Finding redemption in the Indian monsoon

Santosh Sivan’s incinerating tale of the clash between coloniser and colonised, finds no catharsis in the rain.


When you pack cinematographer-turned-auteur Santosh Sivan, the leading figures of Indian art house cinema—Rahul Bose and Nandita Das—and the universal story of the clash of cultures, you expect nothing less than sublimely executed, incinerating drama on screen.

Sivan’s English language directorial debut, Before the Rains, is set in pre-independence Kerala. An ambitious young Indian, TK Neelan (Rahul Bose), is torn between the promise of prosperity, offered by his boss, British spice baron, Henry Moores (Linus Roache), and loyalty to his own people at a time when the Indian nationalist movement is gathering momentum.

While the film is about an individual caught in the clash between the coloniser and the colonised, it could just as easily be about the questions of identity that we constantly face as immigrants to a new country.

When TK’s father reprimands him for his “modern ideas” TK refutes, “It was you sent me to the English school.” TK is constantly rebuked for his dream of collaboration with the British rulers. When TK offers, “With mutual co-operation comes mutual prosperity.” his teacher responds, “Partnership requires equals Mr. Neelan, remember that,” as he tries to convince TK to join the nationalist protest movement.

When times are good, Moores treats TK almost as an equal, even offering to name the road they are building after him. Yet, when Moores’ illicit affair with his beautiful, Indian housemaid, Sajani (Nandita Das) leads to dangerous consequences, TK is forced to deal with the situation. The moment of epiphany for him seems to come when Moores does not stand up to take responsibility for a crime that TK is now being tried for.

Yet, the moment passes without any tension—cinematically there is no moment of epiphany in this film. In his notes, Sivan talks of “exploring grey shades of people”, yet his characters remain half-baked: Moores seems like nothing more than a spineless adulterer, Sajani’s fascination with British culture (she learns English songs) as well as her passion for her English lover, are only partially developed. TK’s turmoil built up gradually, and enacted with superb restraint by Bose, comes to sudden fruition, reaching no crescendo. TK finds his identity and independence, and the rain that pours down—the often-used Indian metaphor—is an inept catharsis for the audience.

However, to Sivan’s credit, the film is sincerely directed, and ravishingly beautiful in photography. He cinematically builds the metaphors of the film, like the road that Moores and TK struggle and hope to build together. Sivan says in his notes, “the road… depicts the act of violence on nature as the story unfolds. I illustrated this by shooting the film in a style reminiscent of pre-Raphaelite paintings in which the earth itself carries sentiment and is full of symbolism and meaning.”

Though, exploring themes of cultural clashes, the film production itself is a celebration of cultural diversity. Shot in the remote region of Munnar, Kerala—hours up winding mountain roads from any city—the production brought together crews from Mumbai, Chennai and Munnar, actors from UK and producers from US. Local craftspeople hand-made an entire village as the set for the film. The story itself is adapted from an Israeli short film, Red Roofs, about an Israeli farmer who has an illicit affair with his housemaid and forces his assistant to deal with the consequences. It isn’t really surprising how seamlessly the action shifts to 1937 Kerala.

Linus Roache too has his own Indian links—way before his recent slew of projects in India, including this film, Mira Nair’s The Namesake and Broken Thread. His mother, Anna Cropper, who was in Jewel in the Crown, brought him out of boarding school to join her in Kashmir when he was 17. “It was quite a culture shock. I ended up smoking bidi cigarettes in the back of a taxi, thinking I was smoking dope, which I wasn’t!” he told Sydney Morning Herald. Thankfully, he did learn much more about India on the many latter trips he made to the country for his spiritual interests.

All photos: Alphonse Roy

Explore the stunning and humbling expanse of Barrington Tops

Barrington Tops offers a wilderness experience so close to Sydney, it is quite irresistible.

My idea of a holiday is where half the fun lies in getting to your destination. And although Barrington Tops is only a 3-hour drive from Sydney, the journey is filled with discovery.

Driving up north, you can make a stop to view some reptiles at the Australian Reptile Park, or feed pelicans at the Entrance, go wine tasting through the Lower Hunter Valley, soak in some history in the many small towns and view the lovely sundial at Singleton.

And then the destination itself—the majestic beech forests, the pristine, shimmering rivers, the challenging walking trails, breathtaking views of the horizon and beyond—Barrington Tops is a fitting climax to the journey.

And the lush seclusion of Craigmhor Retreat we rented for the long weekend is the perfect spot to make most of the grandeur of Barrington Tops. Taking a 25km route off Aberdeen, the house sits on a timbered mountainside overlooking the headwaters of the Rouchel Brook.

In fact of the 25km drive up to the retreat, the 10kms of unpaved road follows the brook, crisscrossing along its path several times. The first time we drove through the stream, we made a big splash. The second time, we stopped to dip our feet. The third time, we soaked ourselves in the cool waters, splashing around like frolicking kids. The brook is irresistible every time.

Along the way are also the most picture perfect horse studs—cascading down the green hillside. Inside, are tall, gentle and friendly horses, which will walk up to you the moment you beckon. Chirping alongside are the varied birds in hues of red, green purple and pink. Quietly crawling away, are the prickly echidnas—surprisingly quick to hide into their burrows if you venture too close.

And if you drive down this road at dusk, the setting sun will be silhouetted by the playful wallaby. We paused for at least half a dozen who hopped across our path, looking at us with as much curiosity, as we looked at them.

Wallabies abound in Craigmhor Retreat’s 1000-hectare ‘backyard’. Take on one of the marked forest walks around the house, and you are sure to spot a few. If you find the comfort of the house too arresting, the all-glass external walls of the house ensure you will spot some wildlife from your room. In fact, Craigmhor manager and owner, Gaye Hoskins like to advertise that even the loos in her house have views!

The three-bedroom guest wing of this house sits atop the valley, with views of the ever-changing landscape, up to Mt. Royal National Park. The rooms are beautifully furnished, the kitchen fully equipped, there is a decent library, and the interiors are intuitively designed. My favourite part of the house was the veranda, sitting atop stilts, giving the sense of being suspended in the eternal beauty of the bushland.

If you can pull yourself away from the many wonders of Craigmhor, pack a picnic and drive up to Moonan Flat. We ate at the delightful Linga Longa Inn in Gundy, situated on the banks of the Pages River, in the midst of the countryside. The food was delicious and the beer chilled. There are several designated picnic areas if you bring your own food and spectacular lookout points to match—especially up from Moonan Flat to Dingo Gate. The views of the expanse of the bush are startling and humbling.

Though we did not find the time to get there, the Burning Mountain Nature Reserve should be on your itinerary. Burning Mountain is one of the only three underground naturally burning coal seams in the world. Along the sign-posted walk, one can witness the ever burning coal seams, exhaust vents, and the effect it has on the surrounding landscape.

For those seeking a wilderness experience, camping facilities are also available in the Barrington Tops area. The Upper Hunter Country tourism book provides maps and ideas from several self-drive tours. If you can match your holiday with the festivals in the towns, you will also have the opportunity to interact with the lively local community. And of course the food and wine trails can be enticing. There are many ways of exploring the wondrous Barrington Tops and Upper Hunter Valley—chose your own path and reconnect with the Australian bush.

Enter the Dragon with Karsh Kale

Among his many inspirations, percussionist and composer, Karsh Kale counts one quite an unlikely candidate. “Bruce Lee represents a character that I have tried to emulate in my own work over the years. It is the style in which he represented his cultural duality, something he mastered, and something I am still in pursuit of, that inspired me,” says Kale.

He will, along with the New Delhi-based electronica producers, The MIDIval Punditz (Gaurav Raina and Tapan Raj), perform their incendiary live score for Lee’s iconic classic, Enter the Dragon, at Darling Harbour as part of the Sydney Festival 2009.

“I have been a fan of Bruce Lee since I was young. As a boy I remember waking up to a poster I had of him on my wall every morning. It was a still from the final fight scene in Enter the Dragon. I also had a cat until recent called Bruce Lee,” says Kale. “It was a no brainer for me to ask the Punditz to get involved in this project with me as I knew that they too were big fans of Mr Lee. I felt that the project would not only benefit from their skills as producers, but as well from their enthusiasm as fans.”

And what inspires Kale, a master of tabla, and an Indian electronica band to compose for Bruce Lee’s masterful visuals of martial arts? “The score I created draws upon both traditional and modern styles much like Bruce Lee’s character in the film. It is a very different approach than the original score which seemed much more like a basic Hollywood cop movie score from 1973,” says Kale. “Some scenes are scored with sound and frequencies and some with full musical compositions. I was mostly inspired to get the opportunity to help reintroduce this legendary character to a brand new audience with a brand new sound,” he adds.

Born just outside of Birmingham in England, Kale’s family moved to Queens in America, where at the age of five, he heard the first stroke of the tabla. He recollects the moment with immense clarity even today.

“My father played a tape of a concert recorded in Pune of Pandit Hari Prasad Chaurasia on bansuri and a young Zakir on tabla performing Raag Marva in Roopak taal (7 beats). I recall my father making me wait through the 40-minute alaap section before the first strokes of tabla were played. To me it was the sound of classical India merging with Rock and Roll, and all this coming from one drummer. After hearing this recording and later seeing him live, my own pursuit of music began,” he says.

Kale has not only shared stage with the Ustad several times, but also directed him once. “This was in 2003, while recording my Liberation album. He and Bill Laswell were to record on a piece I had written called Milan”,” says Kale. “I was not going to direct Zakirbhai or dare tell him what to do, until I realized that he was not going to be satisfied with the recording till I got what I was looking for. I finally gave him direction as per the mood and the style I was going for and he delivered an amazing performance as always.”

Kale’s spectrum of initiatives is amazing—he has scored for animation games and does a range of remixes, including recently for the theme of Madhur Bhandarkar’s Fashion. He has also toured clubs across India, with the Punditz. “When I first played in India, I was surprised to see how much club culture had already existed for quite a while thanks to people like the Punditz. I have always had a great reaction to my music in India. The music tends to connect with those who have a more worldly view and see themselves not only as south Asians but world citizens.”

Kale grew up in a world very different from the one he now performs in. Indian music certainly wasn’t cool then—and young Indian-origin kids often rejected their parent’s culture. “I do remember growing up in an environment that had little understanding of the culture from which I came,” says Kale. “I think that I rebelled like other kids I was growing up with but music always remained separate for me.”

From Buddha Bar to Bhangra in UK’s coolest nightclubs, Indian music has morphed to speak to a younger, globalised audience. Bringing this music from the underground to the clubs and finally onto the mainstream stage, are musicians like Kale, Talvin Singh and Nitin Sawhney. Yet, Kale doesn’t see himself or his music as a representation of second generation South-Asians growing up in the West.

“My music is simply an expression of who I am. It is always an honor when someone else can identify with my work regardless of their cultural background,” says Kale. “I never chose to be interested in Indian classical music because I was Indian, but rather because it is an amazing form of expression. I was also equally inspired by other non-Indian forms of music. The music that Talvin or Nitin or ADF make is about erasing borders and lines.”

A gentleman’s game? Not quite!

If you are as exasperated by the Indian-Australian cricketing “controversies”, read The Art of Sledging



The Art of Sledging
J. Harold
Allen & Unwin
$19.95

If the constant media coverage and penalizing by the cricketing boards of the on-field sledging by Indian and Australian teams has you yelling, “Oh get over and it get on with the game, lads,” The Art of Sledging is the book for you.

Set to release on November 7, perfectly timed for Australia’s current tour of India, the book celebrates, and more importantly, recognises sledging, as a vital part of the game. As the author J. Harold notes in his introduction, “Ruthless insults and brutal replies are essential in any worthy cricket match.”

I am all against racism, but frankly “monkey” seems quite tame compared to the verdant history of sledging Harold builds up in his book. From race, to relatives and ancestors, to the cricketer’s appearance, cricketing sledges have not been shy of bringing up any issue, as long as it crumbles the opposition.

A few examples quoted by Harold:

Aussie captain Bobby Simpson to his bowler, Garth McKenzie about a bespectacled Geoffrey Boycott –

“Hey Garth, look at this four-eyed f**cker. He can’t f***king bat. Knock those f***king glasses off him straight away!”

The crowd to Inzamam Ul Haq during an Indo-Pak match:

“Mota Aloo”

Viv Rickards to one of the spectators in an English crowd that was throwing racist comments at him:

“I may be black, but I know who my parents are.”

And my favourite, and quite a lesson to contemporary crickets who go complaining every time there is a tiff on the field –

Upon English captain Douglas Jardine’s complaint about an Australian player’s remark, Aussie captain Bill Woodfull reprimanded his team thus:

“Which one of you bastards called this bastard a bastard?”

This kind of psychological warfare of sledging has been part of the game right since the beginning—in fact the very pace of cricket has nurtured the culture of sledging, says Harold. Two batsmen must face 10 rivals on field, and a bowling spell of several overs is plenty of time for a continuing conversation consisting of taunts and counter-remarks.

And it is sledging that makes cricket as much a game of wit and nerves, as of skills and strength. Harold, a Melbourne-based advertising creative director, draws together some of the finest one-liners from the time of, who he calls the ‘Grandfather of Sledging’, English batsman, W.G. Grace, to Matthew Hayden’s remark just earlier this year about Harbhajan Singh on a radio station (Hayden called Bhajji a “little obnoxious weed”).

The book is very entertaining—I was bursting in peels of laughter through the afternoon it took to read through it. Harold also manages to provide the whole context of every sledging remark—the who, when, where, why, how—to create a real feel and sense of what happened.

While some comments in the book, are verifiable, being made immortal on pitch mikes, Harold admits, there are a few that have just become part of folklore. He provides a cross section of the crudest and wittiest remarks—on the field, from the crowds and even from the commentary box and cricketer biographies. Some of the best sledges are not even mouthed. A classic example that Harold cites, is from our favourite cricketer, Sachin Tendulkar.

Less than 18-years old himself at the time, Tendulkar had smashed younger Pakistani bowlers with sixes. Incensed, Abdul Qadir came on to bowl with, “Why are you hitting kids? Try and hit me.” If you have watched Sachin play long enough, you should know what he did—he hit 4 sixes in Qadir’s over.

Harold’s collection hardly claims to be an exhaustive list—every cricket fan will have their own favourite sledging moment, which is probably not in the book. What The Art of Sledging does accomplish, is make the reader see, that after all, cricket is just a game.

And while there is of course a fine line between a sledge intended to unnerve the opposition, and a truly offensive comment intended to humiliate a person or the whole community—I think on field and off field remarks by cricketers should be taken with a pinch of salt. Just as technology like ‘hawk eye’ and ‘third umpire’ take away from the sense of chance and luck from the game, so does excessive cricketing correctness and codes of behaviour, take away from the spirit of our favourite sport.

The Art of Sledging, thus is essential reading for every cricketing fan—and even more so for the haughty cricketing boards, and ‘holier than thou’ players. As Gen-Y says, “Take a chill pill yaar!”

Visit the ruins of Hampi, in Melbourne

Australian curator, Sarah Kenderdine, has been bringing wonderful worlds—on land and below the ocean—to our museums and screens, writes SHIVANGI AMBANI-GANDHI

The ruins of Vijayanagara, located at present-day UNESCO World Heritage Site of Hampi, including the sixteenth-century Vitthala Temple, whose outer pillars reverberate musically when tapped with the fingers, can be viewed at the Immigration Museum in Melbourne until 26 January 2010.

PLACE-Hampi is the world’s first interactive cultural exhibition, combining 3D stereographic panoramas, high quality sound recordings and custom-built computer software, that merges mythological and archaeological detail to give viewers the very real perception of walking amongst the ruins in India today.

The exhibition premiered in Lille, France and drew maximum capacity crowds for 3 months. It has also been installed for 3 months in 2007 at the Martin Gropius Bau, in Berlin, at the ZKM in Karlsruhe, at Shanghai Science and Technology Museum, Shanghai and, at Science Centre in Singapore. There are a number of other planned installations in Europe. This is its first installation in Australia.

Australian curator and former maritime archaeologist, Sarah Kenderdine, who conceptualised and co-created PLACE-Hampi, says, “Place-Hampi arrives out of the desire to create large-scale immersive and interactive display environments that engage many visitors in the experiential qualities embedded in historical and living landscapes. The complex of technologies we use mobilizes the landscape and allows the participants to engage in new experiences and narratives.”

Kenderdine first experimented with representing landscapes in 3D after being invited to work at Angkor in Cambodia in 2004, to produce a work for The Virtual Room at Melbourne Museum. She was then invited with Prof Jeffrey Shaw to make the work at Hampi, which was commissioned as an art work in celebration of France India Year in 2006.
“Once we were introduced to Hampi, which is an utterly vibrant and extraordinary site with its fusion of pilgrimage community and archaeological and geological setting, we immediately felt that it was a great opportunity to explore our research ideas related to the post-cinematic experience of place,” says Kenderdine.
The team has spent many years on-site at Hampi using Swiss-made Seitz cameras to capture images on location, and complex audio technology to record the every day pilgrim and wild life activity at the ancient city. “Fieldwork always has its tension, there is a lot of expensive equipment, and the days are long and physically challenging,” says Kenderdine. “Travelling on bamboo coracles down the river with all the gear was always nerve-racking. But the delights are always there. Highlights for me have been to see and film the Chariot Festivals and other religious festivals, to be welcomed into the homes of local people who helped us, to be at the river in the early hours of the morning, when the priests are preparing for morning puja, to watch the dawn from Matanga Hill in the mornings, sunset from Hanuman’s birthplace and many other exquisite moments. I like also to live in Hampi village. The rhythms of daily life are very reassuring, intimate. Modern cities are very alienating in comparison.”

And PLACE-HAMPI too aims to be an intimate experience. One visitor commented about the exhibition, ““I myself am part of Place-Hampi and I determine in which part of the artwork I stay. It has something of a stroll through a virtual world and I am my own cameraman”

At the centre of the large cylinder, which is the exhibition, is a motorised platform that allows the viewer to interactively rotate a projected image on screen and navigate a 3D environment of panoramic images of Hampi. A single-user interface allows viewers to control their forward, backward and rotational movements through the virtual scene, as well as the rotation of the image. Motion capture devices and software were used to digitally create the mythological Gods that viewers encounter in the exhibition.

“The motion capture was used to ensure accurate translation of dance performances to the animated figures that appear in Place-Hampi,” explains Kenderdine. “The Indian animation company Paprikaas in Bangalore produced the animations. This is IMAX quality so it was a daunting undertaking. The animations draw on the tradition of “magical realism” as an aesthetic choice for inspiring the artwork of the mythological deities.”
Another major challenge for Kenderdine and her team was to capture some of the living culture of the place. Hampi is no disused ruin stuck in the past—it is still a vibrant centre for pilgrims as it is believed to be the site of Kishkindha, the fabled Monkey Kingdom from the Ramayana. Gods and local deities inhabit the temples and landscape, and festivals and rituals attract thousands of believers.


“Place-Hampi, through its animations, visualises intangible aspects of the landscape, those realms available to pilgrims who visit the site, whose religious beliefs animate that landscape. Place-Hampi, augments the visible elements with the mythological animation. It is a very modest attempt to make explicit this greater landscape,” says Kenderdine.

She has spent many years, bringing archeological sites—on land as well as below the sea—to audiences globally. As a maritime archaeologist Kenderdine built one of the earliest cultural heritage website in the world in 1994. “Using new internet technologies in the late 1990s I was able to broadcast a shipwreck excavation live from the bottom of the ocean. This was thrilling!” Kenderdine recollects. :I went on to produce more large portals including one for ASEAN cultural heritage. Now however my interest is in bringing people back together into the real social spaces of museums and galleries, in large scale immersive works.”

So is virtual travel the future of tourism? “Place-Hampi provides an informed method of virtual travel that is rich with the processes of recording landscape common not only in archaeological practise but also in the artistic representation of place,” she says. Part of Kenderdine’s research interests also lies in the production of acoustic architectures of space in 3D—sound to match the visual production. “The power of acoustic “visualisation” is an emerging field of work within our understanding of space and place,” she says.

Place-Hampi, will show at the Immigration Museum, Melbourne until 26 January 2010.

In conversation with the Ustad

SHIVANGI AMBANI-GANDHI realises a life-long dream of talking with Ustad Zakir Hussain, and discovers, that the tabla maestro is a really cool guy


It all started when I was a teenager watching the Simi Garewal show, and the Ustad was in conversation. With no tabla at hand, upon a sudden request from Garewal, Zakirji picked up the glass bowl on a table next to him, emptied out the sweets, turned it over and played, it seemed to me at the time, a serenade meant for me alone. I had, as have millions others around the world, fallen under his spell.

I have been eternally mesmerized by the magical dexterity of his fingers, his heart-warming smile and the swish of his signature curls—and he really is very, very cool. He epitomises cool, actually. With a really innocent boyish charm, a great sense of humour, an innate ability to create drama on stage and a knack at demystifying Indian classical music makes him ever so popular.

He respects the traditions of Indian classical music, and at the same time appeals to the younger, globalised generation by tapping into the richness of musical possibilities from around the world. Although now over 50 years of age, he really is, to me, a representation of the youth of India—confident in their own culture and history, and yet constantly opening doors to the world outside.

On a recent tour, titled Masters of Percussion, to Perth and at the Sydney Opera House, the Ustad opened the doors for Australian audiences into the myriad musical traditions across the length and breadth of India.

“Masters of Percussion is a bird’s eye view of India—we will hold the hands of the audience and take them on a journey into India,” said the Ustad. He has managed to bring together maestros from among the 80 percussive traditions across the length and breadth of India.

The idea came from the legendary Ustad Alla Rakha—Zakirji’s late father and guru—when he suggested that they showcase the rarely heard percussion artists in India. Though often perceived as very separate traditions—Hindustani and Carnatic, western folk and music from the North-Eastern corners—Zakirji saw the opportunity for a cross-cultural dialogue.

“There is no challenge when musicians of similar thinking come together and cooperate. Many musicians across the world have brought different musical traditions together and it has also been successfully accomplished in Bollywood—they use Middle Eastern rhythms, African, and all sorts of music, with great popularity!”


The Ustad’s global conversations

Zakirji has been initiating and participating in such musical conversations for years. In fact he was at the very helm of the birth of what we now popularly know as world/fusion/new age music. In 1975 Zakirji, the renowned Jazz guitarist, John McLaughlin, the incredible, T.H. “Vikku” Vinayakaram on Ghatam, and violinist L. Shankar, formed the phenomenal group, Shakti.

“At the time, the record company did not know where in the store to place the album—it just did not fit under any existing labels. Shakti was a milestone band which showed that it is possible to interact a global level,” says Zakirji. “The seven notes exist all over the world—that is the common ground. The language of music creates interactions.”

Shakti was also special because of its impromptu jamming—“We created an incredible collage on the stage, right in front of the audience, unlike Ravi Shankar who used to write out the music for Yahoudi to perform,” says Zakirji. Shakti is still going strong—albeit with new members—and will be touring again in 2010.

His early introduction into the music of the world was prompted by his father, who brought back LPs—rock, jazz, Indonesian, African—from his tours for the young Zakir. Yet, Ustad Alla Rakha did not take to Shakti very well initially. “My father was worried about my journeys into fusion.”

Ustad Alla Rakha was concerned that his young son would soon drift away from his own traditions, said Zakirji. “I promised him that my connections with Indian classical music would never be severed,” he says. “I spend four months every year in India. Most of my performances are still traditional—and tradition is an integral part in whatever I do. Even when I play other forms, I create a moment, an oasis of traditional Indian music.”

He has also experimented with Australian didgeridoo players, performing with them for his compositions for a Hollywood film. During his first visit down under with Ali Akbar Khan in 1973 Zakirji recollects, the Sydney Opera House did not even exist. “We performed in Sydney at the Town Hall,” he says.

“I took a train from Perth to Canberra and hopped off at various places. I wanted to see the villages and the country side. I connected with the aborigines. I even met some didgeridoo players and learned how to play one.”

Tabla’s journey from accompanist to soloist

The tabla was traditionally considered an accompanying instrument, in the hierarchy of Indian classical music. “Vinyl records would often not even carry the name of the Tabla player,” recollects Zakirji. “Tabla maestros like my father, Shanta Prasad and Kishan Maharaj, paved the way for tabla players like me. People started to take note of Tabla players. We are only reaping the rewards of their work”

Even in the journey that the Ustad has taken on with the Tabla, he likes to share credit with his contemporaries. “I don’t like this Ravi Shankar Syndrome—there was a time when the Sitar alone was connected to Indian classical music, when there were many other great musicians,” says Zakirji. “Similary, today there are 15-20 fabulous players in the world of tabla. You just need to take the time to listen and appreciate.”

Jumping onto the Information Highway

The Ustad embraces the internet and its many possibilities, just the way he does global musical traditions. Youtube he says is a great place for young students to watch and hear hitherto rarely accessible performances by maestros. He even maintains a page on Facebook, regularly updating his information and allowing personal interaction with fans.
However, he says, this is nothing extraordinary about this—in fact it is in keeping with the tradition. “Indian music is like that. A reaction is expected, unlike western classical music. We are always looking for an encounter with the audience.” And Zakirji’s audience always gets an encounter they will never forget.

Taking new directions on an ancient tradition

SHIVANGI AMBANI-GANDHI speaks with some of the shinning stars of the Ustad's troupe



On our first meeting, a couple of years ago, Niladri Kumar pulled out his Sitar and bowed his head in prayer—after all, Indian classical musicians believe their music is an offering to, and a gift from the divinities.


Just when I expected to hear a classical raga a la Tansen that would part the heavens, Kumar begins head-banging on his 'zitar' - an electric sitar replete with a pick-up and a processor used by guitarists. "I don't play for Gods, but youngsters. And they like the sounds in rock music. So I give them their sounds and my music," he said at the time.


The sound is like nothing you can really describe in relativity to anything else—it is unique. And it is wonderfully hypnotic.


Niladri is quite what many a young musician want to be—he is a fifth-generation sitar player and son of Pandit Kartick Kumar, and yet has been able to grow out of the shadows of this legacy and be recognised as an artist in his own right.


Ustad Zakir Hussain is usually sparse and very tactic with his praise. On stage, while introducing his troupe during the Master's of Percussion is Sydney, he referred to one artist as the second generation of an instrument. Then, turning to Kumar, he said, the 'Sitar Genius'.


Kumar is seeped in his ancient tradition, yet not afraid to experiment. On our last encounter he had said that he feels like two separate people—one who plays the traditional Sitar, while the other head bangs with his band, Sitar Funk, which has played in UK clubs. However, today, Kumar manages to have seamlessly merged the two.


During Masters of Percussion he started off with the traditional melodic rendition, which moved slowly towards the more contemporary—at one point almost a shrieking Zitar.


This kind of experimentation takes courage. In the Indian classical music circles, fusion is almost a dirty word—a blasphemy of a sacred tradition. When I last spoke to him, he had said, that the rejection of fusion music today is probably akin to the reaction when dhrupad gave way to the khayal.


"Khayal singers must have been admonished for being populist, just as we are today. Every musician brings a different form and from that emerges a new gharana. What we look down upon as fusion today may become a revered gharana tomorrow."


So is fusion the new gharana, I asked him this time. "I would not compare fusion with khayal or thumri," Kumar said on this occasion. "Fusion is still not as defined. But, this is the age of collaborations, and fusion music is here to stay in that format. It is up to the musicians to create the language of fusion."


Many other young Indian musicians are creating their own vocabulary, which may indeed soon lead to that new language. Among them, is another of the Ustad's troupe, V. Selvaganesh.


Again, a son of the phenomenal ghatam player, TH Vikku Vinayakaram, Selvaganesh is a magical artist in his own right. His first instrument is the kanjira, but he is masterful with a range of percussion instruments.


He has taken his father's place in Shakti—with Zakirji and John McLaughlin—where he plays the mridangam, ghatam and kanjira. He also experiments with a range of African and Latin American percussion instruments.



"I have been touring with Zakirji since 1990 and he has introduced me to different music cultures and I have been playing different musicians," he says. "I have been to Ghana—there the people are poor, but rich in musical traditions," says Selvaganesh. In a true sign of the times, his range of music instruments, are made in Greece.



While his ghatam has been heard in background scores of films like Vanity Fair, Kama Sutra and Monsoon Wedding, he has just composed his first commercial film music for Vennilla Kabadi Kuzher—and he is proud to reveal that AR Rehman will release the music.


Yet like Kumar, and of course Zakirji, tradition remains intrinsic to his practice. He is part of a new project by his father Vikkuji, called Saptakshar (seven letters), which brings together seven musicians from his family, playing carnatic percussion in a contemporary format.


And there is promise of another musician from the family—Selvaganesh's 13-year-old son, Swaminathan, made his debut performance in Mumbai recently. "He has been learning with and accompanying Vikkuji for some time now—he used to keep the taal. And then Vikkuji told me, 'you must hear your son play'," says Selvaganesh.

"Swaminathan is late," he laughs. "I started when I was seven years old! The music is in the tradition."


Niladri Kumar's latest album, has been released, titled 'Priority' in India and 'Zitar' elsewhere. V. Selvaganesh has released a new album, titled Soukhar—an international collaboration with the many artists he has walked with in his journey so far.