Mehrangarh Fort in Jodhpur is not just an imposing stone structure, with carved facades and exquisite filigree work, well-maintained museums, a bevy of heavy canons, and a continuous stream of foreign tourists. It’s also about music and nostalgia. In fact, during my recent visit, I found a lot of musical elements have been added to it lately.
At the first turn after the ticket booth, you will now find a young Rajasthani lad playing Ravanhattha (a simple string instrument looking like Sarangi). Nothing new, you would say, such amateurs are seen tenner-a-dozen all over Jodhpur. But what makes him unique is the patronage of a young security guard. As I slowed down to hear the Sarangi player, the guard started narrating in his hard-to-follow English the grand heritage of Jodhpur, its musical tradition and why I should part some money with him and the musician. Finding me unfazed, he joined the musician and started singing a Rajasthani song at the top of his voice. While I was impressed by the thought that they had mistaken me to be a foreigner, the vocal torture drove me away. I have heard the story of late Ustad Fayyaz Khan once taking up the challenge of singing all the seven notes wrong. These two didn’t need any wager in doing that.
Another pair of new musicians I found near the souvenir shops…a young boy playing Ravanhattha and his 14-year old sister singing a Rajasthani folk song. The boy’s chapakan needed mending and an immediate wash, while the girl’s Salwar-Kurta must have come from Nai Sarak flea market. About the music, lesser said the better.
Another interesting pair positioned themselves near the Kali Mata temple at the annexe. As the narrow stone alley neared the temple, I saw a lady in her sixties singing, “Darshan de mata
sherawali…” Though it was a temple dedicated to Goddess Kali, but in northern India Sherwali Mata always attracts more alms. However, in this case, people’s interest (mainly of men), was going more towards the young lady who was lying on the ground nearby, sometimes offering falsetto to the senior singer’s tune. Her yellow Saree was tucked near the knees, and her breasts were popping out of the blouse. As I reached nearby, the elderly lady suddenly stopped singing, and hissed, “Chiri.” The young lady bolted up and ran behind the nearby wall, her saree trailing behind. A prospect must have arrived.
While leaving the fort, I stopped at the Loha Pol. I like this place. Immediately to the left are the handprints (sati marks) of the queens who in 1843 immolated themselves on the funeral pyre of their husband, Maharaja Man Singh. In a small recess beside the gate sat Amar, Birj and Sultan, who play the Sarangi, Algoza and Nagara respectively. They smiled at me (the last time I met them was two years ago), and said, “Kaise ho sahab? Ohi bajaun? (How are you, sir? Should we play the same tune?)” I nodded and sat on the opposite side of the lane, lent on the red stone, spread my weary legs and closed my eyes. The trio started giving their rendition of raga Darbari.
In dream, I went back to a cool December afternoon two years ago.
At the first turn after the ticket booth, you will now find a young Rajasthani lad playing Ravanhattha (a simple string instrument looking like Sarangi). Nothing new, you would say, such amateurs are seen tenner-a-dozen all over Jodhpur. But what makes him unique is the patronage of a young security guard. As I slowed down to hear the Sarangi player, the guard started narrating in his hard-to-follow English the grand heritage of Jodhpur, its musical tradition and why I should part some money with him and the musician. Finding me unfazed, he joined the musician and started singing a Rajasthani song at the top of his voice. While I was impressed by the thought that they had mistaken me to be a foreigner, the vocal torture drove me away. I have heard the story of late Ustad Fayyaz Khan once taking up the challenge of singing all the seven notes wrong. These two didn’t need any wager in doing that.
Another pair of new musicians I found near the souvenir shops…a young boy playing Ravanhattha and his 14-year old sister singing a Rajasthani folk song. The boy’s chapakan needed mending and an immediate wash, while the girl’s Salwar-Kurta must have come from Nai Sarak flea market. About the music, lesser said the better.Another interesting pair positioned themselves near the Kali Mata temple at the annexe. As the narrow stone alley neared the temple, I saw a lady in her sixties singing, “Darshan de mata
sherawali…” Though it was a temple dedicated to Goddess Kali, but in northern India Sherwali Mata always attracts more alms. However, in this case, people’s interest (mainly of men), was going more towards the young lady who was lying on the ground nearby, sometimes offering falsetto to the senior singer’s tune. Her yellow Saree was tucked near the knees, and her breasts were popping out of the blouse. As I reached nearby, the elderly lady suddenly stopped singing, and hissed, “Chiri.” The young lady bolted up and ran behind the nearby wall, her saree trailing behind. A prospect must have arrived.
While leaving the fort, I stopped at the Loha Pol. I like this place. Immediately to the left are the handprints (sati marks) of the queens who in 1843 immolated themselves on the funeral pyre of their husband, Maharaja Man Singh. In a small recess beside the gate sat Amar, Birj and Sultan, who play the Sarangi, Algoza and Nagara respectively. They smiled at me (the last time I met them was two years ago), and said, “Kaise ho sahab? Ohi bajaun? (How are you, sir? Should we play the same tune?)” I nodded and sat on the opposite side of the lane, lent on the red stone, spread my weary legs and closed my eyes. The trio started giving their rendition of raga Darbari.In dream, I went back to a cool December afternoon two years ago.
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