The folk, fusion and fun of it
Music aficionados call Malini Awasthi India’s folk queen. A ganda bandhan disciple of thumri maestro Girija Devi, Awasthi is a trained vocalist in Hindustani classical forms such as dadra, thumri and kajri. But many classical musicians are in the habit of nouveau experimentation to create
a younger fan base that responds to fusion better. At Awasthi’s recent performance at the Indo-American Chamber of Commerce, she was accompanied by musicians on electric guitars, drums and a synthesiser, along with the usual suspects—the tabla and flute.
Sometimes such collaborations work, like Saptak Chatterjee or Raghu Dixit, or flop like Coke Studio Bharat. Speculations about the latter are put to rest the moment Awasthi breaks into the soulful lyrics of Ab ke Saawan Ghar Aaja. She manages to successfully make a case for this fusion-of-a-collaboration with her roaring voice that complements the blast beat on the drums, even though the tabla struggles to make its presence felt.
But, the showstopper is the unassuming flute that gets generous doses of solo segments, which it uses to the optimum. “Music is a game of 12 notes. In this world, you can create any kind of music using these notes. For me, classical music is like water. It has many forms—it can flow or be frozen. If you have your fundamental classical training in place, you can create anything with it,” she says.
Awasthi is not just music to ears, but also a delight for the eyes. She transitions from her usual avatar of a demure traditional singer into a powerhouse of a performer. Her animated crooning of century-old verses, combined with rhythmic movements, is in tune with the energy of her much younger band members for the evening. She is visibly vibing, and with her, the audience.
Purists would perhaps take offence to her rendition of the iconic Begum Akhtar’s evergreen thumri Humari Atariya. But the revered music of the Lucknow gharana couldn’t have been made more accessible to Gen Z, even millennials. Awasthi lets them appreciate the nuances of being lovelorn in the 1950s, even as they head bang to the rhapsodic beat drop.
“I believe that music must go forward, and that is why collaborations are important. It doesn’t make sense if it doesn’t inspire the youth,” she says adding, “What is important is that every artiste, who is experimenting with different genres, must ask why they are doing it. Are you trying to create new sounds? Are you just trying to make something seem interesting? Or are you making traditional music relevant for the next generation?
Because I believe, all artistes must have a sense of responsibility.” It is to that end that Awasthi has consistently reinvented herself. With her foundational training in Hindustani classical music, she took to folk music, when she got drawn by its rich lyrics that are as witty as they are empowering. She also done playback singing, and has popular numbers, including Dil Mera Muft Ka (Agent Vinod), Sunder Susheel (Dum Laga Ke Haisha) and Jiggi Jiggi (Lipstick Under My Burkha), to her credit.
The sign of a great singer lies in the versatility and breadth of their voice. Awasthi shows why she belongs in the league of the greats. She has let her learnings—discipline from classical; liberation and celebration from folk, and control from playback—permeate her entire repertoire.
At 57, she longs and yearns and pines for her beloved in Humari Atariya, and then brings to life the innocence, mischief and glee of a 12-year-old child bride in the Awadhi folk song Saiyaan Mile Ladkaiyaan’, played to what seems like Jawaiian music.
This is not to say that she doesn’t miss a beat. She does run out of breath, but makes up for it with well-timed twists every now and then, as she renders Amir Khusrau’s Aeri Sakhi More Piya Ghar Aaye to reggae; or when she pulls up her long hair over her face to the lines muh per dale kes from Chaap Tilak. It is almost impossible to not clap and tap along.
The popular qawwali is a devotional song. Here, the singer completely surrenders to the beloved, the almighty; and as Awasthi sways her fuchsia dupatta to bal bal jaaun, main bal bal jaaun, she is indeed a woman possessed.