I recently experienced standing in a small waterfall, as raindrops fell into it, as the water flowed down the mountain, across the rounded stones, into a beautiful river. When those raindrops touched the flowing water, becoming the waterfall itself, I realised, my feet were touching so many of these drops, flowing and flowing into a larger body of water. It was in such movement, it was in such motion, in such flow. The sound of the flowing water makes it known that it has a certain rhythm, a certain nature of being stable until it moves and creates a ripple. Music also behaves in a similar way. Everything has a flow—and the flow experienced in music is very natural—that allows for the listener to experience their feelings and the environment created around them. In an interview with us, vocalist Raghunandan Panshikar, a disciple of the great singer, Kishori Tai Amonkar, talks about his understanding and experience of the flow of music, especially in Hindustani Classical Music.
Raghunandan Panshikar is a Hindustani Classical vocalist trained in the Jaipur-Atrauli Gharana. He was born into a family of Sanskrit scholars with his father being Prabhakar Panshikar, a renowned stage actor, producer and admirer of Marathi theatre and music. He started learning music from a very young age and proceeded to work in the same field. In this interview, हाकारा । hākārā’s editor Ashutosh Potdar talks to him to understand what ‘flow’ really means for a singer and how it is brought out through music, singing, study and practice.
Panshikar says that ‘flow’ is a very delicate subject, which he can talk about only because he has heard Kishori Tai’s flow in her singing, thoughts and ideas and what she used to say about that flow. Flow is an existence that has a certain momentum, which is very applicable in music. First of all, one’s inner eye should see and understand this flow. He says that when she started constructing a Raag during their sessions, she would try to look at her own flow and gauge it. Students would never disturb her during this process and would try to grasp it by themselves; unless she was actively teaching, when she could be disturbed to answer their questions.
Panshikar explains that he has visions of various Bandish, as in, compositions. When a bandhish is sung, he can see the visuals that show him the character and aura of the piece. Once, they were practising a bandish in Bhoop Raag called Prathama Sur Sadhe, which he believed had the kind of rhythm and elegance, similar to that of an elephant. Whenever they practiced it, it felt like the gait of a proud elephant walking with his whole presence. I believe this exercise also tells of the kind of personality each piece of music contains. It may be too subtle to notice, but once it is noticed, the nature of the composition changes for both the person listening to it and the person singing it.
Panshikar says that he has a habit of sitting in a meditative position whenever he gets such feelings or visions. Another time, when Kishori Tai was singing Bhoop Raag and Panshikar went into a meditative position, she did not interrupt him. As she was building her flow, he found himself experiencing his inner eye and inner visions, along with her Bhoop Raag. ‘Flowing’ is a true feeling that one experiences—he got involved in the flow she created as he experienced it. He speaks of another such instance when Kishori Tai had a show in Delhi, where she sang Yaman Raag very beautifully. Everyone was quite impressed and she moved to Raag Bageshri. Every single person sitting there knew that Bageshri that day was a unique one. Sabir Khan, the renowned Sarangi player, interrupted the show in the presence of a full audience to say that even he was honoured to be listening to this out-of-the-world singing and that everyone in the audience was very lucky to experience it as well. As Kishori Tai resumed, she started exactly where she had stopped when interrupted. This meant that she was locked in the state of flow her mind was in. Within all of this, just how a flower dropping into water would flow with the river’s rhythm, was how Panshikar fell into that flow of Kishori Tai’s Bageshri Raag, wherever she was to take him. He felt like she had gotten so close to Bageshri, that once you opened the door, Bageshri would be standing right in front of it. She helped everyone in experiencing the flow that was so deeply ingrained in her. One cannot imagine how deeply situated the feeling of being in that flow must have been for her.
When one looks at flow in music, one understands that the concepts of Sur, Taal, and Laya, that is, the notes, beats and tempo, are very fluid in nature. A certain note, when sung, is naturally and simultaneously as much in flow as it just exists. In essence, music is a naturally flowing entity, which for example, visual art might not be. That is to say, in the case of paintings, although flow can be perceived, it is always indirect because it is on a plain surface. Music, however flows into the air, as a sonic expression, making it quintessentially moving and flowing. One understands this flow through Sur, Taal and Laya. Taal for example, divides time in music, which makes you recognise the beginning of a certain journey and similarly, Sur and Laya behave in their own ways in the creation of flow. Each element of music, in its own unique nature, contributes to the overall flow of sound, emotion and experience, that is ultimately given direction to by the singer.
To understand this process better, one might have to look at the singer’s life. It is said that your journey has been decided before your birth, which you realise only after around 40–50 years of your life pass. Panshikar says that he has been singing since he was in 3rd grade because it was required for him to have a good background in music. But he didn’t understand back then that he was “in the field of music”. He got his first role in a play, without the director even listening to him sing, because he was the son of Prabhakar Panshikar. Similarly, as he was growing up, Katyar Kaljat Ghusli, his father’s play, had the role of young Sadashiv, the protagonist, which was only open for children of ages 10–12. His father asked him to do the role and he went ahead, in doing which too, he didn’t realise he was intrinsically moving towards pursuing music full-time. Generally, one’s father’s profession becomes your profession too. In this case, Raghunandan Panshikar should have gone towards theatre, so he never thought that his music would become his primary calling. He only paid enough attention in school and college to pass his exams. One day, his uncle Dajishastri Panshikar, told him of the importance of a Guru, which led Raghunandan to believe that his next step was to be in service of a Guru and to achieve the knowledge of music. All of this journeying led him to start formally learning music at the age of about 16.
Kishori Tai tried to demonstrate how each Raag has its own Bhava, and that Bhava has its own Rasa, which comes from experiencing it. She tried to see the writings of Saint Bharat’s Natyashastra in her singing and present it to people. One has to understand what kind of Bhava is appropriate in the kind of music that is sung.
Bhava is a singular entity that is expressed universally in music, art, poetry, and so on. All that differs is the way it is expressed. The way a poet expresses it through the means of poetry is different from how a singer or a musician might express it. When a singer is singing a certain Raag, they have to attain a certain mindset to express the appropriate Bhava. One cannot be casual when they have to sing a Raag with deep emotion. There are particular views, colours, scenarios and more that Panshikar memorises in his mind that he tries to think of when he wants to feel a certain Bhava to sing it. Different musicians might have different techniques to do this. Panshikar’s method is a very visual way of acquiring the required state of mind.
What is certain, however, is that one should study everything that is in one’s body and mind. One should know and understand how to express the Bhava that are within you. Panshikar notes, for example, that while studying, they noticed that morning Raag are full of feelings of Bhakti (devotion), afternoon Raag are calmer and quieter, evening Raag are unstable and excitable, and night Raag are relaxing. The natures of these Raag have been built into the structures of Hindustani and Carnatic Classical music by their very creators.
Holding on to these bhava is a very delicate experience. It is an abstract world that can be disrupted whenever a thing bigger than them appears. Speaking from personal experience, Panshikar says that singers try to ‘habitualise’ themselves with the feelings certain Raag creates. They then bring them forward from when they first experienced them, to even many years later, helping with easy access. More than practice, singers think about these aspects that help them reiterate their music in different ways. They also may not always be present within the moment when singing but because of that thinking and habitualisation, they can sing and bring those Bhava to the present for the audience to experience. Therefore, there is habit but at the same time there is spontaneity. One cannot go very deeply into the Bhava of a Raag every time one sings it, but people should understand the flow, the Raag and its Bhava while it is being sung. With painting or poetry, the artist or the poet makes art only once and then people see it and read it as time passes. Here, the agency of the bhaav lies with the reader or viewer of the literature or art, which may change with each interaction with the piece. But with music, the way this bhaav is experienced is can differ according to the way the singer sings it. Music is different every time it is sung. It is very present in the moment it is sung in; it naturally flows. A musician’s work is to land safely into that flow and row their boat within it.
This is where Raag Natya comes into play.
When developing a certain Raag or a certain way to sing it—it unravels itself slowly. One starts seeing the full face of a Raag and its bhava very gradually—taking into account Taal, Sur, Laya and more. Panshikar says that following the gradual build up of a Raag, it has to be taken to its peak, of the maximum speed and intensity (drut laya), where the Raag becomes successful.
It is also important to note that the expression of the bhava of a Raag is incumbent upon each swar (note). The first step is to sing in the right Sur and to learn the Bandish. We stop at every Sur, look at what Bhava it creates, then try to join another Sur to it to see how it works out. Flow is formed through Sur. Sur shows the Bhava and the Bhava has flow. This experimentation creates the environment and atmosphere of a particular Bandish. Every Swar has a Bhava. For instance, when cooking, one cannot rely on just one taste. It can’t only be sweet, sour, salty or spicy, but it has to be a combination of these things for the experience of a taste to form appropriately. It is the same in music. One has to be very mindful of the kind of sound they are producing, which is very linked with how and what one is thinking. Your mind and what you produce are linked intrinsically and you cannot help without knowing your mind to perform well. Panshikar says in this regard that he observes how a musician or a singer lives their life. There are various kinds of people around us and once we listen to their way of singing, one can tell what kind of a person they are because one’s personality shows through. The phenomenon of Raag Natya is the manner in which a singer gives direction to the performance of a Raag. But, Panshijar notes, even while giving this direction, a singer cannot control whether a note comes through in their music. Whether or not a note wants to make itself known is its decision alone; no one can control it.
When the audience listens, a two-way channel of communication is created between the performer and the listeners. Hence, one generally sings according to what the audience would like. Each audience has their own characteristics, which is taken into account in a performance so as to keep them entertained. To understand this, many performances have to be done in various cities to figure out where to sing what. Audiences have to be studied. Some singers want to show a certain Raag so they choose to, but Panshikar believes that unless there is a deep calling to do so, he would only sing what the audience would want to experience. Musicians should think of the audience because this art is only alive because of the people who listen to it. Listening to music is a kind of journey in itself. People come to listen to music pertaining to the journey of life the singer has led.
Hence, what Kishori Tai taught Panshikar, he teaches to his students. Her experience became his experience when he slowly and gradually started studying it and getting closer to it. That inner experience of his guru, which is initially only an outer experience for him, turns into his self-experience gradually. This is the process of learning. What the student is seeing in what they are learning should be expressed in their singing. His guru would tell him that he was not to go and listen to anyone else sing, but if he did, he should tell her what he learnt through it. This led Panshikar to understand that a person should at once create his own work and be self-existing or be open to learning from others. Studying music does not happen hastily. One cannot speed up this process of learning because it is very experimental and experiential. It is where your flow is created and shows through in the existence of the sounds singers create.
If one follows the journey of a water droplet, they will see that as the rain falls from the dark clouds and meets the mountains forming waterfalls, it seeps into a larger river then flows into the sea. Therefore, the flow is for something larger. It is a journey to travel to somewhere and has an end. Like the end of a river is at the start of the ocean, that flow has an end. Therefore, one’s flow in music should go and end, for peace, for calmness—for Shanti.