Growing up in India in the 1970s, one was made acutely aware of regional differences constantly. When one got into a train in Delhi, and got out in, for instance, Bhuj, Gujarat, the clothes, food in restaurants, shopping — everything was different. It was the same with music. The folk traditions of each state were so totally different; in essence they still are, but the standardisation of the accompanists in terms of including the harmonium and tabla makes the sounds somewhat familiar. Lyrics of Sikh Gurbani kirtan are incomprehensible to a non-Punjabi, but the similarity of the musical form and the basic grammar of taal and composition structure is shared by any khayal or bhajan. To put it another way, a Rajasthani Manganiyar troupe today may not sound so different from a Punjabi troupe to a listener not familiar with either of the languages.
Earlier, when one heard a Quawalli in Delhi, one would not have been able to enjoy a repeat of the experience in, say, Pune. Things have changed. Boundaries of region are no longer a barrier to the spread of music. Recently, a talented Carnatic classical singer, Chennai-based Tamilian Amrit Ramnath, composed a Quawali in Tamil, “Ennul Inikkum Inbame”, and recorded it with a bunch of musician friends who included a north Indian singer, Amira Gill.
The authenticity of the composition was undeniable; for the inputs given by the talented music arranger Amrit gave the number a distinctive flavour that had one hearing it on loop! Though the number started with the traditional harmonium, the hint of guitars in the background gave the song a contemporary feel. The lyrics were uplifting — the sweetness that’s inside me, that I can taste, the Omnipresent shines, filling me with Light from within. You are the Truth, within me — but to someone who is not a Tamil speaker like myself it made little difference to the listening experience.
As someone raised in north India and not much exposed to the culture of Western India, abhangs were not usually heard. Bhimsen Joshi would sometimes end his concert with one, and one knew vaguely this was a bhajan in Marathi, but beyond that, abhangs were definitely not mainstream musically. Now one hears of Carnatic singers giving two- and three-hour abhang concerts, which are quite popular in Chennai and Bangalore. Even the Bengali-speaking Kaushiki Chakravorty has sung abhangs on stage.
Earlier the preserve of doyens like Kishori Amonkar (who composed several of them herself), Lata Mangeshkar, Vasant Deshpande and Jitendra Abhisheki, the form is now being popularised by the US-based Mahesh Kale, Shounaq Abhisheki, Rahul Deshpande, Anand Bhatt, Karnataka resident Jayateerth Mevundi, Arati Ankalikar, Manjusha Patil and Devaki Pandit.
Abhangs are of different forms — some replicate the impromptu, repetitive chanting by pilgrims from all over Maharashtra as they wend their way to the small town of Pandharpur in the lunar month of Ashaad. There, the black stone Lord Vithal stands awaiting his annual homage. Here just the names of the Lord are chanted, in ever increasing speed, meandering into other ragas, or tunes, and returning to the base. “Jai Hari Vithal, Jai Jai Vithal” is perhaps the most popular; this is a community singing at its most powerful. The term, abhang, itself, means something without a break and the chanting reflects that.
Some abhangs, however, are simply the devoted outpourings of saints over the years that can be set to any tune. These seem to be more commonly sung on stage; there is total freedom of expression tune-wise, though usually ragas are adhered to. Embellishments follow those used in classical singing. Known for her abhangs, senior vocalist Aruna Sairam shared that there are texts, several hundreds of years old, relating to the different styles of abhang singing, and various padhatis that are testimony to the diverse nature of the tradition.
What a surprise it is then that Chennai-based Carnatic singers Ranjani-Gayatri, the sister duo known to their fans worldwide as RaGa, turn out to be popular abhang singers. In a daring first, they sang abhangs in Jaipur a couple of weeks back. Admittedly, whosoever I spoke to in the city about the folk form had no idea what it was; but the audience reaction to the songs gave one some inkling about its popularity. There is an insistent dominating beat, the repetitive chanting is hypnotic and the brevity of the songs does not leave room for boredom. The addition of the auspicious conch, ringing of small hand held temple bells and clashing of cymbals add to the ambience. For those in the know, the lyrics are uplifting. Ranjani-Gayatri ended with a very popular number, “Pandhari se bhoot mothe”. Translated, they say: This mighty ‘ghost’ of Pandharpur grips whoever comes here and never lets them go. Those who go, never return, they remain under His spell. Tukaram went there and never returned.
Sadly, the emotive element in musical genres linked to devotion seems to be taking a back seat nowadays. The loud beat, increasing pace of the song, and simulated bhaava induced by reaching the higher octave in a frenzy seems enough for the younger audience. The experience of communion with the divine through group kirtan seems missing on the concert stage.
