I am in Dello hill
again. It had been a while, probably months. It’s morning. Sunday, the day is fog
lit. It will probably rain later during the day. I woke up to the sound of
Sarangi from the outer room. For the past couple of days two Gandharvas are
staying with us. It’s peaceful hearing the sound of Saranghi. It is said that this
instrument is the closest that can sound to a human voice. Bhopal and Dhurmusay,
the two Gandharvas staying with us are probably related Mama Bhanij or
something like that. They have come up
to record an ethnic track for the event. Bhopal is in the outer room practicing
with Deoashis.
From my room I head
towards the lawn for some air. Dhurmusay is in the kitchen, that’s the most I
can go. He starts speaking, my mind still on the outer room. The Gandharvas are
in charge of cleaning the kitchen for the day. He seems to be the only one
working right now, washing dishes. I ask how his week went. It was okay, he
tells me, so many people in town a shot at least to earn something. He has to
work, he tells, for his family. He has taken a loan. He must earn to pay off
his debt. If not travelling with his Sarangi he is usually in the fields
working. I ask him what he grows in those fields, Dhurmusay answers ‘Dhan’.
Dhurmusay remarks that
with time their music too has radically changed. Their playing has had to be
confined to the Bollywood garbage or the local popular songs. He says this with
a hint of dismay, on how it has been mandatory for them to sync their music
with the popular culture just to make a living. In contemporary times their
original folk songs that has been passed from one generation to another in oral
tradition has been rendered obsolete; their lively wood is on the brink of
extinction with modern times. That is perhaps why Deoashisis is having quite a
tough time just to sync his music with theirs. Dhurmusay grumbles that in
Darjeeling and Sikkim people have been so much consumed by this anxiety of
influence that people don’t want to hear anything other than what they hear in
the T.V. For them they got to make a living be it with their folk songs or
popular music.
It’s been a while since
they have been playing in the outer room. Hearing the sound of the Sarangi, two
people from the neighbouring house have come to see what’s going on. One person
is from Himachal the other a local. They looked dazed and seem to be enthralled
by the bowed instrument. They have quietly taken a seat beside the bed and are
anxiously looking at the Bhopal play his instrument. I don’t recall their names
both work as paragliders hired by people up in Dello for the season. H has given
the Gandharvas his key of the house. After their day’s work they climb up from
town for shelter at Darjeeling Collective.
I have not met a single
Gandharva from Darjeeling or any part of India. Dhurmusay and Bhopal are too
from Nepal. From a small village called Jhapa about a day’s journey from
Kalimpong. Dhurmusay informs that they
had about forty houses in their village. All the male members of the house were
Gandharvas. A Gandharva is a caste who made their living playing sarangi
notoriously famous for their folk songs. At present they have had to either
travel onwards towards their own country, to tourist centric places like
Thamel, Katmandhu or Pokhara to make a living or migrate towards India in
places like Darjeeling, Kalimpong or Sikkim domiciled by Indian
Gorkhas. These men with Sarangi are a rare sight in the hills today. The two Gaineys
just their Sarangi and their backpack never stayed in one place for too long. They
constantly moved from Kalimpong, Sikkim and Darjeeling and back to their own
country Nepal. In Kalimpong we usually see them on the footpaths either in Main
Road or C.K.Chowk. Nightfall they usually took shelter at the Dharamsala below
Mela ground.
In Nepal during the
olden days the Gandharvas were the King’s messengers. They travelled across the
country on foot from one village to another carrying news, information and
messages of the kingdom. The Gandharvas were the only source of information and
entrainment for the folks in Nepal. People from villages gathered to hear them
sing, to hear what had happened in the Kingdom. With development and education
slowly piercing all parts of Nepal their next generation Bhopal tells us would
rather be educated than to sing on the streets for alms. H and I have not eaten
anything since morning, we decide to go up to Saroj Da’s uphill to grab some
food. Deoashis and the Gandharvas decide to take a break and join us.
*** ***
We are at Saroj Da’s
place, a small tin tuck shop outside Dello guest house. It is almost 12 and we
have come up here for breakfast. Dello is packed with tourists, the parking lot
filled with vehicles. The water reservoir is being reconstructed it looks like
a huge skating alley. H and I have ordered momos. It’s a Gandharvas delight to
see so many people at one place. Bhopal and Dhurmusay don’t want anything to
eat, they leave us and go sit outside the gate of the guest house with their stretched
piece of handkerchief and start playing their Sarangi. We sit at Saroj Da’s
talking, our momos finally ready. Both the brothers are really happy seeing us,
it‘s been months since we came up here last. They ask us many things, of our
where about, of the water connection, as we have our momos. Saroj Da was saying
something about the village; it was then that I suddenly remembered Doeashis
telling me something about him performing for the children a programme
organized by the Bal Suraksha Abhiyan Trust. It was more than 12 and he had not
spoken a word about it. I asked him regarding this event and it was then it all
came back to him. This happens often with us, forgetting things. He immediately
started making calls, we half way through our momos and the Gandharvas half way
through the music had to rush for the event. They are quite a lively bunch. They
speak in their typical dhakray accent; both Dhurmusay and Bhopal reroute from
Dello to 8th Mile just spoke and spoke through the journey. Bhopal
at one point said that he would sing Santaram for the children in the event. He
was nearly thrown out of the car.
*** ***
At St. Joseph’s Convent.
The hall is packed with children. On stage children are performing a play, it’s
is based on child abuse and sexual harassment. Sister S. Subbha is the
organizational head of Bal Suraksha Abhiyan. She has been tirelessly working
for children rights for the past several years in the hills of Darjeeling.
There is not a village in the district that she has not been spreading child
right’s awareness. BSA has been carrying forth tremendous work. They have saved
hundreds of children from illiteracy, physical abuse, labor and human
trafficking. It has given the children a chance for rehabilitation and a shot
at education, their only way out of this dungeon. It is truly breath taking to
see children addressing burning contemporary issues not only of this place but
of the nation. Though I was quite reluctant to be here but now that I have it
is really moving to see children from remote villages of the district come
together and participate. It is a heart warming experience to be a part of this
event. I had only heard about B.S.A. and now that I am here I can see the kind
of hope and inspiration and change that this organization has brought in the
lives of these children.
Deoashis and the
Gandharvas are on stage now. Deoashis has started playing his marchungha. The
children seem to be enjoying it, it’s an unusual instrument. Most of them have
never seen or heard of the instrument before. Marchungha is the oldest musical instrument
in the world. On this part of the world it was mostly played by the women but now
it’s almost vanished. It is a small instrument emitting some very peculiar
sound. The Gaines have disappeared back stage. Deoashis is on stage alone. He
has now switched on to guitar. He is performing a song he wrote called Handy
Boy. The song speaks about the struggle of a boy in the highway, his suffering and
the boy’s tryst with life on the road. There is loud cheer from the crowd as he sings.
The children seem to connect with the song. His songs are unlike most that have
been emerging from the hills. IT speaks on burning contemporary issues that
surround our everyday lives, issues that needs to be addressed. He has just
invited the two Gandharvas on stage. He has now switched on to Ghaila, an instrument
used for percussion. The Gandharva on stage have started performing. The sound
of their bowed instrument has pierced through the crowd. It’s quite a sight for
me to see them on stage. I have always seen them sing on the streets in Main
Road or C.K. Chowk but I had never seen them on stage. And they are here today
this Sunday afternoon singing for these children. I don’t know what it means to
them but from the pin drop silence as children witness them perform I can
certainly say that their music has touched most of us present here. And for a
change they are singing their originals, songs that have been written by their forefathers
and them.
“My Sarangi cries
yonder,
From the forgotten
corners of the village”
They are received
thunderously as they take a bow and exit the stage. H and I leave the hall as
soon as they finish performing. We head down to cafe refuel, Deoashis and the
Gandharvas join the audience the event almost over. I have not been home in
like three days, will probably go home after a while. For now we are just sipping
our coffee waiting for them to join us in the cafe.
A.
Bootleg Recordings.
*****************************
No comments:
Post a Comment