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Spellbound at Shivanjali

It was a rare occasion for Coimbatoreans as Hari Prasad Chaurasia and Anuradha Pal cast a spell over them, writes Pankaja Srinivasan

IN HARMONY Pandita Anuradha Pal and Pandit Hari Prasad Chaurasia photo K. ANANTHAN

If fate had not willed it so, music lovers the world over would have lost out and an akhaada somewhere in Uttar Pradesh would perhaps have been the richer for it. For that is where Panditji hailed from (his father was a famous wrestler). That would have indeed been a pity. And Coimbatoreans would not have had the chance to enjoy an evening of sheer bliss.

Padma Bhushan Pandit Hari Prasad Chaurasia was in town and the G.V. Centre for Performing Arts pulled out all the stops for a concert of the maestro at the Shivanjali auditorium. The added attraction (as if one needed any) was Pandita Anuradha Pal, hailed as the world's `Only woman tabla player'.

For the occasion

The auditorium was all dressed up for the occasion. The marigold-strung idols of Nataraja and Saraswati flanked the stage, as did idols of Puri Jagannath, Subhadra and Balarama, (Panditji regards Orissa as his spiritual home).

Before one could surrender to Panditji's music one had to put up with the nerve-jangling orchestra of mobile phones. Repeated pleas by the organisers, and finally the audience got the message. Most mobiles were switched off reluctantly or in some cases silenced, not too effectively (such an awful shame).

The rustle of silks subsided and the murmurs died down as the lights dimmed. The renowned flautist and the young Anuradha Pal along with Sunil Avichit, Panditji's student and accompanying flautist, and Shaktivel from Coimbatore, who played the tanpura, came on stage.

The evening started with raaga Bhupali or Mohana (as it is known in Carnatic music). Before he began his recital, Hari Prasad Chaurasia said this was his offering to the gods. And then the soothing strains of the alaap washed over the listeners. The mesmerising alaap was followed by a lively composition to which Panditji kept time by tapping on his flute as he played.

The flute — a simple piece of hollowed out bamboo — and so much of magic, one realised one was in the presence of a real genius.

And then it was the turn of the rain gods. Panditji launched into the evergreen Malhar, a seasonal raaga. A murmur of expectation and anticipation as Anuradha Pal readied her tabla to accompany him. She kept up with the cascading notes from Panditji's flute and regaled the audience with a combination of strokes that quickened the tempo of the evening.

Together, Panditji and Anuradha conjured up for the audience the patter of raindrops, peacocks dancing and the distant roll of thunder in their rendition of raaga Malhar. Sunil Avichit played along beautifully and even his guru paused every now and then to enjoy his notes.

In lighter vein

There were lighter moments, too, as at one stage, Pandit Chaurasia complained to the audience that they were only applauding the young Anuradha and had no claps to spare for the two male flautists! He also pulled the young Pandita's leg as she tuned her tabla with a few well-chosen knocks to her tabla with a small hammer-like tuner. "Thank God! I don't have to hammer my instrument to get it to play," he joked.

When he asked if Coimbatoreans had any specific ragas they preferred, there was a chorus of requests.

"Malkaus," called out some, while others wanted him to play Desh and yet some others begged him to play his signature Pahaadi. He obliged some of them and played a beautiful composition in Kalyani followed by a thumri in raaga Jhinjhoti.

The concert came to an exquisite close with the raaga Pahadi. It was as if Panditji had poured his soul into it. And in the process enchanted all those who were there.

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