At the Chowdiah Memorial Hall last Saturday, two single strains of light from above intersected on stage; at their meeting sat Murad Ali Khan and his accompanists. With little ceremony and only a murmured “ ijazat ,” to the audience, the sarangi wizard launched into raga Bihag, a raga well-suited to the late evening.
As we saw through Murad Ali’s opening alaap, Bihag is pure sweetness; its heavy emphasis on the gandhar, particularly, seems to sound an uplifting note of hope. As we ascend the raga, its story unfolds across the notes ga ma pa ni , with the added decoration – what the Hindustani music commentator Rajan Parrikar calls a “soupcon”, a slightest seasoning – of the teevra (sharpened) madhyam. In a moment, in rippled the tabla and sarangi support, to launch the first composition.
Through this vilambit composition – the sarangi version of the oft-sung “Kavana Dhanga Tora” – Murad’s alaaps introduced each note to us as if they were human characters in a novel: here, spend time with the pancham; did you see the rishabh? When it came time to establish the high
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The Bihag section of the concert would have worked as something of a lullaby if Murad Ali weren’t such a master of the form: its pleasing phrases, which we were treated to in ample measure, just about lulled us into a peaceful sleep-like state; then, we would be jerked awake with the painful brilliance of a phrase or meend.
A joyous chorus; the tabla rose to a crescendo; and it was time for us to clap.
The next raga was Surdasi Malhar. With its sweep from low to high
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A thumri was to close the performance – with its languorous charm, its thoughtful adagio air of resignation. But a persistent call for an encore saw the performance end with a rousing Bhairavi, after which we left, reluctantly.
The minimalism of Bhoomija’s organisation comes as relief from the garish backdrops and long-winded speeches we have encountered too often during evenings of music. The artists sat before three long strips of pale white, on a low stage; there was no need for us to gaze artificially up.
Through the concert, Murad Ali was simultaneously performer and deeply involved observer of the raga, both a picture of concentration and wonder; at particularly evocative moments, a spontaneous, quiet “wah” would emerge from his lips.