Minor Scale

Friday night at the local concert hall watching Pandit Vishwa Mohan Bhatt kick Hindustani ass for 3 hours. And front row seats no less. (”Kick Hindustani ass” is probably a description that purists would frown upon, but that’s the best my illiterate self could conjure up). Luckily for us, Panditji announced what he was doing before every recital, so I deluded myself into thinking I knew what he was doing. For instance, I know he started off with Raag Maru Bihag which I later googled to discover was the Hindustani equivalent of the Kanada Raagam. He explained the concept of Aalaap, the slow start. Ok, alright…got it. Then things get more hectic in the er, um…the second part. And finally, the tabla joins in the, well, lets just say, the third part. Oh! it’s also where he said he’ll play everything in a 16/3 taal. And upon reading the looks of 500 befuddled short division experts, the Panditji quickly clarified that he’ll be working out the Math on that one. Their collective sighs of relief set aflutter the little hairs on the back of my neck.

Seated in the first row, I had an unobstructed view of the man and his Mohan Veena, and it was pretty darn impressive. Notes sustained an extra few impossible seconds than they normally could. Fingers swiftly but surely traveled across the length of the instrument drawing perfect sounds from both ends. One didn’t have to know Maru or Bihag to revel in this avalanche of wondrous music coming our way. And while I wanted to break into applause more than once, I refrained from it for fear of being pelted with glittery Prada purses & shiny Armani shoes. Which reminds me. I was the only one dressed like the keynote speaker at the local Geek Convention, which meant I only had my USB Pen Drive/KeyChain to throw back at them. But I needn’t have worried, for there were a select few in the audience who knew exactly what Panditji was doing. And they decided to clue us in on it with loud Wah Wah’s & Kya Baat Hain Panditji’s. It proved quite useful, for the entire audience caught onto it real fast, and sporadic bursts of applause ensued.

Before I had realized, we were already 45 minutes into the performance, approximately about the same time when I heard a voice in my head say, “Hi! I’m Nature and this is a routine call”. Piece of advice for anyone who made this far into the review. If you’ve recently had a kidney stone and been drinking enough fluids to jog effortlessly across the Sahara & back, then please pay a visit to the little boy’s (or girl’s) room before you attend a 3 hour concert. You never know if the tingle that keeps making a mad dash across the length of your spine is because you just heard an exquisite note or because your undersides had just been converted into a mosh-pit by a bladder that had a few too many drinky’s. Thank God for Subhen Chatterjee, the tabla player, who until then had only been a spectator making amusing expressions of appreciation at the Panditji. The man knocked his tabla into tune with a shiny gold hammer and joined the Panditji for the next 15 minutes leading into a stunning crescendo that helpfully numbed all my senses, except the auditory one. And as it ended, the crowd erupted into the first standing ovation of the night, while I improvised a little with my moon-walking version inching closer to the Exit and as soon as I heard the words “10 minute interval”, I was already halfway out.

After downing an over-priced samosa during the break, we were back for the second part of the show and this time he started off with a lullaby he had composed. And a lovely sounding lullaby, I might add. This was followed by, what I thought, was the best part of the show. A supreme exhibition of Raag Basant that had me hallucinating about lush-green hills, colorful birds, a dozen rainbows, some chick dressed as Shakuntala…you know, the usual Basant trip. (Another quick Google powered tid-bit: Basant equals the Carnatic Vasantha, a raagam in which Ilaiyaraja created that timeless song, Andhi Mazhai Pozhigaradhu). This was followed by a composition, which the Panditji described was supposed to convey the pain of separation and would bring tears to one’s eyes. While the rendition did not suffer in quality, for someone like me, it would have taken that AND a left hook to my jaw to release the tears.

While I was still ruing the fact that I had retarded tear-ducts, an announcement was made that the Panditji was going to indulge in a jam session with a local guitarist, “Mr.Tom”. Definitely not the best part of the show, as Tom’s classic guitar struggled to keep up with its strange Indian cousin. But to his credit, he did not embarrass himself and a few lovely chords here and there complimented the improv performance. The evening came to an end with the final piece - his Grammy award winning “A Meeting By the River”. And as he put the final touches on it, the crowd came to its feet yet again in thunderous applause, and this time I had no trouble joining them in the standing ovation the man had so deservedly earned. And as corny as it may sound, the mood of the entire audience was echoed by an obviously overwhelmed fan who, when the Panditji graciously thanked the audience, responded, “What for?”.
And True Dat!

PS: I’m sure one of the compositions was in Raag Tilak Kamod, though I have no clue which one.

Some links:
- Website of Pandit Vishwa Mohan Bhatt
- Check out his contribution to Rahman’s Narumugaiye from Iruvar, esp. the first interlude.
- Website of Subhen Chatterjee

This entry was posted on Sunday, April 3rd, 2005 at 10:53 pm and is filed under Music. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.