On show, when Pandit Ronu Majumdar shared the dais with J.A. Jayanth at Bharat Kalachar in a flute jugalbandi, was not just top musical fare as the two whistling woods – of Maihar gharana and Mali bani – blended into one. Nor just a series of musical insights as two different idioms fused and fissioned. But also the endearing sight of a mentor challenging and encouraging a budding talent into discovering new realms within him. With a playful pat on the back here, a “Bahut Achche” there, and fervent nods of approval, Majumdar was the picture of blessing in human form.
Jayanth is no novice himself, though. Opening with a distinctive Ni-Da-Pa, his Saraswati raga alapana rivalled Majumdar's meend-filled Hindustani version. While Majumdar would employ folksy flicks and dwell long on the vadi svaras to eke each note out from its depths, Jayanth's Carnatic phrases built the ragaswaroopa with sound time-tested and structured phraseology. This contrast threw up the following insight: if a raga were to be put under a Hindustani microscope, it would take longer and more blissful moments for its essence to become manifest, while the Carnatic microscope depicts a cross-section of the raga with the incision of each phrase. By the close of G.N. Balasubramaniam's 'Saraswati Namostute', brought to a crescendo by synchronised kuraippu teermanams, Majumdar had showered praises of all assortments on his younger partner.
Majumdar's 'phuk' or blowing technique is powerful. The sharp accent singed into several of his phrases in the concert opener 'Vatapi Ganapathim' had the tonal quality of the Japanese Shakuhachi. Jayanth, in his turn, too impressed by emptying his lungs into the chasm within his 40-inch-long Shankh Bansuri.
Jejevanti, Majumdar's “favourite raag”, was given full treatment in a 45-minute exposition. If Ustad Fayaz Khan composed a bandish 'More Mandir Ajahu Nahi Aaye' (The lord did not come to my temple today either), the raag – Jayanth's Dvijavanti articulation included – bespoke the wry tale of a longingly melancholic devotee. In the aalap, harmony of sorts was created as Jayanth played lilting phrases in the higher register and Majumdar infused counterpoints in the bass.
Majumdar is a sight to behold while performing. He appears to become immersed in the semiotics of musical communication – visibly appreciative of each turn, drop, oscillation as though each nuance connoted some tangible plot point in the tale of the raga.
And then came the real plot twists, as Majumdar swerved into Din-ki Pooriya (Bhogavasantha, a Panthuvarali janya raga that omits the panchama), and Jayanth peeked into Kaanada, before coming back home to Jejevanti.
The tani avartanam here was eye-opening and ear-opening too. While Neyveli Venkatesh's mridangam burst forth into quirky nadais and korvais, Ramdas Palsule employed modulations of texture and volume to exhibit more dimensions of percussive musicality. Synergising towards the end, the two came together as one unified wave that receded to a low gurgle and rose to a thunderous crest.
A wistful criticism: Neyveli played almost exclusively for Jayanth's solo phrases and Palsule for Majumdar's; it might have made for a more complete jugalbandhi for each flautist to have swapped percussionists and produced a fresh aesthetic sound.
For the finale, and in the true spirit of experimental fusion, Jayanth employed mishra swaras in far greater proportion than he might usually have done for a Sindhu Bhairavi in a kutcheri, while Majumdar turned his bansuri into a piccolo that chirped like a sparrow harking to a spring in the offing.
