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IN CONCERT Singer Sudip Banerji.

A seasoned and melodious musician, Sudip was in his mettle that day. It is worth mentioning in passing that the best ghazals were composed not during the time of peace and tranquillity but in the turbulent decades centring the upheaval. In fact, we have surely lost many a brilliant matla (initial couplet of the ghazal) and maktaa (concluding one) because their writers had to flee for their lives at a moment’s notice. Still, the beautiful tradition of the ghazal, meaning “talking about women” in original Arabic, has lived on, sometimes masquerading as a devotional song in a shrine, or in the kothas, or in the bourgeoisie renaissance of the 19th Century when musical patronage shifted from the declining Moghul nobility. And its journey seems to have culminated not only in the concert halls but actually in the hearts of the people. It is here, that legends like Begum Akhtar, then Shanti Hiranand and now Sudip, have earned our gratitude.

The evening began with a kalam by Mir Taqi Mir, “Faquirana aye sada”. Mir was one of the earliest poets and preceded 1857. At this time, Urdu was still at a formative stage and connoisseurs can feel the Persian phrases in his expressions that were balanced by remnants of Hindustani.

Begum Akhtar had immortalised the next ghazal by Atish, “Suno sahi”. A product of the classical Lucknow school, Atish was so popular that some of his lines have become part of everyday vocabulary.

For his next presentation, Sudip chose someone who was a native, a pukka Dilliwala –Mohammad Ibrahim Zauq. His ghazals always contain the simple colloquial words that are used everyday. One cannot but recall the romance of Zauq’s life – the poor uneducated boy who later became the teacher of the emperor Bahadur Shah Zafar and the poet laureate of the Moghul court at the incredible monthly salary of Rs.4. Sudip infused his “Aabto ghabrake kehte hain” with rich emotions that was much appreciated.

The poetic rivalry between Zauq and Mirza Asadullah Baig is well known. The latter is none other than the famous Ghalib, without whom, a mushaira would be considered a sacrilege. We did not have to wait long – Sudip’s tribute to Mirza Sahib’s “Dil hi to hai” was softly melodious, evoking memories of stalwarts like Jagjit Singh. By comparing Ghalib’s ghazals with compositions of Daagh, Sudip outlined how the maestro had influenced even his contemporary writers.

Another ghazal writer deserves a special tribute from one and all – the singers, the audience and this new genre of para-musical workers – the music critics. Known more by his nom de plume, Zafar, was the ill fated last of the Moghuls. He ascended the throne when the Moghul rule had been confined to the Walled City. And after receiving incredible tortures and continuous insults at the hands of the ruling British, he still had enough human qualities that enabled him to pray, to cry and to love. No one, but no one can sing him without feeling himself the pain that prompted the music. It goes to Sudip’s credit that he could transmit to his audience the emotional wealth of the lines of the immortal “Na kisike aankh ka noor hoon”. Sudip’s concluding item was the hauntingly beautiful composition by Wajid Ali Khan, “Babul mora”. He was accompanied by Ghulam Sabir Khan on the sarangi and Nawab Ali on the tabla.

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