By Ajay Cadambi
“Matukiya mori cheen legayo sanvara” (My lover has run away with my water pot) runs the sthayi (refrain) of a gorgeous thumri in Raag Mishra Piloo sung by Rasoolan Bai at a private mehfil in 1964, ten years before her death. It is rather remarkable that this recording even exists and is available commercially. I say this because women like Rasoolan Bai have long been forgotten by the nation and very few of their recordings are available in the public sphere. However, if there is any music on the face of this planet that leaves my skin covered with goosebumps, it is music by the tawaifs of the early 20th century.
Every Sunday morning, after I have managed to pry myself out of bed, I spend the day listening to some long forgotten songstress. Once I have performed the somewhat difficult task of choosing what to listen to, I attempt to begin my morning listening, with only occasional interruptions. I am transported. I imagine myself as a lechy patron — wait, a plump chaudharayan (chief courtesan) — in my finest Benares silk, sitting in a corner smoking my pipe, listening to what my newest protégé has to display of her taleem and nazakat.
The thumri
Thumris used to be sung with great gusto and abhinaya in an improvised dance form referred to as the ‘mujra’ (present day kathak mostly highlights only one aspect of this mujra — the complex legwork). Then, classicists began to frown on this kind of life-affirming music with all of its abhinaya. Singers took to the Bol-Banav thumri in which the emotional content of songs finds release only in vocal expressiveness, nothing else.
The more reined in Bol-Banav from the Purab Ang (Northern school) reveal all the form’s classicism, embellishment and stylization. Changes in the structure of patronage inspired composers and singers to alter and refine their romantic singing style. Soon, the Benaras thumri became the most celebrated form of thumri in India. The words “thumri” and “Benaras” are practically synonymous.
Here, Siddheshwari Bai elaborates the Bol Banav aspect of a thumri in Raag Mishra Tilang called Surat Mori Kaahe Bisrai Ho Raam:
Rasoolan Bai
Purnima Chaudhury recounts how she once asked her teacher Mahadev Prasad Mishra about a singer who had lived in Benares in the early part of the 20th century; in response, he made a dismissive gesture with his hand, saying, “Arre, voh to naachti thi.” Hindi Poetry in a Musical Genre: Thumri Lyrics, by Lalita Du Perron
In the 19th century and before, courtesans were one of the main culture-bearers of Hindustani music, and to listen to these recordings is to encounter a completely different era of India’s classical heritage. Among all the courtesans of the 20th century, Rasoolan Bai’s singing has left me spellbound. Whether it is her unique note extensions or the way her voice cracks when she meanders through the tar saptak (a higher octave), her music captures the romantic singing style of the tawaifs of Benares.
I have listened to her Ehi Thaiyya Motiya Hirayi Gaili Rama (I have lost the pearl from my nose pin, where shall I go in search of it?) on loop for days. Her music channels more pain than any other singer I have encountered. And if all of this unrequited love and longing isn’t enough to leave you feeling utterly depressed, I can only imagine how Rasoolan herself must have felt. She was forced into a life of extreme poverty and ran a small tea shop outside the radio station from which her music was often broadcast. This was, all too often, the tragic tale of courtesans of her time.
Listen to her fabulous taans in this bandish in Raag Multani, Kaahe Preet Lagai Balam.
My favourite thumri by her is set to Raag Jaijaiwanti, Aangan Mein Mat Sove:
Zohra Bai
Zohra Bai Agrewali (1868-1913) was a direct student of Ustad Kallan Khan of Agra and the great Ustad Mehboob Khan (Daraspiya) of Atrauli. She is known to have influenced the singing style of Ustad Faiyaz Khan, the greatest name of the Agra Gharana in modern times. Zohra is a lone female figure in a gharana that was and is still largely male-dominated.
Her music is robust and sensual. She carefully reinterpreted the traditions she inherited through her gharana. She is a glorious change from all those constipated bellowing male singers. When I hear her sing the words “piya ko dhoondhan jaoon sakhi ri” in Raag Des, I’m completely taken into her quest to find that elusive piya. Just as I wholeheartedly hope that her piya is not sleeping with another woman when she sings playfully “naahin naahin jaana, sautan ghar saiyyan”.
Once the sun has set, I tune into Zohra Bai’s Araj Suno Dastagir Peer in Raag Puriya:
Cadambi is a graduate student based in Bangalore. He is obsessed with Hindustani music and Sanskrit love poetry.