Nystagmus: Rag Bhupali

     Every Tuesday and Thursday, a short sturdy man, wearing a white dhoti, a long kurta and a khadi waistcoat would ride up to our gate in Gorakhpur. He would disembark and ring the bell on his bicycle vigourously to notify us of his arrival. Someone would go and tie up Fido, our ever vigilant and sometimes combative mixed breed dog in the verandah, whence he kept a keen eye on Gullu Master, our music teacher.
Gullu Master would very quickly take charge of the harmonium, a reeded organ like instrument with bellows akin to an accordion. He would open up an exercise book and announce the lesson for the day.
     He had been hired to teach my older sister the basics of vocal Hindustani Classical Music during her winter vacations. My sister had a beautiful singing voice and would have flourished under Gullu Master's tutelage, had she not been so short on patience and quite so fidgety.
Besides, Gullu Master's countertenor voice seemed to incite a serious case of giggles in her, especially when he would launch into a 'taan', a set of notes of a particular composition, sung with great rapidity.
     Naturally, he did not take this levity lightly, but would cast an unhappy look at her as he would continue to sing. Being a optimistically inclined person ( I suppose he had to have the faith that we could be taught and that we would, somehow and eventually, learn!), he forged on with his lessons. I was all of about four or five years old. I would sit on the rug with them and listen. Soon, Gullu Master asked me to join in the voice practice sessions. My mother was overjoyed. She had taught herself to sing because her family could not afford lessons. Her dream was that her daughters would, one day, learn to sing and her son play the tabla. Moreover, this offer of 'two for one price' was most appealing to her purse as well.
Hindustani Classical Music is based on an ancient musical system, which is quite different from Western Classical Music. There are the same sounding notes, but a set pattern and a set number of notes used, determine the compositions. But we were not concerned overtly with all that. We were taught by ear and practiced by ear. When we had mastered the initial framework of a Raga and its lesser form, the Thaat, Gullu Master would teach us a little song based on the Raga. Many of these were very old and traditional pieces, but we just sang them without much understanding.
     These songs, in Hindi, were jarring to my mother's artistic and sensitive Bengali ears. For instance, she could not believe that songs about crows, a frequent reference in these songs- being harbingers of news of one's lover, could be anything vaguely related to any form of artistry. About the lovers- well, she would sniff, that probably meant God. Perhaps they did, for the Sufi tradition of Hindustani Classical Music has always been very vibrant. God was approached in the manner of a lover and in ways that were mundane in most lives, eating, drinking, washing, sleeping and so on. Even of crows cawing on rooftops. For little girls like us, it mattered not a whit except to pique our interest now and then.

Thus we came to learn our first Raga. Bhupali. Sa, Re , Ga. Pa, Dha, Sa.
                                                                       Sa, Dha , Pa, Ga, Re , Sa.
Our very first song
Jhanan Jhanan Jhanan Jhanan Baaje paayaliya
Jaage nanadiya
Kaise jaouN tumhari paas?

My anklets are noisily chiming
My sister in law is awoken
My love, how do I go to you?

For years my sister and I would have a good laugh about this 'highly appropriate' song for little girls. But we loved the tune, indelibly imprinted into our heads by Gullu Master.
Recently I came across a You Tube offering of this song, as sung by a professional artist- a very 'grown up' and very skillful version. Here is Sandipan Samajpati singing this lovely raga.
And here's to you Gullu Master! Pranam Masterji!