It was the best performance Ive ever seen. The theatre was
a miniature indoor forum with three levels of seats stacked
tight, facing a dusty cedar stage with three Persian rugs. I
lost my seat to a lady with a cane and had to sit on the floorit
turned out to be the best seat in the house. The lighting was
minimal, two fat fernels above the stage with steel blue gels
and some likkos in the back giving a warm salmon hue. These
two colours make magic with humans and instruments. Salmon lends
a soft, liquidity to skin and wood and the blue brings forth
anything metal. A bending sound came from the shiny sitar strings
as the father-son ensemble tuned them. The two men wore traditional
Indian clothes of saffron and turquoise and had a different
demeanour than theyd had earlier that evening when I interviewed
them at a pizza parlour.
I almost didnt make it to the interview or the concert. I
hadnt been feeling very well that day, but I was curious to
see if I could make a connection between Kundalini Yoga and
sound. As I sat waiting for them, a stream of images and mispronounced
Sanskrit terms floated through my mindchakras, nada, bija, shakti,
kirtan. Swami Sivananda wrote that various musical notes have
their own corresponding nadis in the vital centres withinthe
Kundalini chakrasand the music vibrates these nadis, purifies
them and awakens the psychic and spiritual power dormant in
them. I realized that I have very little understanding of Kundalini
or Indian music, so I allowed these thoughts to co-exist in
silence.
Over coffee and the roar of passing cars I sat with Deobrat
Mishra, twenty-four, and his father, Pandit Shivnath Mishra.
They have performed together since 1992, but Deobrat has been
Pandits student since birth. The day I was born, my father was
at a tea shop. He came home to me and sang the scale in my ear.
Ive heard it every day since. My father is my teacher. His music
is inside me, in my soul. Deobrat recently won the Jewel of
Sound, the Indian equivalent of a Grammy, for his sitar playing.
It is our duty to play Indian classical music, he said. I also
play world music when I am in Europe, but I keep it separate
from our Indian classical music. Indian classical music is vast;
it is like the ocean. When you get inside, it just gets larger
and largerit never ends. I wondered aloud if there is such a
thing as secu-lar Indian classical music or if it is meant to
bring about a devotional or meditative mood. Deobrat informed
me that the music is not secular, it is sacred. According to
scripture, music has existed for as long as the universe has
existed. Brahma, when uttering the Vedas, gave one called the
Samaveda, the musical veda. It has been combined with notes
and sung by the priests for centuries. When the priests sing
Samaveda, they are singing it for the gods, said Deobrat. When
we play in India we often play in temples and this brings a
very spiritual feeling because we go there to play for God.
To connect with God. I look into Gods eyes and call Him with
music. In Indian philosophy, they say that music is the best
way to call the gods and meet the gods. There is no other way.
The instrument sitar comes from Sarasvati, the Goddess of knowledge.
She invented it. I looked at Pandit. His face wore a slight
frown and an ashy indifference toward me and my questions. Periodically
Deobrat would address him in Hindi and he would respond in Hindi.
I asked Deobrat about his fathers life. Pandit has played sitar
since he was three, choosing it instead of cultivating a singing
career, which had been the tradition for six generations of
his family. His style of playing is known as making the sitar
sing. Searching for a way to engage Pandit in the discussion,
I asked him to speak about his experience. As he spoke of playing,
his face lightened. Deobrat translated his words. When he has
his sitar in his hand and finds that mood, he forgets that Im
his son, he forgets his wife and family. He thinks about music
and nothing else. He is a person that always has a sitar in
his hand. He feels so good to be in the music. He said that
food is important to live for everyone. For him, the sitar is
important for living. If he doesnt practise for one day he feels
as if he has done nothing that day. He touches his instrument
every dayit is his first love. Pandit grew more animated as
he described his early career. He suddenly exclaimed in English:
My life was much work, much practice, and not much money. I
didnt care! I just kept playing. Before I had registered that
he was speaking to me in English, he slipped back into Hindi.
Deobrat translated: He invites you and other young Western people
to come and study sitar. Many people think that playing Indian
music is difficult, but when you practise and put that music
inside, it is not difficult. He can make people feel music.
Teaching is the most important thing for him right now. I was
moved by Pandits sudden change of countenance. Speaking of the
sitar stirred a passion in him that was infectious.
Our conversation floated on the surface of my mind as Deobrat
introduced the concert. The first song that night was Evening,
Happy Raga, accompanied by a 16-count on the tabla and the drone
of the tanpura. What is it in a song that gives it the qualities
of happy and evening?
Deobrat had explained to me earlier that each raga has particular
qualities that are appropriate at different times. There are
over 400 ragas. They are connected to emotions, time and nature.
We have morning ragas, noon ragas, evening ragas and midnight
ragas. We have seasonal ragas. Full moon ragas. Ragas are hundreds
of years old and are said to invoke the feelings or emotions
that are attributed to them.
As I listened to the Mishras play, I was drawn into a simple
tune with an even pulse spinning around itself somehow. It continued
in this fashion for some time until almost imperceptibly expanding
into a variation of sorts. The basic fabric of the song seemed
to be coming apart and slowly weaving into a different pattern.
A sweet hum tickled my ears. I turned to see where the sound
came from and realized it was an overtone from the sitars.
The song unfolded into an improvisationthe real art of Indian
classical music. Each time a raga is played, it is encouraged
to grow into a form for that particular time and place. Because
of this, no raga is ever improvised in the same way. There was
a freshness to the performance that Ive never experienced before.
I felt like a witness to a world evolving through sound. I wasnt
alone in this the musicians seemed as astonished as I was by
the form their song was taking. I was certain that Sarasvati
graced us with her presence. I could feel her clarity in the
room.
Closing my eyes for a moment, I imagined the raga as a seed.
I wondered what the seed would grow into. I allowed myself to
be taken on a journey into the unknown reaches of the raga.
At one point, I started laughing for no particular reason, suddenly
aware that emotions are indeed vibrations. I felt the vibration
of the emotion happiness in my body and mind. An acute smile
filled my face. I was experiencing Happy, Evening Raga! Had
I entered the raga or had the raga entered me? It moved me and
moved through me at the same time. With a sharp pop from the
tabla we returned to the basic structure of the raga, the seed.
I recognized the simple tune as the one we had started with,
but I had a different perspective on it after viewing its potential.
In Ravi Shankars book My Music, My Life, he refers to the mind
as a blank canvas that can be coloured or affected by the pleasing
and soothing sound of a raga. He also explains that in the Indian
tradition there are supposedly nine sentiments that preside
over any artistic endeavour. Through the combination of tones,
a principal sentiment is invoked by a raga. And the more closely
the notes of a raga conform to the expression of one single
idea or emotion, the more overwhelming the effect of the raga
is on the listener.
Hazrat Inayat Khan, a Sufi mystic and musician, wrote that
Siva developed raga to control emotion and use it for the best
purpose. Emotions and emotional energy are a neutral force.
Swami Sivananda says that music has the power to elevate the
mind at once from its old ruts and grooves to magnanimous heights
of divine splendour and glory. I wonder where this power comes
from and how it can slip so subtly into my consciousness. How
does it have the ability to stir consciousness into a particular
state of mind like happy? Kundalini-Shakti is potential energy
manifesting worlds. The concert felt like a brief introduction
to Her power as sound.
In Indian music, there is an emphasis on the exchange of vibrations
between the players and audience. There are stories of players
entering into a concert and feeling a discord among the audience
and then refusing to play. There has to be a receptacle for
the sound, something that can vibrate with it. This reminds
me of the story of the devotee who asked Shakti to visit her
house. When the day came and Shakti didnt arrive, the devotee
wept and asked why She did not come as promised. Shakti responded,
I did come, but there was so much clutter in the yard I couldnt
make it to the door.
I ask myself if the state of my mind is ready to host subtle
energies and refined sounds. Do I hear the sound of Shakti when
She approaches? Is there room for Her to enter?
Inayat Khan writes, Hindus based their music on intuition,
and the practice of Indian music has been a culture of stimulating
intuition. Intuition is a feminine force, a force that eludes
language for the most part. I know intuition as a vibration
rather than as a sound. It arrives in my consciousness with
a clarity that hovers over usual thoughts in my mind. The overtones
from the sitar remind me of the approach of intuitiondelicate,
familiar and surprising.
When the Happy Evening raga had finished, the performance continued
with a Mountain Song, a Wedding Song and a Prayer to Radha and
Krishna. Pandit and Deobrat each took a turn at carrying the
melody, then passing it off to the other. The surrender in their
playing allowed the music to flow unimpeded through graceful
fingers into the theatre. I sensed a receptivity in the audience
that left me feeling that not a drop of sound was wasted.
As the last song drew to a close, I remembered the words of
Pandit when I asked what the purpose of Indian music was. He
said, to meditate and have shanti. To connect with God, have
a fresh mind and feel good. He was right. I felt elated. I was
functioning from another level of mind than I normally inhabited.
Everything seemed a little more alive than usual. As I ran through
town to the car, my feet barely touched the pavement. I couldnt
remember any of the tunes I had just heard, but I could feel
them all vibrating in my body.
