On Sunday morning, I changed my playlist to traditional Marathi music. The news of legendary bhavgeet singer Arun Date’s demise had come as a shock, and I immediately played his ‘ Shukratara Manda Vara ’, ‘ Swargangechya Kathavrati ’ along with ‘ Bhet Tujhi Majhi Smarte ’.
Then I moved on to other Marathi favourites, across styles. ‘ Mogara Phulala ’ by Lata Mangeshkar, ‘ Avagha Rang Ek Zhala ’ by Kishori Amonkar, ‘ Tujhe Geet Gaanya Saathi ’ by Sudhir Phadke, ‘ Runanubandhyachya ’ by Kumar Gandharva and Vani Jairam, ‘ Maajhe Maher Pandhari ’ by Bhimsen Joshi and ‘ Mee Dolkar ’ by Hemant Kumar and Lata. Songs sung by Vasantrao Deshpande, Vasantrao Kulkarni, Asha Bhosle, Ajit Kadkade and Manik Verma. Then there were the numerous compositions of Hridaynath Mangeshkar and Shrinivas Khale.
I am a Kannadiga, and my knowledge of Marathi just about helps me communicate with rickshaw drivers and vegetable vendors. But I love the music, even though I partly understand its meaning. It’s that melody and soul.
This brings me to a larger canvas – what most people call regional music. Diverse sounds from different parts of India, each rich and magical in their own way. Not many non-Maharashtrians may be familiar with the names I mentioned above, barring those who have made a mark in classical or film music.
But then, Maharashtra is no different than every nook and corner of India.
Kashmir to Kanyakumari, Saurashtra to Shillong, each region has made a musical contribution. Over the years, I have discovered some amazing results.
As a child, besides Hindi film music, Hindustani classical music and English evergreens, I was exposed to Kannada film songs and Guru Raghavendra Swami bhajans.
The immortal tunes ‘ Bhagyada Lakshmi Baaramma ’ and ‘ Krishna Nee Begane Baaro ’ followed me on summer vacations to Dharwad and Hubli.
Studying in Bombay, as it was then called, I heard some popular Marathi songs like ‘ Mee Dolkar ’ and hits from the film Songadya . We shifted to New Delhi when I was 11 and suddenly Punjabi music and north Indian bhajans took over. ‘ Balle Balle Je Too Meri Tor Vekhni ’ and ‘ Om Jai Jagdish Hare ’ simultaneously played from different parts of the neighbourhood. Almost a decade later, a friend introduced me to Bengali Rabindra Sangeet sung by Hemant Kumar. ‘ Daagor Daagor Chokhe ’ and ‘ Kee Je Boley Aami Bujhi Na ’. Suchitra Mitra and Kanika Banerjee followed. Surely, I felt, there was a much larger world in melody and rhythm, and that too so Indian. Film music wasn't everything, much as I loved it.
My real exploration, however, started in 2007. Having become a corporate trainer, I had the chance to travel across India. Barring the northeast India, Jammu & Kashmir, Madhya Pradesh, Kerala and Puducherry, I made it everywhere. Each evening was spent at a music store, discovering the local favourites. I wouldn’t be surprised if some salespersons thought I was buying those CDs just to copy songs for some Bollywood film score. But that was the magic. I picked up 300 Telugu songs by Ilaayaraja and 200 by Ghantasala while in Hyderabad. Rare Carnatic, Tamil folk music, songs of poet Subramania Bharti and Kerala chenda drums in Chennai. A stash of Rabindra Sangeet, Nazrul Geeti, Baul and Bhatiali music in Kolkata with some Bihu music from Assam besides Bengali songs by S.D. Burman, Talat Mehmood, Salil Chowdhury and R.D. Burman. In Bhubaneswar, I bought the entire collection of Odisha’s most popular singer Akshaya Mohanty. In Amritsar, religious music played at the Golden Temple. Manganiyar and Kalbeliya music from Rajasthan, Konkani hits from Goa and the true Kutchi folk music from Gujarat, which the Navratri revellers are blissfully unaware of. Back in Mumbai, grabbed some earthy Bhojpuri albums.
That’s the beauty of Indian music – different tones, different instruments, different hues, but one universal language, just like every other region from the planet. The more one explores, the more one discovers. Time to play the Sairat soundtrack once again. Zingaat!
