Her name means strong-willed, steeped in creative art. Abhradita Banerjee has lived up to her name, staying steadfast on the artistic path her father once encouraged her to take.
Hindustani music is her forte, but her understanding of music as a science and an emotional stream extends beyond academics. Music, for her, is a way of life.
Through music, she connects with people who turn to music not just for enjoyment or calm, but also for healing and sharpening their faculties. Her work with children with special abilities, especially, is laudable for its impact and empathy.
Abhradita arrived in Thiruvananthapuram in 1996, when Hindustani music wasn’t as popular as it is today here. She persevered, musically and culturally, to belong in this land. From those days to becoming one of the leading gurus of Hindustani music in Kerala, her journey has been quite mellifluous. Excerpts:
How did you begin your music journey?
I started learning at the age of six. Back then, I loved dancing more. But my father used to tell me that dance would require greater physical effort to maintain, whereas singing was easier to sustain. Though I switched to music, I still love dance a lot.
My first music lessons were with a lady in my neighbourhood. My serious lessons began when I was eight, with Sumati Rajimwale madam. But it was in Class 7 that the true guru-shishya parampara was established, under the tutelage of Padma Shri Pandit Madan Chauhanji. I am still under his guidance.
An artist from Bengal in a place where Hindustani was not prevalent. How was the journey from the time you shifted to Kerala till now?
I was born and raised in Raipur, Madhya Pradesh, though in a Bengali family. I came here in October 1996. Those days Poojappura, where I lived, did not even have street lights. Coming from a Hindi belt, it was tough to adjust here.Moreover, I was in a good space there as a performing artist and an AIR-graded one. Coming here meant dropping below zero. But I didn’t give up. Thanks to guru kripa, I was determined to take music forward. I first performed at the Bengali association here. I tried to meet people, especially those connected with music. Slowly, I started to belong here.
How was the cultural adaptation?
There are similarities (with Bengal) at the intellectual and sahitya level. Lifestyle-wise too. But culture-wise, there is a difference. One, there was no Durga Puja here. And during Diwali, it was a struggle to get colours for the rangoli. Even diyas would be available more during Thrikkarthika. However, I did not bother much about all these. I continued with my own culture while adapting to the culture of this land.
What brought you to Kerala?
My husband, Moinak Banerjee, came here as a scientist at Rajiv Gandhi Centre for Biotechnology. He loved the place so much that he did not want to go anywhere else. I initially wanted to move out. But after my children were born, I decided to stay here because the education was good, and it was a safe place. (Sings Rabindrasangeet.)
Hindustani was not very popular in Thiruvananthapuram those days. How did you connect with the audience?
I believe any kind of art is an emotion — a soul-to-soul connection. If the voice does not reach the heart, there is no use of the art. When I began performing in Thiruvananthapuram, I used to explain the song — situation, raga, and so on. I thought no one would understand Hindi, but Kerala is unique. People here may not speak Hindi, but they understand the language.
You might not get applause like ‘wah wah’, but if a person sits till the end of a performance, it means he liked it. I learnt to read such aspects of the culture. That helped me connect with the people here. The connection endures. Now I can explain in Malayalam as well.
So, it is all a work of emotion. We cannot divide art as Hindustani or Carnatic, though there might be technical differences. Raga Kalyani in Carnatic is Raga Yaman in Hindustani; Shankarabharanam is Bilawal; Mayamalavagowla is Bhairav.
Now you see a lot of change. One of the positives of social media is the exposure for performing arts. On the other side, gharanas (genres) are not actually followed. It is important to understand that there is no shortcut to practice and devotion to art.
How important is purpose in art?
That is another level. One may perform just for personal peace and happiness. Yet the question remains: what do you give back to society? Bhava (emotion) is needed. You have to be empathetic, and that comes from diving deep and practising sincerely. Personally, I do not look out for performances. I sing only where my music is genuinely wanted. I seek no financial benefit. I also teach children. Not all can be performers — some learn to perform, others to enjoy.
It’s not just Tansens we need; we need ‘Kaansens’ too (kaan meaning appreciative ears here). Music can help ease stress. It can also help neurodivergent children improve their attention span. In children with autism and ADHD, the Indian classical music system based on alankars (Sa Re Ga Ma Pa Dha Ni Sa) has huge potential. I do therapeutic sessions.
Any specific ragas for this?
Shuddha Swara is a bright swara. Raga Bilawal, which is Shankarabharanam in Carnatic, has that brightness. When a child is hyperactive, we need a slightly calmer form of raga or swara. In such cases, I prefer using Bhairav, which helps control anxiety. Once anxiety is controlled, children with ADHD start to listen.
Even just the sound of the tanpura, if you keep it playing for some time, helps. So, depending on the child’s behaviour, I change the swaras (breaks into a song). Children with autism are often sensitive to sound, so I adjust how much projection is needed and how much of the tanpura sound to use.
Do students with ADHD respond well to the sessions?
Once they start sitting regularly, a daily routine of singing helps a lot. I don’t give them recorded patterns because the digitisation of everything irritates them. There has to be a human connection. It is working very nicely.
How long have you been doing this?
It has been a long time. Initially, I used to take one child at a time at my institution, Mukthaangan (attached to her house at Thirumala in Thiruvananthapuram). But after the pandemic, I started taking in more children. I have made it my mission to use my art to do something for them. Now I also travel to different cities for this. It has become part of my research as well. I follow a 45-day module, and after that, we observe the child’s development. Based on that, the next course is decided.
This is a one-woman project, right?
I have done two master’s degrees — one in clinical psychology and another in vocals. I attended an autism workshop once, and from that time onwards, I had it in my mind that I wanted to work for these children.
In India, most institutions for special children follow Western patterns. I wondered: Why not our own Indian pattern? The main challenge for special children lies in emotions. These aspects are already discussed in Natya Shastra, Ayurveda, Charaka Samhita, and many other ancient Indian texts.
People sang during rituals to enhance concentration and calmness. Everything is linked to the brain. In India, over the past 400-500 years, the connection with our manuscripts and knowledge systems has been lost. On the other hand, Westerners are researching them. I always had in my mind: Why not use ‘Sa Re Ga Ma Pa Dha Ni Sa’ as music therapy?
Could you explain what exactly gharanas are?
In simple terms, they are styles of singing. In Carnatic, they are called banis. Carnatic music is mainly practised across four southern states, so the number of banis is fewer. But in north India, there are many states, and that is why the number of gharanas is much more.
If we go towards the eastern side, the style of presentation is softer. You can see that in Rabindra Sangeet and Baul traditions. So even their classical forms, like the Agra Gharana and Kirana Gharana, have a softer touch.
Long ago, before India was divided, the Lahore Gharana was one of the strongest and most prominent genres of classical music. Later came the Patiala Gharana. In Rajasthan and Gujarat too, there are traditional styles.
Every region, every state, has its own tradition, its own singing style, and its own folk roots. Classical music evolved from folk traditions. That is why the influence of folk can be found in every gharana.
How has south Indian culture influenced Hindustani music?
The influence mainly comes from the swara combinations. There is a misconception that Carnatic musicians cannot sing Hindustani. That is not true. Our brains can store both. The main thing is to understand the technical nuances like voice projection changes, gamaka patterns (melody), and pace shifts. On grasping these, one can easily follow both. It also depends on the teaching. I always tell my students not to differentiate between the two.
Have you sung Carnatic songs?
I learnt Carnatic for three years when I was young. I won a prize at a national competition, too, when I was 12 or 13. I could not continue as there were no teachers in Raipur. I learnt music because of my father, and before his death, when I was in Class 9, he introduced me to many genres. I was also introduced to the Veena. My father used to take me to the veena guru’s house, 15km away from our home, on a bicycle. After I took part in competitions, the judges advised me to continue both. Unfortunately, I could not. [M S] Subbulakshmi songs were an integral part of my childhood (sings her favourite ‘Bhavayami Gopalabalam’).
As a person who has learnt both, how do you view the so-called Carnatic-Hindustani conflict?
What is a Carnatic kriti? It expresses emotions towards a deity. Hindustani, too, is emotions — both to a deity and to different human moods. Whatever the genre, it is the soul that is being touched.
In Hindustani, the time theory is more defined. Hindustani concerts are time-based, and raga selection follows that. Nobody will sing Yaman, an evening raga, during a morning concert. In south India, there are no time-based concepts for Carnatic concerts, so they mix and match.
I am, however, for experimenting. I believe you should have a projection of voice strong enough to create that concept of time. If I sing Bhairav (a morning raga) in the afternoon, the listeners should feel the morning dawning. My voice should have that power.
How do you view stories like that of Tansen singing to bring rain?
Being a researcher, I try to understand the basic theory. Such stories are documented. There is always a chance that when you sing Raag Meghmalhar, the situation of rain is created. As I said, it is about creating the mood through music.
I once had a similar experience. When I was teaching on a sunny afternoon, I was singing Raag Bhairav. My eyes were closed, and when I opened them, my students were staring at me. Outside, the sunny afternoon had turned cloudy, dawn-like. Scientifically, it might just have been the weather, but my students still remember that day and often tell me how different that class felt.
How do you look at someone who does not have ‘bhakti’ singing Carnatic?
Bhakti is about emotions. That is why teaching is important. When we teach, the words must be explained. Whether it be Carnatic, Hindustani, Kajri or folk, you need to explain the meaning. If you teach a Carnatic kriti that way, the sense of bhakti will come, whatever faith you belong to. It is about visualising. Even atheists believe in some kind of emotion. If there are no emotions, I do not think they can sing a kriti.
We are referring to people like T M Krishna...
I understood. His way of singing has evolved through several years of practice. And while singing, he connects with some kind of emotion that we may not know. Because without emotion, I do not think anything can emerge in any form of art. There can also be no connectivity with our own self or with the listeners.
Religions may urge us to form communities, but art is beyond community. There is, however, a force — and that force can be felt through emotions while performing. An example is Ustad Rashid Khan, who used to cry while singing a composition on Durga during Navaratri. I teach that connectivity to my students, who come from varied communities.
What was the style followed by Rabindranath Tagore, who wrote emotional poems?
If Hindustani is Bharatanatyam, Rabindra Sangeet is Mohiniyattam. The emotional aspect is rich in Gurudev’s lyrics. The music was composed by several people, including his family members and even Shantiniketan students. The lasya element and composition made the music technically and emotionally rich. (Sings Rabindra Sangeet.)
Many classical singers have gone on to sing in films. Did you ever consider it?
I was always away from the networking circles needed for film music. As an ‘A’ grade artist in AIR in the ghazal stream, I did get some offers. But I always wanted to keep myself within the classical stream.
I, however, have done aakars (background vocals) for some films. I do respect the way film music is planned, and if someone wants the kind of music I present, I am still open (smiles).
Hindustani music is now increasingly featured in film songs...
Yes, and many of my students are now prominent singers. Srikant Hariharan, Narayani Gopan and Reshma Raghavendran among them.
Malayalam films have had a long-time connect with Hindustani…
I have been a judge for many reality shows. I have heard the compositions of Baburaj and Johnson — Raag Yaman was his signature, as seen in Anuragini and Devanganangal. Southern Kerala had lesser influence earlier, but that is no longer the case. Carnatic and Hindustani are just a few gamakas apart. Some composers have even mixed Western influences. When Hindustani is fused with Western, the difference is not as conspicuous as when Carnatic is. Nowadays, there is hardly any pure Carnatic music in contemporary film songs.
There are many ghazal fans too in Kerala…
Yes, even Malayalam ghazals exist. Ghazal is primarily a style of writing. Hariharan sir has used Carnatic ragas in ghazals, but the essence of ghazals lies in lyrics and emotion. Abida Parveen, Chithra Singh, Ghulam Ali — each brings a distinct pattern of singing. Ghulam Ali often blends ragas (sings his famous ‘Chupke, chupke’), while Mehdi Hasan always stayed true to one raga (sings his ‘Ranjish hi sahi’). Jagjit Singh created beautiful compositions that incorporated Western influences. He took ghazals to the common people; until then, they were the preserve of the elite.
Nowadays, classical music is also breaking out of elite circles…
Thanks to social media, people now learn about different programmes and genres easily. In Kerala, classical concerts still draw a select audience. These days, people often relate classical music to film songs — you can see listings like “Ten film songs based on Raag Yaman”. That’s fine, but why not also explore the raga structure itself? Adnan Sami does this — he even plays pure classical kritis on the piano. That way, people are tempted to know more. About 10 years ago, I started a band called Srishti to popularise Hindustani khayals and ragas. We need to approach popularisation with a visionary mindset.
'Not many are aware of Swathi Thirunal’s Hindi kritis’
You have also worked on Swathi kritis in Hindustani, haven’t you?
Yes. I have compiled 20 of Maharaja Swathi Thirunal’s 38 kritis. Seven were released by Saregama as an album. One famous composition is ‘Vishweshwara’, dedicated to Kashi Vishwanath. It is remarkable — the maharaja never visited Kashi, yet his composition vividly depicts the city’s geography. Sadly, not many are aware of his Hindi compositions. I made some improvisations and performed Vishweshwara in Kashi — at Indira Gandhi National Centre for Art, BHU, and AIR Varanasi, which recorded the session (sings ‘Vishweshwara’).
I would like to end this conversation on a musical note. There is a song written by Gurudev in 1905, protesting the partition of Bengal. Its essence is: “Walk alone if you believe you are on the right path.” It is ingrained in every Bengali heart — and I feel it should be our life’s motto (concludes with ‘Ekla chalo re’).
