The sarangi makes all the difference. And whenever battle lines are (reluctantly) drawn between the proverbial ‘Purab’ (East) and ‘Punjab’ (the region), the humble sarangi — long subdued as a mere accompanying instrument, rises vindictively, as the defining factor through thwarting vocal contests. In spite of the fact that ‘Purab’ has existed and flourished with an enriching legacy of khayal, thumris, kajris, chaitis of the Rampur Sahasawan gharanas—Punjab, with its representation in the shrinking Kasur-Patiala gharana shines owing to its roots in the sarangi. Punjab’s thumri singing becomes naturally edgy and daunting, however, less heard and appreciated.
The recently concluded Thumri Festival organised by the Indian Council for Cultural Relations, a three-day event beautifully planned to give thumri a gharana-based treatment saw Punjab riding on robust, full throated and hardened treatment to bhava. Ustad Jawad and Mazhar Ali Khan — grandsons of Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan presented compositions the illustrious doyen had popularised in the late 1950s. Ustad Jawad Ali says, “Ustab Bade Ghulam Ali Khan craved to give the audience a platter of ragas. He used ragas like gujri todi, chhayanat, jaijaivanti, malkauns, kamod, hamir, sohini, gawati, gunkali and jangla bhairavi.”
At this particular evening, while Pandit Ajoy Chakraborty and daughter Kaushiki presented their remarkable takes dotted with influences and deviations foreign to this school of thought and its thumris, the Khans, predictably, followed the rules. Their singing of khamaj made one long for des over incessant Delhi rains (malhars don’t really make and marry thumri). In the middle of this bit of history, the sarangi stood strong, like the voice behind the voices and their inspiration. The sarangi had come to Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan before his own voice.
Long before Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan picked up khayal singing as a child, he was acquainted with the musicality in sarangi and the similarities it shares with the tonal quality of a trained throat. This gave Khan, and Patiala the solid training ground and the material to tackle the most difficult twists and turns in bhava. Khan could toss over to other influences. He inculcated elements from Dhrupad singing, borrowed a bit of emotionality from the Jaipur Gharana and technique from Gwalior for thumris and tappas. This changed everything for the Patiala-Kasur Gayaki. His son Ustad Munawar Ali Khan became a mirror image of this style. Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan’s style became the cult, clot and cause of Patiala’s musical vibrancy.
Though thumri primarily deals with sringar and viraha rasas Patiala’s love-laiden lilt is far from coy and sugary — it betrays restlessness, a resignation to human parting, and a revoked faith in reason and remembrance. It isn’t pompous. Its embellishments appear greyed over a likeable gloom. It nudges the form and frailties of the khayal. Was thumri training under Ustad Munawar Ali Khan tough? “We would be given ragas to practise for the different timings of the day — bhairavi, multani, yaman and bihag. We would practise paltas (swara arrangements) in these four melodies. Five years of solid palta practise was the minimum one would require. Our grandfather was against repetitions in singing. This requires hard work.”
Jawad and Mazhar Ali Khan treat the grandfather’s thumris like a genre within a genre. Their repretoire exists — intact and compact as the world has known and heard them. At this particular performance they sang popular Yaad Piya ki Aaaye and Paniya bharankaise jaau. Their style is their mark or reverence to the great Ustad and his utter faith in the sarangi. People who mistake this trait in the brothers as an artistic bankruptcy are distant from the Khan’s promise to tradition and legacy.