That unmistakable voice wafts in through the closed doors of the adjoining room, as I enter the tastefully done up living area.
Two miniature tanpuras enclosed in a glass case are displayed on the mantelpiece.
Soon enough, the door opens and Kishori Amonkar, the celebrated queen of Hindustani classical music, walks in. Her smiling visage that conceals a razor sharp intellect puts me at ease, conscious as I am of her piercing gaze sizing me up.
Representing the Jaipur-Atrauli Gharana, Amonkar stands out for her adherence to the basic tenets of this school of Hindustani classical music, as also for her bold and radical innovations that have brought her universal acclaim and criticism. With her characteristic nonchalance, she has forged ahead and today surveys the Hindustani classical music world from her lofty heights as an empress, imperious at times, but soft and endearing at heart.
A purist by nature
A voice that invites superlatives, a formidable command over theory, repertoire ranging from khyal to thumri, bhajans, ghazals and more, an arresting stage presence that is a picture of total absorption. “I cannot tolerate a casual approach to music. It is a serious subject that deserves the same attention as any other matter concerning man. Today, everyone wants to attain recognition fast. Do you know, I was fully equipped to go on stage at 17, but my mother did not allow me till I was 23! She wanted me to get exposed to more music, to hold the notes in place.” It may be recalled that Amonkar’s mother was the doyenne Mogubai Kurdikar, disciple of the maestros Ustad Alladiya Khan and Kesarbai Kerkar.
“Learn to hold on to the notes first. Each note is a living entity, not just a mere step in the scale. Dwell on that note till it speaks to you. It will unfold itself slowly in its true colour. Savour that beauty. Do likewise with all the other notes. Experience the grandeur of the raag in all its magnificence. This is the true beauty of Indian classical music, Hindustani or Carnatic. Where else can you weave such exquisite tapestry of sur and naad? A raag delineated in any other way is not a raag at all. Even in nature, when you see the raindrops, that alone is not the monsoon. The fragrance of the wet earth, the dark clouds, and much more contribute to the overall effect. It is the same with music. The bandish is needed. But why make the raag subservient to the bandish?” she asks.
Technical finesse
One could not agree more. All these aspects are to be seen in Amonkar’s music, a sublime ensemble of musical material. The methodical preamble of the raag, every note resonating in all its glory in its specified position, the lyrics proclaiming the melody, the voice transporting the listeners into heavenly realms and of course, her masterly, yet understated grip over taal. As she slowly and steadily gets into the mood, her total immersion in herself is amply evident. “I do get disturbed by the clicking of cameras, the flashing of bulbs and the general noises.
As I proceed, I become oblivious to everything. I am lost in the sangeet sagar. Is this not the supreme bliss of Brahman, the goal of the Vedas?” she asks. It may be the commonly heard Yaman or Bhoop, or a rare Khem or her specialities like Basant Kedar, Shudh Kalyan. Each exposition carries the Kishori stamp of originality. “The raag must evoke the concomitant feeling or mood — the rasa,” she says. Where she has felt that the bandish is incompatible with the mood of the raag, she has composed her own bandish. Her research and writing in this subject merits a separate discussion.
“I am a purist. I do not believe in short-cuts. Music must be taught as a subject from school level. I have the greatest respect for the saint composers,” says this much-decorated octogenarian. As the Rigveda says, “Speech is purified in the minds of those endowed with intellect just as grains are purified in a sieve. Whoever is thus blessed becomes a singer or a seer.” Amonkar fits this description perfectly.