
Mullicks
are
no
longer
conscious
of
the
connection
of
the
Ustads
of
Kalpi
to
music
in
Bettiah,
though
the
families
of
the
Ustads
still
live
in
the
Naya
Tola
neighborhood
in
Bettiah.
Evidence
that
this
isolation
of
the
Mullicks
of
Bettiah,
Mishras
of
Benares
and
Ustads
of
Kalpi
is
relatively
recent
shows
up
in
ethnographic
interviews
with
locals
who
had
witnessed
the
musical
events
of
the
1950s
and
1960s.82
Even
at
that
time
Bettiah
must
have
had
more
of
a
multi-‐lineage
musical
culture
than
the
one
in
which
Indra
Kishore
was
reared.
Some
descendants
of
the
Mullicks
told
me
that
musicians
from
the
three
different
Mullick
families
would
occasionally
get
together
to
sing,
and
aside
from
this
they
met
in
public
spaces
and
on
the
street.
These
inter-‐subjective
encounters
surface
in
stories
of
overhearing
and
competition,
with
the
lead
role
depending
on
who
was
doing
the
telling.
The
two
extant
repertoires
I
studied
closely
have
less
than
5%
overlap
with
each
other,
but
in
that
5%
there
are
compositions
that
show
evidence
of
circulation
between
the
lineages.
Evidence
of
interchange
also
shows
up
in
the
presence
of
a
few
compositions
of
composers
from
the
other
lineages
whose
repertoires
are
no
longer
extant.
With
local
patronage
dead
and
the
patronage
circuit
dying
out
amongst
the
neighboring
Estates,
a
few
groups
of
people
came
together
to
form
music
societies
in
Bettiah
to
keep
musical
activity
going
at
a
time
when
musicians
were
struggling
for
listeners
and
sustenance.83
These
organizations
regularly
brought
together
musicians
in
Bettiah
for
evening
music
sessions
at
a
few
different
locations
in
Bettiah.
The
family
of
Mukund
Bhat,
generational
priests
to
the
Bettiah
Raj,
formed
one
such
organization
that
would
hold
concerts
regularly.
They
still
publish
the
occasional
booklet
with
articles
on
music
and
culture.
Raman
Mishra
recounted
concerts
where
Mahant
Mishra
of
the
Mullicks
of
Bhanu
Chapra,
Raj
Kishore
Mishra
from
Gopal
Mullick’s
lineage
from
Raj
Deovri,
Lal
Khan
and
Nathan
Khan,
of
the
Ustad
families
from
Naya
Tola
Bettiah,
and
other
musicians
would
sing
Dhrupad,
Khyal,
Ghazal,
and
other
genres.
A
few
IAS
and
IPS
officers
posted
on
duty
in
Bettiah
also
occasionally
held
small
musical
gatherings
of
classical
music
at
home.
But
for
these
small
islands
of
musical
activity,
the
culture
for
Dhrupad
and
Hindustani
music
performance
in
Bettiah
was
definitely
on
the
wane.
Over
time,
the
family
of
Kunj
Behari
Mullick
and
the
families
of
the
Ustads
of
Kalpi
gave
up
singing
Dhrupad,
and
a
few
of
them
took
up
other
professions
in
music
with
varying
degrees
82
Interviews, Raman Mishra, Mahavir Prasad, families of Ustads of Kalpi 2010
83
I got an idea of musical circles in Bettiah in the 1960s mostly from Raman Mishra and a few other older
residents in Bettiah. Rivalries between the three Mullick families is high leading to conflicting accounts.
72
of
success.84
The
number
of
musicians
singing
Dhrupad
came
down
drastically
with
just
a
few
representatives
per
line
after
the
1980s.
In
Bhanu
Chapra
village,
almost
every
family
switched
to
singing
other
genres
and
took
to
other
professions.
Only
in
Indra
Kishore’s
house,
that
choice
was
not
made,
as
the
family
music
was
his
solitary
-‐minded
father’s
condition
for
being.
No
wonder
that
Indra
Kishore
recalls
his
early
musical
life
as
one
marked
by
loneliness,
hunger
and
musical
effort.
Through
the
stories
of
personal
effort,
struggle
and
survival
related
by
Indra
Kishore,
I
learnt
of
the
importance
of
a
small
if
attenuated
acoustic
community
that
played
a
vital
role
in
keeping
father
and
son
alive
and
singing.
During
this
dark
period,
the
only
sources
of
musical
friendship
and
musical
mentoring
outside
their
immediate
family
of
two
were
his
uncle
Shankar
Lal
Mishra,
and
his
father’s
two
close
friends
Bimal
Srivastava
and
Baidyanath
Singh
who
played
a
significant
role
in
sustaining
the
musicians
both
by
giving
them
a
little
food
every
day
and
providing
a
place
in
which
Mahant
Mishra
could
spend
his
evenings
recollecting
songs
and
smoking
ganja
(cannabis)
to
kill
hunger.
Everyone
else
on
the
street
closed
their
doors
on
Mahant
Mishra’s
plight,
according
to
Indra
Kishore.
He
recalls
a
few
students
that
used
to
come
and
learn
from
Mahant
Mishra,
but
he
himself
only
remembers
rejection,
isolation
and
hunger
as
his
main
companions.
Into
this
narrative
of
loneliness,
a
few
other
voices
occasionally
intrude.
Manorama
Jha,
daughter
of
a
well-‐to-‐do
family
of
Jhas
that
patronized
music
in
Bhanu
Chapra
village
actively
till
the
1960s
appears
to
have
learnt
form
Mahant
Mishra
and
been
present
occasionally
during
the
early
years
of
Indra
Kishore’s
lessons
from
his
father.85
Raman
Mishra,
Kunj
Behari
Mullick’s
son-‐in-‐law
and
an
active
spokesperson
for
Bettiah
gharana
Mullick
family
oral
history
also
used
to
stop
by
at
the
shop
of
Bimal
Srivastava
in
the
busy
Lal
Bazaar
area
of
the
town
to
listen
to
Mahant
Mishra’s
Dhrupads.
Both
Manorama
Jha
and
Raman
Mishra
told
me
how
Mahant
Mishra’s
voice
was
perfectly
tuned,
but
extremely
soft.
It
could
barely
be
heard
above
the
tanpura
but
aligned
so
perfectly
with
the
timbre
of
the
instrument
his
singing
would
linger
in
the
ear
for
hours.
Thus,
if
one
considers
acoustic
community
in
Bettiah
during
Indra
Kishore’s
father’s
time
and
then
his,
it
becomes
clear
that
there
were
listening
circles
for
Dhrupad
that
84
Perhaps the best known of them was Ustad Zakir Hussain of the Kalpi family who became a well-known
music director and composer in Patna, AIR, but he too lived in strained circumstances through most of his
life. My colleague in graduate school Inderjit Kaur had learnt music from Zakir Hussain Saheb while living
in Patna during her school going years in the seventies. She described him as an inveterate composer and a
good teacher, but says it was not widely known that he came from a family of Kalpi Ustads from Bettiah.
85
Prof. Manorama Jha joined a few of my discussions and music sessions with Indra Kishore and she knew
many of the songs at least by ear. She learnt some music out of interest but her primary focus was on
acquiring an education and a career as a professor of music in Muzzafarpur. She passed away in 2012.
73
sustained
musicians
right
up
to
the
1950s.
Thereafter,
the
environment
for
Dhrupad
became
much
depleted,
but
still
the
close
circle
of
friends
and
a
few
members
of
the
musical
families
were
critical
to
keeping
at
least
two
of
three
Mullick
family
Dhrupad
heritages
going.
The
intelligibility
of
Dhrupad
in
these
circles
was
predicated
on
the
importance
given
to
the
rendition
of
song,
rather
than
the
long
alap
that
became
the
signature
of
a
Dhrupad
performance
after
the
1960s.
The
intense
musical
commitment
of
a
couple
of
musicians
sustained
by
small
communities
of
listeners
and
patrons
is
what
has
given
Indra
Kishore
access
to
khazana
today
but
it
took
the
additional
step
of
individual
work
to
transform
this
musical
inheritance
into
thick
sound.86
The
circumstances
under
which
Indra
Kishore
did
this
work
transformed
both
individual
voice
and
the
cumulative
khazana
in
tangible
ways.
1980
and
after
In
1980
Indra
Kishore
became
a
part
of
the
national
Dhrupad
circuit,
networking
one
lineage
of
the
Bettiah
gharana
into
modern
listening
communities
for
Dhrupad.
Indra
Kishore
has
kept
himself
going
through
two
decades
in
which
he
was
deprived
of
his
father
and
teacher,
his
main
musical
source.
In
Bettiah,
his
musical
life
is
mostly
contained
within
the
home
and
a
few
close
disciples.
His
energy
comes
from
continuing
some
form
of
practice,
teaching
his
children,
and
reliving
his
connections
to
family
and
khazana
in
daily
life
in
the
village.
He
gets
energy
from
the
outside
world
in
the
form
of
his
long-‐term
benefactors
Padmashri
Gajendra
Narain
Singh
and
the
Bihar
government,
and
the
brief
but
regular
contacts
with
the
Dagars
and
the
Darbhanga
performers
on
the
national
performance
circuit.
The
juxtaposition
could
not
be
sharper.
His
forefathers’
musicianship
was
sustained
in
the
hub
of
explosive
musical
activity
in
the
19th
century
court.
In
the
early
20th
century,
his
grandfather
still
had
access
to
a
musical
community
locally
and
on
the
Estate
circuit
in
Bihar
and
eastern
Uttar
Pradesh.
Even
his
father
had
the
benefit
(howsoever
meager)
of
the
attenuated
communities
of
an
older
order.
Indra
Kishore’s
life
is
now
split
between
long
months
of
relative
musical
isolation
as
a
lone
Dhrupad
musician
in
Bettiah
and
being
on
the
national
circuit
as
a
performer
amongst
other
Dhrupad
musicians.
But
the
barriers
to
being
understood
and
sustained
by
the
new
musical
community
to
which
he
now
belongs
have
been
very
high.
What
the
generations
of
Mullicks
have
in
common
is
the
musical
weight
of
cumulative
khazana
and
generation
after
generation
of
individual
musical
effort,
but
the
communities
that
sustained
86
In 2010, with Raj Kishore Mishra’s death, one more lineage of Dhrupad musicians in Bettiah ended.
Raj
Kishore’s son too was given access to a very rich and distinct khazana but his son did not put in the work
needed to inherit the khazana as tradition. In contrast, Indra Kishore put all he had into acquiring family
Dhrupad tradition and making it his own.
74
musicianship
and
intelligibility
have
drastically
changed
in
the
intervening
centuries.
The
historical
grids
of
intelligibility
within
which
Dhrupad
was
practiced,
heard
and
understood
in
Bettiah
have
not
survived
in
the
global
circulation
of
Dhrupad
as
an
alap-‐oriented
genre.
The
musical
community
that
sustained
his
forefather’s
musicianship
has
also
not
survived,
but
Indra
Kishore
has
in
contrast
got
access
to
a
whole
new
cross-‐cultural
community
for
Dhrupad
on
the
modern
stage
–
an
acoustic
community
where
Dhrupad
is
heard
and
understood
as
a
journey
into
the
realm
of
pure
sound.
It
remains
to
be
seen
if
Indra
Kishore
can
get
people
to
listen
in
to
his
music
as
sound
made
thick
by
the
histories
of
interactivity
I
have
attempted
to
describe
here.
Thick sound, intelligibility and musical judgment
I have often wondered how Indra Kishore keeps singing in the wasteland that
Bettiah appears to be for a modern day Dhrupad musician. He told me he would
never leave Bettiah though the cost of staying there has been very high. He also
refuses to yield to the pressures of normative performance although he has made
some accommodations to perform on the modern concert circuit. I kept coming back
to thick sound as the answer. Indra Kishore’s sense of tradition and his reason to be
are cognitively intertwined with making music in Bhanu Chapra village and Bettiah
town. His fear of leaving is equally his fear that his music would lose life force and
musical reason if he left, and so he stays on and continues to sing Dhrupad, long
after his neighbors left physically and aurally.
From the extended analysis in this chapter, I have demonstrated that the
performance of Dhrupad in Bettiah is emplaced within a constellation of practices
dialogic with sound – entanglements that render sound thick with histories of
interactivity and potentialities of practice. Thick sound serves an emotional and
memorial function that is fundamentally musical. Most crucially, it anchors Indra
Kishore’s musical judgment and strong notions of fidelity to tradition in both
habitual and catalytic ways.
The case study of Indra Kishore as a representative of the hereditary musicians of
Bettiah demonstrates that Hindustani musicians who are expert practitioners of
classical music were/are embedded in the culture of places, and participated and
wrote music for different purposes in community. This has a direct bearing on the
categories of the classical since both creativity and judgments about Dhrupad as a
classical genre are transformed in the dialogic of emplacement. A number of
concrete examples exist in Indra Kishore’s musical choices, some of which are
handed down and the rest of which are newer, but all of which are responses
resulting from engagement with thick sound.
Completing the work of my ancestors
75
Indra
Kishore
lives
tradition
through
his
music
and
his
music
circumscribes
his
existential
situation.
It
also
powers
his
creativity.
Is
this
just
an
empty
statement?
No,
I
say
this
in
empirical
terms.
Connections
to
place,
patron
and
family
interleaved
with
the
rigor
and
particularities
of
a
classical
music
practice
become
embedded
in
the
singing
body
and
the
sonic
gesture.
Woven
into
the
sonic
through
body,
breath
and
habit,
breathing
in
and
breathing
out
becomes
a
means
of
relating
nascent
note
to
world
without.
The
emergence
of
musical
judgment
in
these
interactions
has
audible
effects
in
an
ethics
of
performance
and
poesis.
It
both
structures
and
feeds
Indra
Kishore’s
creative
response
to
musical
situations.
The
tethering
of
song
in
the
particularity
of
embodied,
sensory,
material,
sonic,
temporal
and
affective
practices
of
Dhrupad
in
a
hereditary
family
attached
to
patron
and
place
transforms
aesthetics
as
ethics
and
turns
feeling
into
fidelity.
A
consequence
of
this
dialogic
connection
between
sound,
family,
patron
and
place
is
that
Indra
Kishore’s
voice
is
rarely
his
alone
by
choice
and
circumstance.
Early
in
our
interactions,
I
asked
him
one
day
what
he
had
done
new,
what
he
had
added
to
the
tradition.
This
invoked
a
tirade
that
went
on
for
half
an
hour.
The
bottom
line
was
that
Indra
Kishore
denies
doing
anything
new
and
challenges
the
idea
that
being
a
Hindustani
musician
requires
doing
something
new.
He
viewed
his
efforts
as
completing
the
work
of
his
ancestors.
When
I
tried
to
get
behind
the
wall
that
such
a
stance
puts
in
front
of
a
researcher,
I
got
several
insights
into
Indra
Kishore’s
attitudes
on
tradition,
creativity
and
innovation.
The
insight
most
relevant
to
the
issue
of
song
and
its
ontological
status
relates
to
the
notion
of
khazana
and
how
it
relates
to
creativity
as
well
as
ethics.
It
is
important
to
understand
that
Indra
Kishore
treats
composing
and
setting
tunes
as
tradition,
not
as
creativity
explicitly
defined
as
doing
something
new.
He
comes
from
a
long
lineage
of
people
who
composed
songs
and
set
tunes
to
other
people’s
verses.
Indra
Kishore
is
under
a
lot
of
pressure
because
he
conceives
of
Dhrupad
as
an
almost
exclusively
pre-‐composed
form.
When
one
considers
the
inter-‐subjective
pressures
he
has
to
face,
it
becomes
clear
that
this
is
an
ethical
stance,
as
much
as
a
stance
on
creativity
in
Indian
music.
He
sees
this
to
be
in
keeping
with
his
family
tradition
and
their
position
as
composer-‐musicians
who
composed
and
performed
Dhrupad
in
the
various
sites
for
music
in
Bettiah.
The
extent,
depth
and
complexity
of
the
repertoire
show
that
the
composer-‐musicians
of
Bettiah
were
highly
skilled
vaggeyakaras
whose
musical
creativity
has
been
distilled
in
song.
“khayal
usme
dikhao”
(“Show
your
creativity
here”),
“sab
usi
par
hai”
(“Everything
is
in
this”)
were
statements
that
expressed
Indra
Kishore’s
view
that
songs
contain
not
only
the
essence
but
also
the
universe
of
possibilities
for
musical
imagination.
For
one
who
inherits
such
a
repertoire,
the
test
of
musical
imagination
lies
in
the
churning
through
which
the
repertoire
is
put
through
the
individual
musical
mill
to
develop
skills
in
composing
and
improvisation.
76
These
statements
are
borne
out
in
Indra
Kishore’s
practice
to
different
degrees
inflected
by
his
situation
as
a
modern
performing
artist
on
the
national
Dhrupad
circuit.
While
in
his
way
of
thinking
his
performance
provides
a
complete
musical
experience,
in
format,
process
and
content,
his
performance
is
borderline
unintelligible
as
listening
experience
to
modern
audiences
for
Hindustani
music
that
rate
excellence
by
the
ability
to
improvise,
and
have
little
or
no
sense
for
Dhrupad
beyond
long
alap,
two-‐part
compositions
and
extended
layakari
in
which
words
become
a
stream
of
consonants
for
rhythmic
variations
with
increasing
intensity.
Indra
Kishore
has
not
remained
impervious
to
these
inter-‐subjective
pressures.
Instead
he
has
tried
to
make
a
set
of
creative
choices
that
package
his
traditional
repertoire
for
the
modern
concert
platform.
Much
of
his
own
innovation
has
come
mainly
in
the
realm
of
trying
to
develop
a
process
for
alap,
and
perhaps
making
the
khandar
bani
style
more
vigorous
than
his
father
sang
it.
But
as
far
as
his
emphasis
and
presentation
of
composition
goes,
he
continues
to
sing
the
way
he
has
learnt,
unwilling
and
perhaps
unable
to
readjust
to
normative
audience
expectations.
He
has
stood
his
ground
against
great
odds.
Songs
define
the
cosmos
of
possibilities
in
the
Mullick’s
musical
universe.
Indra
Kishore’s
khazana
serves
as
both
musical
source
and
ethical
compass
in
all
dimensions
of
his
Dhrupad
performance.
Indra
Kishore
pointed
again
and
again
to
the
depth
and
weight
of
the
corpus
as
his
dictionary,
stating
emphatically
“all
my
thinking
is
there”.
This
sentence
was
said
in
Hindi,
but
he
used
the
English
word
“thinking”.
The
structures
of
knowledge
generated
from
repeated
practice
transforms
both
musical
object
and
musical
mind
intertwining
sound
and
sense.
The
musician
begins
to
see
new
colors
in
the
musical
object
the
same
time
he
develops
his
thinking
by
working
with
handed
down
materials.
His
sense
of
rightness
about
musical
practice
develops
at
the
same
time.
The
emphasis
on
song
is
a
reflection
of
the
centuries
of
composing
for
particular
contexts
in
Bettiah.
But
the
songs
are
composed
classical
pieces
with
complex
melodic-‐rhythmic-‐lyrical
forms
–
these
are
fixed
works
and
they
are
not
negotiable.
When
Indra
Kishore
challenged
me
to
choose
between
milk
and
water
over
the
Dhrupad
in
the
raga
Darbari
Kanada,
the
register
of
his
challenge
was
sourced
by
the
amount
of
work
put
into
churning
his
khazana
as
thick
sound
while
stabilizing
the
composition
as
an
aesthetic
form.
The
insistence
that
songs
have
to
be
sung
exactly
as
taught
with
no
variation
is
ethics
strongly
rooted
in
Indra
Kishore’s
family
history
as
composers
and
performers
of
song,
intertwined
with
the
affective
anchors
for
emotion
that
cause
him
to
remember
his
father
when
he
draws
a
breath
to
sing
an
extra-‐long
meend,
or
listens
in
to
re-‐produce
a
beautiful
inflection
in
his
father’s
voice.
The
affective
nexus
of
aesthetics
and
ethics
is
most
evident
in
the
gaurhar
77
bani
songs
in
Indra
Kishore’s
repertoire
that
are
stabilized
in
thick
sound
in
the
many
ways
that
I
analyze
in
detail
later.87
The
presence
of
many
complex
and
varied
Dhrupads
in
a
single
raga
influence
and
shape
Indra
Kishore’s
sense
for
raga.
This
has
direct
musical
consequences.
Indra
Kishore
is
able
to
maintain
distinctions
between
ragas
that
are
very
close
to
each
other
because
he
stays
close
to
the
composition.
At
the
same
time,
he
has
had
to
develop
his
own
techniques
to
extend
short
alap
for
the
modern
stage.
In
doing
this,
he
has
relied
on
his
khazana
for
musical
ideas
and
ethical
sense.
Indra
Kishore
states
that
his
ancestors
did
not
sing
long
alap.
This
doesn’t
mean
they
never
sang
alap;
rather,
they
did
not
emphasize
it
in
performance
and
it
was
not
their
primary
way
of
maintaining
categorical
knowledge.88
Rather,
songs
-‐
complex
edifices
-‐
were
their
primary
way
of
maintaining
complex
and
fine
distinctions
between
melodic
varieties
in
Hindustani
music.
Thus
composing
is
the
activity
through
which
the
Bettiah
composers
developed
and
sustained
explicit
categorical
knowledge
about
ragas.89
This
is
also
evident
from
the
fact
that
they
did
compose
in
new
ragas,
and
also
resurrected
older,
archaic
models
for
which
they
may
have
had
a
few
examples
in
their
repertoire.
Thick
sound
not
only
shapes
the
sounds
of
his
alap,
it
impacts
his
musical
life.
For
instance,
he
will
sing
Raga
Malkauns
only
in
the
morning,
as
his
family
tradition
considers
Malkauns
to
be
a
morning
raga.
He
sings
Raga
Adana
with
shuddh
dhaivat,
and
uses
both
nishads
and
komal
gandhar
in
Raga
Megh.
While
these
choices
are
based
on
his
historic
repertoire,
and
are
not
without
historical
precedent
outside
Bettiah,
normative
listening
practices
that
are
not
exposed
or
not
well
disposed
towards
diverse
sonic
histories
render
these
uncommon
variants
unintelligible
and
sometimes
unwelcome.
Indra
Kishore’s
refusal
to
budge
in
terms
of
raga
formal
character
has
cost
him
radio
grades
and
his
children
difficulty
on
testing
committees
and
scholarship
evaluation
boards
that
use
standardized
raga
definitions
and
normative
dhrupad
performance
as
metrics
for
evaluation.
But,
he
continues
to
present
these
items
because
he
sees
this
as
a
stake
in
the
ground
for
his
family
tradition.
The
second
domain
stabilized
by
thick
sound
is
improvisation.90
Indra
Kishore
has
a
definite
ethics
of
layakari
that
points
right
back
to
his
repertoire.
According
to
him,
87
I analyze the phenomenological dimensions of thick sound in Chapter 5.
88
Falguni Mitra’s father was told the same thing about the Bettiah gharana lineage of the Mishras of
Benares.
89
This statement is commensurate with the history of both North and South indian classical music. In fact,
in the South, until today, compositions are recognized as the primary vehicle to maintain finely
differentiated musical character of ragas. Some ragas are known today only through a single composition
by the canonical composers of the 19th century.
90
Here I focus on judgments about rhythmic development (layakari). I discuss alap in Chapter 5.
78
many
songs
in
the
Bettiah
gharana
have
embedded
layakari,
ranging
from
twice
to
five
times
the
speed
,
to
tihais
and
chakradars.91
He
also
insists
that
tihais
have
to
be
completed
before
the
sam
is
reached
–
an
assertion
based
on
the
embedded
layakari
in
his
repertoire,
but
which
runs
contrary
to
the
approach
used
by
most
contemporary
performers.
Thirdly,
he
insists
that
only
four
types
of
layakari
are
permitted
and
then
only
in
faster
paced
khandar
bani
Dhrupads,
Chaturangs,
Trivat
and
Swaramalika.
Those
four
types
are
atit,
anaghat,
sam
and
visam
–
respectively
anticipation,
retardation,
landing
on
the
first
beat
and
landing
on
the
halfway
point
in
the
tala
cycle92.
Indra
Kishore’s
challenge
over
Falguni
Mitra’s
interpretation
of
the
slow
tempo
dhrupad
of
Tansen
in
raga
Darbari
Kanhada
was
caused
by
shock
at
Mitra’s
tempo
choice
and
Mitra’s
layakari
–
both
of
which
were
commensurate
choices
given
Mitra’s
musical
lineage
but
which
deeply
went
against
Indra
Kishore’s
musical
grain.
At
the
same
time,
Indra
Kishore
and
other
musicians
from
the
Mullick
families
themselves
occasionally
indulge
in
laya
bant
that
may
disrupt
the
melodic
line
of
the
song
momentarily
–
they
do
this
in
the
rush
of
public
performance,
but
only
with
a
few
songs
in
fast
tempo
that
do
not
have
very
complex
musical
settings
that
must
be
preserved
in
performance.
The
choice
of
tempo
(laya)
is
one
in
which
the
metrics
for
performance
are
intertwined
with
common
aesthetic
consciousness.
Bettiah
Mullick
musicians
sing
gaurhar
bani
songs
at
a
very
slow
tempo.
This
knowledge
is
stabilized
with
embodied
metaphor,
action
metaphors,
and
stories
of
competition
and
challenge.
Vanquishing
accompanists
with
their
dhrupads
was
a
definite
metric
of
expertise
in
Bettiah.
Indra
Kishore
showed
me
newspaper
reviews
of
his
concert
in
Bhopal
where
a
senior
pakhawaj
artiste
was
called
out
for
not
being
able
to
keep
laya
for
the
very
complex
rhythmic
setting
of
a
fast-‐paced
khandar
bani
song.
I
caught
on
video
the
repeated
attempts
by
a
seasoned
pakhawaj
player
to
find
the
laya
for
a
gaurhar
bani
song
sung
at
a
very
slow
tempo
with
which
Indra
Kishore
began
his
concert
in
the
Dhrupad
Mela
at
Varanasi.93
Hearing
the
pace
at
which
a
student
sang
gaurhar
bani
was
a
measure
by
which
people
in
Bettiah
decided
whether
he
or
she
belonged
there.
On
the
lighter
side,
when
a
student
playing
tabla
with
me
couldn’t
keep
beat
at
the
very
slow
tempo
I
chose
for
a
song,
I
was
instantly
declared
part
of
Bettiah,
even
though
I
had
made
several
mistakes
that
no
one
noticed.
91
tihai – cadential figure comprising a phrase repeated thrice; chakradar – extended tihai. each of whose
phrases itself includes a tihai. Clayton (2000: 212 – 214)
92
See Clayton (2000) for a definition and discussion of these concepts.
93
Similar
incidents
have
occurred
when
Falguni
Mitra
performs
but
being
a
very
senior
musician,
he
usually
shows
his
accompanists
the
way
early
on
in
the
concert.
The
Bettiah
songs
hide
tala
structure
through
compositional
strategies.
These
strategies
can
be
perplexing
in
a
first
encounter.
An
experienced accompanist, Apurbalal Manna acknowledged that playing for Falguni Mitra as well as Indra
Kishore presents challenges because the songs have complex melodic rhythmic settings and choice of
tempo; also they - especially Falguni Mitra- do layakari that requires a lot of interactive attention from the
accompanist.
79
At
the
same
time,
approaches
to
songs
are
sometimes
dictated
by
categorical
knowledge.
Thus,
despite
the
joyousness
of
a
Dhamar’s
lyrical
theme
and
the
merrymaking
that
occurs
at
Holi,
Indra
Kishore
sings
it
at
medium
slow
pace.
When
asked,
he
says
that
his
family
styles
are
gaurhar
and
khandar
banis,
so
the
choice
of
pace
is
dictated
here
by
classical
category
rather
than
lyrical
theme
or
context.
Thirdly,
expert
Dhrupad
musicians
in
Bettiah
sang
Dhrupads
at
community
festivals,
and
they
also
sang
other
genres
specific
to
spring,
monsoon
etc.,
including
lok
git,
or
local
folk
songs.
In
these
contexts
they
would
sing
with
others
in
community.
Indra
Kishore
explained
that
as
a
Dhrupad
musician,
his
voice
could
grasps
songs
of
different
kinds
of
aesthetics,
but
the
aesthetics
of
Dhrupad
in
turn
inflected
his
rendering
of
these
other
genres.
The
aesthetics
of
gaurhar
bani
as
a
complex
category
crosses
court
and
community,
practice
and
ritual
in
the
history
of
the
Mullicks
of
Bettiah.
Several
decades
after
these
interactions
have
lapsed,
Indra
Kishore
still
connects
to
gaurhar
bani
as
thick
sound
that
sustains
affective
associations.
In
matters
of
performance
format
and
conduct
on
stage
too,
Indra
Kishore’s
choices
are
tethered
in
thick
sound.
The
Bettiah
gharana
performance
tradition
is
to
sing
songs
in
sets.94
They
sing
a
single
raga
for
almost
the
entire
length
of
performance,
beginning
with
a
short
alap,
followed
by
a
very
slow
tempo
gaurhar
bani
composition,
a
slow
tempo
gaurhar
bani
composition
or
a
medium
slow
tempo
Dhamar,
followed
by
multiple
fast-‐tempo
khandar
bani
compositions
that
would
include
Dhrupad,
and
one
or
more
of
Chaturang,
Trivat,
Swaramalika
or
Tarana.
The
repertoire
feeds
and
reflects
this
performance
format
by
listing
at
least
10
songs
in
most
ragas,
with
some
having
up
to
20.
One
could
take
a
guess
about
the
historicity
of
the
performance
format
by
noting
that
a
disproportionate
number
of
Swaramalikas,
Chaturangs
and
Taranas
have
been
composed
only
from
the
latter
half
of
the
19th
century
onward,
especially
by
Indra
Kishore’s
grandfather
Shyama
Mullick
in
the
early
20th
century.
Thus,
what
other
musicians
do
with
alap,
the
Bettiah
musicians
have
attempted
to
do
with
song
–
namely,
explore
musico-‐
aesthetic
form
in
performance
while
managing
affect
and
intensity.
When
Indra
Kishore
performs,
he
always
has
at
least
one
child
with
him,
sometimes
more.
They
may
or
may
not
sing
along,
or
they
may
sing
well
before
they
are
ready
for
stage
performance
–
but
their
presence
on
stage
is
a
requirement
for
Indra
Kishore
to
sing
comfortably,
so
deep
is
the
connection
between
consciousness,
family
and
sound.
He
also
often
speaks
midway
during
a
performance,
usually
catalyzed
to
speak
by
affective
associations
with
the
repertoire
presented,
or
by
94
The Darbhanga Mullicks also often sing in sets. For a discussion of Dhrupad performance formats and
their implications for the transformation of aesthetics in performance, see Ranganathan (2012).
80
people
present
in
the
audience.
He
brings
family,
place
and
trauma
up
often
in
concert,
but
by
the
end
the
sheer
exuberance
of
performance
chases
the
shadows
away.
These
ritual
acts
re-‐affirm
to
him
that
his
tradition
survives
through
his
efforts.
What
happens
after
he
is
gone
is
a
question
that
remains
unanswered
till
today.
Thus,
be
it
raga
grammar
or
aesthetics,
the
aesthetics
of
the
dhrupad
banis,
decisions
on
tempo,
decisions
about
layakari
(rhythmic
improvisation),
creative
work
to
extend
the
brief
raga
alap
of
his
forefathers
to
a
more
elaborate
one
to
suit
modern
performance
mores,
and
performance
format
used
for
radio
recordings,
CD
recordings
and
live
concerts
–
Indra
Kishore
draws
on
the
dialogic
of
sound
and
environment
that
intersects
in
his
repertoire
to
make
his
musical
moves.
These
choices
have
not
been
made
in
a
vacuum
or
even
in
isolation
in
his
ancestral
home.
They
have
been
made
in
dialogue
with
the
inter-‐subjective
interactions
of
modern
performance
environments
that
have
been
part
of
his
life
since
he
was
twenty,
and
they
have
had
tangible
impact
on
his
relative
success
on
the
concert
circuit
with
audiences
and
organizers,
and
with
patrons,
culture
workers,
state
and
central
government
bodies,
and
non-‐government
organizations
vested
in
culture
and
heritage.
The
challenge
to
Hamsa
the
bird,
cited
at
the
beginning
of
this
dissertation,
comes
from
a
musical
judgment
and
ethical
sense
produced
and
tethered
by
thick
sound.
The
Bettiah
gharana’s
music
and
musical
expertise
has
survived
very
hard
times.
I
am
not
claiming
here
that
they
have
remained
unchanged.
But
the
sheer
strength
of
multiple
generations
of
musical
effort
takes
the
notion
of
fidelity
to
tradition
to
a
completely
different
register
than
one
born
of
spinning
a
disc
on
a
recording
machine.
Musicality
tethered
by
the
interactive
histories,
materialities
and
temporalities
that
have
transformed
musical
life
for
a
hereditary
musician
living
in
Place
bring
acoustemic
strength
and
categorical
knowledge
that
are
irreducible
to
colonial
forms
of
knowledge
and
encounter
with
its
disciplinary
technologies.
The
remaking
of
Classical
music’s
forms
of
knowledge
by
notation
and
recording
cannot
be
told
without
taking
into
account
the
very
complex
tethering
of
musical
judgment
in
the
messy
histories
I
have
recounted
here.
Conclusion
Through
an
extended
analysis
of
musical
life
in
Bettiah
town,
I
have
argued
that
emplacement
of
Dhrupad
practice
in
Bettiah
occurred
within
a
constellation
of
practices
dialogic
with
sound.
The
history
of
hereditary
families
implicates
scales
that
go
beyond
the
fishbowl
of
transmission
within
self-‐contained
family
lineages.
Bakhle’s
claim
is
that
prior
to
the
late
19th
century
efforts
of
cultural
nationalists,
81
Hindustani
music
was
an
unmarked
practice
confined
within
families,
with
no
umbrella
tradition
or
connected
history
that
had
epistemological
or
ontological
weight.95
In
marked
contrast,
I
have
shown
that
the
intelligibility
of
Hindustani
music
as
an
organized
tradition
is
integrally
shaped
by
emplacement
within
a
nexus
of
interactions
amongst
heterogeneous
communities.
It
is
important
to
emphasize
again
that
Indra
Kishore’s
connections
to
these
practice
histories
is
not
simply
nostalgia
felt
for
times
gone
by,
nor
is
it
the
narrativity
of
musical
forms
that
arises
from
their
historicity
as
musical
objects.
Rather,
Indra
Kishore’s
sense
of
place
comes
from
dialogic
listening
produced
in
the
intense
churning
of
inherited
musical
materials
that
carry
sound
marks
of
interactivity,
amidst
the
many
anchors
of
acoustemic
knowledge
in
his
local
musical
environment.
It
depends
on
his
individual
work
with
handed
down
musical
materials,
in
an
environment
inter-‐
animated
with
the
sounds
of
Dhrupad
within
a
constellation
of
practices
dialogic
to
sound.
Singing
Dhrupad
while
in
Place
in
Bettiah
is
an
activity
that
emplaces
in
habitual
and
eventful
ways.
These
connections
transfer
over
to
his
on-‐stage
experience
when
away
from
Bettiah,
where
the
interactivity
of
thick
sound
feeds
back
into
musical
performance
to
transform
vocal
practice
into
a
dwelling
in
the
voice.
I
trace
the
strength
of
Indra
Kishore’s
musical
judgment
and
strong
notions
of
tradition
to
the
dialogic
production
of
voice
and
ethical
sense
in
churning
his
khazana
as
thick
sound
through
processes
of
emplacement.
The
complexity
and
depth
of
a
musician’s
engagement
with
musical
forms
challenges
the
kind
of
arguments
built
by
Weidman
in
her
chapters
on
a
“Writing
Lesson”
and
“The
Guru
and
the
Gramaphone”.96
Musicians
spend
hours
and
hours
generating
soundscapes
in
their
practice
rooms
when
they
engage
in
musical
activity.97
When
they
repeatedly
practice
a
song
to
make
it
their
own,
compose
new
songs,
re-‐tune
songs,
set
tune
to
existing
texts,
incorporate
songs
into
their
khazana
that
they
acquired
in
loose
transmission
or
as
notation,
they
bring
the
cumulative
khazana
to
this
engagement.
Thick
sound
tethers
musical
judgment
and
acts
as
an
acoustemic
guide
in
performance,
while
musicians
navigate
the
creative
encounters
of
musical
life
by
sensing
structure
and
feeling
form.
95
See Introduction for a discussion of Bakhle’s arguments.
96
See Introduction for a discussion of Weidman’s arguments.
97
This isn’t just a modern urban legend – skilled musicians born in musical families would have also
practiced, if not in isolation in a city apartment, in relative isolation from the musical community around
them. A performing musician goes through phases of intense practice that marks them out from others who
learn largely through acculturation and assimilation.
82
Chapter
4
-‐
Thick
sound
in
a
Bengali
home
In
this
chapter
I
investigate
the
interactive
basis
of
musical
judgment
for
the
second
of
my
two
case
studies.
Falguni
Mitra
is
a
non-‐hereditary
expert
practitioner
of
Dhrupad
whose
musical
life
began
at
the
age
of
four
and
a
half.
He
inherited
two
of
Dhrupad’s
oldest
and
richest
traditions
–
the
Bettiah
gharana
lineage
of
the
Mishras
of
Benares,
and
the
alap
tradition
of
Ustad
Nasiruddin
Khan
Saheb
-‐
through
his
teacher
and
father,
Shibkumar
Mitra.98
Obtaining
an
All
India
Radio
A-‐grade
before
he
was
out
of
his
teens,
Falguni
Mitra’s
trajectory
from
competence
to
expertise
was
meteoric,
and
prominence
and
eminence
came
soon
thereafter.
Today
an
acknowledged
vidwan
(savant)
of
Hindustani
classical
music,
his
musicianship
is
deeply
inward
directed
as
decades
of
performance
have
taken
him
to
the
point
where
he
rarely
needs
to
look
outside
for
his
musical
answers.
He
is
a
musician
who
is
equally
at
home
in
the
music
room,
recording
studio
or
on
stage,
Mitra
brings
a
highly
prepared
cognition
to
every
musical
encounter
-‐
be
it
texts,
technology,
pedagogy,
peer
interactions
or
performance.
I
begin
my
analysis
by
describing
the
historical
chain
of
transmission
and
the
musical
materials
that
constituted
Mitra’s
musical
inheritance,
when
he
first
began
lessons
from
his
father.99
I
quickly
exit
the
fishbowl
of
transmission
studies
by
investigating
how
Mitra’s
Dhrupad
vocal
practice
functions
as
heterogeneous,
inter-‐
subjective
acoustemic
environment
in
which
sound
is
experienced
in
dialogic
with
the
environment
for
musical
practice
–
a
condition
I
term
thick
sound.
The
kinds
of
dialogic
interactions
I
focus
on
in
this
chapter
include
the
cognitive
intertwining
of
acoustic
and
non-‐acoustic
domains
in
musical
activity,
and
the
inter-‐subjective
interactions
of
acoustic
communities.
Rather
than
do
a
blow-‐by-‐blow
account
of
Mitra’s
musical
life,
I
use
the
catalytic
and
the
interruptive
as
a
window
into
investigating
the
interactive
basis
of
Mitra’s
musical
judgment,
categorical
sense
and
sense
of
fidelity
to
tradition.
Using
the
metaphor
of
listening
in
and
feeding
back,
I
study
the
interruptive
mechanisms
98
While Indra Kishore Mishra’s ancestors migrated into Bettiah in the late 17th century and have lived there
since, Falguni Mitra’s musical ancestors migrated into Bettiah in the late 18th century and lived there for
over a hundred years, before they migrated to Benares and Kolkata at the end of the Princely line in
Bettiah. Thus juxtaposing the production of musical judgment for these musicians is productive in
understanding how musical tradition relates to Place, patronage, migration and movement – all common
themes in recent music history.
99
An objective description of Falguni Mitra’s inheritance itself is an important task as the repertoire is
unique for its historicity, depth and range of musical forms that include Dhrupads in all the four banis. The
banis are esoteric aesthetic categories of Dhrupad that are endangered knowledge in contemporary times
and Mitra is the only living expert musician who has received demonstrable knowledge of all these banis in
performance, with a repertoire to back it.
83
through
which
Dhrupad
vocal
practice
functions
as
an
acoustemic
environment
in
Mitra’s
daily
life
as
a
musician.
I
organize
my
discussion
around
acoustemic
anchors
and
their
agentive
capacity
to
act
as
sites
for
tripping
the
senses
during
habitual
activity,
causing
a
musician
to
listen
in.100
Some
of
the
acoustemic
anchors
I
study
in
Mitra’s
case
include
material
anchors
in
the
music
room
such
as
instruments
and
photographs,
note
books
and
notation
books,
places,
the
extended
musical
family,
the
inter-‐subjectivity
of
acoustic
communities,
body
memory
and
effort
memory,
and
most
importantly,
musical
objects
(ragas,
compositions)
themselves
as
sites
of
interactivity.
Using
a
multitude
of
examples,
I
investigate
moments
of
listening
in
to
understand
the
nexus
of
interactions
that
stabilize
particular
musical
experiences.
I
show
that
specific
aesthetics,
musical
knowledge,
models
for
musical
action
and
metrics
for
right
practice,
are
stabilized
by
histories
of
interactivity
that
entangle
acoustic
and
non-‐acoustic
domains.
I
demonstrate
that
the
result
of
heightened
hearing
is
usually
verbal
or
musical
response
that
feeds
back
to
strengthen
the
interactive
mix
through
reiteration
and
transformation.
I
use
this
to
establish
the
interactive
basis
of
musical
judgment,
and
strong
notions
of
fidelity
to
tradition
in
thick
sound,
rather
than
pure
sound.101
By
considering
both
the
catalytic
and
the
habitual
interactivity
of
individual
musical
lives,
I
demonstrate
conclusively
that
musical
judgment
and
strong
notions
of
fidelity
to
tradition
are
sustained
by
thick
sound
-‐
heterogeneous
domains
of
acoustemic
interactivity
that
are
irreducible
to
literacy,
literalism
and
the
technological
determinism
of
authenticity
understood
solely
as
a
response
to
recorded
sound.
I
show
through
my
analysis
that
self-‐reflexivity
about
right
practice
and
debates
about
tradition
in
Indian
classical
music
are
tethered
by
the
interactivity
of
classical
music
practice
as
an
acoustemic
environment.
This
should
be
contrasted
with
the
approach
taken
by
Amanda
Weidman
who
argues
that
strong
notions
of
fidelity
to
tradition
in
South
Indian
classical
music
emerged
at
the
same
time
as
recording
–
the
guru
was
invented
at
the
instant
of
spinning
a
disc.
Weidman
also
suggests
that
ontologies
of
composer
and
composition
emerged
in
response
to
colonial
epistemologies
of
literacy
and
literalism,
a
theme
she
picks
up
from
earlier
work
by
100
I have defined acoustemic anchors as distributed anchors for thick sound – often they anchor acoustic
memory entwined with emotional memory, body memory, associative memory, correlative memory and so
on – bringing Hutchins (2005) and Basso (1996) together, they are distributed anchors or sites of cognitive
intertwining.
101
Here I cite a few examples of musical action in relation to the interactive basis of musical judgment. In
the next chapter I focus much more on musical actions themselves, especially the phenomenology of thick
sound in performance and the heterogeneity it makes available to musical actions in flow.
84
Farrell,
Bhakle
and
Subramanian.102
The
argument
advanced
by
each
of
these
authors
is
that
oral
tradition
allows
for
(un-‐reflexive)
flexibility
and
variability,
and
that
heated
debates
about
right
practice
and
singular
authentic
versions
are
a
result
of
colonial
epistemologies
and
disciplinary
technologies.
In
contrast,
I
demonstrate
that
musical
judgment
and
strong
notions
of
fidelity
to
tradition
are
sustained
in
the
inter-‐animation
of
Dhrupad
performance
with
epistemologies
generated
in
the
processes
through
which
musicians
engage
with
their
musical
inheritances
as
thick
sound.
Investigating
these
epistemologies
is
the
goal
of
the
rest
of
this
chapter.
Musical lineage: a serendipitous discipleship in Benares
Falguni Mitra’s musical inheritance comes directly from his father and teacher
Shibkumar Mitra who began a life long engagement with Dhrupad and Hindustani
music in the nineteen twenties. An engineer by profession, Shibkumar Mitra was
posted in Chapra in Bihar. A desire to learn Dhrupad fructified when a family
member sent him to the house of Bholanath Pathak in Benares. Pathak himself was
not a hereditary musician. He had learnt pakhawaj and Dhrupad from two famous
lineages -‐ the Khudau Singh lineage of Parvat Singh, and the Bettiah gharana lineage
of the Mishras of Benares. His Dhrupad training was received through several
decades of learning from Jaikaran Mishra, the hereditary musician who migrated out
of Bettiah in the late 19th century.
The Bettiah gharana lineage of the Mishras of Benares is traced to Jaikaran Mishra’s
great grandfather Shivdayal Mishra, who migrated to Bettiah from the Nepal court
around 1780. Shivdayal Mishra carried the Seniya gharana lineage of Ustad Karim
Sen, a musician of the Royal Court of Nepal. More than one hundred and fifty years
later in early 20th century Benares, disciples of the Bettiah gharana self-‐identified as
“from the tradition (parampara) of Karim Sen”.
Yet, the figure of Karim Sen has remained shrouded in mystery, as there is no
unambiguous mention in the better-‐documented lineages of the Seniya gharana –
namely, those of Tansen’s son Bilas Khan and his daughter/son-‐in-‐law Saraswati
Devi/Misri Singh. Recent research by Schofield however suggests that Karim Sen
was a notable musical figure in the lineage of the Delhi kalawants.103 Putting
together Schofield’s research on the Delhi kalawant lineage with the late 18th
century history of the Bettiah gharana from early 20th century sources and oral
history, it appears that the Bettiah gharana lineage of the Mishras of Benares can be
traced right back to Tansen through multiple channels.
102
See discussion in Chapter 1.
103
While more work is needed to establish beyond doubt that the Karim Sen mentioned by Schofield is the
Karim Sen of Bettiah gharana oral and written history, the resonance of oral and written histories in terms
of times, names and places is evidence enough to take the relationship seriously while discussing the
Mishra lineage’s musical inheritance.
85
According
to
Schofield
(2013),
Karim
Sen
carried
the
bloodline
of
Tansen’s
son
Surat
Sen;
preceptorially
his
musical
links
were
to
the
lineages
of
Tansen’s
son
Bilas
Khan
and
Tansen’s
daughter
Sarasvati
through
his
teacher
Anja
Baras
Khan.
Anja
Baras
Khan
was
the
primary
disciple
and
son-‐in-‐law
of
Nia’amat
Khan
(‘Sadarang’),
the
most
famous
musician
of
the
18th
century
from
Sarasvati’s
line.
Anja
Baras
Khan’s
link
to
Bilas
Khan
is
through
the
latter’s
daughter
whose
descendants
include
many
famous
composers
of
the
Baras
Khan
line.
Thus,
the
lineages
of
three
of
Tansen’s
progeny
intersect
in
Anja
Baras
Khan
and
his
primary
disciple
Karim
Sen.
This
marks
the
Bettiah
gharana
lineage
of
the
Mishras
of
Benares
as
an
extraordinary
carrier
of
tradition
in
a
genre
in
which
musical
descent
from
even
one
of
Tansen’s
progeny
has
long
been
a
seal
of
authority.
Yet,
the
compelling
magnet
of
lineal
continuity
has
to
be
understood
in
relation
to
place.
The
transmission
of
tradition
in
the
last
two
hundred
years
within
the
lineage
of
the
Mishras
of
Benares
implicates
three
distinct
episodes
of
displacement
and
re-‐
emplacement,
each
of
which
is
audible
in
its
cumulative
khazana.
Shivdayal
Mishra
himself
migrated
from
Nepal
to
Bettiah
in
the
late
18th
century,
where
he
is
said
to
have
trained
his
descendants
as
well
as
the
Maharajas
of
Bettiah
in
Dhrupad.
His
descendants
and
disciples
lived
in
Bettiah
for
over
a
hundred
years,
a
period
of
intense
creative
activity
in
Bettiah
with
hundreds
of
Dhrupads
composed
by
the
composer
kings
and
the
musicians
of
their
court.
In
the
twilight
years
of
the
Bettiah
Raj
in
the
late
19th
century,
the
lineage
of
the
Mishras
of
Benares
migrated
to
Benares
and
Kolkata
where
their
music
was
sustained
within
acoustic
communities
gathered
by
the
practice
of
Dhrupad
in
these
very
different
environments.
Transmission
in
Benares
occurred
within
a
vibrant
community
of
musicians
in
the
Kashi
Sangeet
Samaj
and
the
Gopal
Mandir
that
included
some
expert
pakhawaj
players.
The
repertoire-‐centric
tradition
of
the
Bettiah
gharana
was
extended
to
include
layakari.104
Falguni
Mitra’s
father
Shibkumar
Mitra
learnt
the
Dhrupad
of
the
Bettiah
gharana
for
over
a
decade
from
Bholanath
Pathak
in
the
midst
of
this
community
of
musicians
in
Benares.
An
educated
Bengali,
Shib
Mitra
brought
his
education
and
background
to
bear
on
the
arduous
musical
task
of
receiving
tradition
in
Benares.
Some
years
into
his
training,
with
Bholanath
Pathak’s
active
participation,
Shibkumar
Mitra
also
started
to
learn
the
art
of
alap
from
Ustad
Nasiruddin
Khan
Saheb,
the
scion
of
the
Dagar
tradition.
The
alap
lessons
began
in
Bholanath
Pathak’s
house
in
Benares,
in
his
presence,
during
the
Ustad’s
regular
visits
to
Benares.
In
later
years,
Shibkumar
Mitra
would
go
to
Indore
periodically
to
learn
from
the
Ustad.
104
This musical community thrived right up till the mid-twentieth century whereas in Kolkata transmission
became more diffuse after the first generation of disciples.
86
From
Shib
Mitra’s
lesson
notebooks
from
1927
it
is
evident
that
Bholanath
Pathak
taught
his
young
student
some
of
the
most
prized
compositions
of
the
tradition.
Hardly
twenty
years
later,
some
of
the
same
songs
begin
to
appear
in
Falguni
Mitra’s
early
lesson
notebook.
Only,
this
time
the
lessons
were
happening
in
a
private
residence
in
the
Lake
Avenue
area
of
South
Kolkata,
father
to
son,
face
to
face,
sustained
within
the
teeming
musical
culture
of
1950s
Kolkata
in
which
the
Mitras
participated
actively.
Thus,
a
Seniya
repertoire
that
made
its
home
in
Bettiah
for
a
hundred
years
during
a
period
of
intense
composing
and
performance,
thrived
in
Benares
for
the
next
sixty
years
amongst
a
community
of
pakhawaj
exponents
and
Dhrupad
musicians
where
it
was
embellished
with
layakari.
It
then
slowly
shifted
base
to
Kolkata
where
it
continues
to
transform
the
soundscapes
of
an
upper
middle
class
Bengali
household
in
the
21st
century,
augmented
by
alap.
This
transformation
did
not
occur
in
a
sonic
fishbowl
but
within
changing
acoustemic
environments
in
which
tradition
has
been
sustained
and
transmitted
in
the
last
two
hundred
years.
The musical inheritance: Falguni Mitra’s khazana
Jaikaran Mishra’s repertoire and prodigious memory assumed legendary status in
early 20th-‐century sources on Benares’s musical traditions that describe him as a
guni (savant) who had committed more than 2000 Dhrupads to memory. A
cumulative khazana transmitted within Seniya lineages over several centuries, and
augmented in Bettiah during the intense years of composing in the 19th century was
transmitted within a group of musicians at the Kashi Sangeet Samaj in the early 20th
century.
Falguni Mitra’s repertoire is substantially derived from this cumulative khazana
augmented by Dhrupads composed as well as acquired by the Mitras during the
course of their musical lives in Kolkata. The repertoire has not remained static over
time – rather it reflects the musical work done by the Mitras in several decades of
churning, polishing, rumination, collection and composing that has both expanded
and consolidated the repertoire – all processes that render sound thick.
An objective description of the repertoire illustrates its historicity, depth and
musical complexity. The majority is four-‐part Dhrupads and both four-‐part and two-‐
part Dhamars. There are some examples of Chaturang, Trivat and Tillana but it
appears that Falguni Mitra’s father emphasized mainly Dhrupad and Dhamar in
87
transmission.105
The
repertoire’s
range
of
ragas
contains
the
common
ragas
of
Hindustani
music
and
some
unusual
varieties
of
common
ragas.
The
range
of
composers
captures
the
entire
history
of
Dhrupad
from
its
nascence
as
a
genre.
Beginning
with
the
Nayaks
of
the
Delhi
Sultanate,
the
consolidation
of
the
genre
is
well
represented
by
Swami
Haridas
the
originary
poet-‐saint
of
the
Vallabhacarya
sect
in
Brindavan,
and
the
composers
of
the
15th
and
16th
century
courts
of
Man
Singh
Tomar
of
Gwalior,
and
the
Imperial
Mughal
court
in
Delhi
-‐
such
as
Nayak
Baiju,
Nayak
Bakshu,
Nayak
Dhondu,
Mia
Tansen
and
his
sons
Surat
Sen
and
Bilas
Khan.
The
historical
trail
continues
with
composers
such
as
Lal
Khan
Gunasamudra,
Buddhiprakash,
Jagannath
Kaviraya,
Gulab
Khan,
Sadarang
and
Adarang
and
Icchavaras,
from
the
17th
and
18th
centuries.
Intermittently
we
find
Dhrupads
of
the
devotional
poets
such
as
Jugraj
Das,
Shyam
Das,
Ramdas,
and
Surdas.
In
comparison
with
Indra
Kishore’s
repertoire
that
has
range
and
depth
of
classical
composers
and
musical
forms,
as
well
as
distinct
strains
of
locality
in
modal
varieties
and
functionality
of
musical
forms,
Falguni
Mitra’s
repertoire
is
better
described
as
a
middle-‐of-‐the-‐line
classical
repertoire
that
shows
the
markings
of
place
and
practice.
Until
the
19th
century,
the
corpus
is
very
much
the
kind
of
cumulative
khazana
you
would
expect
from
a
traditional
kalawant
family.
The
heavy
presence
of
composers
from
the
kalawant
lineages
suggests
that
this
corpus
is
definitely
a
classical
corpus,
where
for
the
moment
I
define
classical
by
the
kinds
of
cumulative
corpuses
characteristic
of
the
courts
of
North
India
in
which
the
major
ragas
and
musical
forms
of
Hindustani
music
were
crystallized
through
compositions
and
musical
performance.
One
can
well
imagine
the
kalawants
of
North
India
carrying
about
a
repertoire
such
as
this
one
with
them
as
they
circulated
between
the
major
courts
of
North
India
and
other
regional
centers
as
far
up
as
Nepal
and
as
far
down
as
Hyderabad.
In
the
early
19th
century,
the
composer
names
in
the
songs
begin
to
mark
sound
with
a
specific
history
local
to
Bettiah.
We
get
the
very
special
Dhrupads
of
the
Maharajas
of
Bettiah,
Anand
Kishore
Singh
and
Naval
Kishore
Singh.
The
lyrics
of
many
of
these
Dhrupads
show
that
the
composers
were
worshippers
of
Devi.
The
words,
lyrical
themes
and
setting
of
the
songs
have
a
resonance
with
the
songs
in
Indra
Kishore’s
corpus,
though
the
number
of
shared
songs
is
relatively
small.
There
are
also
a
few
composers
of
the
lineages
of
the
Mishras
of
Benares,
such
as
Balram,
the
brother
of
Shiv
Dayal
Mishra,
as
well
as
a
composer
by
name
Someswar
Mishra,
105
In
contrast,
the
Dhrupad
compilations
of
Gopeswar
Bandhopadhyay
have
quite
a
few
examples
of
Chaturang,
Trivat,
Tarana
and
Swaramalika
(for
a
definintion
of
these
see
Bharali
2008).
I
heard
from
at
least
one
source
that
Vishnupur
gharana
musicians
with
links
to
Bettiah
used
to
sing
many
Swarmalikas,
as
well
as
some
Chaturang
and
Trivat,
like
Indra
Kishore.
88
whose
compositions
are
significant
in
the
corpus
though
it
is
not
clear
whether
he
was
related
to
the
founding
family.106
Dhrupads
by
Maharaja
Vishwananth
Singh
of
Rewa
mark
the
musical
circulation
that
occurred
between
the
early
19th
century
courts
of
Rewa
and
Bettiah,
while
compositions
by
Dev
Swami
mark
late
19th
century
Benares
in
the
repertoire.
This
cumulative
inheritance
has
been
extended
since
the
nineteen
fifties
by
the
active
composing
done
by
both
Shibkumar
Mitra
and
Falguni
Mitra,
as
well
as
the
compositions
they
have
set
as
well
as
acquired
from
close
musical
friends
with
whom
they
had
musical
exchange.
The
variety
of
compositional
models
within
the
archetypal
Dhrupad
compositional
form
marks
out
Falguni
Mitra’s
repertoire
as
a
truly
unique
khazana.
Beginning
even
with
compositions
by
the
Nayaks
of
the
Delhi
Sultanate,
we
start
to
see
a
very
interesting
variety
in
the
setting
of
compositions.
Some
of
these
are
visible
in
structure,
the
others
in
interpretation.
This
variety
is
fundamental
to
the
aesthetics
of
the
banis
of
Dhrupad
in
this
lineage.
Much
of
this
khazana
is
available
in
handwritten
notations
in
about
30
exercise
notebooks
containing
over
500
Dhrupads.
The
historical
record
for
the
entire
corpus
has
been
maintained
by
Falguni
Mitra’s
father
who
meticulously
noted
the
source
of
oral
tradition
in
every
composition
he
included
in
his
collection,
as
his
teacher
Bholanath
Pathak
had
done
for
the
Sangeet
Samucchai.107
Shibkumar
Mitra
was
preparing
this
collection
for
publication,
intending
to
document
and
use
the
Bettiah
Benares
khazana
as
the
basis
of
a
cumulative
notated
corpus.
The
final
handwritten
versions
were
produced
by
Shibkumar
Mitra
in
the
nineteen
eighties,
but
work
on
this
project
was
underway
over
the
course
of
three
or
more
decades
when
Shibkumar
Mitra
and
Falguni
Mitra
were
co-‐located
in
the
same
house
in
Lake
Avenue,
Kolkata,
sharing
a
musical
life.
Aside
from
this
set
of
notebooks,
other
sources
for
Falguni
Mitra’s
core
repertoire
includes
his
own
performance
notebooks,
his
lesson
notebooks
from
the
1950s
and
1960s,
his
father’s
lesson
notebooks
from
the
1920s,
and
the
Dhrupads
of
the
Bettiah
gharana
in
the
Sangeet
Samucchai
and
the
Sangit
Chandrika
most
of
which
are
already
documented
in
Shib
Mitra’s
collection
along
with
variants
from
other
sources.
106
On the whole much less is known about the Mishras of Benares as an extended family because the
musical lineage became non-hereditary more than a hundred years ago. I could not trace direct descendants
of the Mishras though I found intermarriage with one of the Mullick families in Bettiah. In contrast the
Mullicks of Bettiah, and the Ustads of Kalpi, even though four of five families no longer sing Dhrupad, the
descendants still live in Bettiah on ancestral land and could provide me with detailed family trees as well as
property documents that verify family lines back until the mid 19th century. The claims of the Mishras of
Benares to Dhrupad tradition in Bettiah are primarily through intangible musical heritage, through notated
compilations, written and oral histories, analytical writing and oral tradition carried by non-hereditary lines.
For the Mullicks and the Ustads, their links to Bettiah are tangible in paper, physical presence and property,
with one lineage also having intangible musical heritage in active circulation today.
107
(Basu, 1924)
89
A
significant
feature
of
Shib
Mitra’s
handwritten
compilation
is
that
he
not
only
noted
the
composer
name,
lineage
and
preceptor
name,
he
also
categorized
the
compositions
by
bani.
About
forty
percent
of
songs
have
been
categorized
by
bani
while
the
rest
do
not
have
a
specific
bani
listed.
One
of
the
special
parts
of
the
unpublished
collection
is
a
self-‐contained
set
of
notated
Dhrupads
in
eleven
ragas,
each
with
compositions
in
all
of
the
four
banis,
gaurhar,
dagur,
nauhar
and
khandar,
as
well
as
Dhamar.
The
set
was
being
prepared
for
publication
along
with
a
lead
article
on
the
four
banis
written
by
Shibkumar
Mitra
that
reviews
different
historical
references
and
prevalent
views
on
the
banis
before
presenting
his
own
interpretation
deriving
from
the
Bettiah
Benares
repertoire.108
But
like
the
larger
collection
of
Dhrupads,
this
compilation
remained
unpublished
and
also
needed
more
work
before
the
songs
could
be
published.
To
put
something
into
circulation,
Shibkumar
Mitra
published
articles
on
the
Bettiah
gharana’s
history,
some
analysis
of
the
gayaki
of
the
Bettiah
gharana
and
an
analytical
discussion
of
representative
repertoire
in
the
four
banis
in
Sangeet,
the
journal
for
music
published
from
Hathras.109
The
cumulative
khazana
The
tradition
Falguni
Mitra
received
from
his
father
and
teacher
Shibkumar
Mitra
was
already
a
composite
Dhrupad
tradition.110
True
to
this
particular
history,
Falguni
Mitra’s
musical
practice
integrates
the
emphasis
on
composition
and
layakari
characteristic
of
the
Bettiah
Benares
lineage
with
an
enhanced
role
for
alap
in
Dhrupad
performance.
But,
Mitra’s
musicianship
is
not
simply
additive,
combining
compositions
learnt
from
one
tradition
with
alap
training
from
another,
both
channeled
through
his
father.
Falguni
Mitra
inherited
this
entire
corpus
of
musical
material
and
analytical
material
in
transmission
together
with
the
most
important
inheritance
of
all
–
the
performance
knowledge,
interpretive
sense
and
aesthetic
sense
that
distinguish
a
108
This very special work on preparing the manuscript for the four bani compilation was done in the
nineteen eighties with the scribal assistance of Sunanda Bagate, who had carefully kept a copy of the entire
manuscript with her all these years. The daughter of Agra gharana musician and musicologist Dr. Sumati
Mutatkar, she learnt Dhrupad with Shibkumar Mitra in the final decade of his life and I was able to
interview her and her husband about their close musical relationship with Shib Mitra.
109
It is interesting that Shib Mitra makes no mention of the Mullick families of Bettiah though he has
mentioned the Ustads of Kalpi. By the time he came to learn the Bettiah tradition in Benares from the
lineage of Jaikaran Mishra, it appears that whatever connections there may have been between the lineages
of the Mullicks of Bettiah and the Mishras of Benares must have become attenuated.
110
Falguni Mitra always acknowledges his source of teacher tradition from both gharanas but he rarely
calls himself a Dagar tradition musician nor do the Dagars include him as one of their own. Both his
performance practice and ethics of performance are much more aligned with the history of the Bettiah
gharana in Benares inflected by his personal history as a Bengali brought up in Kolkata, than the Dagar
traditions performance ideologies.
90
cumulative
khazana
from
both
a
formulaic
oral
tradition
and
an
imaginary
museum
of
musical
works.
Musical
knowledge
in
oral
tradition
is
not
simply
handed
down
as
pure
music,
like
water
through
a
plastic
pipe.
It
is
marked
by
particular
histories
of
interactivity.
Mitra’s
musicianship
emerges
from
a
deep
engagement
with
his
cumulative
khazana
in
the
work
of
transmission
and
individual
musical
effort,
interactive
processes
that
produce
musical
judgment
tethered
by
thick
sound.
Mitra’s
judgment
has
been
dialogically
produced
in
the
work
of
engaging
with
inherited
musical
materials
within
acoustic
communities
gathered
by
the
practice
of
Dhrupad
at
a
particular
historical
moment.
In
comparison
with
the
transmission
of
the
khazana
in
the
Dhrupad
school
at
the
Kashi
Sangeet
Samaj
a
few
decades
prior,
both
home
and
world
had
transformed
by
the
time
Falguni
Mitra
inherited
tradition
as
a
young
child
in
Kolkata.
With
access
to
a
treasure
chest
of
outstanding
compositions
augmented
in
Benares
with
layakari,
and
the
approach
to
alap
from
the
Dagar
tradition,
the
Mitras’
home
held
an
embarrassment
of
riches.
Meanwhile,
the
sound
world
without
had
also
transformed.
In
1880,
when
the
Mishras
of
Benares
migrated
out
of
Bettiah,
Kolkata
was
entrenched
in
a
culture
of
song,
celebrated
as
a
virtue
of
a
uniquely
Bengali
temperament.
In
the
1940s,
when
Falguni
Mitra
started
to
learn
music
from
his
father
at
the
age
of
four
and
a
half,
Kolkata
was
poised
at
the
edge
of
a
period
of
transformation
in
listening
circles.111
In
a
milieu
where
compositions
had
long
held
pride
of
place
in
baithaks
(chamber
concerts)
of
Hindustani
music,
the
appearance
of
very
talented
instrumentalists
in
mid
twentieth
century
Kolkata
caused
a
growing
love
for
alap
as
a
central
aspect
of
Hindustani
music
performance.112
Thus,
the
focused
work
of
transmitting
a
historic
khazana
in
the
Mitra
household
began
in
an
environment
of
changing
musical
tastes
with
their
attendant
forms
of
knowledge.
When
Falguni
Mitra’s
young
voice
opened
up
to
sing
his
first
Dhrupad
song,
the
sound
world
he
got
access
to
was
already
primed
for
new
histories
of
111
See the many descriptions of baithaks in Amiyanath Sanyal’s memoirs that showcase songs as a central
aspect of performance, also the critique of overlong alaps by Shyamlal quoted by Amiyanath Sanyal
(1953). Musicians and listening circles in Kolkata, Benares, Patna, Vishnupur, and many other eastern
centers of Hindustani music clearly emphasized a bandish orientation in their performances, whether it was
Dhrupad, Khayal, Thumri, Tappa or instrumental music.
112
The weak hold of Khayal over early 20th century listening public in Kolkata is often attributed to the
love for song in Bengali and purabi culture. It took the likes of Amir Khan, Faiyyaz Khan and Bade
Ghulam Ali Khan to establish Khayal as a preferred genre over Dhrupad in the latter half of the 20th century
in Kolkata. The outstanding instrumentalists that gave Kolkata a taste for improvisation through their alap
helped prepare the ground for this transformation.
91
interactivity
waiting
to
be
created
in
the
churning,
dwelling
and
polishing
that
he
and
his
father
would
put
into
receiving
the
Bettiah
Benares
gharana’s
Dhrupad
khazana
as
tradition.
To
understand
the
dialogic
processes
through
which
Falguni
Mitra
made
sense
of
the
khazanas
he
received
in
transmission
from
his
father,
I
investigate
the
practices
through
which
the
Bettiah
Benares
gharana’s
khazana
was
transformed
to
thick
sound
in
an
upper
middle
class
Bengali
home,
in
the
midst
of
particular
acoustic
communities
for
Dhrupad
and
Hindustani
music
in
1950s
Kolkata.
Dwelling in my voice – the khazana as thick sound
For a musician who has sung since the time he could walk and talk, and performed
since before he went to middle school, it stands to reason that opening the voice
makes a place home, especially when he has done all this against a backdrop of
displacement and resettling. Falguni Mitra’s musical life has had only one constant
place, the dwelling he finds when he opens his voice to sing. He has found place with
his voice in music rooms, recording studios, green rooms, on stages and in
classrooms, meeting rooms, audition rooms and podiums. This experience is not
peculiar to him, or to Indian classical music. The strangest of circumstances and still
a musician is able to strum her tanpura, banjo, or guitar and settle into her voice,
sometimes with effort or discomfort but marked by familiarity born of habitual
dwelling. But being a Dhrupadiya that inherits a historical khazana in 20th century
Bengal makes for certain kinds of dwelling made in certain kinds of sounds.
Music is Falguni Mitra’s way of getting back into Place. Through my more focused
year of ethnographic research in 2010, I realized how much this is
phenomenologically true in Mitra’s case. Individual practice and individual
musicianship has been a big factor in keeping this enormously gifted musician’s
equanimity and creativity going in the face of the very rough deal he has got in the
professional Dhrupad circuit. So it is a matter of some significance to understand
how music may constitute such a Place to go for Mitra. To understand this, there is
no better place to go than follow him into the soundscapes of a place called home.
Soundscapes of a Kolkata home
At the time of writing this dissertation, Falguni Mitra lives in an apartment building
in Ganguly Bagan, a bustling area of Kolkata. Many neighbors listen for him and his
musician wife by their aural routine. They know when the Mitras are away or
unwell, because some of the sounds they have come to expect are missing. They also
know when Falguni Mitra has a concert, because invariably, the accompanists will
come and he will be “sitting for practice” at odd hours. Many decades into a
performing career, he is still a musician who wants to practice before a concert as it
helps him settle his voice and his mind.
92
Musicians
themselves
are
soundscape
generators.
Ask
anyone
who
lives
in
a
modern
building
in
India
where
a
practicing
musician
lives.
Some
landlords
won’t
rent
to
musicians
whereas
others
love
the
incipient
disruption
of
having
someone
singing
in
the
building.
More
significant
perhaps
to
this
dissertation,
musicians
make
sense
of
place
through
the
soundscapes
they
help
generate.
This
is
as
much
the
case
for
the
daily
practice
of
classical
music
as
it
is
for
music
more
evidently
connected
to
the
practices
of
the
everyday.
Through
musical
practice,
an
Indian
classical
musician
learns
to
attend
to
the
environment
in
ways
that
emphasize
the
sonic
as
a
primary
way
of
knowing.
This
simple
assertion
has
in
it
the
kernel
of
an
answer
to
debates
about
“pure”
music’s
representational
character,
at
least
from
the
point
of
view
of
performers
and
their
acoustic
communities
of
interactive
listeners.
Whether
it
is
Indra
Kishore
singing
where
once
there
were
many
ancestral
voices,
or
Falguni
Mitra
whose
musical
world
is
centered
in
his
Kolkata
apartment,
when
a
classical
musician
opens
her
voice
and
says
“Sa”,
“aa”,
“hmmm”
or
“Om”,
the
various
ways
in
which
Indian
classical
musicians
start
their
riyaz
or
sadhana
-‐
the
practice
routine
that
tunes
the
sensorium
and
sets
the
mind
-‐
they
grasp
the
world
with
their
voice.
Even
after
the
days
of
regular,
intensive
practice
are
over,
a
period
of
intense
engagement
with
music
marks
a
musician’s
body
and
mind
in
ways
that
make
for
a
special
epistemological
relationship
to
the
sonic.
Thick
sound
is
fundamentally
representational,
not
because
it
can
be
decoded
as
stable
meanings
or
deciphered
through
thick
description,
but
because
it
entangles
histories
of
interactivity
and
potentialities
of
practice.
As
a
practicing
Hindustani
musician,
keeping
singing
is
integral
to
Falguni
Mitra’s
way
of
knowing
music
and
knowing
the
world.
If
this
seems
obvious
for
a
hereditary
musician
living
in
place,
it
is
equally
true
for
a
non-‐hereditary
musician
who
received
tradition
through
migration
and
movement,
and
whose
personal
life
involved
multiple
moves
between
major
cities
to
accommodate
his
father’s
career
and
his.
Mitra’s
is
a
story
of
being
in
place,
moving
and
getting
back
into
place,
but
his
sense
of
fidelity
to
tradition
also
emerges
from
processes
of
emplacement.
Although
their
lives
seem
such
a
study
in
contrast,
both
Indra
Kishore
Mishra
and
Falguni
Mitra
sense
tradition
through
processes
of
emplacement
that
are
sometimes
habitual
and
at
other
times
catalytic.
If
walking
with
Indra
Kishore
Mishra
in
the
village
of
Bhanu
Chapra
is
a
study
of
how
places
hold
sonic
memory,
sitting
with
Falguni
Mitra
in
music
rooms
in
different
cities
is
a
study
of
how
a
musician
finds
place
time
and
again
in
sound.
Both
are
processes
of
emplacement
-‐
a
cognitive
intertwining
of
the
sonic
with
the
everyday
practices
of
musical
lives
in
ways
that
mark
and
transform
both
voice
and
musical
object.
93
The
cumulative
khazana
of
the
Mishras
of
Benares
has
transformed
concrete
rooms
to
soundscapes
for
over
six
decades
in
the
many
homes
they
have
occupied
since
the
1940s,
across
the
cities
of
Kolkata
and
Chennai.
To
understand
Mitra’s
musicianship
there
is
no
better
place
to
begin
than
the
music
room
-‐
the
room
in
which
voices
become
placed
and
place
is
made
with
voice,
time
and
time
again.
Soundscapes
–
the
music
room
The
music
room
in
a
musician’s
house
is
a
special
place.
It
is
the
room
in
which
musicians
spend
the
most
time
alone
with
their
music.
But,
music
rooms
are
not
isolated
sound
worlds.
They
gather
and
hold.
They
are
places
made
in
sound
and
by
sound.
Eventful,
affective
and
memorable,
they
have
the
qualities
of
Places
described
by
Edward
Casey
and
these
qualities
are
deeply
dialogic
to
sound.
A
Dhrupad
musician’s
music
is
entangled
with
Place
in
very
special
ways
afforded
by
the
musical
forms
of
the
genre113.
hummm….
The
lips
are
lightly
closed.
Air
is
moved
up
the
windpipe
with
a
slight
push
from
the
region
below
the
navel.
Activating
the
vocal
chords,
and
filling
the
chest
and
throat
with
vibration,
the
trapped
air
emerges
-‐
causing
the
lips
to
vibrate
slightly
in
response
and
a
disturbance
of
the
air
outside.
A
resonant,
full-‐bodied
and
strong
“humkar”
-‐
so
characteristic
of
a
Dhrupad
vocalist
-‐
is
often
developed
using
specific
techniques.
“bhramari
yoga”
is
a
special
practice
that
Falguni
Mitra
teaches
his
students,
to
develop
a
rounded
and
strong
voice
throughout
the
middle
and
lower
registers.
The
practice
is
an
embodied
emulation
of
the
vibrating
sound
of
a
buzzing
bee,
from
which
it
takes
its
name.
With
the
lips
held
loosely
closed,
controlling
the
release
of
air
under
pressure
from
the
stomach
increases
the
volume
of
sound.
As
the
lips
buzz,
a
tickling
feeling
develops
around
the
mouth.
The
sound
makes
its
physical
presence
felt
inside
and
on
the
periphery
of
the
vibrating
and
vocalizing
body.
As
the
sound
is
sustained
in
intensity
and
volume,
the
musician
develops
a
feeling
for
the
sound
in
the
body
and
the
physical
effort
it
takes
to
sustain
it,
while
the
ear
learns
to
listen
to
the
entire
complex
of
sensations
as
sound.
For
a
moment
the
musical
body
becomes
a
resonating
whole,
a
universe
vibrating
with
sound.
At
the
same
time
the
heavy
vibrations
of
“hummm”
fills
the
room
falling
on
bodies
and
eardrums,
objects
and
artifacts,
physically
gathering
the
room
into
sound.
When
Falguni
Mitra
utters
the
sound
“hummm”,
sometimes
you
can
feel
the
vibration
in
your
own
body
a
few
feet
away.
Carried
by
the
concrete
floor,
it
is
un-‐muffled
and
even
assisted
by
the
carpet
that
shapes
musical
space
by
causing
students,
113
See Chapter 2 for a discussion of Casey’s formulation of Place.
94
accompanists
and
visitors
to
huddle
closer
into
the
sound.
The
sound
hummm…
slowly
fills
body
and
air,
causing
the
people
in
the
room
to
entrain
to
the
sound.
Contemporary
genres
of
listening
in
Dhrupad
are
mediated
by
a
politics
of
aesthetics
that
promote
this
experience
as
a
“journey
into
the
realm
of
pure
sound”114.
In
contrast,
I
show
here
that
when
Falguni
Mitra
articulates
the
first
“hummm….”
what
is
produced
is
not
pure
sound,
but
sound
thickened
by
potentialities
of
practice
and
histories
of
interactivity.
The
music
room
in
everyday
life
After
breakfast
or
evening
tea,
Mitra
and
those
students
who
were
around
would
migrate
to
the
music
room
and
initiate
a
series
of
routine
activities
to
settle
in
sonically
and
physically.
We’d
straighten
out
the
carpet
and
the
cushions,
remove
the
tanpura
covers,
and
dust
the
instrument
with
a
special
soft
yellow
cloth.
Meanwhile,
Mitra
would
take
out
his
musician’s
toolkit
of
personal
music
notebooks
containing
song
texts
for
repertoire
he
has
sung
through
the
years,
a
plastic
ruler,
a
couple
of
pencils,
and
eraser
all
meant
for
writing
and
correcting
words
and
notation,
a
small
hand
towel
he
uses
to
wipe
his
mouth
when
singing
very
fast
nom
tom
alap,
and
a
fresh
bottle
of
water.
He’d
wipe
his
glasses,
and
start
tuning
the
tanpura
to
the
chosen
pitch.
The
students
in
the
room
would
also
take
out
their
notebooks,
switch
off
cell
phones
(or
not),
start
intoning
“Sa…”,
sometimes
sneakily
humming
snatches
of
raga
they
were
already
mulling
over
to
try
and
flood
his
sonic
consciousness
before
he
tuned
in
to
something
else.
Mitra
may
have
either
asked
students
what
they
wanted
to
sing
or
picked
something
if
the
evening
was
for
his
own
practice.
If
he
was
going
to
sing
himself
or
work
on
something
with
us,
or
even
teach
us
something
new,
he’d
be
vocalizing
internally,
re-‐activating
aural,
bodily
and
vocal
memory
of
the
music
that
was
to
follow,
often
moving
his
hands,
and
soundlessly
moving
his
lips.
Mitra
would
be
subconsciously
tuned
in
to
the
sounds
even
while
talking
or
turning
the
pages
of
his
notebooks,
noticing
instantly
if
the
tanpura
strayed
off
pitch.
We
students
would
also
be
getting
tuned
in,
sometimes
talking
to
him
or
amongst
us,
tuning
in
consciously
to
tanpura,
or
becoming
entrained
by
its
sounds
as
it
began
to
take
control
of
the
room’s
soundscapes.
About
ten
minutes
later,
the
tanpura
would
have
been
nicely
tuned,
sounding
its
Pa
Sa
Sa
Sa,
Ma
Sa
Sa
Sa
or
Ni
Sa
Sa
Sa
transforming
the
room.
When
the
sounds
have
just
settled
into
consciousness,
the
pump
right
below
the
music
room
would
start
its
electronic
whine,
causing
Falguni
Mitra
to
wince,
re-‐adjust
his
ears
to
shut
the
sound
out,
and
get
back
into
place
by
listening
in
to
the
tanpura
or
opening
his
own
voice
to
activate
collective
consciousness
to
the
experience
of
dwelling
in
sound.
Intoning
Hummm,
Om,
Aaaa
or
Sa,
he
would
establish
the
vocal
dwelling
for
the
day.
114
(Raja 1999, 13)
95
Home and the world: the acoustemology of music rooms
The music room is the interactive hub in any musician’s house, where a musician’s
life becomes centered. It is the place where a musician spends most time with his
music on his own. It is also the room where a musician spends time in the company
of students, accompanists, musical friends, and visitors. Most important of all,
through repeated vocal inhabiting in music rooms, a musician’s vocal chords begin
to develop the feeling of home and the potentiality of place. A lot of the churning,
polishing and dwelling in which Falguni Mitra has developed both voice and a sense
for song and raga has been done in his own music room in different homes in
different cities.
Over twenty-‐five years of association and a few years of fieldwork, most of my own
interactions with Mitra have taken place in music rooms in different homes, both his
and mine. From Karpagam Gardens to Besant Nagar in Chennai, then Green Park to
Ganguly Bagan in Kolkata, I have followed Mitra through the intense soundscapes of
a place called home in which he has opened his voice to sing on countless days. At
other times he has sat in apartments in Long Island, Princeton and Montclair in the
US, and recreated that sense of place by launching into a song or raga sung many
times with him.
As Namhita Devidayal’s wonderful book evocatively shows, the music room is where
a musician gets to know voice as world and where the insiders in his life meet him
on a musical plane.115 It is a Place where through hours of practice, teaching, talking
and tea, relationships get forged with the musical phrase. As a student and as a
researcher, I have come to know this musician most in this room where he is most at
home even within his home, most at ease, and where he finds himself, every time, by
opening his voice, clearing his throat and singing “Hmmm…”.
I show here that even when sitting alone in intense personal practice, Falguni
Mitra’s music room is not an isolated sound world in which he experiences
interiority in pure sound. It is an acoustemic environment in which sound becomes
thick in the interactivity of an individual musician’s repeated engagement with
musical forms. But, it is not that a music room becomes a place by containing
musical activity, or that concrete rooms are magically transformed to soundscapes
in the act of producing sound. Rather, I demonstrate that Mitra’s voice and the
sounds of his Dhrupad emerge already emplaced by the interactions that make his
music room a particular kind of place.
115
Devidayal (2009)
96
Material
anchors
of
a
musical
life
Before
I
first
met
him
in
1989,
Mitra
had
spent
almost
forty
years
in
different
music
rooms.
Through
the
years
of
intense
practice,
becoming
a
performer,
composer,
teacher,
writer
and
a
vidwan,
he
had
already
moved
twice
between
Kolkata
and
Chennai,
returning
in
1999
to
settle
permanently
in
Kolkata
where
he
has
lived
since
then.
The
same
collection
of
objects
would
accompany
him
on
his
moves.
His
collection
of
tanpuras,
one
or
two
harmoniums,
pakhawaj,
tabla,
tuning
instruments,
spare
strings,
and
in
the
later
years
electronic
tanpuras
and
a
talmala
would
be
configured
slightly
differently
in
each
room
to
fit
its
structure.
Then
came
the
pictures,
with
the
Goddess
of
Learning
-‐
Sarasvati,
musician
saint
-‐
Meera
bai
and
his
teacher
and
father
Shibkumar
Mitra’s
photographs
singled
out.
Facing
them,
some
special
photographs
in
a
glass
bookcase
-‐
a
picture
of
his
father
and
Bade
Ghulam
Ali
Khan
Saheb
posing
together
in
a
genial
mood,
and
a
picture
of
Amir
Khan
Saheb.116
A
cardboard
box
holds
some
special
pictures.
The
two
primary
teachers
of
his
father
-‐
a
dignified
Bholanath
Pathak
seated
tall
with
white
beard
and
serious
demeanor,
and
a
beautifully
attired
Nasiruddin
Khan.
Two
photographs
of
Falguni
Mitra
at
age
eight
or
so,
dressed
in
a
suit
sporting
more
medals
than
could
fit
on
his
little
boy
chest,
embodying
the
successful
beginning
of
a
child
prodigy’s
musical
career.
A
few
years
on,
looking
much
more
casual
in
half
sleeve
shirt,
Falguni
Mitra
standing
arms
crossed
beside
a
well
dressed
Dabir
Khan
Saheb
sporting
a
decorative
cane.117
Then
a
picture
of
Dabir
Khan
Saheb
on
his
own.
Right
there,
some
of
the
strongest
musical
relationships
in
the
lives
of
the
two
Mitras
come
together.
Taken
out
only
on
occasion,
the
musical
relationships
captured
in
the
photograph
anchor
sound,
holding
histories
of
musical
activity.
These
were
people
he
came
to
be
familiar
with
not
just
as
towering
musical
personalities
but
as
personal
friends
of
his
father
who
would
have
him
around
when
they
sang,
and
listened
to
him
and
encouraged
him
when
he
sang
in
front
of
them,
and
from
whom
he
picked
up
some
special
musical
material.
Trophies
and
mementos
from
different
organizations
line
the
walls
and
the
top
of
built-‐in
shelves.
Only
a
few
have
been
kept
over
the
years,
capturing
an
extra
special
event
or
musical
relationship.
Books
occupy
the
shelves
below
the
instruments,
spilling
over
into
the
cupboards
in
the
living
room.
Many
out
of
print,
some
116
Bade Ghulam Ali Khan and Amir Khan were two of the most famous Khyal musicians of the mid
twentieth century.
117
Dabir Khan was said to be the last descendent of Mia Tansen and was a noted musical figure in early
20th century Kolkata.
97
reprinted
editions,
most
of
them
were
collected
by
Falguni
Mitra’s
father
and
used
by
both
father
and
son,
as
well
as
the
musicians
that
regularly
visited
their
house.
Then
come
the
notebooks,
several
plastic
bags
full
of
them.
These
constitute
Mitra’s
most
prized
possessions
–
where
he
turns
whenever
he
wants
to
dig
up
something,
pull
out
a
song
he
hasn’t
sung
for
a
long
time,
consult
a
song
to
explain
something
or
illustrate
something
to
a
visitor
or
student,
the
myriad
active
uses
of
musical
material
in
the
daily
life
of
a
musician.
The
rest
of
the
time,
the
notebooks
are
just
there,
like
the
other
objects
in
the
music
room.
Listening
in
and
feeding
back
-‐
thick
sound
in
the
music
room
The
material
objects
in
Mitra’s
music
room
are
not
acoustically
inert;
they
anchor
interaction
in
and
through
sound.
Repeated
vocal
inhabiting
transforms
a
collection
of
things
into
acoustemic
anchors
that
become
agentive
in
transforming
sonic
activity
into
habitual
dwelling.
One
day,
Mitra
was
in
the
music
room
with
three
of
us
-‐
his
students
-‐
getting
ready
for
a
recording
the
next
day.
Preparing
for
a
recording
or
concert
involves
a
number
of
familiar
physical
activities.
Picking
the
instruments
to
take
along,
flipping
over
music
notebooks
to
decide
on
the
repertoire,
tearing
out
a
sheet
from
a
notepad
to
write
the
song
list
and
the
words
of
each
song,
and
then
beginning
to
dwell
in
the
music
to
prepare
the
voice
and
the
mind.
Mitra
was
trying
to
decide
which
of
his
concert
tanpuras
to
take
to
the
studio.
This
involved
a
familiar
routine
of
taking
off
the
cloth
cover,
cleaning
the
instrument
with
a
yellow
lint
cloth,
and
then
sitting
with
it
to
tune
it
to
the
pitch
he
would
use
to
sing
the
next
day.
Adjusting
the
pegs,
tuning
the
jawari
and
listening
closely
to
the
sound,
he
suddenly
remarked-‐
“Tansen
Pande
has
played
this
tanpura;
also
Rahimuddin
Khan
Saheb,
Mohinuddin
Dagar;
Dabir
Khan,
Ramesh
Babu
(Rameshchandra
Bannerjee),
Ramchatur
ji,
Maniram,
Jasraj,
of
course
Chote
(Sahiduddin
Dagar)
–
many
stalwarts
have
used
this
tanpura
while
sitting
for
music
in
our
house”.
At
such
moments,
it
becomes
apparent
this
is
not
a
man
alone
with
his
voice
in
a
music
room.
Like
Bachelard’s
closet,
a
music
room
is
a
place;
but
it
is
a
special
kind
of
place
because
it
is
marked
by
sound
and
animated
by
bodies
engaging
in
activities
that
entangle
sound.118
It
is
a
place
where
relationships
are
made
in
and
through
sound,
and
where,
in
its
turn,
sound
becomes
emplaced.
At
unexpected
moments,
catalyzed
by
sound,
or
even
activity
related
to
sound,
a
musician
listens
in,
and
what
is
habitual
becomes
dynamical
and
eventful.
118
Bachelard (1964)
98
But,
not
only
musical
instruments
hold
the
potentiality
of
musical
interactions.
Photographs
can
become
agentive
to
acoustemic
memory
too.
One
evening,
Mitra
was
teaching
alap
in
raga
Kedar
to
two
students.
Teacher
and
students
were
taking
turns
in
developing
the
raga
with
phrases.
The
mood,
form
and
sounds
of
Kedar
filled
the
room.
Exploring
the
upper
tetrachord
of
the
middle
octave
with
ascending,
looping
and
descending
movements,
Mitra’s
glance
fell
on
the
photographs
in
the
glass
case.
Leaning
forward
furtively
and
dropping
his
voice,
he
remarked
“Amir
Khan
Saheb,
Bade
Ghulam
Saheb
–
even
they
used
komal
nishad
in
Kedar.
I
won’t
do
it.
You
can
sing
Kedar
beautifully
preserving
its
notes.
Why
use
komal
nishad?”
Until
then
just
benign
objects
on
the
wall,
the
photographs
in
that
room
were
transformed
in
that
instant
to
presence.
Auditory
memory
catalyzed
by
song
caused
Mitra
to
drop
his
voice
as
if
he
were
right
in
front
of
senior
musicians
that
were
personal
forces
in
his
life,
even
though
they
were
long
dead
and
safely
in
a
book
case.
Moments
such
as
this
are
interruptive.
They
transform
consciousness.
But,
it
would
be
a
mistake
to
assume
that
nothing
is
happening
when
there
is
no
conscious
act
of
audition.
Auditory
background
is
rarely
inert.
Ihde
demonstrates
through
close
phenomenological
analysis
that
auditory
phenomena
have
the
potentiality
for
catalytic
and
interruptive
background
to
foreground
moves
that
disrupt
and
interrupt
(Ihde,
1976;
2007).
Like
a
breathing
body,
the
ear
is
out
there
quietly
pulsing,
a
duplex
listening
channel
called
auditory
consciousness
that
becomes
an
act
of
audition
when
something
happens
to
cause
it
to
listen
in.
Each
catalytic
instance
is
non-‐repeatable
but
it
is
not
isolated.
Moments
such
as
this
occur
often
in
the
course
of
musical
activity.
But
what
is
analytically
meaningful
is
that
these
background
to
foreground
moves
have
the
potential
to
transform
musical
action,
engendering
moments
of
musical
reasoning
and
the
exercise
of
musical
judgment.
Cognitively
integral
to
thick
sound
-‐
instruments,
books,
personal
music
notebooks,
mementos,
trophies,
awards,
pictures
and
photographs
-‐
a
music
room
is
configured
by
objects
that
entangle
sound
and
world
in
habitual
and
catalytic
ways.
Catalyzed
by
musical
activity,
acoustemic
anchors
become
agentive
to
moments
of
intense
musical
reflection
that
are
interactive
in
the
moment.
These
self-‐reflexive
and
often
inter-‐subjective
moments
happen
in
the
now
and
often
feed
right
back
into
sound
transforming
sonic
activity
in
the
now.
Sometimes
the
cogitation
reinforces
by
reiterating
previous
knowledge,
at
other
times
it
causes
change.
But
in
either
case,
it
acts
to
reinforce
the
interactive
basis
of
musical
judgment.
What
such
moments
point
to
is
that
musical
relationships,
musical
activity
and
individual
musical
effort
are
not
mere
biographical
detail.
They
are
integral
to
thick
sound,
and
constitutive
of
musical
judgment.
To
understand
Mitra’s
sense
of
fidelity
99
to
tradition
is
to
unravel
these
histories
of
interactivity.
Secondly,
acoustemic
memory
is
both
acoustic
and
affective,
making
emotion
and
memory
integral
to
thick
sound
and
the
production
of
musical
judgment.
To
understand
the
sounds
of
Mitra’s
Dhrupad
and
his
sense
of
fidelity
to
tradition
requires
me
to
investigate
the
specific
ways
in
which
emotion
and
memory
are
implicated
in
Mitra’s
musical
life
as
a
performer
of
Dhrupad.
At
home
in
sound
–
family
as
acoustemic
anchor
The
practice
of
Dhrupad
as
classical
music
is
also
the
practice
of
music
in
and
as
daily
life.
A
musician’s
household
often
actively
works
to
make
sound
home.
This
is
as
much
the
case
for
a
non-‐hereditary
practitioner
such
as
Falguni
Mitra
as
it
is
for
a
hereditary
musician
such
as
Indra
Kishore.
Late
in
my
ethnography,
Falguni
Mitra,
his
wife
Pratima
Mitra
and
I
visited
the
house
where
the
Mitras
lived
in
their
early
decades
of
marriage.
Living
with
his
parents,
two
brothers,
two
sisters
and
young
wife
in
the
first
floor
of
a
two-‐story
house,
Falguni
Mitra’s
musical
life
was
at
its
most
intense
in
those
years.
He
pointed
at
an
isolated
room
on
the
terrace
of
the
two-‐floor
bungalow
“Look
up;
see
that
concrete
room
on
the
terrace?
This
is
where
I
used
to
practice,
both
mornings
and
evenings.
It
was
away
from
the
household.
My
father
wouldn’t
let
anyone
bother
me”.
The
Mitra
household
would
revolve
around
the
aural
routine
of
father
and
son,
for
the
mother,
and
later,
for
the
first
daughter
in
law
of
the
house.
Falguni
Mitra’s
wife
Pratima
Mitra
is
musician
in
her
own
right.
Tt
is
from
Pratima
Mitra
I
got
insights
into
Falguni
Mitra’s
musical
life
in
the
years
they
lived
with
his
parents
in
a
joint
family
–
an
important
period
where
Mitra
transformed
into
an
expert
performer
with
growing
presence
on
the
concert
circuit.
But
not
all
this
time
was
spent
on
repetitive
individual
practice,
even
in
his
early
years.
A
lot
of
musical
life
happened
in
the
music
room
with
his
father,
a
few
close
friends
he
used
to
practice
with
occasionally,
and
a
number
of
others
dropping
in
to
sing
and
talk
music
with
father
and
son.
“His
father
had
a
bell.
One
ring
was
meant
for
guruji
(Falguni
ji).
Two
rings,
wife,
three
me,
like
that.
Mostly
only
one
ring
will
keep
ringing
–
always
your
guruji
would
be
called
to
discuss
music
or
sing”.
An
aural
routine
punctuated
by
a
calling
bell
is
a
sound
mark
of
musical
relationships
and
musical
work.
“I
used
to
wait
till
11,
12
at
night
-‐
I
had
no
idea
when
he
will
come
down
or
100
who
he
will
bring
with
him
to
eat”.
He
would
vanish
into
his
practice
room
and
not
appear
for
hours
on
end
until
the
young
wife
was
dropping
from
fatigue
wanting
to
go
to
sleep.
Often
she
didn’t
know
who
would
come
to
dinner
when
he
came
down
the
stairs,
as
some
close
musical
friend
would
have
come
and
stayed
on
for
practice,
simply
hanging
around
when
Mitra
sang,
sometimes
sharing
something
they
know,
sometimes
playing
the
harmonium,
always
drinking
tea
around
musical
talk
and
music.
“The-‐person-‐who-‐
comes-‐to-‐dinner”
phenomenon
continued
for
several
decades
in
the
Mitras’
lives.
I’ve
been
that
person
myself
many,
many
times
when
we
would
simply
lose
track
of
time
singing,
working,
talking,
until
it
was
of
course
too
late
to
leave
without
eating.
If
this
happened
at
night,
it
meant
Mitra
getting
into
his
car
and
driving
us
home
too,
a
car
ride
of
several
miles
in
which
the
music
talk
would
continue.
Being
part
of
a
musical
household
often
includes
musical
sociality,
not
only
acoustic
activity.
And
when
a
partner
is
also
a
musician,
sociality
and
music
become
inseparable.
Pratima
Mitra’s
life
has
been
entangled
with
her
husband’s
vocal
practice
in
many
ways.
As
one
of
his
main
accompanist
at
concerts,
he
depends
on
her
anticipation
of
his
musical
mind
to
relax
and
sing,
freeing
himself
up
to
respond
to
the
potentiality
of
performing
for
specific
audiences.
At
home,
her
roles
are
varied
and
demanding.
While
her
individual
performance
career
took
a
back
seat
to
provide
both
family
and
musical
support
to
her
husband,
she
co-‐teaches
students
that
are
not
focused
solely
on
Dhrupad
and
has
her
own
students
for
Khayal,
Bengali
Raga
Sangeet
and
Bhajan.
She
would
be
called
in
from
her
household
chores
to
play
the
harmonium
for
concert
practice
and
for
students,
prompt
words
that
were
temporarily
elusive,
sing
special
songs
from
the
Delhi
Gharana
repertoire
that
her
own
family
imbibed
from
Ustad
Chand
Khan
and
Ustad
Nasir
Ahmed
Khan,
both
close
friends
of
her
father.
If
the
people
in
the
music
room
were
so
tuned,
she
would
be
called
in
to
sing
the
Bengali
Rag
Sangit
and
Bhajans
she
specializes
in.
Here
she
would
be
the
lead
singer
with
Falguni
Mitra
chipping
in
to
accompany
her,
singing
many
of
the
songs
he
himself
has
composed
in
these
genres.
Falguni
Mitra’s
musical
life
is
indeed
incomplete
without
his
wife.
Acoustic communities, thick sound and musical judgment
Acoustic communities sustain particular listening practices that in turn feedback
into performance. A non-‐hereditary musician performing Dhrupad in Benares and
Kolkata in the first half of the 20th century had recourse to a musical world that
would be described today as a lost world of Hindustani music. It is a lost world not
because there are no talented performers but because the post-‐1960s
transformation of Dhrupad into a journey into the realm of pure sound has caused
large-‐scale elision of grids of intelligibility and genres of listening.
In an age when Dhrupad has been re-‐cast as a neo-‐spiritual genre with Vedic roots
101
that
transcends
both
linguistic
and
musical
meaning,
it
is
crucial
and
urgent
to
investigate
the
forms
of
knowledge
that
tether
musical
judgment
in
Dhrupad
traditions
where
the
genre
has
remained
much
closer
to
song
and
raga
than
pure
sound.
Contemporary
musicians
such
as
Falguni
Mitra
and
Indra
Kishore
Mishra
have
suffered
from
the
erasure
of
grids
of
intelligibility
within
which
their
performance
tradition
has
been
understood
for
a
few
centuries
and
from
which
their
own
sense
of
tradition
has
been
shaped.
Their
aesthetic
sense
and
ethical
sense
are
actively
threatened
by
the
politics
of
contemporary
Dhrupad
aesthetics.
Under
these
conditions,
investigating
musical
judgment
necessarily
becomes
an
archeology
of
historical
grids
of
intelligibility
and
the
acoustic
communities
in
which
they
were
sustained.
In
the
1920s,
a
young
man
with
fire
for
music
in
his
heart
went
in
search
of
a
teacher
to
Benares.
In
a
time
and
place
in
which
Dhrupad’s
regimes
of
intelligibility
were
shaped
by
epistemologies
of
song
and
compositional
form,
Shibkumar
Mitra
not
only
acquired
tradition
but
also
gained
entrance
into
an
acoustic
community
for
Dhrupad
practice
with
its
attendant
forms
of
knowledge.
Learning
for
more
than
a
decade
from
the
senior
Bettiah
gharana
musician
Bholanath
Pathak,
he
was
inducted
into
an
epistemology
of
Dhrupad
in
which
song
is
construed
as
a
primary
vehicle
of
musical
knowledge
and
to
very
specialist
categorical
knowledge
about
Dhrupad
aesthetics,
codified
in
the
banis
of
Dhrupad.
Nurtured
in
a
community
of
pakhawaj
experts,
the
Bettiah
gharana
school
in
early
20th
century
Benares
was
characterized
by
an
emphasis
on
laya
and
layakari
that
also
influenced
Mitra’s
conception
of
Dhrupad
as
a
genre.
Senior
musicians
of
the
tradition
were
also
involved
in
the
institutional
and
intellectual
activities
that
marked
the
early
20th
century
musical
city.
Contemporary
sources
refer
to
Pathak’s
great
value
as
a
savant
who
understood
the
intricacies
of
raga
grammar
and
aesthetics
in
Hindustani
music,
a
role
somewhat
larger
and
grander
than
being
a
niche
performer
of
Dhrupad
or
pakhawaj.
Thus
Mitra
became
a
part
of
a
community
of
musicians
who
were
engaged
in
heterogeneous
knowledge-‐
making
practices
in
relation
to
their
tradition,
some
of
which
were
distinctly
non-‐
local.119
Yet,
the
strong
basis
that
the
Bettiah
gharana
musicians
of
Benares
had
in
the
local
may
not
have
transferred
over
as
seamlessly
to
the
student
from
Kolkata.120
Rather,
119
Pathak himself was deeply involved in the documentation, archival and transmission efforts of the
Bharat Kala Parishad, and the Kashi Sangeet Samaj, both institutions founded in a climate of cultural
nationalism. Others in their community also too engaged in analytical and written work. Pathak’s student
Mannuji Mridangacharya wrote a treatise on tala and was employed as a professor in the Benares Hindu
University, as was Shivprasad Gayanacarya, yet another respected musician of Benares who also learned
from the Bettiah gharana musicians, and wrote a valuable book on Dhrupad with notated songs
120
Mannuji had a deep association with the Pushti Marg Sampradaya at the Gopal Mandir through out his
life - a practice his family continues; whereas Beni Madhav served as priest in one of the temples in
102
Mitra’s
aural
home
was
the
teeming
musical
culture
of
pre-‐1950s
Kolkata.
Mitra’s
entry
point
into
musical
circles
in
Kolkata
came
through
multiple
sources.
Being
a
musician
of
the
Bettiah
gharana
connected
him
with
musicians
of
the
Vishnupur
gharana,
who
also
had
a
strong
Bettiah
connection.
In
the
early
20th
century,
the
Mishras
of
Benares
and
their
students
had
established
sister
communities
in
Benares
and
Kolkata.
While
tradition
consolidated
strongly
in
Benares,
in
Kolkata
transmission
occurred
amongst
a
larger
and
more
diffuse
circle
of
musicians,
many
of
whom
also
had
links
to
the
musical
traditions
of
Vishnupur.
This
community
opened
up
for
Shib
Mitra
when
he
returned
permanently
to
Kolkata
after
his
decade
of
training.
The
second
link
to
Hindustani
musical
circles
came
from
his
other
preceptorial
source,
Ustad
Nasiruddin
Khan,
the
patriarch
of
the
Dagar
tradition
and
a
close
friend
of
Pathak’s.
Nasiruddin
Khan
was
known
not
only
for
his
musical
prowess
and
lineage,
he
was
part
of
the
close
circle
that
gave
the
All
India
Music
Conferences
their
musical
authority.
Musical
circles
in
Kolkata
would
have
viewed
a
musical
protégé
of
his
favorably.
When
both
his
teachers
passed
away
in
1936,
Mitra
found
ways
to
sustain
and
deepen
his
engagement
with
both
traditions.
He
made
regular
visits
back
to
Benares
to
keep
musically
connected
with
the
senior
musicians
of
the
Bettiah
gharana.
Meanwhile,
Shib
Mitra
continued
his
immersion
in
the
Dagar
tradition
through
Tansen
Pande,
younger
brother
of
Nasiruddin
Khan,
who
served
as
a
lifelong
mentor
and
musical
friend.
Shib
Mitra
also
became
close
to
many
members
of
the
extended
Dagar
family.
Dhrupad
in
mid-‐twentieth
century
in
Kolkata
Within
a
decades
of
his
teachers’
passing,
well
entrenched
in
musical
circles
in
Kolkata,
Shibkumar
began
to
transmit
tradition
with
intensity
and
focus
to
a
musically
precocious
son.
The
forms
of
knowledge
generated
in
the
Mitras’
music
room
depended
not
only
on
the
intense
work
of
individual
practice,
and
their
collective
engagement
with
inheritance,
but
also
on
the
acoustic
communities
in
which
they
regularly
engaged
in
musical
interaction.
Having
a
child
prodigy
at
home
made
for
a
musically
charged
existence
at
home
and
outside.
Before
he
was
8,
Falguni
Mitra
had
put
in
enough
work
to
sing
in
competitions,
small
performances
and
baithaks.
While
father
and
son
would
work
for
long
hours
together
in
intense
practice,
many
musicians
dropping
in
for
musical
sessions
also
enriched
the
soundscapes
of
a
musical
household.
Falguni
Mitra
would
also
accompany
his
father
to
baithaks
and
musical
sessions
in
many
musicians’
houses,
as
well
as
some
performing
stages
and
music
societies
in
Kolkata
noted
for
offering
outstanding
music.
In
musical
gatherings
and
private
visits,
often
he
would
be
asked
to
Benares, primarily as a way to earn a living. Several of their students too came from the community of
priests in Benares - Bhatuknath Sharma is one such still living.
103
demonstrate
in
practice
nuances
that
his
father
would
want
to
discuss
with
his
friends.
Thus
the
intense
work
of
learning
to
sing
and
acquiring
voice
was
done
in
private
and
in
public,
in
dialogic
with
musical
inheritance
and
musical
friendships.
Throughout
Falguni
Mitra’s
childhood,
his
early
years
of
intense
practice
and
into
the
years
when
he
had
become
a
mature
concert
artist
in
the
1970s,
the
Mitras
participated
in
a
close
community
of
musical
friendships
that
were
integral
to
the
production
of
thick
sound
and
had
a
lasting
effect
on
them
musically.
Listening
to
Falguni
Mitra
talk
about
his
musical
life
in
childhood
and
as
a
young
adult
not
only
evokes
a
post
world
for
Hindustani
music,
it
reads
like
a
Who’s
Who
of
Hindustani
music.
Mitra
recalls
being
asked
to
demonstrate
the
Dhrupads
of
the
Bettiah
gharana
for
Birendra
Kishore
Ray
Chaudhury
in
all
the
four
banis
of
Dhrupad.121
The
latter’s
appreciative
response
and
words
of
advice
remain
audible
to
Mitra
many
decades
later,
sometimes
kicking
in
when
he
has
to
make
himself
heard
to
peers
whose
ears
have
lost
those
grids
of
intelligibility.
A
frequent
visitor
and
close
musical
mentor
was
Dabir
Khan
Saheb,
the
last
descendent
of
Mia
Tansen
on
the
latter’s
daughter’s
lineage.
The
latter
would
drop
by
twirling
his
silver
topped
cane
and
find
the
Mitras
in
their
music
room.
Dabir
Khan
would
bring
out
choice
Dhrupads
from
his
Rampur
khazana,
and
Shib
Mitra
would
sing
Bettiah
gharana
Dhrupads,
and
both
music
and
discussion
would
revolve
around
songs,
composers,
ragas,
personalities
and
stories.
Dabir
Khan
Saheb
considered
the
Bettiah
gharana
lineage
of
the
Mishras
of
Benares
to
be
a
Seniya
gharana
lineage
and
the
relationship
he
maintained
with
the
Mitras
was
one
of
avuncular
musical
kinship.
He
would
often
sing
compositions
and
ragas
special
to
his
lineage,
and
the
Mitras
assimilated
a
few
of
these
into
their
repertoire
as
well.
Dabir
Khan
had
a
great
fondness
for
Falguni
Mitra
and
would
give
him
advice
on
his
music
and
share
some
nuances
of
special
songs
and
ragas
from
his
redoubtable
Seniya
gharana
khazana.122
Very
soon
the
Mitras’
closest
musical
associations
became
multi-‐generational.
Mannuji
Mridangacarya
was
a
great
source
for
musical
get-‐togethers
(sangat),
continuing
to
acquire
repertoire
and
to
discuss
matters
musical
in
relation
to
their
tradition,
a
practice
that
continued
after
his
death
with
a
reversal
of
roles.
Mannuji’s
121
Birendra Kishore Ray Chaudhuri was an authoritative Dhrupad musician and historian in early 20th
century Kolkata.
122
During later years, Shibkumar Mitra undertook a detailed comparison of compositions in different
related traditions of the Bettiah, Vishnupur and Seniya gharanas, and examined variants in ragas, lyrics,
composition structure and authorship, always meticulously noting the oral tradition and teacher tradition
from which he acquired the version. At that point he may have come to question the dating and authorship
of some of the Seniya gharara compositions amongst others, but this does not compromise their ontological
status as cumulative khazana handed down as thick sound in continuous oral transmission, and churned
time and time again in individual practice and inter-subjective musical interaction.
104
sons
and
students
would
seek
Shib
Mitra
and
Falguni
Mitra
out
in
Kolkata
to
practice
their
vocal
repertoire
and
keep
up
their
pakhawaj
accompaniment
practice.
For
a
few
years,
Mannuji’s
student
Rama
Vallabh
Mishra
became
Shib
Mitra’s
musical
partner
for
knowledge
dissemination
about
the
Bettiah
tradition
in
seminars,
symposia
and
journal
papers.
The
musical
friendships
with
the
Dagar
family
also
quickly
became
multi-‐generational
when
Shib
Mitra’s
son
Falguni
Mitra
and
Tansen
Pande’s
son
Sayeeduddin
Dagar
became
close
musical
friends.
The
latter
continue
to
retain
strong
affective
ties
even
today,
though
their
regular
musical
interactions
have
long
ceased.
In
addition
to
a
close
relationship
with
Tansen
Pande,
his
son
Sayeeduddin
and
daughter
Munni
(who
became
the
mother
of
Wasifuddin
Dagar),
many
senior
members
of
the
Dagar
family
would
visit
the
Mitra
house
when
they
came
to
Kolkata.
Rahimuddin
Khan,
Moinuddin,
and
Aminuddin,
would
come
to
the
house
during
Shib
Mitra’s
lifetime,
as
would
Ramchatur
Mullick,
the
master
musician
of
the
Darbhanga
gharana.
These
visits
often
had
tangible
affective
and
musical
outcomes.
Aside
from
Dabir
Khan
Saheb,
and
the
musicians
of
the
Bettiah
and
Dagar
traditions,
the
Mitras
continued
close
relationships
with
the
Vishnupur
gharana
stalwarts.
Gopeswar
Bandhopadhyay
and
his
son
Rameshchandra
Bandhopdhyay
would
visit
the
Mitra
house,
exchanging
songs
from
their
stock
that
had
a
common
source
in
the
Bettiah
gharana
lineage
of
the
Mishras.
Yet
shared
stock
did
not
mean
a
conflation
of
aesthetics
or
vocal
styles
-‐
rather,
it
allowed
connection
and
musical
interchange.123
If
many
of
these
musical
relationships
were
made
and
marked
in
sound,
other
acoustemic
relationships
marked
sound
in
paper,
ink,
and
language.
Two
like
minded
musician
friends,
Bimal
Roy
and
Bimala
Kanta
Ray
Chaudhury,
proved
to
be
valuable
resources
to
Shib
Mitra
in
the
work
of
notating
and
analyzing
his
Dhrupad
collection.124
Like
Shib
Mitra,
these
musicians
represented
a
section
of
educated
middle
class
Bengalis
that
connected
to
tradition
in
ways
idiosyncratic
of
their
time
and
place.
Best
described
as
traditional
English-‐educated
intellectuals,
they
found
role
models
in
pioneering
Indian
musicologists
of
the
modern
era
such
as
Thakur
Jaidev
Singh,
Swami
Prajnananda
and
Acarya
Kailash
Chandra
Brhaspati.
The
impact
of
modern
intellectualism
on
these
men
was
deeply
dialogic
with
tradition.
Their
work
was
sourced
from
their
personal
engagement
with
particular
traditions
that
123
Falguni Mitra has observed that the Dhrupad style of these musicians was more influenced by the song-
like style of their home tradition in Vishnupur, whereas his father and he sang in the tradition of the
Benares school of the Kashi Sangit Samaj that was more formal and more richly differentiated in its
aesthetics and vocal delivery.
124
Mitra has often marked his notebooks with the initials BR and BKRC to note which compositions and
musical matters he had discussed with these senior musicians who like him had a consuming interest in
Dhrupad, raga lakshanas and aesthetics.
105
they
learnt
in
traditional
ways
from
teachers
who
were
the
primary
sources
of
their
categorical
knowledge
and
performance
practice.
But
they
connected
to
tradition
through
heterogeneous
practices
of
analysis,
reading,
writing
and
musical
discourse
that
actively
incorporated
and
inflected
modernity’s
disciplinary
technologies.
Shib
Mitra
was
a
regular
participant
in
the
music
analysis
sessions
and
music
seminars
at
ITC
Sangeet
Research
Academy
and
other
institutions
in
Kolkata.125
He
also
wrote
regularly
in
both
Bengali
and
English
for
periodicals
related
to
music
such
as
Sangeet
and
Anand
Bazaar
Patrika.
He
would
travel
to
places
such
as
Mathura
and
Benares
to
present
at
conferences
on
Dhrupad.
Aside
from
this,
he
spent
an
enormous
amount
of
time,
effort,
and
attention
on
notating,
analyzing
and
documenting
his
own
corpus
of
musical
materials
in
relation
to
the
prevalent
epistemologies
of
Hindustani
music
as
an
organized
system
of
knowledge.
Women
musician-‐researchers
who
were
acknowledged
intellectuals
in
their
field
such
as
Dr.
Sumati
Mutatkar
and
Dipali
Nag
were
close
friends
of
the
Mitras,
relationships
that
continued
in
Falguni
Mitra’s
later
life.126
From
his
early
thirties,
Falguni
Mitra
also
began
to
maintain
a
strong
presence
on
the
lecture-‐demonstration
and
seminar
circuit,
writing
for
journals
and
music
periodicals
whenever
he
had
the
time.
At
home,
his
role
in
tradition
building
was
even
more
important.
He
provided
the
practical
competence
necessary
for
Shibkumar
Mitra
to
properly
consolidate
the
four-‐bani
Bettiah
Dhrupad
tradition
of
the
Mishras
of
Benares
with
the
elaborate
alap
tradition
he
acquired
via
Nasiruddin
Khan.
Both
Mitras
developed
lifelong
relationships
with
the
three
musical
maestros
of
the
Maihar
gharana
-‐
Ali
Akbar
Khan,
Ravishankar
and
Nikhil
Bannerjee.
Shib
Mitra
also
enjoyed
a
close
musical
friendship
with
Bade
Ghulam
Ali
Khan
Saheb
over
several
years,
and
the
two
of
them
spent
musical
time
together
on
many
occasions.
Falguni
Mitra
recalls
sitting
on
Khan
Saheb’s
lap
at
a
very
early
age,
and
having
Khan
Saheb
at
home
for
extended
hours
singing,
eating
and
talking
with
the
family.
These
visits
occurred
not
only
in
Kolkata
but
also
in
Chennai
where
Shib
Mitra
was
posted
for
some
years,
when
on
occasion
Khan
Saheb
would
visit
Chennai
for
a
performance.
Mitra
remembers
singing
in
Khan
Saheb’s
presence
many
times,
when
his
father
and
Khan
Saheb
would
sit
down
for
music,
taking
turns
to
sing,
and
encouraging
the
young
boy
to
sing
in
between.
Ustad
Amir
Khan
too
was
a
musical
friend,
and
the
musicians
would
meet
in
Mitra’s
house
and
in
musical
soirees
held
in
city
residences
amongst
a
close
circle
of
musical
friends.
In
addition
to
interactions
at
home
and
in
private
musical
gatherings,
Shib
Mitra
would
take
Falguni
Mitra
to
many
halls
in
the
125
See www.itcsra.org for a brief history of the institution
126
Dr. Sumati Mutatkar’s daughter learnt Dhrupad from Shib Mitra and also assisted him in the last decade
of his life to prepare his Dhrupad collection for publication. She handed me a full Xerox copy of his leader
article and collection of Dhrupads in the four banis when I met her in 2011, thirty years after Shib Mitra’s
passing, material I had got in original from Falguni Mitra.
106
city
where
these
Ustads
would
sing
regularly.
In
his
developing
musical
years,
Falguni
Mitra
listened
to
these
maestros,
both
live
and
on
All
India
Radio
and
interacted
with
them
musically.
He
holds
them
both
as
two
of
the
most
influential
figures
in
his
life,
along
with
Faiyyaz
Khan
Saheb
who
had
a
towering
presence
in
the
world
of
Hindustani
music
in
Mitra’s
youth.
Aside
from
Amir
Khan
and
Bade
Ghulam
Ali
Khan,
the
Mitras
had
many
close
friends
amongst
the
Khayal
fraternity,
including
musical
families
of
Bengal
who
had
until
recently
sung
Dhrupad,
such
as
the
Vishnupur
Khayal
musicians,
the
family
of
Manas
Chakraborty
and
others
like
them
who
were
deeply
influenced
by
the
two
Ustads.
The
musicians
of
the
Delhi
gharana,
Chand
Khan
Saheb
and
Iqbal
Ahmed
Khan
were
very
close
to
Mitra’s
father-‐in-‐law,
with
Iqbal
Ahmed
Khan
living
in
the
latter’s
house
for
weeks
on
end.
For
some
years
Mani
Ram
and
his
now
very
famous
brother
Jasraj
lived
a
few
houses
away,
and
Shib
Mitra
in
particular
would
often
drop
in
on
them
as
he
walked
by
their
house.
Srikant
Bhakre,
an
admirer
of
Amir
Khan,
was
Falguni
Mitra’s
close
friend
and
musical
companion,
the
two
often
practicing
together
late
into
the
night.
In
later
years,
a
string
of
students
became
house
regulars.
Thus
the
Mitra
household
was
never
too
far
away
from
the
next
musical
visitor.
And
inevitably,
these
meetings
happened
in
the
music
room
with
musical
sessions
and
music
talk.
and
when
close
friends
dropped
in
with
family
talk
and
food.
But
increasingly,
as
Falguni
Mitra
matured
into
an
expert
performer
of
Dhrupad,
he
began
to
spend
more
and
more
time
alone
with
his
music,
not
out
of
choice
but
because
of
a
change
in
the
acoustic
communities
for
Hindustani
music.
Changing
acoustic
communities
and
transforming
intelligibility
By
the
time
Falguni
Mitra
became
an
established
performer
and
began
to
acquire
a
reputation
as
an
expert
Hindustani
musician,
the
close
community
of
listeners
for
Dhrupad
had
begun
to
disperse.
Rather,
Mitra
was
surrounded
by
peers
who
had
developed
a
much
stronger
taste
for
Khayal,
and
instrumental
music,
and
who
did
not
have
a
strong
involvement
in
Dhrupad.
Mitra
was
entrenched
in
the
world
of
Hindustani
music,
and
was
a
regular
performer
in
major
music
conferences
in
North
India,
a
regular
expert
performer
on
National
radio
and
later
TV,
presenting
at
seminars,
writing
in
journals,
serving
on
expert
committees,
panels
and
audition
boards.
At
the
same
time,
Mitra
continued
to
work
very
hard
with
his
Dhrupad
practice
at
home,
deeply
engaged
in
learning,
teaching,
documenting,
polishing
the
repertoire
he
shared
with
his
father.
When
Mitra
moved
to
Chennai
in
the
late
1980s
where
he
lived
for
more
than
a
decade,
his
creative
musicianship
earned
him
collaborations
with
the
greatest
performing
legends
of
Chennai.127
Yet,
in
contrast
to
his
earlier
interactions
with
G
N
127
Mitra
collaborated
with
Rukmini
Devi
Arundale
for
whom
he
composed
music
for
a
new
dance
production
Meera,
M
S
Subbulakshmi
who
sang
songs
of
the
musician
Saint
Meera
Bai
set
to
tune
by
107
Balasubramanian
and
Ariyakudi
Ramanuja
Iyengar
who
had
an
abiding
respect
for
Dhrupad
as
a
compositional
form,
Chennai’s
artistic
community
in
the
nineties
did
not
really
know
or
appreciate
his
special
heritage
as
a
Dhrupad
musician;
rather
they
connected
to
him
as
a
creative
artist
and
a
savant
of
Hindustani
music.
Mitra
returned
permanently
to
Kolkata
in
1999,
at
the
invitation
of
Vijay
Kichlu,
then
Director
of
ITC
Sangeet
Research
Academy.
For
the
next
ten
years,
Mitra
served
as
Prefect
and
Guru
for
Dhrupad
in
ITC
Sangeet
Research
Academy,
a
position
that
was
double-‐edged
in
its
impact
on
his
musical
life.
By
the
late
20th
century,
the
acoustic
communities
within
which
Mitra
now
functioned
had
changed
drastically.
Their
understanding
of
Dhrupad
as
a
genre
was
strongly
influenced
by
the
hegemonic
reformatting
of
Dhrupad
into
an
ideology
of
pure
sound.
Mitra
was
put
in
a
position
of
having
to
explain
his
musical
choices
to
his
peers
and
colleagues,
who
in
spite
of
their
eminence
as
Hindustani
musicians
had
little
interest
in,
or
awareness
of,
the
historical
grids
of
intelligibility
that
undergird
Mitra’s
conception
of
correct
Dhrupad
practice.
The
years
away
from
Kolkata
cost
Mitra
most
dearly
in
terms
of
a
drastic
change
in
grids
of
intelligibility
for
Dhrupad.
By
the
time
he
returned
to
Kolkata,
the
soundscapes
for
Dhrupad
in
Kolkata
had
been
seriously
eroded
and
its
grids
of
intelligibility
ruptured.
He
began
to
once
again
perform
regularly
in
the
historically
important
stages
and
locations
for
Dhrupad,
and
at
the
same
time,
he
taught
Dhrupad
to
the
highly
talented
young
Khayal
and
instrumental
musicians
in
ITC
SRA
-‐
historically
a
Dhrupad
musician’s
role
in
Hindustani
music
right
up
till
the
mid
20th
century.
Music
critics
and
artists
with
a
stake
in
Bengal’s
musico-‐lyrical
history
claimed
him
as
a
crusader
for
Dhrupad,
who
could
bring
about
a
renaissance
of
Dhrupad
performance
modes
that
emphasize
the
richness
of
the
compositional
form.
But
such
voices
were
few.
In
spite
of
carrying
two
historical
lineages
and
his
own
redoubtable
musicianship,
Mitra’s
acoustic
communities
have
turned
hostile
towards
him.
Stonewalled
by
funding
bodies
and
government
agencies,
overlooked
for
major
awards,
and
ignored
by
researchers
and
foreign
scholars,
Mitra
has
been
culturally
isolated
by
his
community,
remaining
intelligible
as
a
Dhrupad
musician
mainly
to
the
small
group
of
individuals
still
vested
in
the
elided
histories
of
Dhrupad
in
the
eastern
centers.
Yet,
this
musician
has
refused
to
change
his
musical
choices
to
fit
the
fashions.
At
the
risk
of
losing
his
audience
and
losing
potential
students,
he
has
stood
firm
by
the
musical
ideals
that
he
acquired
from
his
father
and
then
worked
on
for
the
next
several
decades
in
the
company
of
some
of
Hindustani
music’s
giants.
His
him,
and
was
musically
very
close
to
two
very
famous
musicians
M
Balamuralkrishna
and
Lalgudi
Jayaraman
108
conception
of
Dhrupad
is
a
broad
and
rich
one,
failing
signally
to
align
with
the
minimalist
aesthetic
of
the
ideology
of
pure
sound
but
perfectly
commensurate
with
the
recovered
aesthetic
regimes
that
an
archeology
of
grids
of
intelligibility
for
the
genre
throw
up.
When
I
found
time
and
again
that
Mitra
was
able
to
convincingly
back
his
own
musical
choices
against
newly
normative
regimes
of
sound,
I
became
convinced
of
the
strength
of
musical
judgment
that
is
tethered
by
thick
sound.
Mitra’s
musical
reason
and
musical
will
points
both
inward
and
outward.
They
are
self-‐referential
in
pointing
back
to
the
bedrock
of
his
intense
musical
work
that
started
when
he
was
not
even
a
teenager,
and
refer
outward
by
consulting
the
affective
musical
interactions
that
serve
as
the
acoustemic
outposts
of
musical
reason.
The
catalytic
khazana
-‐
Paper
and
ink
as
acoustemic
anchors
“I
couldn’t
write
very
easily,
so
they
used
to
write
for
me.
See
–
this
my
father’s
writing.”
A
summer
evening
in
June
2009,
we
were
in
Falguni
Mitra’s
music
room
in
his
apartment
in
Ganguly
Bagan
Kolkata,
going
over
his
first
music
notebook
from
early
childhood
music
lessons
with
his
father.
“See
this
is
my
mother’s
handwriting.
“sai
tu
na
aave
aaj”.
My
father
taught
me
this
during
the
first
few
years.
It
is
a
simple
song,
easy
for
a
child
to
learn,
as
you
know.
I
taught
you
this
song
when
you
first
came
to
me
to
learn”.1
Flipping
a
few
more
pages,
“My
father’s
writing
–
you
can
recognize
it,
you
know
it
well
from
the
other
books;
here,
my
mother
again,
many
songs
here
are
in
her
writing.
This
is
my
notebook
from
early
days
when
I
was
only
five
or
six
years
old.
I
used
it
for
quite
some
years.”
He
couldn’t
write
easily,
but
evidently
he
could
sing
quite
easily,
judging
by
the
number,
variety
and
increasing
complexity
of
four-‐part
Dhrupads
in
the
notebook.
Flipping
to
the
end
of
the
exercise
book,
“This
one
is
my
younger
sister’s
writing
–
you
know
her,
the
older
one;
there,
that
is
my
second
younger
sister’s
writing
–
you
won’t
find
much
of
hers,
too
young”.
Just
flipping
through
the
first
exercise
book
of
Dhrupads
taught
to
Falguni
Mitra
by
109
his
father,
it
appears
that
the
entire
family
had
to
be
pressed
into
service
to
keep
one
young
boy
fed
with
songs.
But
it’s
not
memory
of
family,
teachers
and
musical
friends
alone
that
render
sound
thick
in
performance.
Before
I
met
him,
Falguni
Mitra
had
already
spent
over
four
decades
in
different
music
rooms.
Well
before
he
became
an
adult
he
had
developed
the
bodily,
emotional
and
mental
discipline
that
rigorous
practice
brings.
He
had
also
developed
a
keen
sensitivity
and
feeling
for
his
musical
inheritance.
The
collection
of
notebooks
and
books
that
materialize
a
portion
of
this
inheritance
play
a
significant
part
in
physically
anchoring
Mitra’s
sense
of
place
and
his
musicianship
because
they
carry
sound
marks
of
musical
effort
and
repeated
musical
action
that
are
integral
to
thick
sound.
Mitra’s
notebook
isn’t
a
static
record
of
one-‐time
action
captured
the
day
a
song
was
written
down
during
a
lesson.
It
shows
the
evidence
of
repeated
visits.
The
index
on
the
first
page
lists
the
songs,
and
refers
to
the
page
numbers
also
written
by
hand.
The
index
was
created
when
Mitra
was
in
his
teens,
polishing
up
repertoire
for
concerts
and
competitions.
At
that
time
he
needed
a
way
to
find
a
song
quickly
on
demand.
Other
notebooks
show
even
more
evidence
of
repeated
work.
The
exercise
notebooks
prepared
by
his
father
use
different
colors
of
ink
for
words
and
notation.
A
third
color
appears
whenever
a
notation
was
corrected
in
subsequent
musical
discussion.
These
corrections
occur
in
the
writing
of
both
father
and
son,
and
were
done
when
father
and
son
sang
the
songs
together
sometimes
for
the
explicit
purpose
of
verifying
the
notation
done
by
the
father,
and
at
other
times
in
the
context
of
musical
work
done
on
the
repertoire
when
the
song
was
put
through
the
churning
of
repeated
singing
and
polishing
that
transforms
it
into
performance-‐
ready
repertoire.
A
fourth
color,
now
a
pencil
mark,
shows
where
Falguni
Mitra
himself
has
adjusted
the
notation
when
he
has
revisited
songs
later
in
his
musical
life,
perhaps
to
prepare
for
a
concert,
to
teach
a
student,
or
because
someone
dropped
in
causing
him
to
pull
out
songs
he
hadn’t
sung
in
a
while.
The
pencil
marks
in
notebooks
are
sound
marks
of
both
musical
activity
and
musical
thinking,
of
the
musical
judgments
formed
in
repeated
engagement
with
musical
material
in
practice..
These
books
and
notebooks
have
a
special
status
as
acoustemic
anchors.
They
are
a
dialogic
extension
of
Mitra’s
musical
mind
and
musicianship.
While
they
materialize
a
significant
portion
of
his
khazana,
he
has
the
aesthetic
sense,
musical
memory
and
musical
knowledge
to
transform
them
into
musical
objects.
What
lies
in
between
are
histories
of
interactivity
and
practice
that
imbue
both
musical
object
and
voice
with
potentiality.
The catalytic khazana -‐ musical objects as acoustemic anchors
While paper and ink materialize memory of musical work and musical effort,
musical objects anchor acoustemic memory in and as sound. It follows that each
110
song
cannot
just
be
treated
as
a
handed-‐down
object.
Musical
forms
such
as
ragas
and
compositions
anchor
auditory
memory
intertwined
with
emotional
memory
and
body
memory;
they
carry
the
sound
marks
of
individual
practice
and
the
imprint
of
musical
exchange.
In
short,
they
anchor
thick
sound,
not
pure
sound.
Catalyzed
by
sound
or
activities
related
to
sound,
sometimes
these
memories
move
from
habitual
background
to
foreground,
interrupting
consciousness
and
transforming
the
experience
of
raga
as
place.
At
such
moments,
the
interactive
basis
of
musical
judgment
is
strengthened
through
listening
in
and
feeding
back,
and
sound
becomes
even
thicker
as
a
result
of
dialogic
action.
Through
the
interactivity
of
reiterative
musical
practice,
a
musical
object
hence
becomes
an
object
of
acoustemic
knowledge,
not
just
acoustic
knowledge.
Repertoire
itself
embeds
histories
of
musical
associations
and
personal
practice
that
can
be
catalyzed
by
activity
that
entangles
the
sonic.
Such
associations
often
stabilize
specific
musical
memory
and
musical
judgment
and
they
do
this
not
only
as
acoustic
memory
but
also
as
acoustemic
memory
that
actively
transforms
the
experience
of
music.
This
transformation
manifests
as
affect,
intelligibility,
the
exercise
of
judgment
and
as
narrativity
that
influences
ontological
status.
I
give
examples
of
all
these
complex
effects
below.
While
singing
particular
songs
or
ragas,
Mitra
would
suddenly
be
moved
to
remember
associations.
Sometimes
these
recollections
were
even
deliberately
invoked
towards
authentication
and
affect,
such
as
when
Falguni
Mitra
would
take
the
time
to
remind
his
listeners
of
the
circumstances
in
which
he
received
a
particular
piece
of
music.
June
2009
in
Bangalore,
Mitra
was
preparing
to
sing
in
front
of
a
new
audience
for
the
Sangeet
Natak
Akademi
Sangeet
Sangam
festival
-‐
a
regular
series
held
in
different
cities
bi-‐annually.
I
had
travelled
up
from
Chennai
and
we
met
the
morning
of
the
concert
in
a
private
residence,
together
with
his
regular
accompanist
Apurbalal
Manna
and
a
harmonium
artist
who
would
play
with
Mitra
for
the
first
time.
Being
highly
attuned
to
response,
Mitra
likes
to
socialise
his
music
as
a
way
of
inducting
new
accompanists
into
a
zone
of
comfort
that
is
both
affective
and
musical.
He
had
chosen
to
sing
Maru
Kalyan,
a
raga
that
is
not
commonly
heard
even
in
North
India.
This
raga
was
special
not
only
because
it
is
less
heard
on
stage,
but
also
because
it
reminded
Mitra
both
of
Dabir
Khan
from
whom
he
had
first
acquired
it,
and
of
Amir
Khan,
who
used
to
sing
this
raga
on
occasion.
Mitra
had
worked
on
the
raga
himself
in
later
years,
giving
it
an
interpretive
shade
that
is
his
own.
So,
singing
Maru
Kalyan
was
a
treat
that
Falguni
Mitra
would
sometimes
share
with
his
audiences.
By
way
of
building
his
own
mood,
Mitra
told
the
harmonium
artist
about
Dabir
Khan
Saheb
and
his
lineage,
and
the
interactions
the
Mitras
had
with
him.
Having
got
the
accompanist
to
tune
in
to
his
mood,
many
hours
later
he
sat
on
the
stage
in
front
of
a
strange
audience
preparing
to
present
a
relatively
strange
raga.
He
began
to
tell
the
story
once
again,
and
this
time
his
accompanist
was
nodding
his
head
in
appreciation.
Mood
built
very
quickly
111
in
the
auditorium
and
Mitra
could
launch
into
an
unfamiliar
raga
without
worrying
about
his
audience,
because
he
had
found
a
way
to
bring
their
ears
in
to
connect
to
thick
sound,
transforming
the
intelligibility
of
his
music
for
that
evening
for
himself,
his
accompanists
and
his
audience.
Acoustemic
memory
attached
to
repertoire
has
played
a
very
significant
role
in
the
Bettiah
gharana
in
recent
times,
for
both
Indra
Kishore
and
Falguni
Mitra.
Memories
entangled
in
song
have
helped
these
musicians
keep
alive
music
that
they
have
never
sung
in
public,
but
have
sung
a
great
deal
in
times
past.
For
both
musicians,
this
represents
more
than
sixty
percent
of
their
active
repertoire.
While
loss
of
intelligibility
and
lack
of
opportunity
for
public
performance
both
impact
circulation
of
songs,
Falguni
Mitra
pointed
to
the
erosion
of
acoustic
communities
for
Dhrupad
of
the
Bettiah
gharana
stripe
as
a
major
factor
in
both
loss
of
intelligibility
and
loss
of
opportunity.
Triggering
acoustemic
memory
works
both
ways.
Falguni
Mitra
would
often
bring
rarely
heard
songs
out
when
he
was
reminded
of
associations.
Or,
if
an
occasion
caused
him
to
remember
some
song
he
hadn’t
sung
in
a
long
while,
a
whole
string
of
memories
would
be
catalyzed
with
it
in
dialogic
response.
The
rush
that
this
kinds
of
remembering
brings
with
it
thickens
sound,
reinforcing
the
interactive
basis
of
musical
judgment
and
musical
knowledge
through
listening
in
and
feeding
back.
While
preparing
for
the
Malhar
festival
of
ITC
SRA
in
August
2011,
Mitra
was
mulling
over
choice
of
raga
and
repertoire.
Pulling
out
Malhar
after
Malhar
from
his
sizeable
collection
of
songs
in
all
four
banis,
he
rejected
a
number
of
them
including
Purani
Malhar
and
Shuddh
Malhar
as
too
esoteric
for
a
main
piece
in
the
concert.
Browsing
through
the
collection,
he
paused
suddenly
and
started
to
sing
a
song
that
was
not
in
the
book
–
a
Dhamar
in
raga
Gondh
Malhar.
The
raga
Gondh
Malhar
is
an
esoteric
variety
of
Malhar
where
the
komal
gandhar
is
used
instead
of
the
more
commonly
heard
shuddh
gandhar
of
Gaud
Malhar.
Mitra
rarely
sings
this
raga
in
public,
so
no
one,
including
his
wife,
had
any
clue
he
knew
it.
He
then
told
me
about
this
special
raga
in
relation
to
his
own
musical
life.
His
father
had
taught
him
Dhrupad
in
Gondh
Malhar
from
the
Bettiah
khazana.
When
Mitra
was
about
14,
musicians
all
over
North
India
were
perturbed
by
All
India
Radio’s
sudden
decision
to
re-‐grade
all
artists
as
part
of
an
effort
to
more
authoritatively
impose
the
standardized
classification
of
ragas
in
North
Indian
classical
music.
The
musician
who
headed
the
re-‐grading
committee
was
Srikrishna
Ratanjhankar,
V
N
Bhatkande’s
closest
student
and
collaborator,
and
a
key
figure
in
music
Nationalism.
Many
gifted
musicians
fell
out
with
AIR
on
this
re-‐grading
decision,
giving
up
their
AIR
grades
and
refusing
to
record
for
radio
again
in
their
careers.
Since
Mitra
was
relatively
young
though
already
a
graded
artist
of
AIR,
his
father
prepared
him
to
take
the
re-‐grading
tests
based
on
a
pre-‐circulated
list
of
a
few
dozen
ragas
a
few
of
which
would
be
chosen
by
examiners
on
the
grading
day
while
administering
the
112
test.
Comes
grading
day,
and
Mitra
presented
a
Dhrupad
in
a
raga
chosen
by
his
examiners
from
the
pre-‐circulated
list.
The
next
item
he
was
required
to
present
was
a
Dhamar.
Sri
Krishna
Ratanjhankar
chose
to
examine
him
in
Raga
Gaud
Malhar.
Mitra
still
recalls
his
mental
decision
making
at
that
high
stress
moment.
He
knew
that
the
standardized
form
of
Gaud
Malhar
had
shuddh
gandhar.
On
the
other
hand,
his
tradition
used
only
the
older
variety
which
is
Gondh
with
komal
gandhar.
To
make
things
worse,
he
only
knew
a
Dhrupad
in
this
raga,
not
a
Dhamar.
Faced
with
the
choice
of
asking
for
another
raga,
which
might
be
a
black
mark,
and
singing
a
non-‐standard
variety,
which
might
also
be
a
black
mark
as
it
would
fail
the
normativity
test,
Mitra
chose
the
latter
course.
At
that
instant,
he
recomposed
a
Dhamar
in
another
raga
into
Gondh
Malhar
and
sang
it
for
the
committee.
He
recalls
Ratanjhankar
as
being
very
pleased
with
hearing
the
rarer
variety.
This
incident
is
a
highly
textured
incident
as
it
points
to
some
complex
and
significant
things.
First,
a
young
boy
of
14
decided
to
stick
with
his
tradition’s
version
of
a
raga
despite
the
risks
of
tripping
over
new
norms
for
classical
music.
Secondly,
he
used
the
intensity
of
his
musical
work
to
take
something
he
knew
and
create
something
in
the
moment
to
fulfill
a
musical
and
professional
need.
This
nexus
shows
that
both
poesis
and
the
exercise
of
musical
judgment
have
the
same
source.
Creativity
and
ethics
become
co-‐located
in
the
response
of
a
traditional
musician
to
the
professional
demands
made
in
inter-‐subjective
musical
encounters.
In
2011,
while
preparing
for
the
Malhar
festival
concert,
the
auditory
activity
of
going
through
different
Malhars
catalyzed
Mitra
into
remembering
the
Dhrupad
in
Gondh
Malhar,
and
with
it
came
this
string
of
very
special
memories.
It
is
of
no
small
significance
that
one
of
the
richest
and
most
historic
repertoires
of
Hindustani
music
languishes
today
because
there
are
no
takers
for
songs
such
as
the
one
Mitra
was
catalyzed
into
remembering
that
evening.
The
memory
is
significant
not
only
because
he
sang
that
song
once
again,
but
also
because
it
reminded
Mitra
of
grids
of
intelligibility
for
his
music
at
the
highest
musical
levels
–
grids
that
have
been
elided
from
collective
memory
of
Dhrupad’s
past
by
the
genre’s
re-‐invention
as
a
journey
into
the
realm
pure
sound.
A
protest
in
sound,
Mitra’s
recollection
fed
right
back
into
sound,
tethering
the
judgments
that
stabilized
that
Gondh
Malhar
song
a
little
more
firmly
and
rendering
the
song
and
the
raga
itself
a
little
thicker
for
having
churned
it
once
again
with
the
voice.
Inter-‐subjectivity
is
a
common
theme
in
acoustemic
memory
that
stabilizes
strong
notions
of
tradition.
Most
of
these
memories
were
not
recounted
to
me
during
structured
ethnographic
interviews.
Rather,
they
were
catalysed
by
song,
in
the
context
of
singing
particular
musical
phrases,
in
explanation
of
particular
musical
choices.
Practicing
raga
Komal
Rishabh
Asavari
one
day
in
the
music
room
before
a
radio
recording,
Falguni
Mitra
commented:
113
“Tansen
Pande
would
say
you
should
always
sing
dha
Ma
ga
re
Sa
in
Komal
Rishabh
Asavari.
It
takes
it
away
from
Bilaskhani
Todi
and
gives
it
a
particular
character.
My
father
followed
him
in
this
and
I
also
maintain
it,
especially
when
teaching
the
raga
or
establishing
the
raga”.
And
then
again,
while
working
with
setting
songs
in
raga
Bhairav
from
his
father’s
collection,
with
pen,
pencil,
ruler
and
sharpener
at
hand
“My
father
and
I
don’t
like
to
sing
Ni
Sa
Ga
Ma
in
Bhairav.
That
is
Ramkali
territory.
We
preserve
a
very
definite
character
for
Bhairav.
Pande
ji
and
the
Dagars
sing
Ni
Sa
Ga
Ma
but
we
don’t
follow
that.
I
don’t
sing
anything
I
am
not
convinced
about,
doesn’t
matter
who
says
what”.
Parsing
this
statement,
it
would
be
facile
to
conclude
that
Falguni
Mitra
is
an
individualist,
rather
than
a
musician
who
respects
tradition.
Rather,
it
shows
that
the
exercise
of
judgment
in
a
traditional
musician
is
a
complex,
layered
process
that
points
inward
and
points
outward.
It
results
from
the
work
of
putting
traditional
materials
through
the
mill
of
rigorous
individual
practice,
collective
discussion
and
inter-‐subjective
interrogation.
This
intense
and
interactive
process
is
also
what
gives
a
musician
the
strength
to
invoke
Hamsa
the
bird
in
arguing
for
a
particular
musical
Truth.
Often
acoustemic
memory
stabilizes
specific
musical
knowledge
and
tethers
specific
musical
judgments
through
body
and
effort
memory.
This
was
illustrated
to
me
in
many
instances
while
working
with
Falguni
Mitra.
Teaching
a
gaurhar
bani
song
in
raga
Chayanat
by
Maharaja
Anand
Kishore
Singh,
Falguni
Mitra
emphasized
the
amount
of
work
it
takes
to
achieve
an
evenly
balanced
vocal
delivery
in
upward
and
downward
meend,
to
create
the
characteristic
aesthetic
of
gaurhar
bani
in
that
song.
“It
would
get
very
hot
in
summer
so
my
practice
room
on
the
terrace
had
a
small
table
fan.
My
father
would
make
me
switch
off
this
fan,
or
turn
it
away
when
I
practiced
this
song.
He
would
say
that
the
same
amount
of
pressure
has
to
be
kept
up
throughout
the
sweep
that
goes
up
and
then
down
–
that
takes
repeated
practice
and
concentration.
I
must
have
practiced
that
one
movement
fifty
times,
hundred
times
to
get
it
correctly.
Once
I
knew
how
it
should
be
done,
it
was
easier”.
Heat,
effort,
a
father’s
active
instruction,
and
the
embodied
memory
of
perfect
balance
achieved
through
controlled
release
of
breath,
all
associated
with
being
physically
located
in
a
particular
place
in
the
past
–
the
interactive
complex
of
Falguni
Mitra’s
sonic
memory
of
perfecting
a
gaurhar
bani
song
was
catalyzed
by
sonic
action.
This
complex
resonates
with
Indra
Kishore’s
recollection
of
learning
gaurhar
bani
from
his
father
some
years
later,
miles
away
in
a
rural
town
under
114
very
different
circumstances.
While
Indra
Kishore
uses
many
different
embodied
metaphors
to
hold
the
memory
of
gaurhar
bani,
for
Mitra
specific
musical
phrases
and
specific
songs
practiced
repeatedly
in
specific
places
hold
keys
to
memory
by
stabilizing
aesthetic
models
as
metrics
for
perfect
practice.
Musical
effort
and
effort
memory
came
up
again
in
the
context
of
teaching
a
gaurhar
bani
song,
again
a
composition
of
Maharaja
Anand
Kishore
Singh,
but
this
time
in
raga
Bahar.
Two
years
after
I
began
my
research
project,
Falguni
Mitra
was
teaching
a
fellow
student
and
me
a
Dhrupad
in
raga
Bahar
composed
by
Maharaja
Anand
Kishore
Singh.
Usually
quite
phlegmatic,
this
was
one
occasion
when
the
normally
urbane
Falguni
Mitra
showed
visible
signs
of
emotion.
“You
won’t
hear
such
a
song
from
any
one
in
this
country.
Not
Indra
Kishore,
not
anyone.
This
is
a
jewel
in
the
Bettiah
crown”.
After
five
long
years,
while
writing
this
chapter
I
have
to
acknowledge
that
Falguni
Mitra
was
right.
Although
there
are
other
very
bright
jewels
in
the
Bettiah
crown,
many,
many
with
Indra
Kishore,
I
have
not
come
across
quite
such
a
Dhrupad
in
the
many
Dhrupads
I
have
surveyed
across
the
two
corpuses.
It
truly
is
a
jewel
in
the
Bettiah
crown,
even
amongst
other
jewels.
A
gaurhar
bani
Dhrupad,
one
of
the
most
distinctive
features
of
the
song
are
the
vast
expanses
of
empty
space
without
words.
It
is
extremely
melismatic,
with
even
bi-‐syllabic
words
(example:
beli)
stretched
over
all
12
beats
of
a
slow
tempo
Chautal
cycle.
Without
a
knowledge
of
the
sensory
and
embodied
transformative
effect
of
the
banis,
a
musician
will
not
be
able
to
sing
this
song
from
notation
to
produce
the
gaurhar
bani
aesthetic.
Singing
the
first
stanza
twice
over
for
our
benefit,
Falguni
Mitra
paused
to
warn
us
with
an
undercurrent
of
laughter
“Don’t
try
to
sing
slower
than
this.
You
will
be
rolling
on
the
floor”.
Here,
Mitra
was
pointing
to
some
significant
metrics
for
right
practice
in
inter-‐
subjective
allusion.
Unlike
many
other
artists
that
simply
sing
all
slow
tempo
Dhrupads
at
very
slow
tempo,
Mitra
decides
tempo
based
on
many
other
factors,
most
importantly
the
aesthetic
effect
he
wants
to
achieve.
In
telling
us
not
to
slow
it
down,
he
was
communicating
to
us
that
every
song
has
an
optimal
tempo
that
can
only
be
arrived
at
by
repeated
practice
towards
stabilizing
its
aesthetic.
Secondly,
he
was
also
communicating
a
key
characteristic
of
gaurhar
bani
songs,
which
is
the
perception
of
stretched
time
and
increased
space.
Songs
in
this
bani
often
give
the
impression
of
being
slower
than
they
actually
are.
So,
in
Mitra’s
estimation,
there
was
no
need
to
choose
a
very
slow
tempo
to
achieve
the
feeling
of
stretched
time
and
expanded
space,
as
the
composition
itself
is
designed
to
have
that
perceptual
effect.
115
Whether
rolling
on
the
floor,
drinking
pots
of
ghee
to
quench
the
fire
in
the
stomach,
or
tightening
the
guts
so
much
a
knife
couldn’t
be
driven
into
it,
both
Falguni
Mitra
and
Indra
Kishore
Mishra
communicated
certain
important
metrics
for
right
practice
through
embodied
metaphors
that
anchored
very
esoteric
performance
knowledge
about
Dhrupad
aesthetics.
This
acoustemic
memory
kicks
in
unexpectedly
when
practising
many
months
later,
in
an
apartment
in
Berkeley,
catalyzed
by
the
effort
of
singing
a
different
gaurhar
bani
song,
this
time
in
raga
Bhairav.
It
causes
my
musician
friend
and
me
to
listen
in,
feeding
back
to
render
sound
thick
and
tether
judgment
as
acoustemic
experience.
Strong
notions
of
tradition
and
the
strength
of
musical
judgment
are
tethered
by
such
interactive
complexes
of
thick
sound.
Sometimes
acoustic
memory,
body
memory
and
affective
memory
of
musical
relationships
intersect
to
stabilize
musical
knowledge.
Falguni
Mitra
is
possibly
the
only
living
musician
to
have
demonstrable
working
knowledge
of
all
four
banis
of
Dhrupad
with
repertoire
to
match.128
While
Mitra
has
many
songs
in
the
other
three
banis,
Nauhar
bani
songs
in
his
repertoire
are
relatively
few
in
number,
and
hence
represent
very
precious
musical
material.
One
of
the
very
good
examples
of
this
bani
is
a
song
in
raga
Mian
Malhar
attributed
to
Mia
Tansen,
the
legendary
musician
who
spent
his
last
decades
in
the
court
of
Mughal
Emperor
Akbar.
While
Falguni
Mitra’s
father
Shibkumar
Mitra
first
acquired
it
from
his
teacher
Bholanath
Pathak,
this
song
accrued
other
experiences
on
its
journey
through
the
Mitras’
musical
life
that
render
it
thick
in
performance.
Unlike
some
of
my
other
examples
though,
the
thickness
of
this
song
has
persisted
as
a
tiny
unresolved
musical
conflict
that
keeps
it
fresh
in
Falguni
Mitra’s
musical
memory.
Falguni
Mitra
remembers
the
slight
difference
of
opinion
his
father
had
over
this
song
with
Ustad
Dabir
Khan
who
also
used
to
sing
the
same
song.
The
musicians
used
to
sing
the
song
together,
but
apparently
Shib
Mitra
didn’t
entirely
come
to
terms
with
Dabir
Khan’s
version.
Shibkumar
Mitra
had
acquired
a
version
from
his
teacher
Pathak,
which
differed
somewhat
from
the
version
Dabir
Khan
sang
in
just
one
line
of
the
song.
Shibkumar
Mitra
valued
Dabir
Khan
Saheb’s
interpretation
very
highly
both
for
its
musicianship
and
for
being
polished
and
handed
down
by
generations
of
outstanding
musicians
in
one
of
the
most
important
lineages
of
Hindustani
music.
But
yet,
he
would
push
back
from
his
own
musical
standpoint,
sometimes
after
Khan
Saheb
had
left
for
the
day.
It
is
very
likely
that
Dabir
Khan
and
Shib
Mitra
were
the
only
two
musicians
singing
Nauhar
Bani
songs
by
that
time
in
the
20th
century,
so
this
was
extremely
esoteric
knowledge
being
aired
and
discussed.
128
Both Falguni Mitra and Indra Kishore Mishra sing gaurhar and khandar banis. Dhrupads in the other
two banis, dagur
and
nauhar
are
unique
to
the
Bettiah
gharana
lineage
of
the
Mishras
of
Benares,
the
lineage
to
which
Falguni
Mitra
belongs
116
Many
years
later
when
Falguni
Mitra
revisited
the
song
in
my
presence
to
churn
and
polish
it
for
private
recording,
he
kept
getting
stuck
at
the
sanchari
-‐
the
third
part
of
the
Dhrupad.
A
few
years
later,
this
happened
again.
Curious
now,
I
asked
him
why
he
was
troubled.
He
told
me
that
although
his
father
had
tweaked
the
song
a
particular
way,
he
himself
had
been
drawn
to
some
aspects
of
Dabir
Khan
Saheb’s
version.
The
difference
between
the
two
occurs
in
the
way
stresses
in
the
syllables
interact
with
the
melodic
movement
and
the
underlying
tala
stresses
in
one
line
of
the
two-‐line
sanchari.
But
since
this
interactivity
holds
the
kernel
of
nauhar
bani
aesthetics,
it
would
disrupt
Mitra’s
consciousness
as
embodied
discomfort.
Since
Mitra
had
sung
the
song
many
times
with
his
father,
and
has
the
notation
for
his
father’s
version,
he
starts
out
with
that
memory.
But
when
he
hits
the
troublesome
line,
since
aesthetic
sense
for
nauhar
bani
has
become
embodied
sense
for
Mitra,
it
surfaces
and
interrupts
his
flow.
Mitra
winces
when
he
gets
to
that
part
even
today
and
has
to
repeat
it
till
he
forgets
one
and
retrieves
the
other.
The
day
has
to
come
when
Mitra
puts
in
enough
work
on
that
one
line
to
get
it
aligned
with
his
own
personal
sense
of
how
the
line
should
flow,
pushing
the
debate
between
Dabir
Khan
Saheb
and
his
father
to
quiet
background
in
the
process.
But
until
then,
every
time
he
sings
this
song,
Falguni
Mitra
is
physically
catalysed
into
experiencing
the
song
as
thick
sound
where
these
histories
of
interaction
are
foregrounded,
forcing
him
to
exercise
his
musical
judgment
in
the
moment
all
over
again,
one
more
time.
The
nauhar
bani
song
which
causes
Falguni
Mitra
trouble
until
today
demonstrates
that
musicians
stabilize
songs
as
ontologies
through
repeated
practice.
Such
practice
intertwines
acoustic
and
non-‐acoustic
domains
which
intersect
in
the
body
and
the
voice.
Musical
judgment
about
an
esoteric
dimension
of
Dhrupad
aesthetics
in
this
case
was
tethered
in
an
embodied
memory
of
thick
sound
-‐
a
memory
of
sound
that
carries
the
marks
of
interactions
that
occurred
in
and
through
sound.
“An Amir Khan-‐like thought” – mental models and affective associations
Even intensely focused private practice triggers associations. Mitra related a
treasured memory one day while practicing for a concert. He had been singing
Komal Rishabh Asavari, a raga that Mitra has always emphasized that one has to
treat very carefully, avoiding vigorous or jerky movements that may destroy the
quality of yearning he felt best characterized its affect. Well into the slow tempo
alap, he had started to move around with variations of phrases, building out form.
Suddenly pausing, he commented
“This is an Amir Khan-‐like thought”.
He then went back to singing, but now he was repeatedly making the unexpected
leaps that build out form in ways that a linear development cannot find. When such
movements work well, they take a particular piece of raga alap beyond the usual
into the memorable.
117
The
Amir
Khan
like
thought
had
clearly
fed
back
as
thick
sound
to
inspire
his
musical
creativity
in
that
moment.
But
later
he
explained
to
me
that
this
is
not
a
one
off
occurrence.
He
had
consciously
emulated
the
Ustad
as
a
creative
model,
and
had
put
a
lot
of
practice
into
internalizing
the
penchant
for
the
unexpected
move
that
characterizes
Amir
Khan
Saheb’s
raga
development
approach.
While
Mitra
had
listened
to
the
Ustad
many,
many
times
in
private
residences
including
his
own,
as
well
as
chamber
concerts
and
public
concerts,
one
particular
incident
left
sound
marks
in
Mitra’s
mind
as
a
tangible
lesson
in
musical
creativity.
On
his
occasional
visits
to
Mumbai
Falguni
Mitra
would
go
to
see
Amir
Khan
Saheb
in
the
latter’s
Peddar
Road
residence.
Mitra
remembers
one
such
visit
especially
for
its
affective
and
musical
impact.
The
great
Ustad
was
alone
that
day,
and
he
was
practising
when
Mitra
arrived
at
his
house.
Usually,
Khan
Saheb
would
practise
only
in
front
of
his
own
students
or
very
close
musical
friends,
but
since
Mitra
was
a
protege
of
sorts,
instead
of
stopping
his
practice
he
let
the
young
musician
sit
with
him
while
he
continued
singing.
The
raga
that
evening
was
Purvi
-‐
a
raga
that
the
Ustad
did
not
sing
very
often
in
his
concerts.
Falguni
Mitra
remembers
this
incident
vividly
for
two
reasons.
First,
being
allowed
to
sit
in
while
the
Ustad
did
his
riyaz
(practice)
carries
the
sound
marks
of
a
cherished
and
privileged
position.
A
second
important
reason
keeps
this
memory
fresh
in
Mitra’s
mind.
That
day
Mitra
got
an
insider
understanding
of
how
a
master
musician
approaches
creative
work
in
a
raga
he
is
setting
out
to
discover
more
of
for
himself.
Mitra
still
recalls
the
kinds
of
things
the
Ustad
tried
out
in
raga
Poorvi
while
alone
with
his
music
–
movements
that
he
would
not
attempt
in
front
of
visitors
or
audiences,
even
in
a
close
baithak
(chamber)
setting.
Mitra
recalls
that
Amir
Khan
tried
many
phrases
in
his
typical
style
-‐
building
idea
after
idea.
But
the
ideas
were
not
built
by
staying
close
to
the
known
phrases
of
the
raga.
Rather,
Amir
Khan
would
try
repeatedly
for
the
unexpected.
Many
phrases
wouldn’t
click.
But
when
he
did
something
unexpected
that
seemed
to
click,
he
would
repeat
it
a
few
times,
check
it
out
for
size,
reject
it
if
it
didn’t
work,
adjust
it
to
make
it
right,
then
sing
it
a
few
more
times.
Amir
Khan
Saheb’s
music
set
both
an
affective
role
model
and
a
mental
musical
model
for
Mitra,
who
counts
this
as
one
of
the
most
intense
experiences
of
his
musical
life
as
a
growing
musician.
But
equally,
it
is
apparent
that
Mitra
was
able
to
hear
the
logic
of
Khan
Saheb’s
experiments
and
take
something
away
from
the
experience
because
of
the
immense
work
he
had
done
already
on
his
own
musicianship.
Had
it
been
someone
with
less
developed
musical
capacity,
they
may
have
neither
heard,
nor
managed
to
successfully
emulate
the
Ustad
at
work
by
taking
away
the
essence
of
a
music
lesson
into
their
private
music
rooms
after
a
single
opportune
meeting
in
sound.
118
That
day
when
he
sat
in
Kolkata
some
decades
later,
trying
out
all
kinds
of
movements
in
a
raga
such
as
Komal
Rishabh
Asavari
that
made
extra
demands
on
his
musicianship,
the
Ustad’s
inspiration
surfaced
in
his
ears
interrupting
consciousness
and
causing
him
to
speak,
self-‐reflection
that
fed
right
back
into
creativity
in
sound.
Conclusion: Thick sound, intelligibility and musical judgment
I
have
drawn
from
a
whole
range
of
examples
in
my
discussion
of
thick
sound
and
its
relationship
to
musical
judgment,
to
argue
that
strong
notions
of
tradition
and
fidelity
to
tradition
emerge
from
thick
sound
that
holds
histories
of
interactivity
and
potentialities
of
practice.
In
the
next
chapter
I
examine
specific
instances
of
creativity
in
action
to
demonstrate
the
phenomenology
of
thick
sound
in
performance.
Through
this
exercise,
I
will
demonstrate
that
the
exercise
of
musical
judgment
and
the
ethics
of
creativity
become
co-‐located
in
the
performance
of
Dhrupad
through
the
heterogeneous
interactions
that
render
sound
thick
in
performance.
119
Chapter
5
-‐
Sound
objects:
sensing
structure
and
feeling
form
in
Dhrupad
performance
In
chapters
three
and
four
I
focused
on
the
production
of
individual
musical
judgment
and
notions
of
fidelity
to
tradition
in
processes
of
emplacement
through
which
the
practice
of
Dhrupad
becomes
intelligible
as
tradition
in
the
interactivity
of
musical
life
in
places.
In
this
chapter
I
investigate
ontological
status
in
Indian
classical
music
as
a
product
of
interaction
between
musician
and
musical
object,
triangulated
by
thick
sound.
I
focus
on
musical
affordance
and
the
forms
of
knowledge
produced
in
repeated
engagement
with
musical
forms
in
Dhrupad
performance
to
show
that
musical
forms
in
Dhrupad
vocal
practice
have
affordance
for
the
experience
of
emotion,
memory
and
eventfulness.
Repeated
engagement
with
musical
forms
engenders
processes
of
emplacement
through
which
the
formal
musico-‐aesthetic
categories
of
an
organized
tradition
become
transformed
as
soma-‐
aesthetic
experience.
I
trace
both
ontological
weight
and
diversity
to
the
affordance
of
musical
forms
for
engendering
heterogeneity
in
performance
and
processes
of
emplacement.
I
analyze
thick
sound
through
its
correlative,
associative
and
generative
function
in
musical
decisions
and
musical
action
by
focusing
on
a
range
of
musical
actions
such
as
singing
alap
in
a
known
raga,
discovering
a
raga
not
sung
previously
by
singing
alap
and
composing,
churning
known
repertoire
to
consolidate
particular
aesthetic
experience,
and
setting
songs
from
notation
to
(recover)
discover
potential
for
particular
aesthetic
experience.
I
investigate
thick
sound
through
emergent
cognitive
maps
that
become
habitually
available
to
guide
performance
in
flow
and
that
are
transformed
in
flow
by
eventfulness
understood
as
feedback
in
action.
These
heterogeneous
musico-‐aesthetic
maps
are
cognized
in
repetitive
engagement
with
musical
materials
in
situated
practice.
Designed
to
interweave
structure
and
emotion,
feeling
and
form,
they
act
as
acoustemic
guides
in
the
flow
of
performance,
transforming
categorical
knowledge
as
soma-‐aesthetic
experience.
Thick
sound
triangulates
the
relationship
between
the
knower
and
the
known,
and
the
doer
and
the
done,
in
acts
of
sensing
and
making
sense.
Operating
between
musical
subject
and
musical
object
it
rightfully
belongs
in
the
domain
of
interpretation
and
action
Using
phenomenological
analysis
of
varied
musical
acts,
I
will
show
that
the
repetitive
churning
in
which
musicians
build
interpretive
sense
for
musical
forms
produces
acoustemic
structures
that
are
heterogeneous
in
constitution.
I
demonstrate
that
the
affordance
of
musical
forms
such
as
raga
and
composition
(pada)
in
Hindustani
music
engender
heterogeneity
through
processes
of
inter-‐
animation
in
which
acoustemic
cross-‐domain
mapping
actively
transforms
categorical
knowledge.
I
show
through
detailed
analysis
that
the
development
of
musico-‐aesthetic
forms
in
Dhrupad
performance
is
guided
by
such
structures
that
120
enumerate
thick
sound,
rather
than
pure
sound.
These
acoustemic
structures
arise
from
sensing
musical
forms
as
thick
sound
through
processes
of
emplacement
and
are
integral
to
ontological
status
in
Indian
classical
music.
A concert on the river Ganga
A perfect fieldwork moment that is generative of an entire analytical adventure
occurred on March 3, 2011. A moment of catalysis when a performer responds in
and through sound to a gathering of listeners in a small place feeds right back into
sound as creative exploration of musical form. This field moment demonstrates both
the affordance of musical forms in Indian classical music for engendering the
experience of Place and the transformation of musical forms by the generativity and
gathering potential of emplaced musical performance: as form is sensed, the senses
are placed. It makes audible the gamut of theoretical ideas brought together in the
analytical framework in Fig 2-‐2.
The concert took place on March 3, 2011 in a Ganesh temple on the banks of the
river Ganga (Ganges) in Varanasi, one of India’s oldest and most sacred cities. The
artist for the evening was Falguni Mitra who has come to Varanasi to sing in the
annual Dhrupad mela. That evening, Mitra chose to sing Jaijaiwanti as his main raga
after a brief ganesha vandana – a small song in praise of the resident deity and one
of his own compositions. Half an hour into the concert, he has completed his
exploration of the raga in slow tempo alap, and has begun the middle tempo and is
developing phrases around the important notes of the raga.129 Having finished with
phrases around the rishabh, he starts out with the first phrase that establishes the
gandhar as his next focus of attention (0:09).
He begins to speak in Hindi. He says: “raga ka ek prakriti hotha hai”, or “the raga has
an inner character” (0:12).130 He is experiencing the potentiality of the raga while
moving through it and wants to communicate this to his audience. He then says
“alap ka ek gati hotha hai” thrice (changing only the first word each time to
variously refer to music, song and improvisation), and makes a gesture with both
hands showing movement along a path (0:23). The word “gati” means direction and
also how one walks along the path, the movement; it is also used to indicate gait or
129
alap refers to the exploration of a raga’s melodic form and aesthetic character in performance See page
Chapter 2:12 for a discussion. I use the svara names here – see page xx for map to scale degrees. In terms
of scale degrees, shadaj is the tonic - the fundamental note for the definition of the raga, rishabh is the
second degree and gandhar the third degree, and pancham the fifth. Raga Jaijaiwanti uses two versions of
the gandhar in a signature movement characteristic of the raga – but the normal third is used most often in
building out the raga’s form in ascending and descending phrases.
130
prakriti literally translates to “nature”. In this case, the musician is referring to the raga’s intrinsic
character.
121
tempo
–
all
words
that
relate
to
movement.
He
elaborates:
“I
am
drawing
on
my
experience
(anubhav)
to
show
you
something
of
this.
Our
duty
as
musicians
is
to
show
you
this”
(0:30).
Falguni
Mitra’s
words
thus
far
suggest
that
the
raga
as
potential
is
already
cognitively
present
as
landscape.
It
has
a
plethora
of
potential
pathways
that
beckon
the
musician,
that
make
for
a
beautiful
experience
of
the
landscape.
The
musician
senses
the
landscape
through
the
act
of
singing,
which
is
movement
and
he
goes
to
his
anubhav
-‐
his
own
experience
of
that
landscape
over
a
musical
lifetime
-‐
to
find
inspiration
for
this
walk.
Thus
potentiality
is
present
in
both
body
and
raga,
in
the
raga
that
holds
the
explorations
of
countless
performances,
compositions,
books,
notations,
texts,
paintings
and
poems
as
well
as
the
disposition
that
has
experienced
the
raga
many
times
over,
that
holds
the
experience
of
walks
in
the
body
and
produces
the
landscape
anew
this
time
in
the
act
of
moving
through
it.
Rahaim
captures
the
topographical
features
of
raga
in
his
analysis
of
gesture
in
Khayal
vocal
performance
(Rahaim
2009,
Chapter
3).
But
whereas
Rahaim
focuses
exclusively
on
melodic
space
and
gestural
space
as
complementary
spaces
for
melodic
action,
I
attend
to
musical
forms
as
emplaced
sound,
and
singing
bodies
as
sensing
bodies.
Thus
the
body
that
holds
the
experience
of
walks
in
melody
land
walks
not
alone
but
actively
sensing
land
thickened
with
expressivity
and
acoustemic
memory.
In
perfect
complementarity,
the
raga
as
a
musical
form
has
affordance
for
variegated
topography,
gathering
potential,
and
expressivity
–
three
of
the
qualities
that
characterize
Place
in
Casey’s
theoretical
treatment.131
What
happened
next
in
the
performance
demonstrates
this
claim
very
well.
In
the
next
set
of
phrases,
Falguni
Mitra
begins
to
develop
phrases
around
the
gandhar,
one
of
the
nyasa
svara
of
the
raga
-‐
important
notes
around
which
the
raga
is
developed.
One
gloss
for
the
word
nyasa
is
“to
place”,
and
it
is
one
of
many
Place
metaphors
in
raga
grammar.
And
then
suddenly
something
sparks.
The
musician
is
building
feeling
and
form
by
developing
phrases
around
the
gandhar.
Wanting
to
share
his
experience,
he
first
signals
to
the
audience
that
he
has
a
new
focus
of
attention
–
the
gandhar.
He
says:
“Look,
I
have
come
to
the
note
gandhar.
I
have
roamed
here
and
there
and
having
done
that
I
have
arrived
now
in
Varanasi”
(1:03).
The
audience
perks
up.
He
launches
into
his
next
phrase
that
is
developed
around
the
gandhar.
When
he
lands
on
the
gandhar,
he
sings
the
note
as
“Varanasi”,
the
city
in
which
they
were
all
gathered
that
evening.
Music
becomes
Place
in
that
moment
(1:20).
While
it
is
an
exceptional
event
that
a
musician
points
to
place
in
raga
as
city,
the
interactivity
of
the
event
is
what
is
most
significant
to
this
discussion.
I
theorize
the
auditory
feedback
as
dynamism
and
131
See discussion of Place in Chapter 2. I will discuss these formal properties of raga in the next section.
122
generativity
that
results
from
the
gathering
potential
and
eventfulness
of
sensing
raga
as
Place,
but
this
eventfulness
requires
both
the
affordance
of
musical
form
and
the
preparedness
of
the
body
experiencing
form.
This
is
a
musician
who
is
acutely
sensitive
to
his
environment.
He
finds
his
audience
to
be
receptive
that
day.
Although
he
is
from
a
different
city,
Kolkata,
he
has
a
deep
connection
to
Varanasi.
Great
musicians
of
his
tradition
held
sway
in
Varanasi
hundred
years
ago
and
many
people
gathered
there
were
descendants
of
musicians
that
had
actively
participated
in
the
musical
culture
within
which
the
migrant
Bettiah
gharana
Dhrupad
tradition
of
the
Mishras
of
Benares
came
to
be
emplaced
in
early
20th
century
Benares.132
They
had
inherited
a
communal
memory
of
the
tradition’s
rich
musical
history.
In
that
moment
he
refers
to
the
note
on
which
his
vocal
phrase
ends
as
Varanasi,
and
his
audience
inhabits
the
shared
landscape
of
raga
through
the
Place
Varanasi,
the
city
that
is
the
holding
place
of
the
communal
memory
they
all
share.
For
its
part,
the
raga
has
affordance
for
this
experience.
A
recent
book
on
nyasa
in
Hindustani
music
(Dey,
2008)
discusses
different
interpretations
of
this
word
in
both
the
Sanskrit
theoretical
tradition
and
in
performance
practice
–
all
connected
with
topography
and
movement.
Thus,
nyasa
may
be
used
to
indicate
a
dwelling
place
or
to
indicate
the
act
of
leaving
a
place
after
a
brief
pause.
It
is
a
term
that
describes
modal
qualities
of
a
raga
in
terms
of
the
function
of
its
constituent
notes
and,
like
many
other
terms
in
Sanskrit
musicology,
very
clearly
shows
that
a
raga
was
understood
both
in
terms
of
its
phrases
and
it
notes,
and
the
functionality
of
notes
was
ascribed
in
terms
of
their
modal
function
in
phrase
space.133
Thus
nyasa
is
a
place
where
a
musician
would
dwell
for
a
while
before
leaving
for
another
such
dwelling
spot
–
it
is
a
locus
of
attention
for
phrases
and
has
to
be
distinguished
from
other
notes
that
terminate
phrases
or
start
phrases.
Dwelling
on
these
notes
build
out
both
form
and
feeling.
The
book
title
“Nyasa:
the
pleasant
pause
in
Hindustani
music”
very
nicely
captures
this
aesthetic
quality
of
nyasa.
Inhabiting
the
emotional
landscape
of
raga
with
his
voice
by
building
form
and
feeling
around
nyasa,
Falguni
Mitra
was
drawn
to
sensing
raga
as
Place
in
that
catalytic
moment
which
feeds
right
back
into
his
music.
He
comes
up
with
two
more
phrases
that
find
even
more
beautiful,
winding
routes
back
to
the
same
Place,
the
note
gandhar
that
has
become
Varanasi
for
those
five
minutes
of
the
performance
(1:42).
The
interaction
draws
on
musical
potential
and
memory
that
is
gathered
in
132
The historical emplacement of Dhrupad practices within acoustic communities in early 20th century
Benares at the height of Indian Cultural Nationalism will be discussed in forthcoming work, using the
analytical framework in Chapter 2, fig 2.2.
133
While colonial epistemologies of literacy and literalism may have caused Bhatkande to sideline these
aesthetic qualities in favor of classifying ragas by their scalar constituents, his contemporary Omkarnath
Thakur stuck to phrases as the kernel of raga character in his classification of ragas. See Powers (1992) for
a very balanced discussion of the debate between Bhatkande and Thakur. This issue and debate alone goes
to show that neither grammarians nor musicians followed Bhatkande wholesale.
123
the
landscape
of
raga
as
shared
experience,
and
it
feeds
directly
back
into
the
music
as
poesis,
shading
the
color
of
gandhar
picked
out
by
the
place
Varanasi
and
shading
Varanasi
with
the
sounds
of
the
note
gandhar.
Falguni
Mitra’s
experience
of
raga
as
Place
affects
his
ongoing
explorations
of
the
raga,
illustrating
the
dialogic
of
sensing
place
in
raga
and
placing
sense
while
singing
raga.
The
affordance
of
musical
forms
in
Dhrupad
performance
is
integral
to
this
experience
of
raga
as
Place.
Falguni
Mitra’s
experience
of
raga
that
day
resonates
with
Edward
Casey’s
characterization
that
movement
is
central
to
the
experience
of
place,
and
that
Places
gather
–
they
hold
memory,
emotion,
things,
and
associations.
Pedagogy
and
practice
build
a
disposition
that
is
cognitively
intertwined
with
the
emotional
potential
of
the
raga
as
Place.
The
affordance
of
musical
forms
for
gathering
leads
to
both
codified
and
improvised
forms
of
multi-‐modal
expression.
As
Casey
observes,
Place
is
not
as
much
a
container,
but
an
event
in
itself.
The
interactivity
of
musical
performance
leads
to
generative
events
that
feed
back
as
poesis
that
flows
from
sound
and
back
into
sound.
The
interactivity
and
generativity
engendered
by
cognitive
intertwining
is
most
characteristic
of
Place
as
explored
by
Casey,
Feld
and
Basso.
At
that
moment
when
the
note
gandhar
became
the
city
Varanasi,
the
musician
experienced
a
moment
of
poesis
emergent
from
and
feeding
back
into
thick
sound.
But
the
dialogic
sonic
response
to
place
did
not
stop
there.
In
the
next
few
phrases
that
followed
the
dwelling
on
the
gandhar
that
is
Varanasi,
the
indexicality
of
raga
with
Place
persists
and
feeds
the
music
directly
in
the
next
set
of
phrases
that
have
taken
a
new
tonal
center,
the
pancham
(the
5th).
A
few
minutes
into
the
region
of
the
pancham
Falguni
Mitra
lands
on
the
pancham
(1;48),
executes
a
few
winding
phrases
that
make
their
way
up
from
the
Sa
to
the
pancham
in
small
steps
and
speaks
again
(02:00).
This
time
he
refers
to
his
music
as
the
river
Ganges,
or
Ganga
and
says
“Ganga
ka
pravah
hai”
(the
Ganga
is
flowing,
and
equally,
the
music
is
flowing).
This
metaphor
too
gets
tossed
back
into
the
music,
and
he
“swims”
with
his
body
and
his
musical
phrases
in
the
river
that
the
raga
now
represents
to
him.
In
the
clip
one
can
see
and
experience
how
his
hands,
body
and
music
swim
in
the
river
of
sonic
experience.
The
moment
is
one
of
sheer
poesis,
created
by
the
potentiality
of
gathering
and
the
affective
interaction
of
bodies,
sounds,
and
things.
Coming
by
boat
on
the
river
Ganges
to
the
concert
held
in
a
temple
on
the
banks
of
the
sacred
river,
Ramuji
(the
event’s
patron),
Falguni
Mitra,
and
I
stood
by
the
riverbank
talking
quietly
for
a
few
minutes
before
the
concert
began.
Falguni
Mitra
told
me
later
that
it
meant
a
great
deal
to
him
to
sing
on
the
banks
of
the
Ganga.
The
few
days
preceding
the
concert
had
also
been
spent
on
the
Ganga,
and
by
the
Ganga,
in
the
temples
and
streets
of
Varanasi.
Thus
the
body
that
sat
down
to
sing
that
day
carried
these
recent
experiences
of
the
river
that
marks
place
in
Varanasi
intensely.
124
A
disposition
highly
sensitive
to
the
emotional
potential
of
the
raga,
the
potentiality
of
shared
communal
memory,
the
perceptual
experiences
of
the
recent
past,
and
the
sonic
terrain
of
the
raga
produced
and
experienced
through
singing
cause
the
musician
to
respond
to
this
collection
of
things,
sounds
and
people
in
the
act
of
making
music
and
the
response
feeds
directly
back
in
to
music
as
poesis.
This
phenomenal
moment
most
directly
points
to
the
affordance
of
musical
forms
in
Indian
music
for
certain
kinds
of
temporalizing
and
affective
experience
that
have
the
characteristics
of
places.
This
understanding
of
singing
raga
as
sensing
place
integrates
Rahaim’s
discussion
of
melodic
topographies,
but
goes
well
beyond
to
consider
some
very
particular
acoustemic
properties
of
singing
raga.
Specific
to
the
phenomenal
moment
analyzed
here
are
these:
• Potential,
built
through
past
dwelling,
phenomenal
experiences
leading
up
to
the
event
and
the
ingredients
in
this
scene
are
agentive
in
the
interaction.
• Embodied
experience
is
cognitively
distributed
and
temporally
heterogeneous:
cumulative
past,
near
past,
present
are
available
to
the
interaction.
• Feedback
between
the
already
experienced
raga
landscape
and
the
interactions
that
constitute
this
particular
instance
of
it
leads
to
a
non-‐
repeatable
experience
that
feeds
back
into
the
music
and
is
often
communicated
as
multi-‐modal
expression.
This
leads
me
back
to
my
definition
of
thick
sound
as
sound
that
leads
to
catalytic
moments
that
are
not
singular,
even
if
they
are
not
repeatable.
Falguni
Mitra
may
not
experience
the
shuddh
gandhar
in
raga
jaijaiwanti
as
the
city
of
Varanasi
ever
again,
but
moments
such
as
this
one
will
occur
time
and
time
again,
catalyzed
by
the
gathering
potential
of
raga
for
holding
and
expressing
emotion,
and
the
interactivity
and
eventfulness
of
performance
that
causes
a
background-‐to-‐foreground
shift
in
consciousness,
causing
musicians
to
listen
in
and
respond
in
and
through
sound.
But
the
unexpected
and
the
non-‐repeatable
do
not
constitute
thick
sound
all
by
themselves.
They
rely
on
habitual
practices,
tuned
sensoria
and
the
affordance
that
musico-‐aesthetic
forms
in
Indian
classical
music
have
for
interweaving
structure
and
affect
in
ways
that
make
heterogeneous
maps
available
in
the
flow
of
performance.
While
a
catalytic
moment
transforms
knowing
in
the
moment,
the
case
studies
that
follow
explore
how
the
interaction
between
musician
and
musical
object
in
Indian
classical
music
is
formally
and
habitually
reliant
on
heterogeneous
acoustemic
maps
that
are
produced
and
sustained
in
the
intense
interactive
work
of
churning
musical
materials
in
transmission,
practice
and
performance.
Sensing and crafting new places from old
Special occasions sometimes challenge musicians to make creative leaps. In the
creative response, many resources come in handy to the musician. Like cosmic
matter drawn to a coalescing star, the creative effort has a centripetal force that
125
catalyzes
things
into
action
pulling
things
into
becoming
active
fodder
to
the
creative
act.
The
dynamics
of
musical
discovery
through
action
and
interaction
became
available
to
inquiry
when
I
trotted
after
a
creative
effort
in
the
works,
alongside
Falguni
Mitra
as
he
found
his
way
around
a
raga
he
had
never
sung
before.
In
the
ethnographic
analysis
that
follows,
I
investigate
how
an
expert
Hindustani
musician
draws
upon
different
types
of
correlative
knowledge
in
the
process
of
developing
familiarity
with
a
raga
as
a
musical
object.
I
explore
how
Falguni
Mitra
draws
on
his
own
past
experience
to
sense
the
potentiality
of
an
unfamiliar
raga
as
thick
sound
through
the
conscious
integration
of
emotion
in
raga
alap
as
an
acoustemic
guide
for
sensing
structure
and
feeling
form.
I
suggest
that
the
processes
through
which
a
musician
develops
sense
for
raga
as
thick
sound
make
heterogeneous
pathways
available
for
musical
action
that
implicate
an
integral
role
for
emotion
in
cognizing
musical
forms
in
Hindustani
music.
I
investigate
the
relationship
between
structure
and
affect
in
Hindustani
music
performance
by
investigating
both
musical
affordance
and
musical
response
in
raga
alap.
I
show
that
raga
has
affordance
for
the
experience
of
emotion
and
investigate
how
a
musician
develops
response
to
musical
forms
as
thick
sound
through
repeated
engagement.
The
month
was
August,
the
year
2011.
Kolkata
was
still
in
the
throes
of
monsoon
rain
that
had
come
late
and
stayed
on
to
inspire
the
artists
and
their
audiences
in
the
ITC
Sangeet
Research
Academy’s
Megh
Malhar
music
festival.
The
Malhar
group
of
ragas
are
monsoon
ragas,
traditionally
associated
with
the
rainy
season.
Three
days
of
programming
had
been
planned
with
day
one
devoted
to
the
genre
of
Dhrupad,
and
the
subsequent
days
to
Khayal
and
instrumental
music
of
the
non-‐
Dhrupad
variety.
Audiences
attending
a
Malhar
festival
have
a
high
sense
of
anticipation
in
hearing
the
commonly
sung
major
ragas
of
the
Malhar
group
as
well
as
some
less
heard,
more
esoteric
Malhars.
The
artists
slotted
for
the
evening
of
Dhrupad
were
Uday
Bhawalkar,
Bahu’uddin
Dagar
and
Falguni
Mitra.
Preparation
for
the
concert
carried
additional
pressures
for
Mitra
and
these
pressures
surfaced
regularly
in
the
days
before
the
concert.
Despite
asking
for
the
first
slot,
Mitra
was
not
given
a
choice
by
the
organizers
but
scheduled
to
sing
last,
citing
his
status
as
a
senior
musician
on
home
ground.134
Mitra
had
to
be
prepared
for
the
first
two
artists
opting
to
sing
two
major
ragas
in
the
Malhar
group
–
Mia
ki
Malhar
and
Megh
-‐
his
own
preferred
choices
for
expansive
alap
at
the
beginning
of
a
recital.
Resigning
himself
to
singing
last,
he
soon
started
to
mull
over
which
main
raga
to
pick
for
the
elaborate
and
complete
(sampoorna)
alap
with
which
he
likes
to
begin
his
concerts.
134
When Indian musicians are described as “senior”, this could mark age, experience, or status and often all
of these.
126
With
these
inter-‐subjective
pressures
in
the
mix,
roiling
over
main
raga
choices
Mitra
considered
and
rejected
many
monsoon
ragas
on
different
grounds-‐-‐some
as
being
likely
choices
for
other
performers
over
the
three
day
festival,
others
as
being
too
limited
in
scope
for
a
methodical
note
by
note
development
of
a
raga’s
main
tonal
areas,
his
preferred
approach
to
raga
delineation
reflective
of
his
father’s
training
in
alap
from
Nassiruddin
Khan
Saheb,
patriarch
of
the
Dagar
tradition.
Then,
late
one
afternoon
after
working
on
setting
many
compositions
in
the
four
banis
in
raga
Mia
Malhar,
the
idea
of
singing
Jayant
Malhar
came
upon
him.
Discovering
raga
Jayant
Malhar
Jayant
Malhar
or
Jaijaiwanti
Malhar
is
a
jod
raga
-‐
a
raga
born
of
combining
two
other
ragas
-‐
in
this
case
two
major
ragas
Jaijaiwanti
and
Mia
ki
Malhar.
While
Jaijaiwanti
is
sung
all
year
around
as
an
evening
raga,
and
has
also
found
its
way
to
south
India
through
the
pre-‐eminent
early
19th
century
composer
Muthuswamy
Dikshitar,
Mia
Malhar
is
a
monsoon
raga,
meant
for
the
rainy
season
and
its
creation
is
attributed
to
the
legendary
16th
century
musician
Mia
Tansen.
It
has
not
been
adopted
in
the
South,
and
no
raga
in
the
southern
system
has
the
bold
aesthetics
of
the
characteristic
phrases
of
the
Malhar
group
of
ragas.
Notably,
Vinayak
Rao
Patwardhan
and
musicians
with
connections
to
the
Gwalior
gharana
have
sung
Jayant
Malhar
but
it
counts
amongst
the
less
widely
sung
Malhars.
The
significant
thing
to
note
is
that
for
Mitra,
it
was
not
a
handed-‐down
raga.
There
are
no
compositions
in
this
raga
in
any
of
the
Bettiah
lineages
and
he
himself
had
never
sung
this
raga
previously.
Mitra
is
by
no
means
the
first
Hindustani
musician
to
begin
singing
a
raga
that
is
not
handed
down
in
oral
tradition.
Nor
is
he
a
representative
of
an
anomalous
class
or
age
that
departs
from
oral
tradition
in
looking
outside
for
new
material.
The
history
of
Indian
classical
music
is
replete
with
creativity
that
regularly
and
routinely
creates
new
things
from
known
places.
However
this
creative
process
has
only
now
begun
to
be
studied
from
a
cognitive
and
anthropological
perspective.
Mitra’s
positionality
as
a
contemporary
musician
living
in
Kolkata
with
a
particular
history
of
listening
and
practice
makes
his
creative
process
fascinating
both
as
a
window
into
the
creative
processes
of
a
Hindustani
musician
and
as
a
particular
aesthetic
response
of
a
contemporary
musician
to
an
inter-‐subjective
musical
situation
in
which
he
found
himself.
Preparing
to
discover
the
raga
for
himself,
perhaps
because
of
his
deep
immersion
in
the
parent
ragas,
Mitra
had
both
an
advantage
and
a
challenge
to
overcome.
Although
a
raga
Mitra
had
never
sung
before,
Jayant
Malhar
was
already
nascent
in
his
aural
imagination
as
a
beckoning,
an
adumbration
of
color
and
emotion
he
could
discover
for
himself
by
taking
his
first
step
into
its
sonic
terrain.
Primed
by
his
experience
of
singing
the
parent
ragas,
he
already
had
recourse
to
musical
phrases
that
could
be
used
to
explore,
discover
and
develop
the
character
of
Jayant
Malhar
as
a
musico-‐aesthetic
form.
However,
he
had
to
develop
new
features
distinctly
in
127
the
jod
raga
territory
that
went
beyond
mere
additive
movement
between
its
parent
ragas.
When
singing
jod
ragas,
evoking
an
aesthetics
that
is
not
directly
mapped
to
its
constituent
parts
is
a
measure
of
high
musicianship
that
even
expert
musicians
do
not
routinely
meet.
In
this
process,
the
intertwining
of
aesthetics
and
affect
with
structure
and
form
becomes
indispensable
to
the
creative
act.
The
creative
musicians’
toolkit
Following
the
different
ways
in
which
Mitra
found
his
way
into
Jayant
Malhar
was
an
intensely
educative
phase
of
my
ethnography.
He
pulled
in
many
different
materials
while
embarking
on
the
exploration,
but
the
process
soon
condensed
into
one
of
repeated
engagement
with
the
developing
form
he
discovered
by
doing.
Having
decided
on
Jayant
Malhar,
Mitra
first
pulled
out
his
books
and
started
to
flip
through
them
to
see
who
had
dealt
with
this
raga.
He
found
Rag
Vigyan,
Vinayak
Rao
Patwardhan’s
compendium
of
ragas
and
compositions.
Produced
in
the
mold
of
other
compilations
such
as
the
Kramika
Pustaka
Malika,
Patwardhan
describes
the
characteristics
(raga
lakshanas)
of
each
raga,
gives
characteristic
phrases
in
notation,
and
then
presents
several
compositions
in
each
raga.135
Mitra
started
to
hum
the
phrases
from
the
book,
spending
about
3
minutes
on
them.
Then
he
flipped
through
the
sole
composition
–
another
2
minutes
–
occasionally
humming
a
phrase
here
and
there.
In
less
than
10
minutes
he
was
done
with
the
book.
He
told
me
to
look
on
the
internet
for
clips.
In
2011,
I
could
find
only
two
clips
of
Jayant
Malhar
on
Youtube:
one
was
from
a
semi-‐classical
song
by
an
artist
neither
of
us
had
heard
of,
and
the
second
was
a
short
clip
of
Vinayak
Rao
Patwardhan
himself
singing
a
Khayal.136
We
listened
to
the
short
clip
only
a
couple
of
times
as
it
was
very
scratchy
and
barely
audible.
Mitra
did
not
listen
very
intently
or
try
to
follow
the
phrases
carefully.
It
was
a
reality
check
to
see
if
the
sketch
of
the
raga
from
an
acknowledged
master
musician
had
something
else
to
offer,
or
if
it
fell
within
the
domain
of
what
Mitra
had
already
gleaned
from
the
book.
Since
the
said
master
was
the
author
of
the
book,
the
three-‐minute
clip
was
a
cameo
of
the
raga
lakshana
documented
by
the
author.
That
was
all
the
preparation
Mitra
did.
Setting
aside
the
books,
he
turned
his
electronic
tanpura
on.
With
his
musical
schemata
activated
by
spending
time
with
the
book,
and
armed
with
the
sketch
of
raga
lakshana
that
he
had
discovered
in
the
135
“Knowing” a raga was well recognized to be a correlative and cumulative exercise as illustrated by the
layout and organization of musical material in these collections. Taking Bhatkande’s cumulative works into
account, to dismiss him as reducing a raga to its scale is a mis-statement and gross injustice. No doubt he
stressed raga’s grammar but he clearly recognized the importance of phrases as the RNA of raga music.
Why else would he devote thousands of lines in his books to raga chalan (characteristic movements) and
compositions?
136
A search on youtube for Jayant Malhar yields many more clips today that the two short clips that were
available in 2011.
128
five
minutes
he
spent
with
Rag
Vigyan,
he
turned
to
his
musicianship
to
discover
Jayant
Malhar
for
himself,
a
raga
he
had
never
sung
before.
From
that
moment
on,
Mitra
proceeded
to
draw
on
both
his
considerable
musical
acumen
and
his
own
emotional
response
to
the
possibilities
of
the
raga
to
develop
it
as
a
musico-‐
aesthetic
form.
In
what
ensued,
affect
and
structure
interactively
and
alternately
guided
Mitra’s
creative
discovery
of
Jayant
Malhar’s
characteristic
aesthetics
and
form
in
the
process
of
singing
raga
alap.
The
nascent
form:
grids
of
svara,
maps
of
melody
and
eddies
of
emotion137
To
go
from
musical
phrase
to
raga,
Mitra
began
to
sing
phrases,
developing
the
phrases
and
emotional
color
of
first
Jaijaiwanti
and
then
Malhar.
Now
using
alap
syllables,
and
now
using
sargam,
he
began
to
develop
phrases
in
the
region
of
lower
pancham
to
middle
pancham.
Responding
to
the
building
feeling,
he
commented
to
me
“see,
Jaijaiwanti
is
stree,
Mia
Malhar
is
purusha;
the
sentiment
in
Jaijaiwanti
is
a
beautiful
female
sentiment;
alternate
this
with
the
boldness
of
Malhar
–
what
emerges
is
the
duality
of
male
and
female”.138
A
little
later
he
commented
again
“See
how
I
am
combining
the
movements.
It’s
not
Jaijaiwanti
for
five
minutes
and
then
Mia
Malhar
for
two
minutes.
The
transitions
have
to
be
made
to
create
the
duality
with
its
integral
character
and
keep
it
alive”.
What
Mitra
discovered
in
singing
was
that
Jayant
Malhar
could
be
given
a
very
strong
definitive
character
by
juxtaposing
the
contrasting
and
complementary
characters
of
Jaijaiwanti
and
Mia
Malhar
in
the
phrases
that
developed
the
raga
around
its
important
svara.
If
Jaijaiwanti
used
delicately
held
anusvaras
(touch
notes)
on
the
R
and
meend-‐laden
connected
arcs
to
generate
the
phrase
R
G
M
P,
Mia
Malhar
came
in
right
behind
with
a
boldly
held
R
and
a
bold
movement
to
P
in
the
characteristic
Malhar
phrase
g
M
R,
R
P.
The
notion
of
stree
and
purusha
that
actively
fed
Mitra’s
artistic
development
of
the
jod
raga
was
itself
an
emergent
response;
a
process
of
discovering
the
potentiality
of
nascent
form
based
on
embodied
emotional
response
to
already
traversed
paths.
A
hypothesis
for
musical
process
in
raga
alap
What
is
striking
about
Mitra’s
process,
not
just
in
this
raga
but
also
any
time
he
sings
alap,
is
how
he
switches
between
different
ways
of
connecting
to
raga.
These
switches
are
not
necessarily
premeditated,
but
they
are
not
entirely
unprecedented
either.
They
happen
in
the
flow,
but
they
take
him
some
particular
place
in
performance,
often
a
place
he
has
been
before.
137
In this sub-section I will be using sargam (solfege) notation. See page iii for a map to scale degrees and
svara names
138
stree (feminine) and purusha (masculine)
129
Most
significantly,
how
Mitra
found
his
way
into
the
raga
shows
that
both
the
stability
of
musical
schemata
and
remembered
emotional
states
as
well
as
the
dynamics
of
affect
and
flow
contribute
to
developing
the
musico-‐aesthetic
form
of
raga
in
performance.
Sensing
structure
and
structuring
sense
are
not
antithetic
to
each
other
but
part
of
the
same
transformative
musical
process.
How
to
move
and
find
one’s
way
in
a
raga
by
singing
a
few
phrases
is
knowledge
that
is
generalizable
beyond
specific
ragas
–
the
very
schematicity
of
raga
alap
makes
a
musician
capable
of
exploring
a
raga
that
she
has
never
sung
before.
But
what
makes
the
process
work
is
that
consciousness
of
the
raga’s
musical
form
develops
at
the
same
time
as
its
structure
is
explored,
and
this
building
sense
helps
build
out
the
raga’s
structure.
The
dynamics
of
sense
and
sensation
is
evident
in
the
background-‐to-‐foreground
moves
that
cause
musicians
in
flow
to
switch
from
structure
to
sensing
and
back
again
when
developing
melodic
forms
in
Indian
classical
music.
Musical
thinking
and
affective
response
What
is
also
striking
is
how
aware
Mitra
is
of
his
own
musical
cognition:
he
is
responding
to
his
own
musical
actions
and
looking
ahead
at
the
same
time.
Mitra
can
repeat
phrases
he
has
sung
verbatim,
and
is
often
able
to
look
ahead
and
see
the
next
phrase
coming,
and
appreciate
what
it
does
in
context
of
the
building
alap.
I
call
this
meta
or
supra-‐cognitive
awareness.
Is
this
perhaps
fully
memorized?
Widdess
in
his
work
has
observed
how
an
alap
performance
by
a
sarod
performer
matched
a
previous
recording
phrase
for
phrase.
Mitra’s
alap
may
have
some
degree
of
predictability
but
they
are
not
phrase
for
phrase
repeatable.
Yet,
a
detailed
analysis
of
alap
may
well
show
high
degree
of
overlap
between
one
performance
and
the
other.
What
then
is
created
new
in
singing
alap?
I
suggest
that
the
new
is
brought
in
as
listening
and
response.
It
is
discovering
new
places
from
known
places,
and
responding
anew
to
a
situated
musical
context
in
each
moment
of
performance.
This
response
may
come
as
flow,
as
striving
towards
a
remembered
emotional
goal
state,
as
an
affective
response,
and
as
meta-‐cognitive
awareness.
It
is
in
the
moment
of
response
that
musicians
open
up
to
catalytic
moments
in
performance.
The
eventfulness
of
oral
performance
emerges
in
the
productive
gap
between
the
automaticity
of
musical
performance
learnt
by
imitation
and
memorized
as
schemata
and
deliberate
cognitive
activity
in
performance.
Both
the
creation
of
schemata
and
the
catalysis
of
events
in
performance
are
fundamentally
interactive,
making
acts
of
deliberate
cognition
heterogeneous
and
eventful.
If
the
composer
wielding
a
writing
instrument
epitomizes
deliberate
cognitive
activity,
much
of
Indian
classical
music’s
performance
occurs
right
in
this
productive
gap.
In
the
midst
of
building
phrases
the
first
day
Falguni
Mitra
sang
Jayant
Malhar,
he
suddenly
commented,
“I
hadn’t
thought
of
that
phrase,
it
came
to
me
unexpectedly”.
This
appearance
of
an
unexpected
phrase
in-‐between
two
phrases
is
articulated
by
130
vocalist
T
M
Krishna
while
describing
the
creative
process
of
raga
alapana
(Krishna,
2013).
Krishna’s
description
matches
what
Mitra
paused
to
comment
on
almost
word
for
word.
While
singing
alap,
building
phrases
that
generally
seem
to
be
moving
in
some
particular
direction,
sometimes
Mitra
is
inspired
to
make
a
completely
unprecedented
movement.
After
one
such
movement
while
singing
alap
in
the
raga
Komal
Rishabh
Asavari
one
day
he
suddenly
commented,
“That
is
an
Amir
Khan-‐like
thought
–
the
thought
is
mine,
but
the
thought
process
is
like
Amir
Khan’s”.139
And
so
it
was.
Ustad
Amir
Khan
had
the
uncanny
ability
to
find
paths
that
are
out
of
the
expected;
the
raga
would
be
proceeding
along
some
predictable
aesthetic
path
when
suddenly
Amir
Khan
would
make
a
movement
that
would
open
up
a
different
pathway
for
exploration.
Mitra,
like
Amir
Khan
is
a
master
at
unexpected
movements
that
take
the
developing
musical
path
suddenly
into
some
other
terrain.
This
is
the
nauhar
ang
in
Mitra’s
alap,
one
with
unexpected
turns
and
twists
that
come
unprecedented
into
a
gentle
predictable
flow
to
hijack
and
re-‐craft
the
predictable
flow
of
the
oncoming
phrase
both
the
audience
and
the
musician
can
see
coming.
This
capability
we
find
again
in
a
musician
such
as
Sanjay
Subramanian,
a
Carnatic
musician
whose
cognition
is
also
very
well
developed.
Sanjay
is
always
aware
of
what
note
he
is
singing
and
far
from
chaining
his
creativity,
this
awareness
liberates
him
to
making
some
fantastic
moves
within
the
terrain
of
the
raga.
Congitive
redundancy–
svara
gyan,
jagah
gyan,
sharir
gyan,
rasa
gyan140
I
soon
came
to
realize
that
as
a
musician,
Mitra
is
highly
aware
of
his
own
musical
cognition;
that
is,
he
is
able
to
hear
himself
as
he
sings
and
respond
at
a
meta-‐level.
His
short-‐term
recall
is
excellent
and
he
can
reproduce
phrases
he
sings,
even
complex
ones,
in
either
sargam
(solfege)
or
using
the
nom
tom
syllables
of
Dhrupad
alap.
This
ability
leads
me
to
posit
that
musical
objects
have
a
high
degree
of
redundancy
in
Mitra’s
performance
practice
and
he
actively
moves
between
these
different
modes
in
order
to
develop
the
performance;
redundant
ways,
as
visualized
shape,
as
musical
phrase,
as
a
string
of
svara,
as
a
body
that
moves
in
its
entirety
with
hands,
arms,
neck,
head
and
torso,
and,
significantly,
as
affective
gesture.
The
modes
that
Mitra
switches
between
in
singing
raga
alap
are
both
acoustic
and
acoustemic.
The
plane
of
melodic
phrases,
the
visualization
of
musical
form,
the
anthropomorphism
of
raga
with
emotion
and
character,
gestural
and
kinesic
interactivity
with
melodic
materials,
meta
awareness
of
the
paths
traversed
in
139
cf. pp. 129-130
140
svara gyan (knowledge of svara), jagah gyan (knowledge of space), sharir gyan (body knowledge),
rasa gyan (affective knowledge) – I used the last two words to indicate the other kinds of knowledge
invoked in singing raga. This is not intended to be an exhaustive list but just to go beyond the svara – jagah
dichotomy.
131
relation
to
the
production
of
melodic
topography,
the
vocal
inhabiting
of
svara
by
dwelling,
coloring
and
shading
them
with
manipulation
of
vocal
dynamics,
vocal
timbre,
and
melodic
movement
for
the
build
up
of
emotion
and
transformation
of
affect
–
all
these
conceptual
maps
become
dynamically
available
to
the
musician
during
performance.
How
they
switch
from
background-‐to-‐foreground
is
the
domain
of
phenomenology.
Sensory,
perceptual,
embodied,
emotional,
and
meta-‐
cognitive
responses
trigger
the
background
to
foreground
moves
of
different
kinds
of
maps
in
flow.
One
of
the
most
significant
implications
of
the
cognitive
redundancy
I
point
to
above
is
in
the
domain
of
music
literacy
and
literalism.
When
a
musician
is
singing
raga
alap,
is
she
always
aware
of
the
svara?
Does
she
need
to
know
what
svara
she
is
singing
in
order
to
sing
a
raga
alap
correctly
from
a
formal,
aesthetic
and
affective
standpoint?
Does
knowing
the
svara
hamper
creativity
in
any
way?
Does
it
aid
creativity
in
any
way?
If
she
doesn’t
know
it
at
the
moment
of
performance
would
she
have
needed
to
know
it
anytime
earlier
in
order
to
generate
musical
improvisation
on
demand?
My
work
with
both
Indra
Kishore
Mishra
and
Falguni
Mitra
suggests
that
melodic
concepts
and
conceptualizations
of
melodic
materials
are
highly
redundant
processes
that
rely
on
correlativity,
associativity
and
generativity,
and
they
are
intensely
embodied
and
affective
in
their
functioning.
This
is
evident
in
the
analysis
of
raga
alap
presented
here
and
in
the
next
section.
In
subsequent
sections
I
will
show
this
to
be
the
case
in
my
analysis
of
pada
–
the
Dhrupad
composition
–
and
bani
–
the
characteristic
aesthetics
of
compositions
in
performance,
beginning
with
an
analysis
of
Indra
Kishore’s
gaurhar
bani
practice.
The
two
musicians
I
work
with
have
very
different
approaches
to
developing
basic
musicianship
and
that
has
greatly
aided
my
ability
to
examine
these
complex
issues.
These
are
not
only
analytical
questions
on
music,
they
are
relevant
to
debates
in
the
Humanities
on
assessments
of
musical
competence
and
the
relative
importance
of
enumerated
knowledge
versus
embodied
knowledge
in
knowing
music.
Most
recently,
Dard
Neuman
has
asserted
that
ragas
are
known
more
directly
by
developing
jagah
gyan
(knowledge
of
space)
than
svara
gyan
(knowledge
of
svara)
-‐
a
theme
picked
up
by
Rahaim,
who
explores
their
possible
relationship
through
the
duality
of
melodic
and
gestural
space
in
raga
alap,
the
central
idea
being
that
ragas
are
learnt
as
melodic
topographies
-‐
you
learn
a
raga
as
landscape
by
learning
to
move
in
it
(Dard
Neuman
2004;
Rahaim
2009).
Both
Neuman
and
Rahaim
are
pushing
back
against
the
Descartian
separation
of
body
from
mind
and
writing
against
the
20th
century
cultural
nationalists
who
reduced
ragas
to
a
string
of
notes,
the
argument
being
that
it
was
colonial
epistemologies
that
brought
literalism
to
Indian
music.
Rahaim
goes
so
far
as
to
say
that
music
analysts
for
the
last
two
thousand
years
have
focused
on
melody
as
a
sequence
of
notes,
rarely
paying
132
attention
to
what
even
amateur
musicians
instinctively
know
–
seeing
melody
as
motion
in
space.
(Rahaim
2009,
67-‐68).
I
take
a
very
different
perspective
here.
First,
The
number
of
position
and
movement
metaphors
in
musicological
texts
alone
belie
Rahaims
statement.
From
the
earliest
treatises,
words
such
as
sthayi,
sancari,
nyasa,
graha
that
characterize
melodic
forms
to
name
just
a
few
indicate
both
location
and
movement.
If
one
also
takes
into
account
descriptions
of
aesthetics,
movement
metaphors
are
rife.
Secondly,
even
while
colonial
epistemologies
definitely
elided
other
forms
of
knowledge
in
favor
of
enumerated
knowledge,
the
importance
of
svara
gyan
is
not
a
colonial
episteme.
Rather
I
contend
that
Indian
classical
music’s
uniqueness
as
a
musico-‐aesthetic
system
arises
from
integrating
multiple
ways
of
knowing
into
the
tapestry
of
musical
forms.
In
my
ethnographic
work
I
have
found
that
musicians
are
able
to
consult
multiple
maps
in
performance,
switching
from
auditory
awareness
of
individual
svara
in
phrases
to
treating
the
musical
phrase
as
a
primary
conceptual
unit
in
itself.
Having
the
musical
grid
in
place
frees
the
musician
to
develop
phrases
that
travel
widely
in
the
melodic
plane,
increasing
a
musician’s
capacity
to
imagine
new
phrases
and
places
that
fall
within
the
raga’s
form
and
formal
structure.
The
ability
to
know
which
svara
a
musical
phrase
contains
greatly
expands
the
ability
to
develop
and
vary
sequential
patterns
–
called
“thaya”
in
the
texts
-‐
that
are
generative
in
function.
There
are
multiple
kinds
of
processes
often
simultaneously
at
work
in
creating
sequential
patterns,
one
that
is
imitative
and
sequential,
a
second
that
is
variational,
and
a
third
related
variety
that
can
be
variational
and
cumulative,
growing
and
reducing
the
phrase
as
you
vary
it.
Musicians
develop
these
abilities
by
incessantly
practicing
the
notes
in
sequence.
Often
they
can
go
beyond
what
can
be
easily
articulated
as
notes
(sargam)
by
using
the
melodic
phrase
itself
as
a
generative
unit.
In
this
process,
the
body
comes
into
its
own
as
a
participant
in
the
act
of
creating
sound.
The
syllables
of
alap
themselves
aid
this
generativity
as
they
provide
articulated
rhythmic
patterns
as
fodder
for
generativity.
Since
these
patterns
involve
the
mouth
and
vocal
apparatus
in
different
ways,
the
tongue,
teeth,
lips,
and
other
parts
of
the
vocal
apparatus
become
engaged
in
the
generativity
of
patterns.
You
discover
it
because
you
have
articulated
it,
not
necessarily
because
you
thought
the
pattern
out
before
singing
it.
Your
lips
lead
your
mind.
The
question
that
begs
to
be
asked
is
what
is
thinking
–
the
lips
or
the
musical
mind?
Similarly,
when
generating
phrases,
shapes
and
contours,
gestural
interaction
becomes
a
parallel,
redundant
mode
for
engaging
with
melodic
material
(Rahaim,
2009).
Rahaim
states
that
both
gesture
and
melody
point
to
“something
else”
but
he
does
not
bring
the
something
else
into
his
analysis.
My
claim
is
that
“the
something
else”
is
the
communication
of
affect
through
structured
aesthetic
experience.
Hindustani
classical
music’s
aesthetic
forms
have
integrated
affect
and
structure
as
two
halves
of
the
process
of
discovering
and
remembering
musical
forms
as
aesthetic
133
experience.
Singing
raga
is
engaging
in
thick
sound
because
it
engenders
emotion
and
temporalization
-‐
processes
fundamental
to
the
tethering
of
musical
judgment
in
Hindustani
music.
Repeated
singing
triggers
musical
memory
and
prepares
habit
schema.
This
memory
is
not
simply
acoustic
memory
but
acoustemic
memory
-‐
memory
of
sound
thickened
by
affective
experience.
While
the
emotional,
perceptual
and
cognitive
processes
at
work
in
musical
performance
are
not
always
available
to
inquiry,
Mitra’s
habitual
musical
expressions,
facial
expressions,
gestures,
and
commentary
provide
a
window
into
the
processes
at
work.
Even
more
productive
are
the
interruptive
moments
catalyzed
by
the
interactivity
of
performance.
The
sheer
interactivity
of
the
moment
of
performance
sparks
many
different
kinds
of
associations
that
often
feed
right
back
into
performance.
What
these
processes
show
is
that
ragas
are
more
complex
than
being
spaces
for
melodic
action.
Musical
processes
are
multi-‐dimensional
and
highly
redundant;
they
are
often
cognized
spatially,
temporally,
somatically,
and
affectively
but
emergent
svara
and
the
grid
of
notes
are
also
important
as
markers
on
the
aural
landscape.
Emotion,
affect,
and
meta-‐cognitive
awareness
are
fundamental
to
developing
the
musico-‐aesthetic
form
of
a
raga
in
performance.
To
drive
this
point
home,
I
pose
the
following
rhetorical
question.
If
categorical
knowledge
of
raga
is
readily
available
to
expert
musicians
at
all
times,
why
can’t
they
just
use
this
to
sing?
The
technical
answer
is
probably
that
they
can.
As
my
ethnographic
interviews
and
participant
observation
demonstrates,
Falguni
Mitra’s
musical
cognition
and
basic
musicianship
are
highly
developed.
Yet,
Falguni
Mitra
regularly
and
routinely
listens
to
his
emotional
responses
as
a
primary
guide
while
interpreting
and
developing
musical
forms
such
as
raga
and
pada
in
performance.
This
is
supported
by
the
fact
that
Mitra
is
very
aware
of
the
emotional
demands
made
by
choosing
to
sing
particular
ragas.
Mitra
was
preparing
for
an
AIR
recording
one
morning.
Despite
recording
for
over
six
decades,
every
recording
necessitated
some
churning
over
what
to
sing,
and
some
days
of
“sitting
down”
to
open
the
voice
and
to
bring
the
raga
into
consciousness
by
dwelling
in
raga
in
and
with
the
voice.
Komal
Rishabh
Asavari
is
a
raga
that
requires
great
sensitivity
and
skill
from
a
musician.
The
shrutis
(microtonal
shades)
with
which
particular
svara
are
held
make
the
raga
and
they
are
not
easy
to
attain
in
performance.
Mitra
states
that
ragas
such
as
Puriya
and
Komal
Rishabh
Asavari
require
a
musician
to
be
in
a
particular
frame
of
mind,
one
conducive
to
being
led
by
the
sensibilities
evoked
in
singing
the
raga.
This
statement
most
clearly
illustrates
that
singing
raga
is
response,
even
while
it
is
production.
Mitra’s
voice
produces
the
notes
most
perfectly
when
he
is
able
to
develop
this
mood
as
he
sings.
The
morning
the
mood
goes
missing,
he
will
not
sing
Komal
Rishabh
Asavari.
In
other
ragas
he
finds
he
can
coast,
but
not
with
this
one.
134
Singing
Komal
Rishabh
Asavari
to
get
prepared
for
the
recording,
anthropomorphism
came
into
the
conversation.
After
singing
the
scale
and
opening
the
voice,
Mitra
started
to
sing
alap.
The
raga
Komal
Rishabh
Asavari
is
the
older
form
of
Asavari.
Mitra
told
me
that
to
sing
Asavari
is
to
find
the
right
mood,
otherwise
its
shrutis
won’t
set
correctly.
Alternately,
if
he
hits
the
note
right
the
mood
begins
to
get
set.
That
morning
he
got
into
the
mood
pretty
quickly,
and
it
triggered
him
into
verbalizing
some
of
his
feelings.
Catalyzed
by
the
emotion
that
pulled
his
alap
and
pushed
his
notes,
Mitra
remarked,
“Komal
Rishabh
Asavari
has
the
character
of
a
woman
who
is
yearning.
Not
a
young
woman’s
restless
pining
but
a
mature
one’s
quiet
yearning”.
I
asked
him
if
he
came
up
with
this
imagination
in
the
moment,
or
if
he
was
taught
to
think
of
Asavari
as
having
such
a
character.
He
said
that
no
one
told
him
what
Asavari
was
supposed
to
have
as
a
rasa
explicitly,
but
one
day
while
singing
this
image
came
to
him
and
since
then
it
comes
back
“now
and
then”
when
he
sings
and
helps
him
keep
the
mood
intact
while
improvising,
and
keeping
the
mood
intact
meant
the
shrutis
would
emerge
right.
For
Mitra,
the
raga’s
mood
and
the
raga’s
character
is
sacrosanct.
It
is
rare
to
find
him
singing
a
serious
Bhairav
one
day
and
a
quixotic
one
another.
Indra
Kishore
Mishra
on
the
other
hand
does
sometimes
develop
different
character
in
a
raga,
even
within
a
single
alap.
But
he
too
anthropomorphizes,
catalyzed
by
the
processes
of
singing.
Teaching
Khamaj
alap
one
day,
sketching
very
delicate
and
nuanced
movements
by
varying
a
key
phrase
of
Khamaj,
he
remarked
“khada
hokar
dekh
rahe
hain”;
“they
are
standing
and
looking”;
when
you
sing
Khamaj,
Kedar,
Malhar,
Bihag
they
are
all
standing
and
looking
at
you.
Don’t
look
back”.
Often
he
speaks
of
singing
raga
alap
as
having
a
blank
page
in
front
of
you
and
beginning
to
sketch
Ma
Sharada’s
face.
Her
picture
is
on
the
wall
and
often
Indra
Kishore’s
eyes
move
to
her
while
singing.
Closing
his
eyes,
he
produces
svara
through
moving
breath
in
the
circular
coiling
loops
of
gaurhar
bani
as
he
sings
raga
phrases
inspired
by
the
compositions
in
his
repertoire.
He
says
that
the
svara
emerges
cradled
by
Sarasvati
in
her
lap.
This
dual
metaphoric
process
of
sketching
the
mother
in
phrases
as
she
births
the
child-‐
the
emergent
note-‐
most
perfectly
captures
Indra
Kishore’s
father
and
teacher’s
epistemology
of
raga
as
melody
in
which
notes
emerge.
My
work
with
both
Falguni
Mitra
and
Indra
Kishore
establishes
that
tonal
landscapes
are
both
colored
and
calibrated
by
affect.
Both
temporal
and
melodic
grids
are
actively
produced
in
the
process
of
recreating
certain
remembered,
and
discovered
emotional
states.
At
the
same
time,
affect
and
emotion
are
guided
by
cognitive
memory
of
melodic
and
temporal
grids.
Pushed
by
structure
and
pulled
by
emotion,
the
act
of
pulling,
grasping
and
stretching
that
Rahaim
describes
are
impelled
by
responses
to
both
structure
and
affect,
both
of
which
work
to
advance
form.
Structure
and
emotion
are
warp
and
woof
of
aesthetic
forms.
How
a
musician
uses
one
or
the
other
to
develop
aesthetic
forms
is
a
function
of
competence,
expertise,
tradition
and
individual
choice.
Keeping
within
the
grids
of
intelligibility
135
delineated
by
these
aspects
of
practice
is
recognized
as
evidence
of
musicianship
though
there
is
room
for
some
artistic
license.
For
Mitra,
these
grids
are
very
important.
But
it
would
be
incorrect
to
come
to
the
conclusion
that
Mitra
has
only
developed
svar
gyan
through
mechanical
sargam
practice.
The
points
on
the
grid
are
not
frequencies
that
are
attained
by
mechanically
producing
the
voice;
they
are
acoustemic
goal
states
in
which
finding
the
right
sruti
is
contingent
on
an
affective
transformation.
The
shrutis
that
are
must
be
precise,
and
the
svara
must
be
found
on
the
grid
of
allowed
svara
for
the
raga,
but
emotion
is
very
much
implicated
in
maintaining
this
precision.
My
analysis
of
Indra
Kishore
Mishra’s
gaurhar
bani
practice
below
will
demonstrate
that
Indra
Kishore
attains
knowledge
of
svara
through
a
different
process
than
Falguni
Mitra
–
a
process
that
draws
on
the
correlated
domains
of
bani
and
pada
in
his
tradition
in
learning
how
to
birth
notes
in
movement.
Thus,
knowing
the
right
place
for
a
note
is
a
complex
process
that
implicates
enumerated
and
felt
knowledge.
It
is
accessed
directly
and
through
correlated
knowledge
about
songs,
bani,
raga
character,
anthropomorphism,
visual
and
embodied
imagery.
The
literal,
structural
and
mechanical
are
integrated
into
this
process
rather
than
disruptive
of
this
process.
Enunciating
phrases
in
sargam
is
not
resorting
to
mere
grammar
as
Rahaim
and
Neuman
seem
to
imply
–
rather
svara
are
cognitive
capsules
and
perceptual
pellets,
loaded
with
affect,
emotion
and
melodic
potentiality.141
When
uttered
they
play
multiple
roles;
they
signify
both
raga
and
notes.
Their
resonance
has
a
particular
sonic
contribution
to
make.
Ni
has
a
different
sound
and
is
produced
from
a
different
part
of
the
mouth
than
Pa.
Musicians
are
very
aware
of
this
and
use
it
consciously
when
singing,
much
as
they
exploit
the
resonant
qualities
of
syllables
in
text.
Mitra
focused
on
developing
svara
gyan
not
because
he
wanted
to
write
books,
teach
or
even
to
preserve
music.
It
was
a
way
to
deepen
his
own
hold
on
musical
materials
to
give
him
the
freedom
to
move
around
freely
without
straying,
and
discover
more
dimensions
of
depth,
color
and
form
in
the
process.
It
was
to
give
him
the
ability
to
produce
more
patterns
in
improvisation
-‐
the
ability
to
appreciate
the
musico-‐
aesthetic
characteristics
(lakshana)
of
ragas
in
the
songs
that
encased
them
and
revealed
them.
When
Indra
Kishore’s
father
insisted
that
he
memorize
the
svara
fully
for
each
Dhrupad,
and
also
learn
the
song
with
words,
he
was
urging
his
son
to
imprint
the
melodic
coordinates
as
an
acoustemic
grid
animated
by
redundant
maps,
not
simply
acoustic
memory
or
simply
affective
memory
or
simply
a
memory
for
text.
141
See Ramanathan (2004) for a very perceptive conceptual discussion of sargam and svara in Karnatic
music.
136
The
relationship
and
distinction
between
affect
and
emotion,
individual
aesthetic
experience
and
codified
aesthetics,
has
been
interrogated
and
theorized
extensively
in
recent
scholarship
in
the
Humanities.
Ranging
from
historical
studies
of
painting
in
18th
century
Italy
(Baxandall,
1988)
and
the
grooming
of
passions
in
actors
in
the
18th
century
(Roach,
1993)
to
the
distinctly
contemporary
work
of
Stewart
(2007)
and
Terada
(2001),
authors
have
debated
these
issues
in
relation
to
understanding
the
processes
through
which
categories
of
knowledge
that
structure
aesthetic
response
emerge.
Affect
has
been
understood
as
directly
related
to
the
response
of
the
senses,
feeling
before
thought,
whereas
emotion
is
understood
more
as
a
culturally
codified
or
structured
response
more
easily
available
to
linguistic
categorization.
Musico-‐aesthetic
forms
in
Indian
classical
music
operate
right
in
that
space
between
codified
emotion
and
affect.
Structure
and
aesthetics
are
enlivened
and
entangled
by
performance.
Pushed
by
structure
and
pulled
by
emotion,
incorporating
new
materials
brings
in
new
possibilities
and
places
to
go.
But
the
creation
is
neither
willfully
indiscriminate
nor
willy-‐nilly.
It
is
sensed
by
habit
and
habitus
and
led
by
emotion.
Tradition
and
emotion
function
as
sixth
sense
that
shows
the
way
from
the
known
to
the
unknown.
When
Falguni
Mitra
decided
to
find
his
way
in
a
raga
he
hadn’t
sung
before,
the
raga
revealed
itself
to
him
as
he
worked
to
develop
its
form.
Repeatedly
going
back
to
known
places
is
a
way
to
find
new
places
to
go.
This
process
of
discovering
by
doing
was
a
repeated
phenomenon
in
my
ethnographic
work
with
these
musicians
and
it
constitutes
the
kernel
of
a
musician’s
engagement
with
musical
forms.
The
potentiality
of
musical
forms
in
Indian
classical
music
is
both
situated
and
emergent.
It
carries
both
the
habitus
of
history
and
the
emergent
potentiality
of
hitherto
unvisited
places
that
come
to
be
in
acoustemic
acts
of
sensing
structure
and
feeling
form
while
dwelling
in
the
voice.
In
conclusion,
I
have
shown
here
that
ragas
are
much
more
than
spaces
for
melodic
motion;
ragas
are
eventful
anthropomorphic
places
mapped
by
correlative,
associative
and
generative
musical
knowledge
-‐
a
complex
musical
terrain
of
characteristic
musical
phrases,
emergent
notes,
shapes,
and
gestalts,
and
an
acoustemic
sensory
terrain
mapped
by
emotion,
affect,
temporality
and
memory.
The
creative
process
in
raga
alap
is
more
than
following
and
creating
melodic
shapes
and
trajectories
through
movement
and
kinesis
in
melodic
and
gestural
spaces.
The
sensing
of
melodic
form
in
Indian
classical
music
emerges
in
the
complex
interactions
of
pre-‐learnt
melodic
material,
generative
melodic
structure
and
guided
sensory
aesthetic
response
that
brings
with
it
both
the
guidance
of
disposition
and
the
possibility
of
new
creative
modes
of
discipline.
137
A
film
and
its
preview
In
this
section
I
investigate
how
thick
sound
functions
as
an
acoustemic
guide
for
Indra
Kishore
Mishra
in
the
creative
work
of
developing
a
musical
approach
to
raga
alap.
Dhrupad
compositions
are
cognitively
intertwined
with
Indra
Kishore’s
existential
universe
and
together
with
knowledge
of
Dhrupad
bani
they
function
as
sonic
source,
logic
and
compass.
This
becomes
sharply
evident
when
investigating
the
channels
through
which
Indra
Kishore
has
acquired
knowledge
of
raga
alap,
and
the
ethics
of
creativity
that
guides
his
approach
to
the
development
of
a
raga’s
form
and
feeling
in
the
performance
of
alap.
While
acknowledging
that
musicianship
is
a
cluster
of
competencies,
many
contemporary
Indian
classical
musicians
I
spoke
with,
both
north
and
south,
rate
a
musician’s
creativity
in
raga
development
as
the
highest
measure
of
musicianship.
For
instance,
Sangita
Kalanidhi
R
Vedavalli,
a
musician
steeped
in
the
performance
practice
and
repertoire
of
a
musical
lineage
directly
descendent
from
the
composer
saint
Tyagaraja,
uttered
what
has
now
become
a
cliché,“Karnatic
music
is
manodharma
sangita
(improvisational
music)”.
In
Hindustani
music,
historically
Dhrupad
is
a
pada-‐centric
genre
-‐
while
sharing
creative
space
with
raga
alap,
the
presentation
of
compositions
with
developmental
layakari
is
the
distinguishing
feature
of
the
genre.
In
contrast,
the
dominant
performance
genres
of
Khayal
and
instrumental
music
are
heavily
oriented
towards
developmental
processes,
rather
than
singing
pre-‐composed
forms
with
little
variability
in
performance.
However,
today
the
word
Dhrupad
has
become
equated
with
alap
-‐
the
development
of
musical
form
using
nom
tom
syllables
to
explore
raga,
although
this
is
not
the
genre’s
primary
historical
provenance.142
In
the
contemporary
Indian
classical
music
world
so
heavily
oriented
towards
improvisation
as
a
primary
mark
of
musicianship,
Indra
Kishore
declared
to
me
one
day
“alap
film
ka
trailer
hai;
it
shows
the
chaya
of
the
film”
(trans.
alap
is
the
film’s
preview
(trailer);
it
adumbrates
the
film
(lit.it
shows
the
shadow,
color,
or
tinge,
of
the
film)).
What
is
noteworthy
is
that
Indra
Kishore
views
composition
as
the
main
story
-‐
the
film.
Indra
Kishore’s
stance
on
compositional
form
gives
us
a
glimpse
of
other
aesthetic
possibilities
in
performance
practice
than
the
emphasis
on
elaborate
alap
that
has
become
the
norm
for
Hindustani
music.
An
aesthetic
experience
largely
based
on
song
after
song
after
song
is
no
longer
intelligible
to
modern
audiences
for
Hindustani
music
who
have
come
to
expect
long
alap
as
the
primary
identifier
of
a
Dhrupad
performance.
But
judging
from
what
we
know
about
contexts
for
Dhrupad
performance,
a
song-‐based
aesthetic
experience
would
have
been
historically
intelligible
to
acoustic
communities
for
Dhrupad
gathered
around
142
For more details on this see Ranganathan (2013)
138
court,
ritual,
devotional
and
community
events
-‐
the
places
for
music
of
the
Bettiah
gharana
in
Bettiah,
Benares
and
Kolkata
right
until
the
early
20th
century.143
Thus,
Indra
Kishore’s
view
of
compositional
form
as
the
universe
of
creative
possibilities
in
Dhrupad
has
its
base
not
only
in
his
hereditary
membership
in
a
long
line
of
composers,
but
also
in
grids
of
intelligibility
for
Dhrupad
performance
in
the
acoustic
communities
that
gathered
around
the
practice
of
Dhrupad
in
Bettiah
over
a
few
centuries.
Most
significantly,
it
is
tethered
in
the
hours
and
hours
of
vocal
engagement
with
Dhrupad
songs
in
the
intense
work
of
receiving
tradition
from
his
father
–
a
process
that
marked
sound
indelibly
with
links
to
family,
patron,
and
place,
making
sound
and
body
with
acoustemic
memory
of
trauma
and
triumph.
Historicizing
alap
as
a
trailer
The
notion
that
an
alap
could
function
as
the
trailer
of
a
film
is
not
an
entirely
new
one
though
it
has
shock
value
against
the
more
commonly
heard
adage
that
alap
is
the
true
test
of
musicianship.
An
alap
that
defines
the
kernel
of
a
raga
through
melodic
movement
has
been
around
since
at
least
the
12th
century,
and
is
termed
alapti.
Its
function
is
to
present
the
main
melodic
phrases
of
a
raga.
The
very
first
formal
definition
of
raga
clearly
delineates
svara,
alankara
and
movement
as
fundamental
to
the
characterization
of
raga.144
The
pedagogical
and
performance
function
of
alapti
is
to
present
the
basic
contours
of
a
raga’s
form
by
sketching
the
raga’s
main
phrases
to
traverse
the
tetrachords
in
which
a
raga
is
typically
defined,
from
the
middle
of
the
lower
octave
to
the
middle
of
the
higher
octave.
It
is
closer
to
pre-‐composed
material
than
improvised
material
yet
it
already
has
the
seed
of
schematicity
and
generativity
as
it
embodies
knowledge
about
movement.145
The
closest
analogue
to
alapti
in
contemporary
performance
practice
is
the
aochar
alap
in
classical
music
commonly
presented
before
a
musician
gets
to
the
main
item
of
performance
that
could
be
a
slow
tempo
Khayal
(vilambit
bandish)
or
compositions
in
a
particular
raga
that
he
does
not
choose
to
elaborate
upon
through
alap.
The
function
of
the
alapti
has
been
likened
to
the
function
of
the
doha
in
some
regional
traditions
of
folk
and
devotional
music.
The
doha
is
sung
to
introduce
the
143
The creative energy poured into composing Dhrupad at the Bettiah court, the large cumulative
repertoires of different lineages of the Bettiah gharana, the oral history of multiple sites for performing
Dhrupad in the gharana’s three locations, the program lists of the Kashi Sangit Samaj, the first person
accounts of baithaks (chamber concerts) by Amiyanath Sanyal (1953) which includes Shyamlalji’s critique
of the famous Allabande Khan for singing a very long alap-- all support my claim that pada singing
defined Dhrupad till the early 20th century in the Eastern regional courts, communities and urban centers.
144
See Satyanarayana (2004, 54 – 58) for a discussion of the first definition of the concept of raga in
Matanga’s Brihaddesi.
145
See Ramanathan (1999) for a discussion of raga in the context of musical forms in the Sangita
Ratnakara. Also see Widdess (2010) for a discussion of Dhrupad performance practice and its possible
continuities to the textual tradition.
139
theme
of
the
song
or
story
and
could
be
sung
in
a
raga
quite
different
than
the
rest
of
the
song
or
tale
but
its
function
is
to
adumbrate,
sketch,
and
arouse
interest
before
the
main
musical
task
of
improvising
the
song
or
story
is
begun.
The
alapti
likewise
perhaps
exists
to
color
the
consciousness
of
both
performers
and
listeners
with
the
chaya
(shades)
of
the
raga,
and
activate
musical
schemata
in
preparation
for
the
listening
experience
that
is
to
follow.
It
is
interesting
to
note
that
even
in
medieval
times
it
was
recognized
that
alapti
was
not
the
whole
story.
The
Sangita
Ratnakara
presents
alapti
as
the
precursor
of
the
four-‐tier
raga
alap,
the
very
structured
development
of
a
raga’s
primary
melodic
areas.146
Singing
alapti,
one
is
expected
to
get
a
sense
for
how
to
develop
the
form
of
a
raga
through
movement
using
phrases
as
the
primary
building
blocks.
To
develop
a
raga’s
form
further
in
alap,
however
generative
processes
of
some
kind
have
to
be
evoked.
These
are
described
in
texts
such
as
Chaturdandi
Prakashika
under
the
discussion
on
alap
and
thaya.
While
the
alap
section
lays
out
the
multi-‐
stage
process
for
alap
that
provides
schematicity,
in
perhaps
one
of
the
most
elaborate
cases
of
codifying
generative
procedures
the
thaya
section
codifies
a
few
score
ways
of
moving
around
in
the
local,
providing
generativity.
What
I
was
hearing
from
Indra
Kishore
is
that
aochar
alap
is
the
primary
melodic
guide
for
alap
in
the
Bettiah
gharana,
and
that
it
derived
its
musical
material
directly
from
song.
Outside
Indra
Kishore’s
direct
lineage
but
within
the
families
of
Mullicks
in
Bettiah,
the
sole
recording
I
have
from
the
1970s
of
Raj
Kishore
Mishra
singing
a
short
aochar
alap
in
raga
Mia
Malhar
indeed
seems
to
fit
this
description.
In
six
minutes
Raj
Kishore
repeats
the
same
set
of
eight
to
ten
phrases
two
or
three
times,
each
time
recombining
them
slightly
differently.
The
six
minutes
provides
a
textbook
sketch
of
an
aochar
alap
in
raga
Mia
Malhar
that
could
have
easily
been
memorized.147
Compared
to
the
Dhrupad
composition
that
followed,
the
alap
was
a
shadow,
a
sketch,
a
cameo
of
some
of
the
key
phrases
that
unequivocally
established
the
raga
as
Mia
Malhar.
The
song
on
the
other
hand
presented
a
complex
architecture
that
crystallized
some
beautiful
phrases
in
raga
Mia
Malhar
by
weaving
text
and
tone
together
in
the
framework
of
tala.
While
the
aochar
alap
came
through
as
a
very
well
presented
stereotype,
the
song
comes
across
as
a
work.
Indra
Kishore
told
me
that
he
did
not
learn
alap
in
too
many
ragas
from
his
father
nor
did
his
father
sing
alap
with
him
for
hours
on
end
in
the
imitative
transmission
process
of
singing
and
repeating.
Instead
his
father
pointed
to
the
rich
corpus
of
compositions
and
told
him
that
as
long
as
he
used
these
as
his
primary
melodic
146
See Widdess (1995) and Ramanathan (1999) for detailed discussion of raga alap from medieval Sanskrit
treatises.
147
Interestingly, it included a few movements that have fallen out of common practice alap in raga Mia
Malhar but familiar to me from a song in Falguni Mitra’s repertoire.
140
guides,
he
would
not
go
astray.
Indra
Kishore
does
not
recognize
or
feel
the
need
for
defining
the
step-‐by-‐step
development
of
a
raga’s
modal
features
using
phrases
that
have
a
standalone
meaning
outside
compositions.
Instead
he
uses
his
compositions
to
guide
both
form
and
content
in
alap.
A
well-‐structured
gaurhar
bani
Dhrupad
by
virtue
of
having
all
four
parts
can
supply
a
substantial
number
of
melodic
phrases
for
alap,
including
ones
that
demonstrate
how
to
use
multiple
variations
of
a
basic
phrase
around
the
main
notes
of
the
raga
to
develop
tonal
color.
But
it
requires
a
lot
of
musical
work
to
assimilate
these
phrases
in
a
way
that
they
become
available
to
raga
alap.
Secondly,
even
given
Indra
Kishore’s
sizeable
repertoire,
compositions
are
crystallized
cameos
of
ragas;
they
do
not
present
the
musician
with
a
vast
canvas
to
paint
a
raga’s
complex
contours
and
develop
its
form
(rupa)
in
a
leisurely
multi-‐part
alap
-‐
the
staple
experience
of
Dhrupad
on
the
modern
performance
stage.
The
puzzle
that
immediately
presents
itself
is
to
ask
how
Indra
Kishore
manages
to
sing
alap
for
20
minutes
or
more
as
modern
performance
practice
demands,
primarily
using
the
phrases
available
in
the
compositions.
Rather
than
go
outside
to
acquire
training
in
alap
or
follow
the
schematic
of
the
normative
alap
that
floods
the
modern
listening
experience,
Indra
Kishore
has
devised
his
own
strategies
to
confront
this
musical
challenge,
a
demand
of
a
changing
musical
ecosystem.
I
show
below
that
both
his
process
and
the
results
make
audible
the
ethical
dimensions
of
thick
sound
in
musical
actions.
“khayal
isme
dikhao”
(Show
your
creativity
here.)
In
observing
the
many
sessions
of
active
learning,
sitting
with
his
children
while
they
learnt,
and
listening
to
him
sing
alap
in
ragas
such
as
Bhairav,
Bhairavi,
Khamaj
and
Bhimpalasi,
I
came
to
appreciate
how
Indra
Kishore
had
transformed
material
available
in
song
to
phrases
available
for
alap.
Comparing
his
approach
with
commonly
heard
approaches
to
alap
within
and
outside
Dhrupad
lineages
inside
and
outside
Bettiah,
I
came
to
a
conclusion
very
different
than
Deepak
Raja,
who
saw
in
Indra
Kishore
the
microcosm
of
a
long
gone
ancient
alap.148
I
concluded
that
Indra
Kishore’s
alap
is
neither
an
archaic
fossil
rediscovered
nor
a
mechanical
remapping
of
song
but
a
creative
process
in
which
a
number
of
materials
have
been
pulled
in
and
put
through
the
mill
of
individual
practice
guided
sonically
and
ethically
by
his
inherited
wealth
-‐
the
khazana
of
gaurhar
and
khandar
bani
compositions.
Indra
Kishore’s
raga
alap
conforms
to
a
two-‐part
structure
–
a
slow
paced
elaboration
characterized
by
the
meends
of
gaurhar
bani
and
a
medium
and
fast
148
Raja (2004); CD liner notes.
141
tempo
elaboration
characterized
by
the
gamaks
of
khandar
bani.149
Within
these
two
parts,
the
alap
is
further
segmented.
But
the
important
thing
to
note
here
is
that
Indra
Kishore
has
pulled
in
knowledge
from
a
correlated
concept
in
the
domain
of
aesthetics
-‐
the
bani
-‐
to
structure
and
guide
his
creativity.
In
the
slow
alap,
Indra
Kishore
always
begins
with
a
phrase
from
his
“dictionary”
as
he
refers
to
his
repertoire.
He
then
builds
other
phrases
in,
guided
by
the
beautiful
melodic
ideas
present
in
his
stock
of
gaurhar
bani
compositions.
Since
he
acknowledges
only
two
banis
and
further
asserts,
“if
sung
at
all
it
will
be
sung
this
way”,
his
senses
are
taught
to
grasp
musical
potentiality
in
only
one
of
two
ways
–
meend-‐laden
gaurhar
or
gamak-‐laden
khandar.
Not
for
him
the
rhythmic
patterns
generated
by
use
of
syllables
in
medium
tempo
alap
that
derives
its
inspiration
from
the
instrumental
jod
section
of
alap,
or
the
short
connected
flourishes
and
jagged
movements
that
make
the
melodic
architecture
floral
and
jagged,
busy
and
eventful.
I
would
assert
that
compositions
are
the
primary
source
both
for
the
phrases
Indra
Kishore
uses
in
raga
alap
and
the
way
he
evokes
the
svara
in
phrases.
The
assertion
is
supported
by
a
few
different
observations.
He
himself
sometimes
cannot
recognize
and
will
not
accept
raga
alap
if
it
doesn’t
have
recognizable
movements
from
compositions.150
Notes
have
to
be
approached
in
a
particular
way
using
particular
phrases.
“If
it
is
sung
at
all
it
is
sung
like
this”.
Possibly
the
underlying
reason
for
this
is
that
the
coloring
of
svara
is
produced
by
how
phrases
are
taken
in
gaurhar
bani
style
and
these
carry
a
raga’s
emotional
signature.
Both
phrase
and
emotional
content
of
phrase
identify
raga;
triggering
raga
memory
relies
on
both
phrase
memory
and
emotional
memory.
This
conclusion
is
also
supported
by
my
arguments
about
the
active
role
of
emotion
in
developing
musical
form
in
Falguni
Mitra’s
alap.151
Reinforcement
also
comes
from
pedagogy.
When
I
played
Devil’s
advocate
and
suggested
to
Indra
Kishore
that
few
musicians
can
have
success
at
using
a
composition
as
fodder
for
raga
alap,
he
promptly
sang
a
phrase
with
nom
tom
syllables
in
raga
shuddh
dhaivat
Adana
and
looked
at
his
daughter,
raising
his
eyebrows.
Like
a
flash
12-‐year-‐old
Appi
sang
the
next
phrase
not
as
alap
but
from
the
song,
with
words.
She
knew
without
being
told
that
she
was
expected
to
149
Musicians in Bettiah define gaurhar bani as meend pradhan (dominant lakshana or aesthetic
characteristic is meend) and khandar bani as gamak pradhan (dominant characteristic is gamak) (eg. Raj
Kishore interview, Muzzafarpur, June 2007)
150
In a specific incident, one day Indra Kishore was outside the music room listening to my practice. He
came in after a few minutes and asked me what raga I was singing. I had begun singing Bhimpalasi alap
using phrases inspired by one of Kishori Amonkar’s recording of Bhimpalasi, which did not conform to the
phrases in his compositions. He refused to let me go on, but had me start over.
151
cf. pp. 131-139
142
complete
the
phrase
and
she
got
it
from
the
next
phrase
of
the
song
he
had
cued
in
his
wordless
alap
phrase.152
Being
a
mature
musician,
Indra
Kishore
is
able
to
move
from
singing
songs
to
developing
ragas
by
taking
a
song
apart
and
putting
it
back
together.
“khayal
isme
dikhao”
(lit.
trans.
Show
your
imagination
here)
he
said,
taking
a
dig
at
musicians
that
prize
the
Khayal
genre
for
its
improvisatory
and
creative
demands.
According
to
him,
it
is
a
true
test
of
musicianship
to
be
able
to
present
raga
alap
with
integrity
to
the
raga
form
(rupa)
given
by
the
set
of
compositions.
To
expand
the
development
of
form,
Indra
Kishore
develops
variations
of
the
basic
melodic
phrases
by
applying
gaurhar
bani
dynamics
to
approach
the
notes
in
different
ways.
In
this
he
actively
uses
visualization
to
imagine
the
contours
of
the
raga,
a
process
he
referred
to
as
“sketching
Sarasvati’s
face
in
loving
detail”.
“alap
is
a
plain
paper”
he
told
me,
“you
can
draw
whatever
you
want
so
long
as
you
keep
within
the
phrases
and
form
given
to
you
by
the
songs”.
Songs
are
not
just
sonic
source
and
logic
of
practice,
they
also
are
the
ethical
compass
for
poesis
in
alap.
The
idea
that
“alap
is
a
plain
paper”
seems
strangely
at
odds
with
Falguni
Mitra’s
statement
“When
I
sing
the
first
few
notes,
the
consciousness
of
the
raga
fills
my
mind”
but
in
essence
Indra
Kishore’s
paper
can
afford
to
be
blank
because
his
musico-‐aesthetic
guide
is
readily
available
to
guide
his
alap.
He
doesn’t
need
to
look
to
notes
to
build
consciousness
of
raga
through
activating
schemata
and
building
emotional
response.
The
reliance
on
song
and
the
acoustemic
connection
to
song
does
this
work
for
him.
Dwelling
in
his
voice
is
Indra
Kishore’s
connection
to
an
audible
past,
a
past
he
experienced
intensely
in
and
through
music
as
a
poverty-‐stricken
young
man
taught
by
a
starving
father
who
was
half-‐crazed
at
the
prospect
of
his
ancestral
heritage
attenuating
and
finally
dying
out
in
Bettiah’s
soundscapes.
Inflecting
the
n
P
g
M
P
g
in
Bhimpalasi
alap
sourced
by
the
phrases
of
the
gaurhar
bani
song
“paschim
pahad”,
the
vocalization
produces
intense
remembering
of
his
father
singing
the
phrase.
This
acoustemic
memory
is
entangled
in
the
musician’s
body
and
the
musical
phrase,
intersecting
in
the
singing
voice
that
produces
the
sound.
The
sensory
eventfulness
of
musical
performance
feeds
back
to
cause
intense
152
The question comes up whether students could progress beyond the stereotypical with this kind of
exercise and how young minds become prepared by song-oriented teaching to take on other musical tasks.
The efficacy of teaching alap based on compositions to young minds that have not yet developed the
capacity to abstract, reorganize and mull over musical materials raises many questions about learning
models in Hindustani music. Given his seven children at different stages of musical growth, Indra
Kishore’s family presents a wonderful opportunity to study how young acculturated learners from a musical
family negotiate between pre-composed taught material and improvised musical tasks. These questions are
outside the scope of my dissertation project.,
143
remembering,
a
phenomenal
move
from
background
to
foreground.
“Habit
memory
is
performative
remembering”
(Casey
2000,
181).
Performative
remembering
functions
as
both
musical
and
ethical
compass
when
Indra
Kishore
begins
with
the
plain
paper
that
is
his
alap.
Ethically
speaking,
Indra
Kishore’s
approach
to
alap
is
tethered
in
his
connection
to
family
and
place
in
sound.
“I
am
not
creating
anything
new.
I
am
continuing
the
work
of
my
ancestors”.
“My
thinking,
my
ancestors’
thinking
-‐
same”.
He
commented
once
“It’s
not
that
I
don’t
know
how
to
learn
to
sing
alap
for
1
hour
like
other
people.
I
won’t”.
The
rhetoric
has
a
performative
effect.
It
keeps
him
cognitively
primed
to
remember
in
and
through
sound.
But
the
problem
of
singing
at
least
a
20-‐minute
alap
persists.
Since
he
has
performed
for
over
20
years
on
the
national
Dhrupad
performance
circuit,
he
has
had
to
devise
ways
to
expand
beyond
what
life
as
a
hereditary
musician
in
Bettiah
of
the
1970s
prepared
him
for.
To
bridge
this
requirement,
Indra
Kishore
developed
a
schematic
template
for
his
alap.
This
schema
rarely
varies
from
raga
to
raga.
.
He
uses
techniques
dominant
in
each
bani
to
traverse
the
scale
and
explore
melodic
areas
to
build
out
musical
form.
In
the
slower
alap
that
aligns
with
gaurhar
bani,
he
invokes
many
techniques
of
traversing
the
main
notes
of
the
ragas
using
meend
of
different
speed
and
curvature.
He
uses
generic
movements
to
traverse
the
scale
by
building
a
largely
circular
ascent
with
nested
arcs
keeping
the
lower
tonic
fixed
and
a
sequence
of
nested
descending
arcs
keeping
the
upper
tonic
fixed,
followed
by
octave
leaping
loops
of
progressively
increasing
speed
and
dynamics.
He
then
transitions
to
gamak-‐laden
khandar
bani
alap
using
gamak
of
increasing
intensity
to
create
an
out
of
body
effect.
The
latter
tends
to
become
extreme
in
intensity
and
it
becomes
hard
to
distinguish
the
svara
even
though
he
insists
he
doesn’t
obscure
svaras.
Thus
Indra
Kishore’s
creativity
is
both
sonically
and
ethically
shaped
by
the
sounds
that
inhabit
his
body,
permeate
his
consciousness
and
define
his
sonic
world,
the
songs
and
aesthetics
of
gaurhar
and
khandar
bani.
Yet,
there
is
a
curious
disjuncture
between
the
sections
of
alap
that
are
profoundly
nuanced
developments
of
musical
form
based
on
compositions,
and
the
bi-‐sectional
templatized
alap
in
the
two
distinct
banis
that
follows
the
nuanced
phrases.
Did
listening
to
other
musicians
inspire
the
two
broad
divisions
in
his
alap
structure?
Indra
Kishore
never
told
me
this
but
the
thought
came
to
me
that
musicians
look
for
models
all
the
time.
If
one
is
not
available
inside
tradition,
they
look
outside,
and
when
they
find
something
they
put
it
through
the
mill
of
their
own
creativity
honed
on
traditional
material.
What
emerges
is
often
both
old
and
new,
and
sometimes
it
retains
the
fissures
that
sound
the
gap
between
old
and
new.
That
I
think
is
the
story
behind
Indra
Kishore
Mishra’s
alap.
144
Indra
Kishore
confirmed
some
of
my
conclusions
but
his
rationalization
of
his
creativity
presented
ethical
arguments
in
addition
to
musical
ones.
The
grids
of
intelligibility
within
which
alap
is
sustained
in
Indra
Kishore’s
practice
are
sourced
and
sustained
by
ancestral
voices
in
content,
method
and
rhetoric.
Ancestral
thought
captured
in
song
sources
both
the
substance
and
the
intelligibility
of
alap
as
creative
activity
and
poesis.
His
alap
is
tethered
by
the
musical
and
extra-‐musical
interactions
that
both
source
and
guide
it.
Yet,
even
in
this
tight
creative
space,
there
has
been
the
inter-‐subjective
pressure
to
experiment
and
change
and
this
musician,
like
others
before
and
after
him,
has
responded
to
this
creative
push
and
pull
by
finding
new
paths
from
known
places.
The
correlativity
of
musical
knowledge
allows
Indra
Kishore
to
extract
the
core
melodic
contours
of
a
raga
from
songs
in
his
repertoire
and
reconstitute
it
into
phrases
for
raga
alap.
His
affective
and
temporalizing
connections
to
song
teach
him
how
to
do
this
in
ways
that
heighten
the
dialogic
experience
of
sound
and
sentiment.
Taken
these
elements
together,
poesis
becomes
guided
ethical
action.
Dhrupad songs as musico-‐aesthetic forms: the aesthetic category of bani
In
the
next
two
sections
I
shift
my
attention
from
the
musico-‐aesthetic
form
of
raga
discovered
through
alap
to
the
musico-‐aesthetic
form
pada
and
the
aesthetic
category
of
bani.
The
term
bani
in
Dhrupad
is
a
stylistic
term
that
operates
as
an
aesthetic
category;
it
categorizes
Dhrupad
performance
in
terms
of
aesthetic
effect.
At
the
same
time,
it
has
genealogical
connections.
Families
of
musicians
in
the
past
usually
specialized
in
a
bani
and
they
labeled
themselves
by
their
characteristic
bani.
One
of
the
unique
features
of
the
Bettiah
gharana
is
that
they
sing
compositions
in
different
banis.
Their
Dhrupad
compositions
have
distinctive
musico-‐aesthetic
features
that
produce
discernible
and
categorizable
aesthetics
in
performance.
These
features
are
dependent
on
both
structure,
the
domain
of
composition
and
stylistic
interpretation,
the
domain
of
tradition.
In
the
following
sections,
I
investigate
the
many
ways
in
which
the
aesthetic
category
of
bani
is
stabilized
in
repetitive
engagement
with
cumulative
khazana
as
thick
sound
for
the
two
musicians
of
the
Bettiah
gharana
with
whom
I
studied.
I
first
investigate
the
forms
of
knowledge
that
stabilize
knowledge
of
gaurhar
bani
in
Indra
Kishore
Mishra’s
practice.153
In
the
next
section
I
look
at
how
Falguni
Mitra
153
The Bettiah Mullick families specialize in two banis, gaurhar and khandar. The Maharajas of Bettiah as
well as Indra Kishore’s ancestors have composed many Dhrupads in these two banis. In Indra Kishore’s
practice, all songs in the repertoire, even the ones by composers from the 15th and 16th centuries are
145
and
Indra
Kishore
Mishra
consult
many
different
conceptual
maps
in
developing
a
sense
for
songs
in
the
khandar
bani.
Through
this
analysis
I
show
that
the
potentiality
of
the
musical
object
and
the
sensitivity
of
the
musician
to
this
potentiality
are
both
produced
through
repeated
practice
that
builds
in
heterogeneity
and
interactivity
into
engagement
with
musical
forms.
It
is
important
to
note
here
that
there
is
a
significant
point
of
difference
between
Falguni
Mitra
and
Indra
Kishore
in
relation
to
bani.
Mitra
uses
many
kinds
of
correlated
knowledge
to
determine
bani,
whereas
for
Indra
Kishore,
bani
shapes
musical
cognition
more
centrally.
It
determines
how
he
approaches
the
song
in
its
entirety.154
But
what
is
extremely
significant
to
note
is
that
knowledge
of
any
one
musical
concept
–
raga,
pada
bani,
svara,
laya
–
does
not
exist
in
isolation
in
either
musician’s
case.
It
emerges
and
is
sustained
within
an
interactive
network
of
correlative
and
associative,
acoustic
and
non-‐acoustic
knowledge.
The
juxtaposition
of
the
two
musicians
is
very
productive
in
understanding
how
the
heterogeneity
and
interactivity
of
musical
performance
tethers
strong
notions
of
tradition
and
imbues
musical
forms
with
the
gravitation
pull
of
ontology
while
engendering
diverse
interpretations
in
response
to
the
particularity
of
processes
of
emplacement.
The
phenomenology
of
gaurhar
bani
songs
The
main
characteristic
lakshana
of
the
gaurhar
bani
is
meend
and
the
bani
is
summarized
succintly
as
being
“meend
pradhan”.
In
the
gaurhar
bani
song,
the
slow
tempo
and
circularity
of
musical
gestures
causes
the
musician
to
tune
in
to
the
breath
as
a
vital
link
between
voice
and
ear.
The
entire
upper
torso
is
engaged
in
the
production
of
sound
because
the
sound
is
managed
by
controlling
the
air
pressure
in
the
release
of
breath.
To
produce
the
slow
coiling
loops
and
controlled
glides
that
transform
melodic
space
in
the
gaurhar
bani
requires
the
slow
coiling
of
stomach
muscles
pulled
inwards
to
cause
the
breath
to
push
sound
out
in
a
series
of
loops.
The
sound
felt
as
indrawn
muscle,
circulating
breath
and
reverberation
in
the
chest
and
throat,
strikes
the
ear
and
causes
it
to
listen
in.
The
hearing
ear
feeds
back
to
interpreted in one or the other of these two banis. There are no songs that do not carry characteristic
aesthetics.
154
Since his father has written the bani down for each song in his collection, Indra Kishore does not need to
make decisions on this himself. Yet, it is not all interpretation alone. There is sensitivity to how structure
aids aesthetics. During the course of conversations, except for a few songs that he tuned himself, he told me
he used many factors to decide the bani of the song. Firstly, tala, next setting of words, whether there are
many ghana syllables (heavy consonants) or softer words with more vowels, whether stresses in text and
tala were out of alignment, whether strong beats in tala were masked, whether lyrics and setting of the song
are similar to other songs in his “dictionary” as he liked to call his collection of songs and so on.
146
control
the
sound
through
the
body,
breath
and
vocal
chords.155
In
this
circularity,
the
musician
begins
to
respond
to
the
embodied
experience
of
engaging
in
sound.
The
tuning
in
on
sound
causes
a
focusing
by
which
vocalization
becomes
audition
and
audition
causes
feedback.
Singing
gaurhar
bani
has
the
effect
of
engaging
the
senses
that
is
quite
comparable
to
the
way
raga
alap
pulls
in
the
attention
to
tonal
centers
at
slow
tempo
except
that
gaurhar
bani
brings
in
the
additional
dimension
of
circularity.
Coming
back
to
the
same
place
repeatedly
has
perceptible
effects
on
transforming
embodied
senses
of
space
and
time.
The
musicians
of
the
Bettiah
gharana
often
describe
the
aesthetics
of
gaurhar
bani
in
terms
of
perception
effects
related
to
a
stretching
of
tonal
space
and
a
slowing
down
of
time.
“It
gives
me
a
feeling
of
space”
is
a
phrase
that
Falguni
Mitra
uses
to
define
the
bani.
Octogenarian
Raj
Kishore
Mishra
of
Bettiah
used
a
variation
of
the
same
phrase.
The
two
musicians
have
never
met
each
other.
A
second
perception
is
one
of
hovering.
While
Mitra
verbalized
this
feeling,
Indra
Kishore
Mishra
mapped
this
perception
as
mimetic
action
and
metaphor.
A
third
perception
is
of
stretched
time.
This
showed
up
in
three
unrelated
occasions
as
entrainment
and
misunderstandings
with
the
pakhawaj
accompanist.156
A
fourth
perception
is
that
of
effort.
It
takes
a
great
deal
of
effort
to
sustain
the
aesthetics
of
the
bani
through
breath,
sound
and
vocal
dynamics
and
references
to
effort
came
up
many
times
in
different
ways.
All
these
perceptions
could
be
explained
in
terms
of
the
sparseness
of
discrete
events
in
this
bani
but
more
importantly,
the
aesthetics
of
the
bani
has
been
internalized
by
each
musician
using
very
different
strategies.
I
what
follows
I
discuss
gaurhar
bani
in
Indra
Kishore
Mishra’s
performance
practice.
“Glide like an eagle” – the aesthetics of gaurhar bani
Of the many kinds of knowledge that are produced in the dialogic of engaging with
his musical inheritance as thick sound (viz., in emplacement), the acoustemology
most closely entangled in Indra Kishore’s vocal chords, body and consciousness is
knowledge of songs in the gaurhar bani. The aesthetics of gaurhar bani Dhrupad is
stabilized by a number of interactive associations, many of them deeply
temporalizing and embodied. In the following, I show how knowledge of gaurhar
bani as an aesthetic category in Indra Kishore’s musical practice is stabilized
155
When
Indian
classical
musicians
cover
their
ear
while
holding
long
notes,
which
they
often
do,
some
version
of
this
process
of
listening
in
is
at
work,
though
the
vocalization
may
not
involve
the
use
of
breath
as
integrally
as
singing
gaurhar
bani
does.
156
The way in which the perception effects and the aesthetics are achieved in individual lineages differs
quite a bit and hence the sound of gaurhar bani in different lineages of the Bettiah gharana also differs.
But the commonality of aesthetics as a category of perception gives both coherence and internal
consistency to the concept of bani within each lineage as a typology of songs that can be categorized based
on their perceptual effects in performance. This perception is available to the listener as well as the
performer but in different ways implicated by the involvement of the body and breath in production and
response.
147
through
sonic,
kinesthetic
and
affective
maps
that
function
both
as
habit
schema
and
habitus
for
musical
performance,
building
heterogeneity
and
redundancy
in
ways
of
knowing
through
sound.
I
then
show
that
knowledge
of
gaurhar
bani
doesn’t
stand
on
its
own
-‐
rather,
it
determines
knowledge
about
other
things
fundamental
to
musicianship
such
as
the
correct
tempo
to
sing
a
song,
how
to
sing
a
raga,
how
to
approach
a
note
in
a
phrase,
even
what
a
svara
is.
I
show
how
these
heterogeneous
maps
become
catalyzed
in
the
interactivity
of
musical
performance,
causing
listening
in
that
transforms
consciousness
and
generates
acoustemic
feedback.
I
argue
that
the
ontological
status
of
songs
in
Indra
Kishore’s
practice
emerge
within
the
interactive
nexus
of
associative,
correlative
and
generative
relationships
within
which
knowledge
of
bani
as
an
aesthetic
category
is
stabilized
and
sustained
in
the
habitual
flow
and
catalytic
eventfulness
of
performance.
Characterizing
gaurhar
bani
songs
in
Indra
Kishore’s
practice
Dhrupad
compositions
in
gaurhar
bani
comprise
about
half
of
Indra
Kishore
Mishra’s
notated
repertoire,
representing
every
period
of
composing
history.
They
are
all
sung
in
slow
tempi
–
ranging
from
very
slow
to
medium
slow.
The
very
slow
tempo
songs
are
typically
sung
in
Chautal
of
12
beats.
Slow
songs
are
sung
in
Chautal,
Adi
tal
(16
beats)
and
Sadra
(10
beats).
Dhamars
(14
beats)
are
also
sung
at
medium-‐slow
tempo
with
gaurhar
bani
dynamics,
and
they
count
among
the
gaurhar
bani
songs
in
the
repertoire.
The
aesthetics
of
gaurhar
bani
is
correlated
with
perception
of
sparsity
of
musical
events,
stretching
of
space
and
slowing
down
of
time.
In
Indra
Kishore’s
tradition,
these
effects
are
achieved
through
particular
interpretive
strategies.
Some
very
stable
schemata
and
musical
choices
are
evident
in
the
way
Indra
Kishore
approaches
gaurhar
bani
songs
–
while
teaching,
interpreting
songs
from
notation,
or
testing
students’
musicianship
and
cognition
by
handing
them
notation
to
sing
from
-‐
and
they
are
acknowledged
in
both
musical
practice
and
rhetoric.
It
has
to
be
noted
that
Indra
Kishore
does
not
view
these
operational
schemata
as
techniques
or
musical
choices.
He
views
the
integrity
of
the
bani
as
determining
voice
and
everything
it
produces.
“Automatic”
is
a
favorite
word
of
his
to
describe
his
approach.
“If
it
is
sung
at
all
it
is
sung
this
way”
is
a
phrase
he
repeats
often.
He
does
not
recognize
other
ways
of
approaching
gaurhar
bani
songs.
If
they
fit
his
conception
they
are
authentic,
otherwise
not.
It
is
also
significant
that
none
of
these
musical
schemata
are
made
audible
by
the
skeletal
notation
system
employed
typically
in
Indian
classical
music
to
notate
songs.
They
belong
in
the
domain
of
oral
tradition
and
interpretive
sense.
Reading
the
notation
from
notebooks
in
Indra
Kishore’s
possession
cannot
lead
to
a
stable
interpretation
of
gaurhar
bani
unless
a
musician
already
has
the
cognitive
apparatus
to
read
the
notation
with
the
aesthetics
of
the
bani
as
a
synesthetic
guide.
I
provide
an
example
below
from
Indra
Kishore’s
repertoire.
148
EXAMPLE 1 gaurhar bani Dhrupad Composer: Maharaja Anand
raga: Bhairav; tala: Chau Kishore Singh of Bettiah
Tradition: Mullicks Ancestral
Teacher: Indra Kishore Mishra
STHĀYI
X - 0 - II - 0 - III - IV -
(7)6 (7)6 -5 5 4 5 (5 4)3 3 (3 5)4 (4 3)2 2 1
(N)d (N)d -P P M P (P M)G G (G P)M (M G)r r S
na mo - brah - ma! pa ra ma ee - sha
1 (2)7l 1 (2)3 4 (4)5 (5)4 (5)3 (3)4 (3)2 - 1
S (r)Ṇi S (r) G M (M)P (P)M (P)G (G)M (G)r - S
ni khi la vi - shva! ka - ri ne - -
(1)4 - 4 4 (5)4 (5)3 4 (7)6 6 61u 71u 1u
(S)M - M M (P)M (P)G M (N)d d dṠa NṠa Ṡa
man - ga la! ma ya! sa ka la ku sha la
7 6 7 1u 76 65 65 (7)6 (7)6 54 53 4-34
N d N Ṡ Nd dP dP (N)d (N)d PM PG M-GM
kā - rī -! bha va! tā - rī ni -- --
NO BREATH before returning to sthayi beginning (Namo
brahma)
(6 6 -5 5 4 5 Etc.)
(d d -P P M P Etc.)
(na mo - brah - ma! Etc.)
Key
= meend
X = sam
II etc = tali
0 = khali
! = brath
Each cycle shows scale degrees, Sargam and text
Figure
5
-‐1
The
first
musical
choice
is
tempo.
Indra
Kishore
sings
gaurhar
bani
songs
at
very
slow
and
slow
tempi.
But
he
can
also
produce
a
gaurhar
effect
at
medium
slow
tempo,
and
this
is
done
only
for
Dhamars
in
his
lineage.
The
second
musical
149
approach
is
in
the
application
of
certain
stylistic
schemata
that
are
vital
to
gaurhar
bani
interpretation
in
his
lineage.
The
use
of
loops,
falling
arcs,
glides
and
wedges
of
sound
as
the
primary
way
to
approach
and
attain
notes
in
a
phrase
are
examples
of
important
schemata.
This
has
the
effect
of
transforming
the
basic
structure
of
the
composition
in
aesthetic
response.157
Even
when
the
structure
of
the
song
is
highly
syllabic
with
a
ratio
of
one
syllable
per
note
per
beat
(one
akshara
per
svara
per
matra)
of
tala,
or
when
the
song
is
set
such
that
consonants
align
with
strong
beats,
if
space
is
created
by
slowing
the
tempo
and
using
geometries
that
increase
curvature
and
tonal
area,
the
effect
of
gaurhar
bani
is
still
achieved.158
However,
a
musician
with
the
cognitive
disposition
to
respond
to
the
musical
affordance
of
compositional
structure
will
sense
potentiality
for
gaurhar
bani
in
other
more
subtle
ways.
For
instance,
ascending
phrases
with
sequential
notes
will
be
approached
with
a
series
of
loops
that
often
alternate
upward
and
downward
looping
–
this
has
the
effect
of
increasing
tonal
space
through
small
clusters
of
loops
rather
than
one
long
glide
or
slide.
Downward
descent
with
sequential
notes
will
be
approached
with
a
much
longer
curvilinear
descent
that
stretches
tonal
space.
Notes
that
are
further
apart
may
be
taken
with
long
slow
glides
or
shorter
faster
glides,
depending
on
the
words,
setting
of
the
underlying
tala
and
the
general
knitting
together
of
the
aesthetics
of
the
song.
Thus,
while
schemata
undoubtedly
exist,
the
way
these
come
together
to
create
a
song
as
a
perfect
aesthetic
form
requires
repeated
polishing
in
which
an
individual
musician
senses
the
potentiality
of
musical
form
and
transforms
it
into
a
stable
aesthetic
structure
that
holds
a
lot
of
musical
work.
I
included
just
one
example
of
a
gaurhar
bani
song
from
Indra
Kishore’s
corpus
above
to
show
that
it
looks
like
any
other
song
if
one
just
looks
at
the
skeletal
notation.
It
is
only
when
one
begins
to
analyze
the
nested
looping
structures,
and
the
way
notes
are
attained
through
rounding,
that
the
picture
of
the
song
as
an
aesthetic
form
emerges.
Thick
sound
in
gaurhar
bani
performance
My
brief
sketch
above
of
gaurhar
bani’s
primary
features
in
Indra
Kishore’s
practice
cuts
through
aesthetic
interpretation
that
has
been
stabilized
as
performance
157
By basic structure of the composition I mean the setting of words to melody and tala that manipulates
tonal space and rhythmicity through interaction of syllable, svara and tala structure.
158
It is important to emphasize that bani as an aesthetic cannot be reduced to ornamentation and stylistic
figures. Just a liberal splattering or meend or gamak doesn’t add up to gaurhar and khandar bani. In a
reductive stylistic analysis of the song I present later in this section, it can be argued that the meend is the
primary ornamentation used to create the characteristic aesthetic of the gaurhar bani but the arrangement,
setting and dynamics with which meend are used are integral to creating the effect. Rather bani is a large-
scale effect that relies on spatio-temporal perception effects and gestalt effects. A detailed analysis of all
four banis will be published separately, based on work done in the context of this dissertation with the
Dhrupad lineages of the Bettiah gharana.
150
knowledge
through
decades
if
not
centuries
of
musicianship.159
While
it
may
not
be
possible
to
make
claims
about
historical
performance
practice
before
the
early
20th
century,
the
stability
of
the
gaurhar
bani
aesthetic
in
Indra
Kishore’s
performance
practice
points
both
to
the
cumulative
work
of
his
forefathers
and
to
his
own
individual
effort
in
developing
soma-‐aesthetic
sense
for
gaurhar
bani
in
performance.
Hundreds
of
hours
of
polishing
individual
songs
in
different
ragas
must
have
enabled
Indra
Kishore’s
forefathers
to
arrive
at
a
conscious
design
that
is
available
to
cognition
as
an
automatic
response
to
structure.
It
is
through
the
hard
work
of
repeated
engagement
with
musical
forms
in
practice
that
this
potentiality
becomes
available
as
a
response
in
individual
musicianship
-‐
work
that
brings
with
it
all
the
interactivity
of
situated
musical
practice.
Stabilizing
these
musical
schemata
and
building
interpretive
sense
is
hence
a
key
emphasis
when
developing
musical
sense
in
transmission
and
practice.
I
show
below
that
the
intense
work
done
to
stabilize,
communicate
and
sustain
these
musical
schemata
prepares
the
cognition
to
engage
with
musical
forms
as
thick
sound,
not
pure
sound.
I
trace
ontological
status
and
strength
of
fidelity
to
tradition
to
the
histories
of
interactivity
that
make
musical
forms
available
to
cognition
as
thick
sound.
I
show
that
these
schemata
are
dialogically
stabilized
by
many
different
kinds
of
interactions.160
The
stability
and
coherence
of
the
aesthetics
of
gaurhar
bani
as
performance
knowledge
emerges
from
a
strong
network
of
interactions,
some
more
general
to
musical
life
and
some
very
specifically
intertwined
with
this
aesthetic
category
that
stabilize
the
schemata
in
transmission
and
performance.
I
stress
once
again
that
bare
notation
is
all
that
is
used
in
practice
to
notate
songs.
However,
if
one
notates
the
meends
and
their
dynamics
with
particular
attention
to
the
starting
points
of
each
meend
in
relation
to
the
ending
point
of
the
previous
one,
a
very
different
picture
of
the
song
emerges.
If
one
pays
attention
to
the
composer,
the
import
of
the
song
changes
further
as
thick
sound
and
one
can
then
begin
to
imagine
what
else
may
constitute
performance
knowledge
of
this
song
for
Indra
Kishore.
159
In future work I will address the historical sources on performance practice of the Bettiah gharana in the
early 20th century and relate them to contemporary performance. I only mention here that Indra Kishore’s
gaurhar bani practice resonates with a brief description of Kale Khan Saheb’s gaurhar Bani practice by
Bharat Vyas (Vyas, 1980). Kale Khan lived in Bettiah from the late 19th to the mid 20th century; he was a
hereditary musician from the families of the Ustads of Kalpi who settled in Bettiah in the early 19th century.
160
It is useful here to point to Gjerdingen’s historical analysis of stylistic schemata that defined the
Classical style at a particular historical moment in Vienna (Gjerdingen, 1988). While Gjerdingen relies on
very different sources than I do, I am definitely inspired to find synergy in his work. Where he is able to
refer to style manuals and documentary evidence from the archive, I use the concepts of thick sound,
acoustemic anchors, acoustic communities and interactivity to think about how stylistic schematas may be
stabilized in musical life.
151
The
embodied,
sensory,
associative
and
cognitive
maps
available
to
Indra
Kishore
in
the
performance
of
gaurhar
bani
are
distributed
in
bodies,
pieces
of
paper,
sticks,
stones,
graves,
metaphor,
breath,
stomach
muscles,
vocal
chords,
temporality
including
trauma
memory,
emotion,
and
consciousness.
While
some
of
these
maps
are
more
generally
dialogic
to
musical
life,
some
particularly
define
gaurhar
bani
as
an
aesthetic
category,
tether
musical
judgment
about
gaurhar
bani
songs
and
are
catalyzed
by
gaurhar
bani
performance.
I
discussed
acoustemic
anchors
for
thick
sound
in
relation
to
musical
judgment
in
Chapter
3.
Here
I
focus
on
the
schemata
that
specifically
stabilize
the
gaurhar
bani
aesthetic
in
Indra
Kishore’s
practice.
These
acoustemic
maps
produce
both
the
aesthetics
of
gaurhar
bani
as
well
as
the
ethics
that
keeps
it
stable
as
an
aesthetic
concept
in
Indra
Kishore’s
practice.
Glide
like
an
eagle,
don’t
flap
your
wings
like
a
crow
While
Falguni
Mitra
and
Raj
Kishore
Mishra
described
in
words
the
feeling
of
hovering
and
suspension
created
by
gaurhar
bani
vocal
gestures,
Indra
Kishore
Mishra
sketched
the
effect
in
sound,
movement
and
words
during
a
recording
session
in
August
2009.
As
he
hovered
in
sound,
he
spread
his
hands
out
like
a
hovering
bird,
and
said
“You
don’t
flap
your
wings
and
fly
around
like
a
crow
when
you
sing
gaurhar
bani,
you
glide
like
an
eagle”.
Crucially,
the
communication
that
was
triggered
in
the
moment
of
singing
is
the
communication
of
a
feeling,
of
being
in,
inhabiting
and
transforming
space.
The
voice
is
taught
to
move
through
the
embodied
experience
of
movement;
gesture
and
simile
help
the
voice
to
configure
melodic
space
in
particular
ways
through
movement.
Hover
like
an
eagle,
glide,
don’t
flap
your
wings;
these
instructions
often
come
to
me
when
I
practice,
checking
the
incipient
wobble
in
my
voice
and
making
me
control
the
slow
release
of
breath
to
produce
that
perfect
glide,
the
signature
falling
arc
of
gaurhar
bani
songs
in
Indra
Kishore’s
gayaki.
The
lesson
about
correct
execution
could
also
be
externalized.
Indra
Kishore’s
father
also
used
an
aeroplane
analogy
–
that
of
a
plane
landing
smoothly
and
taking
off
smoothly,
not
a
helicopter
with
its
whirring
blades
and
wobble.
But
here
too,
the
idea
that
a
body
moving
through
space
configures
it
in
particular
ways
is
used
to
teach
the
voice
how
to
produce
a
melodic
gesture
(Rahaim,
2009).
“In
my
end
is
my
beginning”
This
philosophical
statement
perhaps
most
succinctly
captures
the
temporality
of
gaurhar
bani
songs.
The
statement
is
also
a
perfect
mnemonic
for
the
conception
of
movement
in
gaurhar
bani
Dhrupad
that
Mahant
Mishra
dinned
into
his
son
Indra
Kishore
Mishra
’s
young
musical
brain
in
Bettiah
in
the
1960s.
A
philosophy
that
taught
a
musical
lesson,
it
helped
Indra
Kishore
develop
an
intuition
and
habitual
sense
for
negotiating
the
nested
levels
of
cyclicity
in
a
gaurhar
bani
song,
the
loop-‐
within-‐the-‐loop-‐within-‐the-‐loop,
a
perfect
example
of
a
schema
stabilized
by
metaphor.
Not
for
him
the
staccato
of
breaking
between
notes
or
showing
each
beat
of
the
metric
cycle,
or
even
the
breaks
between
phrases
that
are
more
typical
of
a
152
song-‐like
vocal
delivery
–
rather,
every
phrase
will
consciously
begin
where
the
previous
one
left
off,
slowing
down
the
pulse
rate
and
slowing
breathing
down
in
the
conscious
attention
to
connected
breath
and
vocalization.
The
vital
connection:
banis
and
breath
The
aesthetics
of
both
gaurhar
and
khandar
banis
in
Indra
Kishore’s
tradition
depends
vitally
on
breath
for
technique.
Many
of
the
embodied
metaphors
that
anchor
habitual
cognition
capture
the
rhythmicity
and
temporality
of
this
connection.
A
gaurhar
bani
song
can
have
different
kinds
and
levels
of
circularity
and
dynamics
and
in
Indra
Kishore’s
practice
almost
all
of
this
is
managed
by
managing
the
breath.
Indra
Kishore’s
father
would
require
him
to
sing
a
whole
cycle
of
10,
12
or
16
beats
in
a
single
breath
at
this
very
slow
tempo,
which
required
Indra
Kishore
to
be
very
attentive
to
the
connection
between
bani
and
breath
Air
pressure
is
used
to
negotiate
the
loops
that
are
characteristic
of
the
gaurhar
bani,
as
well
as
to
control
dynamics.
This
couples
breathing
and
vocalizing
as
a
single
embodied
action.
To
produce
a
wedge
between
two
closely
separated
notes,
a
siren
like
increase
and
decrease
of
dynamics
is
required
but
it
has
to
be
done
slowly
and
with
great
control.
A
neighboring
note
is
attained
by
increasing
the
volume
as
the
pitch
is
increased,
creating
a
wedge
of
sound
that
opens
out
from
the
starting
note
and
increases
till
it
attains
the
upper
note,
then
returning
by
shrinking
the
wedge
by
reducing
volume
and
pitch
together.
To
execute
a
very
slow
straight
glide
down
requires
a
controlled
release
of
air
pressure
with
extra
pressure
applied
to
show
the
notes
that
are
in
the
raga.
Increasing
the
pace
of
the
glide
requires
more
push
at
start
but
less
stop-‐and-‐go
control.
Executing
an
upward
glide
requires
a
push
at
the
start
and
then
sustained
release
to
keep
the
dynamics
smooth.
Executing
a
series
of
ascending
loops
or
a
series
of
descending
loops
requires
extended
slow
release
of
breath
that
builds
pressure
on
the
lungs
to
negotiate
the
looping
movement
and
sustain
the
dynamics
while
showing
the
notes.
Circularity
that
slows
the
pulse
rate
and
the
breathing
down
puts
enormous
pressure
on
the
lungs
to
sustain.
Thus,
creating
the
aesthetics
of
gaurhar
bani
in
Indra
Kishore’s
practice
deeply
engages
body
and
breath
in
producing
sound.
The
big
bang
in
sound
The
aesthetic
of
gaurhar
bani
compositions
often
requires
coming
back
to
the
beginning
of
the
song
in
a
circular
movement,
which
means
not
taking
a
breath
at
the
end
of
a
whole
section
of
song.
To
manage
this,
composers
have
devised
endings
that
help
sustain
and
build
air
pressure.
Often
gaurhar
bani
songs
build
up
pressure
at
the
end
of
a
whole
section
by
using
loops
before
launching
the
first
note
of
the
song
with
a
push.
This
looping-‐the-‐loop
effect
requires
extreme
control
of
breath.
Before
launching
into
this
extended
phrase,
usually
a
quick
breath
has
to
be
taken
and
then
the
loops
at
the
end
must
be
negotiated
by
tightening
the
muscles
of
the
153
stomach
very,
very
slowly
to
push
the
air
out
with
smooth
and
controlled
clear
sound,
without
any
wobble.
By
the
time
the
beginning
of
the
song
is
approached,
the
pressure
is
built
up
enough
to
negotiate
the
loops
over
the
next
several
beats,
if
possible
all
12
beats
of
the
12
beat
cycle
or
at
least
till
beat
9.
By
the
end
of
the
long
phrase,
the
stomach
will
be
drawn
in
tight,
the
lungs
empty
of
air
and
burning,
and
the
voice
momentarily
quiet
to
allow
the
lungs
to
take
in
sufficient
air
very
quickly
for
the
next
sustained
release.
One
of
many
such
examples
is
the
gaurhar
bani
song,
“namo
brahma
parama
isha…”,
whose
skeletal
notation
I
provided
earlier
(Fig
5.1).
In
that
song
the
concluding
phrase
of
the
first
section
is
designed
in
such
a
way
that
the
coiling
musical
figure
helps
to
build
air
pressure
before
launching
the
first
note
at
the
start
of
the
song.
This
first
note
-‐
the
komal
dhaivat-‐
is
attained
in
a
leaping
figure
that
begins
where
the
loop
ends
and
carried
by
the
pressure
generated
in
the
loop,
it
emerges
with
force.
On
a
hot
day
in
June
2007,
114
degrees
in
the
shade
in
Bettiah,
Indra
Kishore
was
repeatedly
demonstrating
this
melodic
figure
in
the
song.
Performing
the
first
three
notes,
leaping
six
scale
degrees
from
the
Sa
(fundamental
note)
to
the
komal
dhaivat
of
raga
Bhairav
with
a
push
exerted
by
sharp
contraction
of
abdominal
muscles,
sound
emerges
with
force
through
breath.
Catalyzed
by
this
act
causes
a
transition
from
song
to
speech
and
Indra
Kishore
describes
musical
effort
with
metaphor:
“The
whole
phrase
must
be
sung
in
a
single
breath.
The
first
notes
must
emerge
from
deep
in
the
stomach
like
the
birth
of
the
cosmos”.
Indra
Kishore
refers
here
to
one
version
of
cosmic
birth
in
Hindu
philosophy
–
that
the
god
Brahma
created
the
universe
by
uttering
the
sound
‘Om’.
Indra
Kishore’s
description
is
an
uncanny
description
of
the
big
bang
in
sound.
If
in
one
song
the
note
had
to
be
cradled
into
being
on
Goddess
Sarasvati’s
lap,
in
another
it
had
to
burst
into
being
like
the
big
bang.
Connections
to
cosmos,
to
philosophy,
and
the
daily
experience
of
spiritual
and
religious
life
are
deeply
connected
to
senses
of
self,
reinforced
through
performance
of
epics,
song
lyrics
and
sound.
These
connections
are
not
always
felt
and
articulated,
but
performance
sometimes
acts
as
a
catalyst
to
bring
them
into
the
foreground.
Pots
of
ghee
and
a
sword
in
the
stomach
Back
to
music;
the
same
song,
the
same
phrase,
only
this
time
the
entire
line
has
been
sung
several
times.
Indra
Kishore
speaks
again:
“Your
stomach
must
burn.
My
grandfather
Shyama
Mullick
used
to
drink
pots
of
ghee
after
singing
like
this”.
Then
again
another
day,
a
different
song
but
one
that
tightens
the
stomach
as
much…
“My
father,
Mahant
Mishra
would
tell
me
-‐
practice
like
you
are
polishing
a
sword.
When
the
time
comes
you
can
take
this
prize
knife
out
and
drive
it
into
your
opponents
stomach
so
that
it
burns,
like
yours
does
now
from
practice”.
154
Metrics
for
right
practice
are
burnt
into
the
guts.
When
I
would
join
a
fellow
student
for
a
long
stint
of
practice
in
Berkeley
thousands
of
miles
away
from
his
teacher,
the
story
would
surface
to
remind
him
to
be
conscious
of
whether
or
not
the
quality
of
his
practice
measured
up
to
his
experience
when
learning
the
song
from
Indra
Kishore.
Sometimes,
out
of
breath
at
the
end
of
a
long,
slow
line,
he
would
gesture
as
if
he
is
driving
a
dagger
into
his
opponents’
stomach.
This
has
become
a
student
house
joke,
but
at
the
same
time,
it
has
an
embodied,
sonic,
subjective
component.
The
chain
of
continuity
being
forged
here
is
built
on
breath
and
sound;
sometimes,
when
singing,
it
surfaces
and
reminds
you
that
you
haven’t
sung
the
phrase
slowly
enough
-‐
your
stomach
didn’t
burn
enough,
or
you
sang
it
just
right.
Through
the
channels
of
body,
breath
and
vocalized
note,
you
feel
connected
through
your
body
to
your
teacher,
his
father
and
his
grandfather
whom
you
never
saw,
but
hear
and
feel
through
making
music.
Metaphors
such
as
these
ones
are
acoustemic
anchors
that
hold
thick
sound.
Whether
they
function
as
silent
background
or
catalytic
foreground,
they
work
to
place
the
sensing
voice
at
the
same
time
they
stabilize
aesthetics
in
sound.
Correlative
knowledge:
svara
that
emerge
like
silk
moths
from
cocoons
At
least
three
of
the
lessons
I
learnt
from
Indra
Kishore
on
gaurhar
bani
are
not
about
the
complex
domains
of
song
or
bani
but
about
the
more
fundamental
domain
of
svara,
or
musical
note.
“No!
wrong!”
Imagine
my
consternation
that
quickly
turned
to
embarrassment,
doubt
and
even
a
tinge
of
skepticism,
when
this
was
the
emphatically
shouted
response
the
very
first
day
of
formal
instruction
from
Indra
Kishore.
He
had
asked
me
to
sing
the
scale
of
raga
Bhairav,
a
raga
I
had
been
taught
in
depth
and
detail
by
Falguni
Mitra
in
the
many
intermittent
opportunities
I
had
to
learn
from
him
over
seventeen
years
of
discipleship.
What
could
this
musician
mean
by
telling
me
I
couldn’t
sing
a
scale?
The
next
day
an
interaction
between
Indra
Kishore
and
Karaikudi
Subramanian,
a
ninth-‐generation
hereditary
Veena
artist
of
South
India,
gave
me
a
clue.
Subramanian
described
Indra
Kishore’s
alap
with
the
words
“He
doesn’t
sing
the
notes
obviously;
his
notes
have
to
be
caught.
They
emerge
like
silk
moths
from
cocoons
when
he
is
doing
his
alap.
He
is
birthing
the
notes
of
the
raga
-‐
not
singing
them”.
Peculiarly
enough,
Subramanian
had
caught
the
resonance
of
one
of
the
metaphors
Indra
Kishore
himself
used
when
singing
a
song
in
a
different
raga.
Cradling
the
155
svara
in
Sarasvati’s
lap
is
how
he
described
a
meend
that
cradled
the
komal
gandhar
oscillating
from
the
madhyam
in
the
song
“paschim
pahad…”
in
raga
Bhimpalasi.
I
had
approached
the
note
as
M
g,
whereas
he
took
it
as
M
(g)
M
(g)
g.
The
first
two
adumbrations
of
the
komal
gandhar
came
from
oscillation,
suggesting
the
note
to
the
aural
imagination
before
stating
its
presence
strongly.
The
idea
that
notes
were
produced
like
silk
moths
emerging
from
cocoons
resonates
with
musical
wisdom
that
Indra
Kishore
holds
as
a
tenet
of
gaurhar
bani
practice.
His
father
and
teacher
Mahant
Mishra
would
tell
him
“All
notes
are
in
all
ragas.
It
is
like
being
in
a
crowded
room.
Suddenly
a
man
will
stand
up
and
look
at
you
straight
and
you
will
notice
him.
A
svara
in
a
raga
is
like
that.
If
you
sing
with
the
right
feeling
for
the
raga
in
gaurhar
bani,
the
next
svara
will
appear
in
front
of
you
without
your
going
looking
for
it.
The
notion
that
a
svara
will
appear
maps
to
breathing
technique
in
a
very
precise
way.
Indra
Kishore
showed
me
how
to
execute
a
glide
in
such
a
way
that
one
shows
the
svara
by
a
slight
increase
in
air
pressure.
A
stream
of
continuous
sound
is
not
so
much
broken
up
by
discrete
notes
as
the
notes
emerge
from
the
stream
of
sound.
This
consciousness
was
made
explicit
to
me
in
yet
another
way
in
a
lesson.
“Draw
seven
points
in
your
notebook
with
your
pencil”.
OK.
I
did
it.
“Now
join
them
without
taking
your
pencil
off
the
page
till
they
are
all
connected”.
I
did
it.
“Now
do
the
same
thing
again
but
without
taking
your
pencil
off
the
page
–
start
drawing
the
line
and
press
the
pencil
point
wherever
you
want
to
make
a
dot
but
without
breaking
the
movement”.
I
did
it.
“See,
this
is
how
you
have
to
sing.
You
have
to
move
from
start
to
finish
through
all
the
notes
that
belong
to
the
raga
when
you
sing
that
long
meend.
You
do
it
by
controlling
air
pressure.
Where
there
is
a
svara,
you
show
it
by
stressing
the
air
pressure
a
little,
but
don’t
break
the
movement.
Remember,
never
take
your
pencil
off
the
page
when
you
draw
the
line”.
This
technique
requires
a
lot
of
control,
practice
and
mindfulness.
It
also
treads
dangerous
territory
sometimes
in
smudging
the
separation
between
notes.
Trained
by
Falguni
Mitra
to
be
really
conscious
of
holding
notes
correctly,
I
had
physical
sense
of
discomfort
several
times
when
I
felt
I
was
traversing
notes
that
didn’t
belong
in
a
raga.
This
is
not
only
due
to
my
less
expert
handling.
Even
when
Indra
Kishore
sings
sometimes
the
suggestion
of
notes
extraneous
to
the
raga
appears
when
he
executes
long
glides
with
high-‐pressure
controlled
breath.
This
technique
cannot
be
conceived
as
a
flaw
though
some
musicians
won’t
agree
with
my
assessment.
It
is
a
conscious
way
of
conceiving
notes
that
uses
gliding
movement
to
adumbrate
the
grid.
It
is
not
that
the
grid
of
discrete
pitches
is
unimportant,
it
is
very
important.
Indra
Kishore
told
me
that
his
father
would
make
him
memorize
each
song
in
sargam
(solfege)
without
words.
He
would
have
to
perfect
that
as
well
as
sing
with
words.
156
The
practice
Indra
Kishore
was
asked
to
do
is
aimed
at
making
sure
the
grid
kicks
in
automatically,
allowing
him
to
roam
freely
like
the
eagle
hovering
in
space
over
ground.
My
work
with
Falguni
Mitra
and
Indra
Kishore
Mishra
suggests
that
musicians
not
only
understand
the
relationship
between
svar
gyan
and
jagah
gyan:
they
consciously
gear
their
practice
towards
automaticity
that
allows
them
to
switch
from
one
mode
to
the
other
in
flow.161
“That
is
not
my
voice”:
Aesthetics
and
Ethics
as
embodied
transformation
The
many
affective
associations
deeply
intertwined
with
the
phenomenology
of
gaurhar
bani
vocalization
in
Indra
Kishore’s
practice
often
caused
background
to
foreground
shifts.
Indra
Kishore
would
be
moved
to
experience
his
intense
connections
to
his
teacher
and
father
as
a
vocal
inhabiting,
a
dwelling
in
the
throat.
In
this
dialogic
process,
technique
becomes
temporality
and
aesthetics
is
stabilized
by
ethics.
Listening
in
to
musical
forms
as
thick
sound
engenders
the
catalytic
eventfulness
of
performance.
Perhaps
it
is
the
intensity
of
the
embodied
engagement
bringing
together
heat,
breath
and
sound
that
catalyzed
in
Indra
Kishore
a
remembering
that
is
a
vocal
inhabiting,
a
transformation
of
the
singing
body
that
is
a
possession
in
sound.
“That
is
not
my
voice.
This
is
my
body
but
that
is
not
my
voice;
it
is
my
father’s
voice
–
he
is
seated
in
my
throat”.
A
long
vocal
movement
that
traverses
a
cluster
of
adjacent
notes
in
a
series
of
slow
loops,
the
vocal
gesture
that
catalyzed
Indra
Kishore
into
remembering
his
father
through
vocal
inhabiting
is
a
central
mode
of
expression
in
his
gaurhar
bani
practice.
Excruciating
for
a
learner,
the
gesture
has
as
its
basis
a
series
of
meends,
the
vocal
technique
that
is
at
the
heart
of
Dhrupad
and
that
is
integral
to
the
aesthetics
of
the
gaurhar
bani.
In
Indra
Kishore’s
practice,
the
production
of
mids
requires
very
specific
voice
production
that
engages
the
body,
breath
and
voice
in
such
close
connection
that
vocalizing
becomes
breathing.
Sung
with
vocal
chords
barely
engaged,
the
voice
is
moved
by
the
breath
circulating
through
the
body,
stomach
muscles
pulling
in
slowly,
the
breath
pushed
up
into
a
slowly
expanding
chest
while
the
series
of
loops
are
executed
by
the
voice.
Catalyzed
by
sound
history
161
cf. pp. 131-137. The relationship to Zbikowski’s discussion of cognition in Western art music has been
discussed by Rahaim in the context of conceptual knowledge of spatial direction such as “up” and “down”.
What I would add to this discussion is the observation that maps at different levels become more easily
available to developing musical form only through practicing the different levels explicitly. Unlike Rahaim
and Dard Neuman I hold that musicological treatises not only recognize both note and phrase but they also
go very far in telling you how to practice to develop cognition in each of these realms. They also recognize
that vocal dynamics and ornamentation are fundamental dimensions of phrases. This explicitly puts style,
aesthetics and emotion in the interstices between note and musical phrase.
157
acts
as
interference
and
brings
affective
and
auditory
memory
from
background
to
foreground,
feeding
right
back
in
to
transform
the
sonic
as
lived
experience.
Back
to
music;
the
same
song,
the
same
movement,
only
this
time
the
entire
line
has
been
sung
several
times.
In
a
20-‐minute
lesson,
the
gesture
must
have
been
sung
at
least
a
dozen
times.
The
gesture,
characterized
by
a
series
of
loops,
occurs
many
times
in
the
same
song,
and
in
many
other
songs
of
gaurhar
bani
in
Indra
Kishore’s
repertoire.
But
the
vocal
inhabiting
happens
unpredictably
and
generatively,
not
habitually
and
performatively.
The
second
time
Indra
Kishore
experienced
a
vocal
inhabiting,
we
were
singing
a
different
song,
invoking
very
similar
vocalization
and
bodily
practice.
It
was
one
of
many
days
we
spent
cataloguing
the
torn
notebooks
crammed
with
his
father’s
notations
of
the
tradition’s
repertoire.
The
body
that
came
into
the
music
room
that
day
had
been
through
an
affective
experience,
working
with
paper
and
notation,
materials
that
scholarship
in
the
Humanities
has
tended
to
view
as
a
hegemonic
formatting
of
musical
capacity,
not
affective
potential
for
musical
experience.
When
listening
to
the
recording
of
the
lesson
later
I
was
struck
by
how
much
our
voices
have
synchronized.
For
a
male
voice
his
voice
is
exceptionally
clear
and
sweet.
With
the
requisite
practice
to
sustain
long
breath,
his
gaurhar
bani
aesthetic
is
remarkably
accessible
to
a
female
voice.
The
vocal
gesture
relied
so
much
on
synchronous
breathing
that
it
seemed
as
if
I
could
hear
only
one
voice
breathing
in
the
recording.
Perhaps
it
was
this
synchronicity
that
made
him
feel
his
father’s
voice
had
occupied
his
body,
with
the
slow
emptying
of
air
from
the
lungs.
The
intensity
of
identifying
with
his
father’s
voice
is
matched
only
by
Indra
Kishore’s
intensity
of
connection
to
Bhagavati,
the
goddess
he
speaks
of
as
his
mother
and
his
savior,
referring
to
her
by
her
other
name
–
Ma
Sharada.
He
related
two
incidents
of
Ma
Sharada’s
presence
materialized
by
his
singing,
once
in
the
form
of
a
beautifully
dressed
girl
child
and
the
second
time
as
double
voice.
He
even
called
his
wife
in
to
attest
to
hearing
a
female
voice
singing
with
him
when
he
was
practicing
all
alone
in
a
room.
These
were
some
of
the
darkest
days
of
his
life
with
a
daughter
just
dead
from
cancer,
a
father
critically
ill
and
no
money
to
spend
on
food,
medicine
or
clothing
for
his
family,
and
he
says
he
would
incessantly
appeal
to
the
goddess
to
save
their
family
musical
treasure
every
time
he
sat
down
to
practice.
Such
experiences
of
vocal
inhabiting
and
out-‐of-‐body
experiences
are
not
limited
to
gaurhar
bani.
Some
of
the
out-‐of-‐body
experiences
he
related
while
singing
khandar
bani
took
the
form
of
materializing
a
fearsome
dog
that
he
understood
to
be
Bhairava,
and
waking
up
to
find
Ma
Kali
standing
over
him
dagger
drawn
the
night
158
after
he
attempted
to
sing
a
ritual
song
in
a
practice
room162.
He
told
me
that
his
forefathers
would
sing
for
tantric
ritual
in
the
Kali
temple
and
showed
me
songs
in
his
corpus
that
were
supposed
to
be
sung
during
those
rituals.
The
words
of
the
songs
are
full
of
heavy
resonant
consonants
and
when
sung
in
khandar
bani
with
heavy
gamak
one
can
imagine
their
having
a
transforming
effect
on
the
senses
and
the
breath.
Rather
than
try
to
validate
his
experiences
as
objective
events,
I
find
them
important
to
understanding
the
phenomenology
of
performing
Dhrupad
songs
as
a
hereditary
musician
living
in
a
still
feudal
rural
town
where
Dhrupad
as
cultural
practice
has
been
historically
emplaced
in
a
court
and
community
with
a
strong
tradition
of
tantra
and
Kali
devotion.
This
gives
a
window
into
musical
affordance
and
processes
of
emplacement
and
their
intersection
in
the
singing
body
that
inhabits
musical
forms
as
Place.
The
affordance
of
musical
forms
in
Dhrupad
performance
makes
it
possible
for
Indra
Kishore
to
sense
performance
as
thick
sound
by
engendering
the
experience
of
emotion,
memory
and
eventfulness.
When
memory
of
songs
is
sedimented
in
graves,
land,
house,
street,
paper
and
parchment,
embodied
in
inter-‐
subjective
relationships
with
family,
community
and
patron,
attached
to
events,
sites,
ritual
places
and
temple
ground,
the
sonic
has
many
acoustemic
anchors
potentially
available
to
musical
performance,
rendering
musical
performance
both
heterogeneous
and
catalytic.
Singing
Dhrupad
then
becomes
a
dwelling
in
the
voice.
In
addition,
this
analysis
tells
us
something
about
the
Dhrupad
banis
as
aesthetic
concepts.
Each
aesthetic
category
engenders
characteristic
forms
of
embodied
experience
suggesting
a
correlation
between
aesthetic
forms
and
soma-‐aesthetic
experience.
In
Indra
Kishore’s
case,
my
analysis
above
coupled
with
the
analysis
in
Chapter
3
shows
that
categorical
knowledge
about
aesthetics
in
Dhrupad
emerges
in
interaction
with
musical
forms
as
thick
sound
–
an
acoustemic
environment
within
which
Dhrupad
performance
becomes
both
emplacing
and
emplaced.
To
inquire
further
into
the
constitution
of
these
categories
I
survey
questions
of
musical
affordance
for
the
khandar
bani,
followed
by
a
discussion
of
how
Falguni
Mitra
senses
the
aesthetic
categories
of
a
composition
he
hasn’t
sung
before,
and
how
this
affects
his
interaction
with
structure
while
working
with
notation.163
162
Bhairava is a fierce manifestation of the god Shiva and is often portrayed accompanied by a dog.
163
My analysis of the Dhrupad banis here is oriented only towards investigating the relationship between
categorical knowledge and processes of emplacement afforded by musical forms in Dhrupad performance.
It draws from extensive research done with written materials and with the musicians of the Bettiah
gharana. A partial discussion is available in Ranganathan (2013) but a more complete analysis of the
Dhrupad banis as aesthetic concepts is left to forthcoming publications.
159
Musical
affordance,
thick
sound
and
the
khandar
bani
The
khandar
bani
has
been
characterized
in
musicological
texts
and
musician
experience
as
a
bani
that
has
vira
rasa
–
the
aesthetics
of
valor.
It
is
a
medium
to
fast-‐tempo
aesthetic
that
uses
the
gamak
as
its
characteristic
ornamentation.164
At
the
same
time,
just
a
smattering
of
gamak
does
not
constitute
khandar
bani,
nor
is
this
bani
presented
with
loudness
and
force
all
the
time
–
especially
in
the
Bettiah
gharana.
Many
conceptual
maps
go
into
determining
how
to
realize
the
aesthetics
of
this
bani
in
performance.
Some
of
these
lie
in
the
domain
of
structure
and
others
in
the
domain
of
interpretation.165
While
expert
musicians
often
sing
compositions
as
fully
designed
pieces
the
opportunity
to
inquire
into
processes
of
interpretation
arises
when
musicians
are
teaching,
communicating
verbally
with
listeners
to
get
them
to
follow
along
in
performance,
or
working
with
songs
from
their
handed-‐down
repertoires
that
they
have
either
not
sung
for
many
years,
or
which
they
are
singing
for
the
first
time
based
on
available
notations,
texts
and
aural
memory
of
earlier
performances,
particularly
of
their
teachers.
These
periods
of
encounter
between
musician
and
the
forming
musical
object
are
fascinating
windows
into
musical
thinking,
musical
action
and
their
intersection
in
thick
sound.166
Many
types
of
correlative
knowledge
go
into
stabilizing
interpretation
of
khandar
bani
in
practice.
While
this
bani
is
typically
associated
with
vira
rasa
and
has
often
been
described
as
gamak
pradhan
because
it
employs
a
lot
of
gamak
to
create
its
characteristic
aesthetic
effect,
it
is
important
to
emphasize
that
the
aesthetics
of
khandar
bani
cannot
just
be
equated
to
the
use
of
heavy
gamak,
much
as
gaurhar
bani
cannot
be
achieved
just
by
indiscriminate
use
of
meend.167
An
analysis
of
the
Bettiah
gharana’s
repertoire
and
performance
practice
shows
that
within
this
164
The gamak is a characteristic oscillation that can be produced in light, medium heavy and heavy
varieties from the throat, chest and stomach respectively. See itcsra.org/alankars.html for a very accessible
description of gamak as a characteristic ornament, with several demonstrations. Also see Sanyal and
Widdess for a description of gamak in relation to Dhrupad performance of the Dagar Dhrupad tradition.
165
Zbikowski’s work on conceptual models and cross-domain mapping in Western art music has resonance
with my analysis here (Zbikowski 2002). However, I have drawn on the anthropology of the senses and
distributed cognition to open up the kinds of conceptual maps I consider in my analysis. Also, I have
adopted neither the language of schema theory nor cross-domain analysis completely, preferring to use
acoustemic anchors and thick sound as analytical tools to investigate how musicians develop categorical
knowledge and sense structure and feel form in Dhrupad performance. I will pursue this analysis in more
detail in forthcoming work focused exclusively on the banis.
166
I spent a substantial amount of time on the field engaged in such activity, which gave me a great deal of
insight into how both expert musicians in my project develop, sustain and communicate a sense for the
aesthetics of compositions in performance.
167
A number of authors have referred back to Roy Choudhury for a description of the aesthetics of the
baṇis (Ray Choudhury 1938; 1996). See Sanyal and Widdess (2004, Chapter 3) for a survery of literature
on the bāṇis.
160
general
category
of
bani,
compositions
can
manifest
a
whole
range
of
nuances
in
aesthetics
and
a
number
of
factors
work
together
to
create
the
effect
of
a
bani
and
they
work
their
effect
through
heterogeneous
maps
that
actively
feedback
to
influence
perception
and
feeling
in
performance.
Such
maps
constitute
thick
sound
as
they
work
to
inter-‐animate
sound
with
emotion,
expressivity,
body
memory
and
associative
memory
while
at
the
same
time
bridging
mind,
body
and
the
senses
in
musical
response.
The
first
important
checkpoint
is
the
musico-‐aesthetic
character
of
the
raga
in
which
a
composition
is
set.
Since
khandar
bani
has
to
be
sung
at
medium
fast
tempo
with
wavy,
rolling
and
heavy
gamak,
it
is
ideally
suited
for
ragas
such
as
Bhupali
and
Adana
that
are
typically
not
sung
at
slow
pace.
However,
khandar
bani
songs
are
also
found
in
many
ragas
of
a
more
lyrical
and
melodic
character.
In
these
cases,
Falguni
Mitra
avoids
the
use
of
very
heavy
gamak.
For
instance,
while
singing
Bilaskhani
Todi,
Komal
Rishabh
Asavari
or
even
the
more
lilting
Bihag,
the
aesthetics
of
the
raga
deeply
influences
how
he
applies
gamak
in
a
khandar
bani
song.
A
second
conceptual
map
that
strongly
influences
aesthetics
of
the
bani
in
practice
is
the
setting
of
the
text
in
relation
to
the
melodic
and
rhythmic
structure.
Composers
use
some
recognizable
strategies
for
khandar
bani
songs
that
a
tuned
cognition
can
immediately
sense.
Typically,
the
songs
will
be
set
such
that
one
can’t
repeat
lines
easily,
beyond
the
first
line.
In
direct
contrast
to
the
gaurhar
bani
that
stresses
circularity
and
a
feeling
of
space,
khandar
bani
song
structures
engender
continuous
progressive
flow
and
a
feeling
of
being
rushed,
often
with
no
opportunity
to
stop
and
take
a
breath.
The
effort
of
producing
a
series
of
gamak
implicates
a
deep
connection
between
body,
breath
and
sound
and
both
musicians
undertake
practices
of
different
kinds
to
prepare
mind,
body
and
voice
to
respond
to
this
aesthetic
impulse.
For
instance,
musicians
in
early
20th
century
Benares
from
Falguni
Mitra’s
lineage
have
written
about
using
drum
sounds
and
exercises
on
the
pakhawaj
for
developing
gamak
articulation.168
Falguni
Mitra
himself
uses
both
scale
practice
and
medium
tempo
alap
syllables
for
practicing
gamak
articulation.
Both
Falguni
Mitra
and
Indra
Kishore
Mishra
use
practices
derived
from
the
discipline
of
yoga
asana
to
develop
the
long
breath
for
gaurhar
bani
and
to
develop
techniques
for
pushing
breath
with
force
at
rapid
frequency
from
the
navel
for
the
khandar
bani
–
a
technique
referred
to
as
kapal
bhati
in
the
practice
of
yoga
asana.
Additionally,
in
Indra
Kishore
Mishra’s
practice,
since
he
mainly
uses
gamaks
from
the
region
of
the
navel
in
khandar
bani,
producing
a
series
of
high
pressure
gamaks
from
the
navel
sometimes
causes
the
out-‐of-‐body
experiences
in
Indra
Kishore’s
case
that
I
discussed
earlier
in
the
section
on
gaurhar
bani.
168
Some of these musicians were expert at playing pakhawaj as well as singing Dhrupad, so they must
have been inspired to transfer techniques for developing expertise from one domain onto another.
161
Third,
the
setting
of
many
songs
in
khandar
bani
provide
hooks
for
scalar
ascent
and
scalar
descent,
which
a
tuned
cognition
would
hear
as
an
opportunity
to
employ
a
series
of
rolling
or
wavy
gamak.169
In
Falguni
Mitra’s
case,
he
uses
gesture
as
a
parallel
channel
for
mapping
the
stylization
of
melodic
space.
In
many
sessions
of
notation
setting,
he
would
only
be
singing
internally,
but
his
hands
would
be
moving
in
response
to
the
notation
he
was
interacting
with,
stylizing
and
punctuating
melodic
space
with
his
hands
while
internally
auralizing
the
wavy
gamak,
rolling
gamak,
and
heavy
gamak
of
the
khandar
bani.170
Fourth,
lyrical
content
plays
a
very
significant
role
in
determining
the
aesthetics
of
bani
in
a
composition
Especially
in
Falguni
Mitra’s
practice,
he
employs
a
greater
range
of
vocal
dynamics
in
all
the
banis
towards
expressive
ends
to
meet
the
aesthetic
response
elicited
by
the
lyrical
text
and
the
character
of
the
raga.
This
response
to
the
affordance
of
musical
forms
is
based
on
intense
repetitive
work
with
musical
forms
in
which
affordance
is
recognized
as
potentiality
for
expressive
action.
Visualization
and
stock
imagery
provides
another
form
of
acoustemic
input.
For
example,
a
khandar
bani
song
which
is
a
description
of
god
Shiva
employs
compositional
techniques
such
as
alliteration
and
assonance,
the
use
of
heavy
aspirated
consonants
together
with
the
placement
of
gamak,
off-‐beat
syncopated
movement,
and
the
effective
use
of
silence
and
quieter
melodic
lines
for
contrast
to
create
a
distinctive
impact.171
Even
for
a
person
who
doesn’t
understand
the
entire
import
of
the
words,
these
devices
effect
sensory
and
embodied
transformation
with
both
text
and
tone
to
create
an
impact.
A
description
of
the
celebration
of
Sri
Krishna’s
birth
in
Brindavan
on
the
other
hand,
also
in
khandar
bani,
paints
a
much
more
joyful
and
floral
picture,
with
softer
sibilants,
softer,
wavy
gamaks
and
few
jerky
movements.
The
sensory
and
perceptual
impact
of
such
a
song
is
very
different
than
the
previous
one,
although
they
may
both
be
sung
in
the
khandar
bani.
A
third
song
may
depict
Sri
Ramachandra
raining
arrows
on
Lanka.
Such
a
song
may
169
A Khayal musician when given this notation would automatically employ tans in response to these
structural hints, whereas a Dhrupad musician with knowledge of the banis would employ gamak. Perhaps
this perceptual parallelism has led Dhrupad musicians to state that there are tans in Dhrupad (Vedi 1949),
Shibkumar Mitra (Seminar talk delivered at ITC Sangeet Research Academy, Kolkata; source: audio
recording from the personal collection of Falguni Mitra)
170
I have not conducted a systematic analysis of gesture in relation to style and aesthetics. But all my
interactions with Falguni Mitra suggest that aesthetic concepts and stylistic concepts use gesture as a strong
conceptual map. Beyond conceptual maps that relate gesture to melodic topography (Rahaim 2009), my
fieldwork suggests that gesture studies could yield insight on aesthetic and style in relation to expressive
response to musical structure.
171
The god Shiva is pictured in this song in the “bhayankara rupa” (fearsome form) – carrying a trident,
with a snake around his neck, a crescent moon on his forehead, the Ganga flowing from his hair which is
coiled in matted snake like locks and wearing a garland of skulls.
162
have
volleys
of
pounding
gamak
interspersed
by
swooping
meend
to
simulate
the
arrows,
and
quieter
sections,
for
a
lull
in
the
action.172
The
nuances
of
creating
the
characteristic
aesthetic
effect
of
a
bani
hence
rely
on
both
compositional
devices
and
the
interpretive
sensibilities
of
musicians
trained
to
respond
to
the
aesthetic
potential
of
a
composition
by
oral
tradition
and
individual
practice.
The
interpretive
sensibilities
of
musicians
are
also
very
important
to
creating
variety
in
compositions.
Due
to
their
historical
sensitivity
to
bani,
musicians
of
the
Bettiah
gharana
acquire
this
as
a
core
competency
and
distinction,
and
they
use
it
very
effectively
to
transform
aesthetics
in
performance
and
as
a
strong
guide
for
musical
judgments
in
performance.
Esoteric
aesthetic
concepts
such
as
raga
and
bani
have
strong
human
dimensions
in
the
Bettiah
gharana,
both
in
terms
of
availability
to
common
perception
as
an
aesthetic
of
song,
and
for
engendering
the
experience
of
emotion,
memory
and
eventfulness
integral
to
transforming
Dhrupad
vocal
practice
in
processes
of
emplacement.
I
hence
end
this
chapter
where
I
began
–
with
a
musician’s
response
to
the
inter-‐animation
of
musical
forms
with
affect,
and
memory
that
transforms
Dhrupad
vocal
performance
into
a
dwelling
in
the
voice.
Sound marks on a singing body
After Indra Kishore’s father died, the only other senior musician in Indra Kishore’s
extended family was his father’s cousin, Shankar Lal Mishra. Shanklar Lal passed
away in 2013, but in 2010 he was living with his sons in a village hundred miles
from their ancestral home in Bhanu Chapra village. I took a day trip by van with
Indra Kishore’s family to visit this elderly musician. His sons learnt Dhrupad and
tabla from their father but turned to teaching pakhawaj and singing Kirtan for a
living. They had begun to build a concrete house when I visited, but my interaction
with this octagenarian and his sons took place in a well-‐constructed hut opposite
their half-‐built house. Shankar Lal Mishra could not walk or talk any more. His sons
carried him out to the hut where he tried talking to me and to Indra Kishore, but
could only produce sounds I could not decipher.
But in this condition he still responded to song. One of my most moving moments on
the field came when after about seven minutes of listening to his sons sing a
172
All these examples are from the repertoires of Falguni Mitra and Indra Kishore Mishra. These musicians
are very sensitive to the interaction between lyric and musical figure, which goes beyond simple word
painting. Rather, as both musicians emphasize, the two channels heighten each other’s expressivity. This
feature of their interpretation of compositions is integral to the aesthetics of the banis in each of their
practices. Here, I have presented a sampling of effects rather than an analysis of each composition, in order
to make my point about compositional models, interpretive strategies and their relationship to aesthetics.
163
khandar
bani
Dhrupad
song
set
to
music
by
Mahant
Mishra,
his
cousin
and
Indra
Kishore’s
father,
he
slowly
began
to
feebly
tap
out
the
tala.
Until
then
he
had
remained
slumped
while
sitting,
barely
lifting
his
head,
mouth
drooling
when
he
tried
to
speak.
No
strength
even
to
chase
away
the
fly
that
buzzed
around
and
sat
on
his
forehead,
he
responded
to
the
sounds
of
song
as
his
sons
sang
seated
beside
him.
This
was
an
intensely
generative
field
moment
for
me.
A
wonderfully
tuned
song
in
raga
Shankara
that
describes
Sri
Ramachandra
going
to
Lanka
with
an
army
of
monkeys,
the
setting
of
this
khandar
bani
song
illustrates
the
expertise
of
the
Bettiah
musician
in
composing
and
singing
song,
a
sense
one
can
get
from
analyzing
musical
performance.
It
was
the
moment
in
the
field
that
brought
home
to
me
the
complex
and
deep
cognitive,
perceptual
and
sensory
epistemologies
produced
among
families
that
have
made
music
day
in
and
day
out
for
generations
in
Place.
It
caused
me
to
conclude
that
only
half
of
sound
production
is
guided
by
technique,
the
other
by
aesthetic
memory,
the
bodily,
sensory
and
emotional
memory
of
aesthetic
response
that
causes
even
an
expert
musician
such
as
Falguni
Mitra
to
say
“I
feel
it
this
way”
when
I
tried
to
question
how
he
perceives
the
aesthetics
of
the
different
banis.
This
theme
recurs
repeatedly
in
my
work
on
the
Dhrupad
banis
and
on
raga,
too
often
to
be
ignored
as
a
vital
piece
of
data.
It
also
was
the
field
work
that
later
led
me
to
consider
communal
aesthetic
memory
seriously
in
arriving
at
a
better
understanding
of
the
Dhrupad
banis
as
perception
effects
that
transform
both
the
singer
and
the
listener.
When
I
played
the
clip
of
Shankar
Lal
Mishra’s
sons
many
months
later
to
three
different
sets
of
people
in
Kolkata
who
had
never
heard
musicians
from
Bettiah
but
had
heard
Falguni
Mitra’s
father
Shibkumar
Mitra
sing
khandar
bani
Dhrupad
in
Kolkata,
they
immediately
recognized
the
aesthetic
of
the
song
as
a
khandar
bani
song,
even
though
it
was
not
an
expert
rendition173.
We
could
all
sense
that
the
Bettiah
interpretation
was
quite
close
to
what
the
Mitras
would
have
come
up
with
because
in
our
very
different
ways
we
had
engaged
with
the
structures
of
perception
that
transform
these
musical
forms
into
soma
aesthetic
experience.
The
series
of
events
was
important
in
showing
me
how
sensitivity
to
structure
is
closely
integrated
with
the
cultivation
of
aesthetic
memory,
and
their
triangular
relationship
with
grids
of
intelligibility.
Thick
sound
allows
a
musician
to
pick
up
a
piece
of
notation
he
hasn’t
seen
before
and
develop
a
sense
for
how
to
sing
it
in
ways
that
are
cognitively
intertwined
with
historical
grids
of
intelligibility
for
Dhrupad
as
song
in
emplaced
communities.
The
173
One of them, Kartik Lahiry, wrote the first article that connected the local Bettiah traditions with the
traditions outside Bettiah (Lahiry, 1977). A native of Bettiah who lived in Kolkata, he had only casually
heard khandar bani Dhrupad from Mitra’s father. The second was vocalist and musicologist Sumati
Mutatkar’s daughter who had learnt Dhrupad from Falguni Mitra’s father and had worked with Mitra’s
father on his collection of songs in different banis. She was Shib Mitra’s scribe and still had a full copy of
the song collection with her, which she gave me. The third was Falguni Mitra himself.
164
circulation
of
Dhrupad
as
aesthetic
memory
in
community
makes
Dhrupad
intelligible
as
song.
To
stabilize
it
as
a
formal
aesthetic
category
however
needs
the
work
of
polishing,
churning
and
dwelling
that
expert
musicians
put
into
their
musical
practice.
The
musicians
in
my
project
cultivate
a
conscious
relationship
between
structure
and
aesthetics
in
their
practice
of
Dhrupad.
In
this
hard
work
of
polishing
and
churning,
many
correlations
and
associations
are
crafted
into
a
musician’s
relationship
with
the
musical
object,
making
sensory,
material
and
human
anchors
of
aesthetic
perception
and
sonic
capability
potentially
available
to
musical
performance.
A
classical
practice
in
an
esoteric
and
complex
genre
such
as
Dhrupad
is
also
a
practice
of
music
in
daily
life
that
can
keep
musicians
alive
when
singing
and
singing
when
alive,
and
this
I
claim
has
a
direct
relationship
to
the
sonic.
Conclusion
Every
example
I
have
worked
through
in
this
chapter
analysis
contests
the
claims
of
post-‐colonial
scholars
such
as
Weidman,
Bakhle,
Subramanian
and
Farrell
who
attribute
ontological
status
and
strong
notions
of
tradition
in
Indian
classical
music
to
colonial
epistemologies
of
literacy
and
literalism
and
the
disciplinary
technologies
of
notation
and
recording.
The
amount
of
work
done
to
stabilize
a
single
song
implicates
epistemologies
produced
in
the
inter-‐animation
of
musical
forms
with
both
the
stock
in
trade
of
codified
emotion
and
the
affective
interactions
of
musical
life.
Sustained
in
processes
of
emplacement
that
render
sound
thick,
these
acoustemic
anchors
guide
a
musician’s
engagement
with
musical
objects
as
he
senses
structure
and
feels
form
in
musical
action
and
creative
response.
165
Chapter
6
-‐
Conclusion:
Of
birds
and
debates
over
musical
Truths
“Although
he
may
be
well-‐versed
in
all
branches
of
knowledge,
one
who
does
not
know
tradition
should
be
ignored
as
a
fool”
–
Shankara
Bhagavatpada,
ca.
7th
c.
In
this
dissertation
I
set
out
to
re-‐examine
the
notion
of
tradition
in
Indian
classical
music.
I
argued
that
scholarship
on
tradition
has
remained
largely
polarized
between
the
rhetoric
of
rupture
and
the
cocoon
of
continuity.
While
the
former
dates
the
emergence
of
Indian
classical
music
as
an
organized
Great
Tradition
to
colonial
encounter
and
the
cultural
nationalism
of
the
late
19th
century,
the
latter
views
Indian
classical
music
as
a
more
or
less
continuous
performance
tradition
since
medieval
times,
with
continuity
to
the
textual
traditions
of
the
first
millennium.
While
the
former
emphasizes
institutions
and
systems
of
authority
as
the
primary
definition
of
tradition,
the
latter
has
struggled
with
reconciling
the
diversity
on
the
ground
with
the
existence
of
a
Great
Tradition.
The
former
uses
the
existence
of
heterogeneity
and
diversity
to
debate
the
very
existence
of
a
Great
Tradition
prior
to
the
classification,
standardization
and
institutionalization
wrought
by
colonialism
and
cultural
nationalism.
The
latter
treats
heterogeneity
as
something
to
be
explained
away
with
recourse
to
arguments
about
centralized
authority
and
vernacular
traditions,
coming
up
with
variants
of
Milton
Singer’s
Great
Tradition
-‐
little
tradition
model
to
explain
away
the
embarrassing
heterogeneity
of
the
local.
Most
scholars
working
in
the
21st
century
have
had
to
walk
the
tightrope
between
these
two
poles
-‐
which
they
have
done
by
recovering
diverse
subaltern
practices,
bodies
and
histories
from
the
cleansing
and
straightjacketing
forces
of
nationalists
fuelled
by
the
disciplinary
technologies
of
colonialism
–
namely,
literacy,
literalism,
and
Victorian
morality.
These
archeological
scholarly
projects
reinforce
the
polarization
created
between
the
Institution
and
the
subaltern,
the
Great
and
the
little,
the
Epistemology
of
colonialism
and
the
unorganized
forms
of
knowledge
of
the
precolonial.
In
differing
from
this
lineage
of
scholarship,
I
do
not
claim
Indian
music’s
antiquity
by
quoting
the
evidence
of
texts
or
pure
experience;
nor
do
I
write
a
subaltern
account
in
which
individual
local
histories
are
seen
as
resisting
the
formatting
power
of
Nation
State
and
Colonial
domination.
Rather,
I
set
out
to
re-‐
examine
the
fundamentally
divisive
assumption
that
on-‐the-‐ground
existence
of
diversity
and
heterogeneity
is
tantamount
to
the
absence
of
a
strong
sense
of
tradition
and
fidelity
to
tradition.
I
question
the
assumption
that
music
practiced
within
localized
families
has
little
or
no
epistemological
bearing
on
the
codes,
categories
and
conventions
of
an
organized
Great
Tradition.
Specifically,
in
this
dissertation
I
have
argued
that
strong
notions
of
tradition
and
fidelity
to
tradition
in
Indian
classical
music
are
irreducible
to
a
discussion
of
the
disciplinary
technologies
166
of
colonialism,
and
its
close
relative
cultural
nationalism.
Using
two
case
studies
from
the
genre
of
Dhrupad,
I
showed
through
repeated
analysis
of
contemporary
practice
that
the
forms
of
knowledge
that
tether
musical
sense,
categorical
sense
and
strong
notions
of
tradition
in
the
performance
of
Dhrupad
are
produced
in
the
interactivity
of
musical
life.
I
have
understood
the
forms
of
knowledge
produced
in
performance
to
be
acoustemic
–
namely,
epistemologies
produced
through
active
sensing
in
and
through
sound.
My
project
sought
to
establish
that
the
debate
over
song
in
the
small
world
of
individual
musical
lineages
is
integral
to
the
mechanisms
by
which
Indian
classical
music
as
an
organized
system
of
knowledge
is
emplaced
and
transformed
in
the
interactivity
of
musical
life
in
particular
places.
To
investigate
and
defend
this
claim,
it
becomes
necessary
to
bridge
the
logics
of
a
Great
Tradition
understood
as
a
set
of
institutions,
canons
and
norms
with
the
strength
and
tenor
of
individual
musical
judgment
and
strong
notions
of
fidelity
to
tradition
in
the
small
world
of
musical
lineages.
Senses
of
tradition
are
shaped
not
only
by
norms,
and
by
the
particularity
of
individual
musical
practice,
they
are
integrally
transformed
by
the
nexus
of
associations
within
which
Dhrupad
becomes
intelligible
in
situated
practice
amongst
particular
communities.
Thus
strong
notions
of
tradition
and
fidelity
to
tradition
in
Indian
classical
music
have
to
be
understood
in
dialogic
relationship
with
intelligibility
and
individual
musical
judgment.
Intelligibility
has
both
collective
and
inter-‐personal
dimensions
represented
in
my
dissertation
by
two
concepts
–
grids
of
intelligibility
and
thick
sound
both
of
which
are
integrally
related
to
emplacement.
I
demonstrated
using
two
case
studies
that
processes
of
emplacement
are
critical
to
bridging
the
small
world
of
individual
musical
lineages
with
the
categories
and
codes
of
an
organized
system
of
knowledge.
This
happens
in
two
ways,
both
of
which
implicate
dynamics
that
straddle
subject
and
object,
local
and
global,
individual
and
institution.
The
first
is
the
interactive
forms
of
knowledge
produced
within
acoustic
communities
that
I
defined
as
communities
emplaced
by
shared
but
not
necessarily
homogenous
listening
practices.
The
second
is
through
processes
of
emplacement
in
the
repeated
engagement
with
musical
forms
in
individual
musical
practice.
Collective
intelligibility
includes
but
goes
beyond
individual
lineages
or
even
musical
communities,
as
Dhrupad
is
rendered
intelligible
within
a
whole
nexus
of
heterogeneous
practices
that
constitute
Place
at
a
given
historical
moment.
At
the
same
time,
the
cumulative
dimensions
of
intelligibility
for
an
expert
tradition
bearer
who
engages
with
his
inheritance
in
intense
musical
work
have
to
be
given
weight
in
an
analysis
of
tradition.
These
dimensions
are
contained
in
the
dynamic
concept
of
thick
sound.
While
I
investigate
grids
of
intelligibility
through
forms
of
knowledge
produced
in
emplaced
acoustic
communities
for
Dhrupad
in
the
context
of
my
case
studies,
I
investigate
thick
sound
by
attending
to
histories
of
interactivity
and
potentialities
of
practice
that
are
animated
in
personal
engagements
with
sound.
I
used
the
concepts
of
cognitive
intertwining
and
interanimation
to
investigate
how
musical
performance
creates
and
sustains
acoustemic
anchors
that
co-‐locate
167
emotional
and
acoustic
memory
in
both
habitual
and
catalytic
ways.
Through
particular
memorial
practices
and
repeated
engagement
with
musical
forms
in
the
interactivity
of
singing
in
place,
the
sounds
of
Dhrupad
become
interanimated
with
the
associations
of
relationships
lived
in
and
through
sound.
Thus,
for
the
first
of
my
two
case
studies
set
in
contemporary
Bettiah,
the
memorial
practices
of
the
hereditary
communities
that
have
lived
in
place
for
several
centuries
in
this
rural
town
make
it
possible
for
me
to
conduct
an
archeology
of
the
grids
of
intelligibility
for
Dhrupad
performance
in
the
transition
from
princely
patronage.
Even
as
late
as
the
mid-‐twentieth
century,
the
grids
of
intelligibility
for
Dhrupad
in
Bettiah
included
a
culture
of
Devi
and
Mahadev
worship,
tantric
practices,
community
life
cycle
events
and
festivals
such
as
Holi
and
Durga
Puja
held
in
locations
on
the
Bettiah
estate
and
its
surrounding
town
and
villages.
These
histories
have
been
transmitted
to
Indra
Kishore
in
the
intense
work
of
acquiring,
churning
and
polishing
ancestral
repertoire
while
living
on
ancestral
land
where
his
ancestors
and
the
other
musical
families
of
Bettiah
lived
and
sung
for
a
few
hundred
years.
The
histories
of
interactivity
animated
by
thick
sound
include
the
sonic
geographies
of
the
Bettiah
Estate
and
its
performance
spaces,
the
musicians’
street
where
hereditary
musical
families
composed
and
practiced
music
at
home,
and
the
many
temples
of
the
Bettiah
Estate
that
retained
musicians
in
their
service.
Most
importantly,
they
also
include
the
particularities
of
Indra
Kishore’s
musical
life
that
marked
sound,
guts
and
vocal
chords
with
the
memory
of
learning
to
sing
while
hungry,
being
brought
up
in
conditions
of
extreme
penury
and
hardship
by
a
father
whose
will
to
live
was
fuelled
primarily
by
the
desire
to
pass
his
precious
family
musical
inheritance
on
to
his
only
son
as
intensely
as
possible.
In
my
second
case
study
set
in
contemporary
Kolkata,
I
investigated
the
interactive
practices
through
which
non-‐hereditary
expert
musician
Falguni
Mitra
sustains
musical
judgment
and
categorical
knowledge.
I
considered
both
the
daily
work
of
transmission
and
individual
practice,
and
the
inter-‐subjectivity
of
performance
and
musical
life
amongst
the
changing
acoustic
communities
for
Dhrupad
in
the
course
of
Falguni
Mitra’s
musical
life,
both
with
his
father
and
later
on
his
own.
Using
the
metaphor
of
listening
in
and
feeding
back,
I
studied
the
interruptive
mechanisms
through
which
the
contemporary
practice
of
Dhrupad
functions
as
an
acoustemic
environment
in
Mitra’s
daily
life
as
a
musician.
I
analyzed
a
number
of
interruptive
moments
that
cause
Mitra
to
listen
in
to
sound
as
thick
sound,
and
to
respond
verbally
and/or
musically,
in
order
to
understand
the
nexus
of
interactions
that
stabilize
particular
musical
experiences.
This
analysis
highlights
the
dynamics
between
individual
musical
judgment,
grids
of
intelligibility
and
the
norms
of
Hindustani
music
as
a
Great
Tradition.
I
showed
that
specific
aesthetics,
musical
knowledge,
models
for
musical
action
and
metrics
for
right
practice
are
stabilized
by
histories
of
interactivity
that
entangle
acoustic
and
non-‐acoustic
domains.
I
demonstrated
that
the
result
of
heightened
hearing
is
usually
verbal
or
musical
response
that
feeds
back
to
strengthen
the
interactive
mix
through
reiteration
and
168
transformation.
By
considering
both
the
catalytic
and
the
habitual
interactivity
of
individual
musical
lives,
I
demonstrated
conclusively
in
these
two
case
studies
that
musical
judgment
and
strong
notions
of
fidelity
to
tradition
in
Dhrupad
performance
are
sustained
by
thick
sound
-‐
heterogeneous
domains
of
acoustemic
interactivity
that
are
irreducible
to
literacy,
literalism
and
technological
determinism.
My
project
is
situated
in
post-‐colonial
India
a
hundred
years
after
the
debates
that
constitute
my
point
of
departure,
when
technology
and
print
culture
is
a
fact
of
everyday
existence.
Yet,
it
is
a
historical
project
because
first
of
all,
the
questions
I
ask
are
about
the
writing
of
histories.
Secondly,
I
focus
on
an
archeology
of
grids
of
intelligibility
in
relation
to
changing
environments
for
the
practice
of
Dhrupad
in
two
juxtaposed
case
histories.
My
project
is
also
historical
because
it
attends
to
the
histories
of
interactivity
that
are
cognitively
intertwined
with
the
practice
of
Dhrupad
in
places
–
histories
that
animate
the
engagement
with
musical
inheritance
as
thick
sound
even
after
the
contexts
themselves
have
changed
or
vanished.
These
cognitive
entanglements
are
kept
alive
both
by
habitual
memorial
practices
and
by
the
catalytic
eventfulness
of
musical
life
in
places
–
processes
of
listening
and
feeding
back
that
sustain
thick
sound174.
Finally
it
is
historical
because
of
the
historicity
of
the
traditions
carried
by
the
two
expert
musicians
I
focus
on
in
my
case
studies.
In
chapter
five,
I
turned
my
focus
to
musical
performance
and
questions
of
tradition
and
ontology.
Whereas
in
Chapters
three
and
four
I
focused
on
the
associative
dimensions
of
interanimation,
in
Chapter
five,
I
focused
more
closely
on
the
processes
through
which
musicians
sense
and
cognize
musical
forms
and
aesthetic
categories
in
a
variety
of
musical
situations.
Using
a
close
analysis
of
raga
alap
and
the
Dhrupad
banis
-‐
esoteric
aesthetic
categories
in
Dhrupad
performance
-‐
I
showed
that
musical
forms
such
as
raga
and
pada
(song)
engender
processes
of
emplacement
through
the
interweaving
of
structure
and
affect,
and
form
and
feeling
–
thereby
opening
up
heterogeneous
pathways
to
the
flow
of
performance.
While
some
scholars
writing
on
Hindustani
music
have
tended
to
polarize
enumerated
knowledge
and
felt
knowledge,
I
demonstrated
repeatedly
in
my
analysis
that
musical
performance
in
Dhrupad
is
guided
by
heterogeneous
acoustemic
maps
that
interweave
enumerated
knowledge,
embodied
knowledge,
and
affective
knowledge
that
render
sound
thick
in
performance.
This
systemic
affordance
for
interweaving
emotion
and
memory
with
structure
engenders
the
inter-‐animation
of
a
classical
174
To extend my claims in history, I need to extend the analysis to the crucial period of the early 20th
century where I will focus on three different locations in which the Dhrupad traditions of the Bettiah court
were transmitted and transformed – in its place of origin in Bettiah and in the migrant homes of Benares
and Kolkata. This work was initiated in the context of my dissertation project, but will be completed and
published separately.
169
music
practice
with
forms
of
knowledge
produced
in
the
associations
of
musical
life.
These
processes
of
emplacement
form
fertile
interactive
grounds
for
the
transformation
of
musical
judgment,
categorical
sense
and
ontological
status
in
Indian
classical
music
performance.
I
trace
strong
notions
of
tradition
and
fidelity
to
tradition
in
Indian
classical
music
to
these
processes
of
emplacement.
Through
this
extended
analysis,
I
established
that
the
categories,
codes
and
musical
forms
of
a
Great
Tradition
both
pluralize
and
develop
ontological
weight
in
interaction.
Significantly,
my
analyses
in
Chapter
five
demonstrate
that
even
while
the
formal
categories
of
Indian
classical
music
differentiate
the
aesthetic
character
of
musical
forms
according
to
codified
emotion,
the
aesthetic
categories
that
organize
thick
sound
are
cognized
in
the
interactivity
of
repeated
performance
as
soma-‐aesthetic
and
felt
knowledge
that
operates
between
unstructured
affect
and
codified
emotion.
In
this
interanimation
of
structure
and
affect,
the
categories
and
codes
of
Hindustani
music
as
an
organized
system
of
knowledge
become
available
to
transformation
in
performance.
The
consequence
of
this
interanimation
is
profound.
Musico-‐aesthetic
forms
in
Indian
classical
music
have
affordance
for
emotion
and
memory
that
is
interwoven
with
their
very
topography
as
musical
objects
sensed
in
performance.
Repeated
engagements
with
musical
forms
in
situated
practice
hence
gives
them
the
gathering
potential
and
eventfulness
of
places
in
performance,
putting
the
categories
and
codes
of
a
formal
system
within
the
grasp
of
human
sensibility
and
human
emotion
through
processes
of
emplacement.
In
this
process
the
formal
structures
of
knowledge
of
Dhrupad
-‐
the
high
priestess
of
purity
in
Hindustani
classical
music
-‐
begin
to
interweave
humanly
organized
sound
and
soundly
organized
humanity
(Blacking,
1973).
The
same
interactive
ground
that
sustains
the
heterogeneity
of
the
local
is
also
the
acoustemological
basis
for
ontological
status
and
strong
notions
of
fidelity
to
tradition.
What
of
Hamsa
the
bird?
In
their
recent
book
on
the
Dhrupad
genre,
Sanyal
and
Widdess
propose
that
compositions
in
Dhrupad
performance
function
more
like
oral
archetypes
than
as
cultural
objects
with
tangible
ontological
status175.
Their
argument
is
founded
on
an
analytical
exercise
of
comparing
different
versions
of
the
same
song
sung
by
musicians
of
different
traditions.
They
find
themselves
unable
to
reconcile
a
musician
having
a
strong
conception
of
a
composition
as
a
Work
with
the
existence
of
multiple
versions
across
traditions.
Rather,
they
suggest
that
a
pan-‐
Indian
tradition
results
in
a
widespread
formal
archetype.
Ironically,
the
song
they
choose
for
analysis
is
a
Dhrupad
by
Maharaja
Naval
Kishore
Singh,
the
composer
king
of
Bettiah.
The
Dhrupad
musicians
of
the
Bettiah
gharana
would
strongly
contest
Sanyal
and
Widdess’s
conclusions
that
a
song’s
objective
status
in
Dhrupad
175
(Sanyal and Widdess 2004, chapters seven and eight)
170
is
reducible
to
an
oral
archetype.
For
these
musicians
songs
are
ontologies
produced
in
hours
of
churning,
polishing,
ruminating
and
dwelling
that
are
interanimated
by
the
interactivity
of
situated
musical
practice.
Between
Amanda
Weidman
who
insists
that
the
notion
of
fidelity
in
an
Oral
tradition
is
a
postcolonial
conception
and
Sanyal
and
Widdess
who
reduce
tradition
in
composition
to
the
existence
of
a
formal
archetype,
the
musician
who
defines
tradition
by
a
strong
sense
of
fidelity
about
how
to
sing
a
song
is
stuck
between
a
rock
and
a
hard
place.
The
Bettiah
lineages
that
value
songs
as
ontology
have
little
resonance
with
either
the
literalism
of
Works
or
the
notion
of
compositions
as
archetypes.
When
Indra
Kishore
Mishra
threw
the
gauntlet
at
me
and
asked
me
to
choose
between
milk
and
water
like
Hamsa
the
bird,
he
was
pointing
at
finding
Truth
in
a
line
of
song.
When
Falguni
Mitra
refused
to
budge
with
respect
to
the
integrity
of
his
interpretation
of
the
same
song,
he
was
pointing
at
the
same
song
but
a
different
Truth.
The
obvious
next
question
is
whether
anything
goes.
The
answer
is
no
and
the
reason
why
not
is
to
be
found
in
the
many
examples
of
musical
action
I
have
investigated
in
the
three
chapters
that
constitute
the
bulk
of
my
analysis.
There
is
only
one
way
to
sing
the
Darbari
Kanada
Dhrupad
that
caused
Indra
Kishore
Mishra
to
throw
the
gauntlet
at
me
to
distinguish
milk
from
water.
Just
because
the
two
musicians
differed
in
exactly
what
this
right
way
was
does
not
mean
that
the
only
thing
that
makes
sense
is
an
“oral
archetype”
in
a
discussion
of
persisting
objects
in
Dhrupad
performance.
Debate
over
the
right
way
to
sing
the
song
in
no
way
negates
the
fact
that
there
is
a
strong
notion
of
what
“the
song”
is
to
each
of
these
musicians,
and
that
each
of
them
can
explicate
this
in
categorical
terms
that
reveal
a
logic
of
practice
stabilized
by
thick
sound.
The
right
way
itself
depends
on
the
processes
of
churning
and
polishing
through
which
an
individual
musician
arrives
at
the
notion
of
right
practice
for
a
piece
of
music
transmitted
in
oral
tradition
–
processes
that
create
thick
sound.
The
inter-‐
animation
of
Dhrupad
practice
with
the
affective
interactions
of
musical
life
in
places
works
to
raise
the
tenor
of
musical
judgments
to
an
ethics
of
practice.
At
the
same
time,
the
phenomenological
interweaving
of
affect
with
structure
and
feeling
with
form
in
Dhrupad
performance
puts
aesthetic
categories
within
the
grasp
of
human
sensibility
and
soma-‐aesthetic
experience.
In
this
interactive
mix,
the
kernel
of
a
relationship
between
aesthetics
and
ethics
in
an
oral
tradition
such
as
Indian
classical
music
is
to
be
found.
The
processes
through
which
the
two
musicians
in
my
case
study
develop
coherent,
stable,
strong
and
diverse
interpretations
of
Truth
in
song
suggests
that
ontological
status
in
Indian
classical
music
is
sustained
by
a
tradition
which
allows
for
co-‐
existing
unitary
interpretations.
Musical
forms
such
as
the
raga
and
the
composition
come
to
acquire
the
weight
of
ontology
in
the
interactive
processes
through
which
171
musicians
develop
musical
judgment
and
categorical
sense
–
processes
that
are
tethered
by
thick
sound.
At
the
same
time,
the
affordances
of
musical
forms
in
North
Indian
classical
music
performance
engender
diverse
ways
of
being
in
the
world
while
dwelling
in
the
voice.
To
use
an
architectural
metaphor,
musical
forms
in
Dhrupad
practice
are
tethered
like
tents
on
an
open
field,
not
set
in
stone
on
a
cement
floor.
Inhabiting
a
tent,
one
can
be
outside
and
inside
at
the
same
time,
a
means
of
staying
alive
by
staying
singing.
172
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