Sawai Gandharva Fest – A first timer’s experience

December 15, 2008 | Filed Under Poetry, Point of View, Theatre & Movies, life's answers 

And I almost missed it. Thankfully there were friends around who kept talking about it and it generated enough curiosity for me to experience it. To confess I hadn’t heard about the festival before, there had been passing mentions of it in my life earlier, particularly by a friend called Vishakhadutt, but nothing had prepared me for it. I was amazed.

For those who don’t know: Sawai Gandharva is a music festival started by Pt. Bhimsen Joshi as a dedication to his guru – Sawai Gandharva. It’s now a 56 year old tradition. The greatest of musicians perform here. The genre is purely Indian classical. About 15000 people attend the festival every year, but it could be much more. The festival has grown to be larger than life. It’s also interesting to hear the conversations of people around you, they know their artists and talk about their idiosyncracies, they also know their music. It’s an experience worth taking and revisiting.

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Thank you A & H for introducing me to this.

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While there, i wrote a few music scapes. Haven’t edited them much. So execuse the mistakes.

Here they are:

During the performance of the brothers Rajan & Sajan Mishra (vocals)

The casual droning of the tanpura muffles the voices of a soulless melody that emanates from the heart and reaches the Fingertips.
God lets man supersede him at times. Reluctance of being a man falls apart. Bit by bit it becomes the beats of a tabla. Accompanying the tanpura they leave the man they occupy. They become what lesser mortals will never be.
Ants – They Crawl over what remains, releasing a sigh that grows into a moan. A moan that slowly grows wings and flies. And in its flight it meets another bird, another bird that’s emanated from dead skin, a hint of desperation and a rhetoric gone mad.
Together they fliy over a sea, a sea that has been thirsty for years. They are the bashirs of a never ending rain. But it is still far – the droplets will take their own time to come. For now there is only hope. But unlike before, this hope comes with a promise. The birds Slowly land on to the parched land. And wait in peace.
For only when war is over, will man see who he really is.
The rain will come.

During the performance of the brothers Rajan & Sajan Mishra (vocals)

The dust gathers dust
It’s been a while since someone has even been here
Centuries may be
Seth was last seen here
May be this is what he saw
And decided to be the progenitor of mankind
He too had seen hatred
brother killing brother
He Foresaw The bleakness
he also foresaw the beauty
A Beauty that
Even Methusaleh couldn’t have managed to see in all his llfetime
A beauty that would need at least a billion lives
And yet
The eyes would be hungry
The ears unsatiated
He would have to risk a hundred  Kanes
Killing a billion Ables
For the few SethS
Who would assimilate this beauty
And use it
To recreate paradise
The few Seths who would die a billion times
And a hundred More…
And Survive..

During the performance of Ronu Muzumdar (flautist)

The bird soars high
Slowly but surely
Sure of  What it’s doing
Sure of the eventuality
Sure of its proximity to the sun
Sure of its descent
Sure Of its eXtraordinary fate
UnKnowing of the outcome
the higher it flies
The lonelier the illusion
The emptier the arena
What it seeks?
A desert  in the sKY
For its death is foretold
But its life still a mystery

During the performance of Pandit Jasraj (vocals)

An opening in the sky
A ray of light passes through
Banished from the Kingdom
It seeks to find a meaning
A meaning so ordinary
So simple
That
The puzzle is solved
But what mystifies the man whose eye it enters is the need for demystification
Thus the puzzle is passed on
Only its form changes
an incessant cooing of the cuckoo catches the man’s ear
In an attempt  to find the beholder
The ray of light leaves his eyes.
It travels thru the branches of a tree
Who embraces its very being and breaks it into a million pieces
Thus the puzzle prospers
It blooms and bears pollen
Travels on the back of a bee
And discovers honey
For what it thinks is sweet death
Is but humiliation
A theft of freedom
It desires to break free once again
It counts a million moments
And then jumps into a cup reluctantly
Trying to enjoy its freedom between two cages
The last it remembers is hot water flowing over it and the gentle aroma of camomille
Which picks its burnt soul
And rises
And resuscitates it
The awakening-
The cloud opens up…
An angry demeanor hides the wisdom
And lets A ray escape
Another puzzle bears wings
A potter awaits,
the clay is wet …

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