RĀGS AROUND THE CLOCK

Rāgs Around the Clock

A Handbook for North Indian Classical Music, with

Online Recordings in the Khayāl Style

David Clarke
Music by Vijay Rajput
with
Murad Ali, Imre Bangha, Mahmood Dholpuri,
Fida Hussain, Shahbaz Hussain, Jonathan Katz
and Athar Hussain Khan

Dr Vijay Rajput (Hindustani vocal) accompanied by Prof. David Clarke (tānpurā), Recital Room, Newcastle University,
25 April 2024. Image: John Donoghue ([Link]). Licence held by Newcastle University.
 [Link]

©2024 David Clarke. ©2024 Music by Vijay Rajput.

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David Clarke. Music by Vijay Rajput, Rāgs Around the Clock: A Handbook for North Indian Classical Music, with Online
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ISBN Paperback: 978-1-80064-807-4
ISBN Digital (PDF): 978-1-80064-809-8
ISBN Digital ebook (EPUB): 978-1-80064-810-4
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DOI: 10.11647/OBP.0313
Cover image: Companion Persuading Radha as Krishna Flutes, folio from the “Lambagraon” Gita Govinda (Song of the
Cowherd). India, Himachal Pradesh, Kangra, ca. 1825. Opaque watercolour and gold on paper. Gift of the Michael J. Connell
Foundation (M.71.59.7), Los Angeles County Museum of Art. Wikimedia, public domain, [Link]
wiki/File:Companion_Persuading_Radha_as_Krishna_Flutes,_Folio_from_the_%27Lambagraon%27_Gita_Govinda_(Song_
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Cover design by Katy Saunders.

 Contents

Online Albums: Track List vii

Rāg Samay Cakra vii
Twilight Rāgs from North India viii
Preface and Acknowledgements xi
Biographical Notes xiii
Transliteration and Other Textual Conventions xv
Prologue: First Encounters xvii
Introduction: Origins, Overview, Contexts xxi

1. CONCEPTS, CONVENTIONS, HISTORY AND CULTURE 1

1.1 Elements of Indian Classical Music 2
1.2 Sargam Notation 3
1.3 Rāg 5
1.4 Tāl 8
1.5 Tānpurā Drone, Svar 11
1.6 Rāg and Time: Samay Cakra 13
1.7 Khayāl: Stylistic and Performance Conventions 17
1.8 Khayāl: Ornamentation 19
1.9 Khayāl: Origins 27
1.10 V. N. Bhatkhande 30
1.11 The Guru-Śiṣyā Paramparā 32
1.12 Riyāz 41

2. A CYCLE OF RĀGS: RĀG SAMAY CAKRA 43

2.1 The Album and Its Supporting Materials 44
2.2 The Song Texts 46
2.3 Notating the Bandiśes (and Performing Them) 49
2.4 Terminology Used in the Rāg Specifications 53
2.5 The Rāgs 54

3. EXPLORATIONS AND ANALYSES (I): RĀG SAMAY CAKRA 97

3.1 Introduction 98
3.2 How Do You Sing an Ālāp? 99
3.3 How Do You Sing a Choṭā Khayāl? 126
vi Rāgs Around the Clock

4. EXPLORATIONS AND ANALYSES (II): TWILIGHT RĀGS FROM NORTH INDIA 163
4.1 Introduction 164
4.2 Rāg Bhairav: Texts, Notations and Commentaries 165
4.3 How Do You Sing a Baṛā Khayāl? Performance Conventions,
Aesthetics, Temporality 187
Epilogue: Laya/Pralaya 204

Glossary of Terms Used in Hindustani Classical Music 207

References 213
List of Audio Examples 219
List of Figures 223
Index 227
 Online Albums: Track List

Rāg Samay Cakra

Music

1 Rāg Bhairav (5:06)

2 Rāg Toḍī (5:47)
3 Rāg Śuddh Sāraṅg (5:12)
4 Rāg Brindābanī Sāraṅg (3:53)
5 Rāg Bhīmpalāsī (5:15)
6 Rāg Multānī (4:45)
7 Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī (7:39)
8 Rāg Bhūpālī (7:03)
9 Rāg Yaman (7:22)
10 Rāg Kedār (3:48)
11 Rāg Bihāg (5:30)
12 Rāg Mālkauns (6:57)
13 Rāg Megh (4:32)
14 Rāg Basant (4:47)

Bandiś Texts, Spoken

15 ‘Dhana dhana murata’ (Rāg Bhairav) (0:33)

16 ̃ arīyā’ (Rāg Todī) (0:23)
‘Laṅgara kā̃k
17 ‘Aba morī bāta’ (Rāg Śuddh Sāraṅg) (0:33)
18 ‘Raṅga le manavā’ (Rāg Brindābanī Sāraṅg) (0:41)
19 ‘Hamarī kahī mitavā’ (Rāg Bhīmpalāsī) (0:28)
20 ‘Runaka jhunaka’ (Rāg Multānī) (0:22)
21 ̃ alīyā jhanakāra’ (Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī) (0:22)
‘Pā̃y
22 ‘Gāīye Gaṇapatī’ (Rāg Bhūpālī) (0:23)
viii Rāgs Around the Clock

23 ‘Śyām bajāi’ (Rāg Yaman) (0:27)

24 ‘Bola bola mose’ (Rāg Kedār) (0:27)
25 ‘Abahũ lālana’ (Rāg Bihāg) (0:32)
26 ‘Koyalīyā bole ambuvā’ (Rāg Mālkauns) (0:28)
27 ‘Ghanana ghanana’ (Rāg Megh) (0:24)
28 ‘Phulavā binata’ (Rāg Basant) (0:30)

Twilight Rāgs from North India

Rāg Bhairav

1 Ālāp (2:55)
2 Baṛā khayāl in vilambit ektāl: ‘Bālamavā more
saīyā̃’̃ (18:22)
3 Choṭā khayāl in drut ektāl: ‘Suno to sakhī batiyā’
(11:58)

Rāg Yaman

4 Ālāp (3:14)
5 Baṛā khayāl in vilambit ektāl: ‘Kahe sakhī kaise ke
karīe’ (19:39)
6 Choṭā khayāl in drut tīntāl: ‘Śyām bajāi’ (10:30)
To students and teachers of Indian classical music everywhere
 Preface and Acknowledgements

Rāgs Around the Clock is a compendium for the study and exploration of Hindustani (North
Indian) classical music. It comprises the present volume, by David Clarke (henceforth DC),
and two albums by khayāl singer Vijay Rajput (henceforth VR), around which the contents
of the book are organised. The albums, along with audio examples extracted from them
and analysed below, are available to stream and download at [Link]
OBP.0313#resources, or from the book’s companion website at [Link]
ragas/.
Our title invokes the notion—still very much alive within the Hindustani tradition—
that a rāg should be performed at its proper time (samay). This principle is reflected in
the recorded performances. Our first album, Rāg samay cakra, is a cycle (cakra) of rāgs,
turning through successive phases of the day and night; while the second album, Twilight
Rāgs from North India, presents rāgs from particularly evocative times of the diurnal cycle.
As well as providing an introduction to Hindustani rāg music in theory and practice, this
work offers perspectives on the khayāl vocal style and its musical processes, in pursuit of
the question: what is it that khayāl singers do when they perform? We hope the contents
will appeal to anyone drawn to such music—whether inside or outside the academy:
whether newcomer, aficionado (rasika), student, teacher, researcher or lay listener.
In addition to embracing the samay concept, Rāgs Around the Clock, through its
commentaries and analyses, distinctively showcases the vocal idiom—the gāyakī—of a
single artist, VR. In so doing, it offers a window onto the Kirānā gharānā, a stylistic lineage
of Indian musicians that goes back several generations. Vijay ji was a disciple (śiṣyā)
of the late Pandit Bhimsen Joshi (1922–2011), one of the gharānā’s most revered latter-
day exponents and a bearer of India’s highest civilian award, the Bhārat Ratna. Among
Bhimsen Joshi’s gurus was the equally renowned Sawai Gandharva (1886–1952), who in
turn was taught by the founder of this branch of the Kirānā gharānā, Abdul Karim Khan
(1872–1937). This lineage (paramparā) continues into the present day through the teaching
of artists like VR, with DCnumbering among his students.
Which brings us to a further distinctive feature of this project: the musical relationship
of its principal collaborators, namely that of guru and śiṣyā. Although our subject is not
that relationship per se (the topic perhaps of future, autoethnographicwork), it nonetheless
subtly conditions much of the content. At one point or another, VRhas passed down all of
the featured rāgs to me, DC; and much of what I understand generally about rāg and the
performance of khayāl comes from the experience of taking instruction (tālīm) from my
guruji.
In its very grounding as oral/aural culture, that experience encompasses knowledge
of a kind that eludes complete capture by concepts or theory. This ineffable dimension is
xii Rāgs Around the Clock

perhaps an aspect of Indian music’s acknowledged spiritual content. Western philosophy

might couch this as a dialectic between theory and practice, between mind and body,
between the subjective experience of the performer and the objective properties of
the musical material. Either way, the question of the limits of theory and the subjective
experience of what lies beyond it becomes a running theme in the later stages of Rāgs
Around the Clock.
Another aspect of subjectivity acknowledged here is the heart connection between
teacher and disciple and between fellow students—manifested also in their collective
devotion to musical tradition. These are important, anthropological facts about the music,
and although this book is not principally a work of ethnomusicology, such themes are
reflected within its narratives—most explicitly in the (auto)ethnographic vignettes of its
Prologue and Epilogue, which seek to draw wider cultural understanding from the stories
of people and their relationships.
In the same vein, we should note that, despite its focus on the individual artist, Indian
classical music is a fundamentally collaborative enterprise, sustained by interlocking—
and these days international—networks of gurus, disciples, friends, fellow artists and
contacts. So too, Rāgs Around the Clock would not have been possible without our numerous
collaborators and supporters, to whom we are deeply indebted. Not least among these are
the consummate accompanists on our albums—Murad Ali (sāraṅgī), Athar Hussain Khan
(tabla) and Mahmood Dholpuri(harmonium) on Rāg samay cakra; Shahbaz Hussain(tabla)
and FidaHussain (harmonium) on Twilight Rāgs from North India. No less important have
been our language advisers, Jonathan Katz and Imre Bangha, who provided scholarly
translations of the song texts and offered invaluable guidance regarding the finer points of
language. SudiptaRoy (who appears in the Epilogue) also helped with translation and read
earlier versions of the text. David de la Hayerecorded and mastered the spoken song texts
of Rāg samay cakra, and John Ayers was the sound engineer for Twilight Rāgs. Behind
the scenes, Richard Widdess generously commented on earlier drafts of the book, and
has been a much-valued supporter and critical friend. We are grateful too to the second,
anonymous peer reviewer of our original proposal, whose suggestion that the book be
expanded led to additional chapters that have, we hope, given the book greater heft. I (DC)
of course take responsibility for the final contents and for any unconscious remnants of
my culture’s colonial past.
Thanks are also due to Newcastle University, whose Institute for Creative Arts Practice
(NICAP) provided financial support for the initial development of the book, and whose
School of Arts and Cultures provided a grant towards the costs of publishing it in open access
form. Financial support for the recordings was provided by the Centre for Excellence in
Teaching and Learning (CETL) for Music and Inclusivity, funded by the Higher Education
Funding Council for England between 2005 and 2010, and led by the International Centre
for Music Studies (ICMuS) at Newcastle University.
Last but not least, an enormous thank you to Alessandra Tosi and her team at Open Book
Publishers—for themselves being open to the idea of this book; for their commitment and
their editorial and technical professionalism; and, especially, for their patience.
 Biographical Notes

Born in New Delhi, Vijay Rajput started learning music at the age of eight. He acquired
his initial training in the khayāl vocal style from Pandits M. G. Deshpande, Vinay Chander
Mudgal and Madhup Mudgal. Subsequently, he studied for several years under Bhārat
Ratna Pandit Bhimsen Joshi, one of India’s most eminent vocalists. Vijay gained his PhD
from the University of Delhi in 2003 with a thesis on the life and works of Sawai Gandharva.
He is in demand as a performer in India, the UK and on the wider international stage. He
has sung at many festivals, including the Sawai Gandharva Bhimsen Mahotsav in Pune.
He has been based in Newcastle upon Tynesince 2004, and since 2006 has taught students
from many musical backgrounds at Newcastle University.

David Clarke is Emeritus Professor of Music at Newcastle University. His wide-ranging

musical and academic interests include music theory and analysis, music and philosophy,
and Hindustani classical music. His musicological publications include articles, books
and book chapters on twentieth-century western music, music and consciousness, and
Hindustani classical music. He has studied the khayāl vocal style with Dr Vijay Rajput since
2004, and has undertaken study and participated in workshops with Pandits Rajan and
Sajan Misra, Ramakant and Umakant Gundecha, Smt Veena Sahasrabuddhe and Pandit
Uday Bhawalkar.

Athar Hussain Khanis a highly regarded tabla player who began learning with his uncle,
Ustād Shane Ahmed Khan, at the age of seven. He subsequently studied with Ustād Manu
Khan of the Ajrara gharānā, which ranks among India’s principal tabla lineages. He has
performed at major festivals throughout India as well as internationally.

Murad Ali is one of the best-known contemporary exponents of the sāraṅgī, and has played
an important role in the resurgence of the instrument. He inherits a family tradition
of sāraṅgī playing that goes back six generations, having studied intensively with his
grandfather, Ustād Siddique Ahmad Khan, and his father, Ustād Ghulam Sabir Khan. He
has accompanied many of the world’s greatest exponents of Indian classical music, and is
esteemed as a solo performer, composer and fusion artist.

The late Mahmood Dholpuribegan his musical training under his grandfather, the sāraṅgī
player Buddha Khan, going on to learn harmonium from various gurus, including Nasir
Ahmad Khan of the Delhi gharānā. Mahmood Dholpuri became a highly respected and
well-loved accompanist to many of the tradition’s greatest vocalists, including Pandit
Bhimsen Joshi, Pandit Jasraj and Begum Parveen Sultana. He was awarded the civilian
honour Padma Śrī in 2006.
xiv Rāgs Around the Clock

Shahbaz Hussain is a UK-born tabla virtuoso. He started learning from his late father
Ustād Mumtaz Hussain, a prominent vocalist, at the age of five. He is a disciple of Ustād
Faiyaz Khan of the Delhi gharānā. He studied further and gave major performances with
Ustād Shaukat Hussain Khan and Ustād Allah Rakha Khan. Shahbaz Hussain performs
internationally, giving solo performances and accompanying many of the most acclaimed
masters of Hindustani classical music.

Fida Hussain is a cherished harmonium accompanist to many world-class soloists,

including Lakshmi Shankar, Ustād Fateh Ali Khan and Sharda Sahai. He is also a vocalist
and former theatre performer.

Dr Jonathan Katzis Lecturer in Classics at Brasenose College, Oxford, Emeritus Fellow at St

Anne's College, Oxford, and Quondam Fellow at All Souls College, Oxford. He is a scholar
of ancient Greek, Latin and Sanskrit, and researches South Asian music through Indian-
language sources. He is a practitioner of Hindustani classical music and an accomplished
western-classical pianist.

Prof. Imre Banghais Associate Professor of Hindi in the Faculty of Asian and Middle Eastern
Studies, University of Oxford. He specialises in early Hindi literature and has expertise in
a range of languages including Braj Bhāṣā,Urdu, Bengali and Hungarian.
 Transliteration and Other Textual
Conventions

Western readers may be aware that the languages of the Indian subcontinent deploy
writing systems other than the Latin/Roman alphabet—for example, Hindi and Sanskrit
are written in Devanāgarī (देे वनाागरीी) script. In transliterating text from these and other
languages (such as Braj Bhāṣā) into Roman/Latin font, I have followed the conventions of
the International Alphabet of Sanskrit Transliteration (IAST), closely related to ISO 15919.
This involves the use of diacritics—for example, a line (macron) to indicate lengthened
vowels, a tilde (~) to indicate nasalised vowels, and underdots or overdots to indicate
retroflex consonants or nasalisation of a preceding vowel. Such a formalised system may
be unfamiliar even to South Asian speakers, who, in everyday writing, would be more
likely to transliterate ‘Rāg Toḍī’ as ‘Raag Todi’. But IAST is favoured in scholarly practice
because it makes for more precise and rigorous representation of spoken—and indeed
sung—sounds (explained further in Section 2.2).
The front matter of most academic books on Indian music customarily details
preferences regarding a host of further issues surrounding transliteration, orthography
and other conventions. Here, briefly, are mine:
• Italics are generally used for non-English technical terms (for example, bandiś),
but not for proper names (for example, of instruments, musical genres and
rāgs).
• Quotations from non-English texts are generally presented un-italicised in
quotation marks.
• Indic words that have entered common western usage have been left in their
westernised versions—hence ‘sitar’, not ‘sitār’; ‘tabla’ not ‘tablā’.
• Similarly, I have retained commonly anglicised versions of place names and
languages, etc.—for example, ‘Delhi’ not ‘Dillī’, ‘Hindi’ not Hindī’.
• I have omitted diacritics from names of people—thus, ‘Bhatkhande’, not
‘Bhātkhaṇḍe’; and the honoric jī is rendered as ‘ji’—for example, ‘Vijay ji’,
‘guruji’.
• In general, I have used the Hindavi (i.e. Hindi/Urdu) terms rāg, tāl and ras,
rather than their Sanskrit counterparts rāga, tāla and rasa.
• The suppression of the implicit vowel ‘a’ (aka schwa), which occurs under certain
circumstances in spoken Hindavi, is normally reflected in transliteration—
hence, ‘tān’ not ‘tāna’. However, this is a difficult principle to apply entirely
xvi Rāgs Around the Clock

systematically (see Choudhury et al. 2004; Dhore et al. 2012), and occasionally
I have adopted alternative, commonly recognised transliterations, such as
‘Devanāgarī’ rather than ‘Devnāgarī’. Moreover, in the transliteration of song
texts, I have, on the advice of our translators, followed the complementary
norm: showing the ‘a’ that would be suppressed in speech—for instance,
‘jhanakāra’ not ‘jhankār’. This is because that vowel is pronounced when sung
and is essential to musical and poetic metre. I expand further on this matter in
Section 2.2, where readers will also find a guide to essentials of pronunciation.

Finally, a note on geographic terminology is warranted. While our chief concern is with
North Indian—Hindustani—classical music, some of the principles under discussion are
not totally distinct from those of South Indian—Karnatak—classical music; hence I use
the more general term ‘Indian classical music’ when wanting to reflect shared aspects of
this heritage. More generally still, I tend to use the term ‘Indian Music’ to refer to aspects
of culture and practice that extend beyond the classical sphere; and ‘South Asian music’
when the context pertains more specifically to the period following the Partition of 1947.
 Prologue: First Encounters

The date of Vijay ji’s arrival in the United Kingdom is etched indelibly in his memory:
‘2004, September tenth’, he will tell you without a moment’s hesitation. I (David) have
heard his story several times (this version comes from a dialogue we had in November
2022): a chance conversation with a friend in New Delhi who alerted him to a newspaper
advertisement for a teacher of Indian classical music in—of all places—Newcastle upon
Tynein the North East of England; the decision to quit a comfortable administrative post in
the armed forces entertainment wing of India’s Ministry of Information and Broadcasting;
the experiment of going West, like so many South Asian musicians before him. Vijay’s
musical career was already on the rise: he was gaining repute in his own country as a
Hindustani vocalist; he had been a disciple of one of India’s most famed khayāl vocalists,
Pandit Bhimsen Joshi (1922–2011); and before that had studied with several esteemed
teachers at the Gandharva Mahavidyalayain New Delhi. Now here was an opportunity to
‘just see’ what might be possible in a different climate and in a professional role explicitly
to do with making music.
Ethnomusicologist Philip Bohlman writes of the significance of first encounters in the
experience of world music (2002: 1–5). My own first encounter with Vijay came not long
after his arrival in Newcastle from New Delhi. I remember introducing myself to him at
the home of Dr A, a local general medical practitioner (GP), of Indian heritage, who, with
his then wife, also a GP, was seeking to re-launch a working musical gurukulwithin their
own house, complete with a new resident guru (Vijay). From Vijay’s side, this was his first
encounterwith any country outside of India, and as we said Hello that Saturday morning
in 2004, he looked a little overwhelmed by the momentousness of the step he had taken;
it was a hard decision, his wife, Noopur, still in India, a baby on the way (they would join
him a few months later). I also remember he looked young, in his early thirties; if this
meant he didn’t conform to the traditional image of a guruas an older paternalistic figure,
it did mean that he had the optimism and energy of someone in the first half of life to seize
an opportunity and make something of it—‘destiny’, he told me, many years later.
When Vijay notes that his journey west followed in the footsteps (or, more accurately,
the flightpath) of many South Asian artists before him, he points to a bigger historical
context of outward migration from the Indian subcontinent, and the emergence of Indian
music within an increasingly internationalised world during the twentieth century, and
especially since the 1960s. The big names who have criss-crossed the globe—including
Ravi Shankar(1920–2012), Alla Rakha(1919–2000), Zakir Hussain, Hariprasad Chaurasia—
are only part of the story. To this we can also add a much larger population of working
musicians who have settled abroad or who practice as artists of second- or third-generation
South Asian heritage. In the UK, these individuals have helped Indian music take root
xviii Rāgs Around the Clock

not only in London, but also in regional cities such as Leeds, Birmingham, Leicester,
Manchester, Liverpool and, of course, Newcastle upon Tyne. Since arriving in Newcastle,
Vijay has not only been responsible for growing Indian music in his adopted home, but
has also established networks as a teacher and performer across those other regional and
metropolitan centres, as well as continuing to build his artistic reputation in India.
That wider global movement since the late twentieth century has in turn been decisive
for Westerners’ first encounterswith Indian music. My own happened many years before
meeting Vijay: an all-night concert at Dartington Hall in the mid-1980s, which featured
world-class Indian artists resident at Dartington, or domiciled elsewhere in the UK, or
on tour from the subcontinent. ‘First encounters with world music are never isolated,
passing events’, Bohlmanreminds us; they engender a new awareness that ‘seldom leaves
us untouched, rather it transforms us, often deeply’ (2002: 2, 1). True: that night opened
me up to Indian music in a way that I never expected and that would never leave me. I
was then a doctoral student researching the music of English composer Michael Tippett
(1905–98), and it would be another fifteen years before I would take up Hindustani classical
music as a practice; and then only tentatively while I developed my career as a lecturer
in western music theory and analysis at Newcastle University. My first teacher was a
guru from the earlier incarnation of Dr and Dr A’s Gurukulproject in Newcastle—a highly
versatile Bengali musician (both vocalist and tabla player) called Arun Debnath. But not
long after I got off the starting blocks, the venture folded, and our emergent community
was withouta teacher for a couple of years, until the doctors put out feelers to India and
Vijay was hired.
Soon after our introduction, I took my first lesson with him. ‘You know Rāg Yaman?’,
he asked. ‘Yes’, I replied. And so we began—‘Piyā kī najariyā …’. I realised from the start
that Vijay’s teaching was going to involve a step change from what I had previously
encountered—even closer to the face-to-face guru-śiṣyā paramparā in which knowledge
is transmitted orally. My notebook, into which my previous teacher had neatly written
compositions, exercises, sequences of tāns and so on, was now my responsibility should
I want to continue using it. It quickly became strewn with my own chaotic jottings as
I struggled to make on-the-fly notations of what Vijay was singing to me. But I have
welcomed this as part of a different dialogue, which we have evolved over some twenty
years on and off. As from my previous guruji, I have learned from Vijay a range of rāgs
and compositions; but also, because we have had more years together, an ever-stronger
sense of gāyakī—vocal style—and of the deeper learning culture of Indian classical music.
Our relationship has been a complex one: not quite the straightforward guru-śiṣyā
model, partly because I am about a decade older than Vijay, partly because of our different
personalities and cultural standpoints, and partly because of my own professional
position as a university professor of music. At the same time, when I take tālīmfrom him,
I sit at his feet like any other student, and submit to his guidance, encouragement, and
sometimes chastening judgements. My periodic experiences of learning with other gurus,
during workshops or field trips to India, have only deepened our connection, because
those activities have deepened my relationship with the culture of Hindustani music, and
ultimately this is of a piece with the bond between guru and śiṣyā.
  xix

We have become friends and collaborators, Vijay and I. Among other things, we
have worked together to introduce Hindustani classical music to students at Newcastle
University. Rāgs Around the Clock, which comes out of this experience, is perhaps our most
significant joint venture to date, as well as being a document of our guru-śiṣyā relationship.
Although there is in one sense a clear division of labour within this project—with Vijay the
lead artist on both of the accompanying albums, and myself the author of this book—much
of what I write here channels his knowledge and insights, and I trust his presence will be
sensed throughout much of the following text. For my own part, this venture has been
an important milestone in a re-versioning of myself—an internalised cultural dialogue
that contains something of ethnomusicologistMantle Hood’s notion of bimusicality(Hood
1960). For, I now realise, I have had to become a musician and a musicologist twice over:
once in the western classical sphere, and once again in the domain of Hindustani classical
music. If that journey has been elicited by something bigger than both Vijay and me, I
nonetheless offer praṇām to my guruji for everything he has so generously given his at
times wayward śiṣyā.
 Introduction: Origins, Overview, Contexts

This book has been a long time coming. Its roots go back to a teaching initiative implemented
by myself (David Clarke, henceforth DC), Vijay Rajput (henceforth VR), and tabla maestro
Shahbaz Hussain, at Newcastle University in the late 2000s. Since that time, we have
together offered short courses—modules, in UK higher-education parlance—to Music
students, under the banner Indian Music in Practice. Our aim is simple: we offer students
the opportunity to ‘learn about Indian music by doing it’. To elaborate, and to pinpoint the
spirit of the present compendium: we seek to cultivate two-way traffic between practice
and theory: between practice informed by technical, historical, cultural and aesthetic
knowledge, and knowledge experienced through embodied musical engagement. The
practice in question is the guru-śiṣyā paramparā (master-disciple lineage), in which
students learn face-to-face from teachers steeped in their musical heritage. Our own
students do this not to become professional performers (which would take vastly more
than a module or two), but rather to learn through a lived encounter with the music and
its cultural and historical situation.
Rāgs Around the Clock develops resources produced during this venture, putting
them into the public domain where they may be used and adapted under their Creative
Commons licence by students, teachers and practicing musicians—indeed by anyone who
enjoys and would like to know more about Hindustani classical music in general and the
khayāl vocal style in particular. Further, these materials are supplemented with analytical
writings offered as a contribution to research in the field. The compendium is designed
both as a set of resources from which readers can select as they wish, and as a monograph
which can be read in a sequence essentially progressing from simpler treatments to more
complex ones.
As the first word in our title suggests, a key concept is rāg—arguably the fundamental
notion in Indian classical music. Rāg elusively denotes a number of things: the way melody
in general is organised and shaped; a kind of modal system; a corresponding world of
feeling and imagination. Musicians also talk of performing particular rāgs—from a corpus
of hundreds (some claim thousands), each with its own name. And an essential part of
a vocalist’s or melody-instrumentalist’s training is to acquire a repertoire of rāgs and
associated songs or compositions. In the Hindustani tradition, musicians need to know
rāgs suitable for various times of the day or night—for each rāg has its appropriate time,
or samay. Hence, Rāgs Around the Clock. Hence also the title of the book’s first companion
album: Rāg samay cakra. Here, VR sings a cycle (cakra) of rāgs according to their performing
times, from dawn to the small hours; he also includes two seasonal rāgs—Megh, for the
rainy season, and Basant, for the springtime—illustrating a further connection between
rāg and cyclic time.

©2024 David Clarke, CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 [Link]

xxii Rāgs Around the Clock

While rāg performances often last the best part of an hour, and sometimes longer, an
accomplished musician can capture the essence of a rāg in just a few minutes. On Rāg samay
cakra, VR presents fourteen rāgs in capsule performances lasting around five minutes
each. The inspiration here was The Raga Guide, a scholarly introduction to Hindustani rāg
in book form by Joep Bor(1999) and fellow scholars, with attached CDs comprising concise
performances by internationally renowned artists. The musicians follow the example of
the earliest recorded performers of Indian music, who, working within the limitations of
78 rpm (revolutions per minute) gramophone technology, showed themselves ‘capable of
bringing out the essence of the ragas in just a few minutes’ (Boret al. 1999: 5). Our initial
motive was to curate an album for VR’s students, comprising rāgs he commonly teaches
and particularly cherishes. While our own collection is less epic (featuring fourteen rāgs
rather than seventy-four), it is more explicitly focused on the particular gāyakī (vocal
idiom) of a single artist and on the khayāl style. Despite their brevity and didactic purpose,
the performances are fully idiomatic—intended to be musically satisfying in their own
right.
To complement these compressed renditions, we also include a second album, Twilight
Rāgs from North India, which presents two concert-length performances lasting around
thirty-five minutes each. Here, we showcase two rāgs fundamental to Hindustani classical
music, and redolent of the passage from night to day and vice versa: Rāg Bhairav, sung at
sunrise, and Rāg Yaman, sung after sunset. The long-form presentation gives VR time to
explore the musical depths of each rāg through the many facets of the khayāl style.
These two albums, then, form the unifying focus around which the four parts of Rāgs
Around the Clock are organised. Part 1 comprises a series of essays that introduce readers
to relevant theoretical concepts and contexts, and that illustrate how musical practice is
permeated by convention, culture and history. These accounts are mostly short, mirroring
the compression of the performances on Rāg samay cakra. Like those recordings, the
essays may be imbibed in any order, though they are similarly organised in a meaningful
sequence. They present selected concepts that are part of the common working knowledge
of musicians. Traditionally, this knowledge has been transmitted within a learning culture
shaped by mythas much as scholarship, and no less entwined in ideologythan any other
musical practice, from whichever corner of the globe. This is not to say that the mythsand
ideologies of Indian classical music have not been productive or enabling; indeed, they are
inseparable from its history and discourses. But it is to point to the need for commentary
and analysis also informed by critically aware research—a principle we have sought
to uphold by drawing most of our information from peer-reviewed scholarship, and by
distinguishing this from the tropesand narratives of the tradition.
Part 2 presents supporting materials for Rāg samay cakra: a commentary on each
rāg; a notation of the song (bandiś) chosen for its performance; and a transliteration and
translation of the text, produced in collaboration with Jonathan Katzand Imre Bangha. On
the one hand, these materials serve as a resource for students wanting to learn (or learn
about) these rāgs and their bandiśes. On the other hand, this collection adds to numerous
other published examples of rāg curation in online and offline formats. The most eminent
of these include not only The Raga Guide, but also Suvarnalata Raoand Wim van der Meer’s
website, Music in Motion ([Link] which presents annotated
  xxiii

transcriptionsplayable in real time of commissioned rāg recordings by world-class artists.

To these we may add Patrick Moutal’s A Comparative Study of Selected Hindustānī Rāga-s
(1997/1991) and its related website ([Link] and Nicolas Magriel and
Lalita du Perron’smagisterial The Songs of Khayāl (2013), whose second volume presents
painstaking transcriptions and sound clips of numerous bandiśes from historic recorded
performances. Valuable examples of non-academic online collections include Ocean
of Ragas by Sudhir V. Gadre ([Link] and Tanarang by Prakash
Vishwanath Ringe and Vishwajeet Vishwanath Ringe([Link]
In Parts 3 and 4 of Rāgs Around the Clock, I (DC) offer detailed commentaries on the
book’s two companion albums in a series of article-length essays that explore the different
stages of a rāg performance. Part 3 revisits Rāg samay cakra: in separate sections, I explore
the questions ‘How do you sing an ālāp?’ and ‘How do you sing a choṭā khayāl?’ These are
questions of obvious practical relevance to performers; and this way of couching things
similarly invites listeners to understand the music from the singer’s perspective. It also
seeks to abstract some of the deeper principles of khayāl through close analysis of VR’s
performances. In what is one of the book’s main research strands, I attempt to codify these
principles as a set of theoretical rubrics in order to formalise what gurus convey orally
and demonstrate musically to their students. At the same time, this inquiry builds in its
own critique of the status of such rubrics. On the one hand, they tantalisingly point to a
possible performance grammar that Hindustani musicians might unconsciously imbibe
during their long training. On the other hand, when tested against practice, such rubrics
sometimes become fuzzy or provisional; their status tends toward the heuristic—a term
I use a lot in this book, appropriately enough, given that pedagogyis among its subjects.
These and other ideas are pursued further in Part 4, which considers the second
album, Twilight Rāgs from North India. In Section 4.2, I extend the analysis of choṭā khayāl
principles from Part 3, this time looking at VR’s extended drut khayāl from his Bhairav
performance. Among other things, I explore the phenomenologyof the khayāl performer
as they respond to the perpetual question: what do I do next? In an adaptation of ideas
from Daniel Dennett’smultiple drafts theory of consciousness(1991), I conjecture whether
every rubric or principle of performance might not vie for selection at any given moment
within a pandemonium of possibilities operating below the threshold of consciousness.
To dramatise a little: what begins to emerge here is the thought that to perform khayāl
involves a negotiation between the forces of order, regulated by convention, and the energy
of the inchoate, simmering in the unconscious of the individual performer. I speculate
about this phenomenology further in a dialogue with my fellow śiṣyā Sudipta Roy in the
Epilogue of this book; but before this, in Section 4.3, I thematise similar tensions in an
analysis of VR’s baṛā khayāl from his Yaman performance on Twilight Rāgs. I seek to do
justice to this, the weightiest stage of a khayāl performance, by showing how its essence
lies in a deep-rooted tension between metrical and anti-metrical orderings of time—as
captured in the terms nibaddhand anibaddh.
It is in the nature of Indian classical music that no artist is an iconoclast; rather each
adds their personal voice to the panoply of their forebears and contemporaries. So too
with Indian-music scholarship—including the present collaboration between VR and
myself: what is new is not a paradigm-shifting reset of known parameters, but rather a
re-synthesis of received understanding shaped by our individual backgrounds and by our
longstanding guru-śiṣyā relationship. Viewed within the wider musicological landscape,
Rāgs Around the Clock joins a growing tradition of collaboration between Indian and
western musical and musicological investigators. Our predecessors (and their works)
include Neil Sorrell and sāraṅgī player Ram Narayan (1980); Martin Clayton and khayāl
singer Veena Sahasrabuddhe (1998); sarod player Ali Akbar Khan and George Ruckert
(2021/1998); and dhrupad singer Ritwik Sanyal and Richard Widdess (2004). Such cross-
cultural collaborations matter. They matter in the wider global dissemination of one of
the world’s significant classical traditions, and they matter in signifying a maturation of
the western reception of Indian music; each work enriches that tradition by creating new
knowledge and perspectives. We hope that the musical and intellectual contribution of
Rāgs Around the Clock will in its own way play a part in this continuing inter-cultural
dialogue.
 1. CONCEPTS, CONVENTIONS,
HISTORY AND CULTURE

©2024 David Clarke, CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 [Link]

2 Rāgs Around the Clock

1.1 Elements of Indian Classical Music

Survey the scene when a Hindustani classical music performance is in full flow, and
you will see and hear a number of things going on simultaneously. Centre stage is the
main artist (or artists). He or she may be an instrumentalist or vocalist; and if a vocalist
they may be supported by one or more accompanists on melody instruments, such as
harmonium or sāraṅgī (a bowed instrument with many sympathetic resonating strings).
Then there will be one or more percussionists, usually playing tabla(a pair of hand drums)
or possibly pakhāvaj (a barrel drum used in the dhrupad style). And in the background
to all this is the constant buzzing drone of one or more tānpurās, long-necked lute-like
instruments—these days increasingly supplemented, sometimes even supplanted, by their
digital counterparts.
Much of the joy and intensity of Indian classical music comes from the fact that it is
substantially improvised; unlike its western counterpart it is not performed from notation,
but is extemporised in the moment. Even so, the performers do not produce their ideas
from a void. Rather, they generate them from well-recognised conventions and structures
that help them mobilise a stock of musical materials and formulas acquired over many
years of practice into ever new variants. (For more detailed discussions, see Sanyal and
Widdess2004: 130, 143; Slawek1998; Zadeh2012.)
The rich inventiveness of a live Indian classical music performance draws ultimately
on a small number of fundamental musical elements and their organising concepts.
These are: (i) melody, organised by the modal principles of rāg; (ii) rhythm, organised
by the cyclic principles of tāl; and (iii) drone, which fixes the tonic note of the rāg as a
continuous sounding presence—in Indian classical music there is no concept of key
change, and no functional harmony as such. The resonance and manifold overtones of
the drone-sustaining tānpurāembody a further fundamental concept in Indian music that
also permeates melody: svar. This term could be superficially translated as ‘note’, but it
signifies something richer and more aesthetically resonant.
These concepts are explored in the following sections. Prefacing these discussions, we also
consider sargam notation—part of the common tongue of musicians, and, as a solmisation
system, essential to the discussion of scales, in turn an important component—though
arguably not the substance—of rāgs. In the later sections of Part 1, I provide perspectives
on the khayāl vocal style and also explore aspects of history and culture that inform the
lifeworld of Hindustani musicians.
 1. Concepts, Conventions, History And Culture 3

1.2 Sargam Notation

Although Indian classical music is principally an oral tradition, notation is no stranger to it
and is in practice embedded in the oral transmission of musical ideas. The identification of
tablastrokes with bols (words) is one example of such oral notation (see Section 1.4). So too
is the naming of notes (svar) under the system known as sargam—a term derived from the
first four scale steps, Sā, Re, Ga, Ma. Sargam notationis a solmisation system: like western
sol-fa, it indicates scale degrees, not absolute pitches. The system tonic, Sā, can be placed
at whatever pitch suits the performer or the circumstances; all the other scale degrees are
placed relative to it.
The terms for the full heptatonic gamut are: Sā, Re, Ga, Ma, Pa, Dha, Ni. For convenience,
these are often abbreviated to their first letter, but they are in fact the short forms of
longer Sanskritnames—ṣaḍj, ṛiṣabh, gāndhār, madhyam, pañcam, dhaivat and niṣād. While
musicians usually use the shortened note names (‘sing Pa’) they not infrequently use the
longer ones too (‘sustain pañcam’). These details are summarised in Figure 1.2.1 (of course, in
their original Sanskrit form, these syllables and words would be represented in Devanāgarī
characters, not the Roman ones used here and in western transliteration generally).

Scale Note name Note name

Abbreviation
degree (short) (full)
ͳ  Sā ṣaḍj
ʹ  ‡ ṛiṣabh
͵  ƒ gāndhār
Ͷ  ƒ madhyam
ͷ  ƒ pañcam
͸  Šƒ dhaivat
͹  ‹ niṣād

Fig. 1.2.1 Scale degrees/note names in sargam notation. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

Indian classical music normally operates within a three-octave compass, and the register
in which a note is to be sung or played can also be included in the notation. This is the case
in the notation system of Vishnu Narayan Bhatkhande(1860–1936), which is used by many
Hindustani musicians, and which we have adapted in notating the song compositions in
Rāgs Around the Clock. Under these conventions, notes in the lower octave are notated
with a dot below the note name; notes in the upper octave with a dot above; and notes in
the middle octave with the note name only. For example: Ṣ = lower tonic (mandrā Sā); S =
middle tonic (madhya Sā); and Ṡ = upper tonic (tār Sā).
Pitches can be inflected upwards or downwards. Letters without modifications indicate
the natural (śuddh) form of a note. A line below a letter indicates its flat (komal) form—
applicable to Re, Ga, Dha and Ni; hence R = komal Re, flattened 2nd. In Hindustani classical
music only the fourth scale degree can be sharpened; this is known as tivra Ma, and is
4 Rāgs Around the Clock

indicated with a wedge above the note name, thus: Ḿ. These five inflections added to the
seven natural notes theoretically make available a full twelve-note chromatic gamut, though
not all notes are available in any given rāg, and these are not arranged in equal temperament.
Rather, svars may be subject to microtonal inflection (śruti) according to the rāg.
Already this hints at a much more extensive and complex theoreticalbackground. The
discussion of microtones, of different possible divisions of the octave (for example into
twenty-two śrutis), is just one aspect of a large body of theoretical treatises (śāstras) on
Indian music and related arts. Many of these have been lost, but the oldest known is the
Nāṭyaśāstraof Bharata Muni (in fact a treatment of theatre from the early first millennium
CE); while the earliest known example of sargam notationis found on the Kuḍumiyāmalai
Inscription dating from seventh- or eighth-century Tamil Nadu (see Widdess 1979; 1995:
104–24; 1996). The principal language of these works is Sanskrit, but scholars such as
Françoise ‘Nalini’ Delvoye and Katherine Butler Schofield (née Brown) shed light on a
further corpus of Indo-Persian texts written between the thirteenth and late-nineteenth
centuries that highlight the significance of Muslim scholars and artists in the Hindustani
tradition (see Nijenhuisand Delvoye2010; Brown 2003, 2010). Further, the bigger context
for Hindustani music also includes the contribution of Sikh musicians, gurus and scholars
(see, for example, recent work by Gurminder Kaur Bhogal (2017, 2022), Harjinder Singh
Lallie(2016), and Kirit Singh(2023)).
It is useful for musicians to be aware of the theoreticaland historical hinterland behind
their practice; for, in truth, Indian classical music has constantly evolved out of a complex
and elliptical relationship between oral discipular traditions (sampradāya) and canonical
works of theory (śāstra). The quotidian use of sargam notation by practitioners—as a way
of talking about music, of communicating knowledge and ideas about it, of making things
happen with it (in the context, say, of a class or a rehearsal)—is one example of the mediation
of practice by theory. But the implications of this confluence extend beyond pragmatics.
The way notation transmutes sounds into concepts (like Sā, Re, Ga ...), the way it structures
them into a systemic relationship, the way it brings a pattern and an order to our musical
thinking—all these features condition our experience of the music, and pre-empt any naïve
dislocation between oralityand literacy, and between improvisation and composition.
Critical twists and turns in this argument are possible. For example, Dard Neuman
(2012) interrogates notation and classificatory knowledge as ideological aspects of the
modernisationof Indian music ushered in by the likes of Bhatkhandein the earlier twentieth
century. Neuman cites accounts of how hereditary musicians (of the kind Bhatkhande
tended to disparage) would traditionally withhold information about a rāg and inhibit
the use of sargam notation until the student had memorised and absorbed the material
in an embodiedway—though, even then, information was withheld only temporarily, not
suppressed permanently.
At subsequent points in this book—notably in Section 4.3—we will again have occasion
to consider the creative tensions between notation and practice. For now, it is sufficient
to underline notation’s mediating significance in our contemporary musical world, and to
note its historical presence in arguments (traced in Powers 1992) for what makes Indian
classical music classical—śāstrīya saṅgīta.
 1. Concepts, Conventions, History And Culture 5

1.3 Rāg
Rāg is the source from which all melodic invention in Indian classical music flows. If its
concept cannot be finally captured in language this is because rāg has an aesthetic as well
as a technical dimension; it is a world of feelings and a mode of tonal organisation.
Because Indian classical music organises tones under melodic rather than harmonic
principles, rāg can in certain respects be thought of as a modal system. It is indeed
considered as such in Grove Music’s capacious article on Mode (Powerset al. 2001), which
notably locates rāg in a pan-Asian and wider global context. One of the modal features
of rāg is that it is built on scale forms. A rāg must deploy no fewer than five and may
have up to seven scale degrees, with varying inflections. In other words, its scales may
take pentatonic, hexatonic or heptatonic form (known as auḍav, ṣāḍav and sampūrṇ,
respectively). However, ascending and descending scale forms (ārohand avroh) may differ.
For example, the ascending form of Rāg Bihāg (heard on Track 11 of Rāg samay cakra) is
based on a pentatonic scale with a natural fourth degree, while its descending counterpart
deploys a heptatonic scale with a sometimes sharpened fourth. Sometimes but not always:
when and how to execute the sharpened scale degree, so as to enhance rather than disturb
the feel of the rāg, is just one of the subtleties a student must learn from their teacher—
and just one instance of how the technical and aesthetic blur into one another.
From this we begin to see how a rāg amounts to something much more than its raw
scale form. In one rāg, certain notes may be particularly prominent (these may be termed
vādī and saṃvādī) while others are only fleetingly touched upon or used to pass between
adjacent pitches. In a different rāg using the same scale, degrees of relative prominence
may differ, as may the way one note moves to another. Compare, for example Rāg Toḍīand
Rāg Multānī(Tracks 2 and 6 respectively of Rāg samay cakra), both of which have flattened
second, flattened third, sharpened fourth and flattened sixth degrees, but each of which
deploys these notes with different emphases, grammars and expressive palates. Perhaps
their most explicit difference lies in their respective vādī and saṃvādīpitches: in Todī, Dha
and Gha; in Multānī, Pa and Sā. Furthermore, every rāg has its distinctive melodic turns of
phrase—a characteristic that bears out Harold Powers’claim that ‘a rāga is not a tune, nor
is it a “modal” scale, but rather a continuum with scale and tune as its extremes’ (Qureshi
et al. 2020: §III.2.i.a). And certain notes in a rāg may receive particular ornamentationor
microtonal inflections (śruti), or both—listen, for example, to the distinctive oscillation
(āndolan) around the flattened second and sixth degrees of Rāg Bhairav (Track 1 of Rāg
samay cakra; Tracks 1–3 of Twilight Rāgs).
These, then, are some of the ways in which rāg combines and colours tones to generate
subtleties of mood and emotion—or ras. While there is no history of formal correlation
between the terms, musicians sometimes invoke rasas a way of indicating the appropriate
affect of a rāg—as we sometimes do in our commentaries in Section 2.5 of this book. The
Sanskrit word rasa literally means ‘juice’ or ‘essence’ or ‘flavour’, and came to denote
a theory of emotion in Hindu aesthetics that goes back to Bharata Muni’s Nāṭyaśāstra
(2006/1989: 70–85), compiled in the early centuries of the first millennium CE. Bharata
outlined eight rasas, of which the most relevant to khayāl are probably śr̥̥ṅgāra(romance),
6 Rāgs Around the Clock

karuṇa (compassion or pathos), and vīra (heroism); so too is a ninth rasa, śānta (peace),
which was adopted by later theorists.
Another way in which a rāgacquires its identity is through its differences from similar
rāgs. Hence, part of the work of learning a rāg is also to acquire familiarity with its
relatives. In our commentaries we have taken care to indicate, where relevant, some
of the salient similarities and differences between a rāg and its neighbours. This points
to the fact that rāgs are organised into families—although exactly how one construes
the interrelationships of the several hundred rāgs in an ever-evolving repertory has
historically been a moot point. Rāgs both invite and resist totalising classification systems,
and over the centuries rāgs themselves and their systems of organisation and taxonomy
have mutated or been supplanted by new ones. For example, the rāga–rāgini system, in
which a series of principal (male) rāgs were construed as governing their own family of
‘wives’, held currency in various versions between the fourteenth and early-nineteenth
centuries, but eventually became obsolete when it no longer seemed to conform to actual
usage. Joep Boret al. (1999: 2–4) provide a historical sketch of this and other classification
systems; see also Harold Powersand Richard Widdess’smore extended account (in Qureshi
et al. 2020: §[Link]).
A key reformer in modern rāg taxonomy was V. N. Bhatkhande (a figure discussed at
greater length in Section 1.10). Bhatkhandeorganised rāgs into ten groups, each identified
by a parent scale, which he termed ṭhāṭ—as shown in Figure 1.3.1.

Ṭhāṭ Scale
Kalyāṇ  ḾṠ
Bilāval  Ṡ
Khamāj  Ṡ
Šƒ‹”ƒ˜  Ṡ
Pūrvī  ḾṠ
Mārvā  ḾṠ
Kāfī  Ṡ
Āsāvarī  Ṡ
Bhairavī  Ṡ
‘ḍī  ḾṠ

Fig. 1.3.1 Bhatkhande’s ṭhāṭs and their scale types (after Powers 1992: 13). Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

It needs to be stressed that the ten ṭhāṭs and their associated scale types remain abstract,
theoretical constructs. One would never imagine ‘performing’ the Kalyāṇ ṭhāṭ as such,
but one might be aware when performing certain rāgs, such as Yaman, Bhūpālī, Kedār
and Kalyāṇ itself, that they are related through being members of this ṭhāṭ—at least
according to Bhatkande’s construction. But then, like so much else in Bhatkhande’s life and
 1. Concepts, Conventions, History And Culture 7

work, this system remains contentious—among other reasons because it contains many
inconsistencies and anomalies (a number of rāgs do not fit readily into it), and because
scales are not the only, nor even necessarily the main, principle through which rāgs can be
defined and related. These were arguments made by, among others, Omkarnath Thakur
(1897–1967), ‘the most articulate and persuasive of Bhatkhande’s detractors’ (Powers1992:
18). Yet, for all this, Bhatkhande remains a continuing, if qualified, point of reference,
both for performers and theorists (see, for example, Nazir Jairazbhoy’s (1971) extended
application of Bhatkhande’sṭhāṭ system).
While we cannot adequately recreate the sound worlds of the now obsolete grāma-jāti,
grāmarāga and deśī-rāgā systems, which range from the early first to the early second
millennia, scholars such as Widdess have nonetheless adduced ‘evidence for continuity
and change in musical concepts, structures and performance’ across these antecedents
of our present-day rāg system (1995: 371). So, if the evolutionary timescale of this process
and the discontinuities within it warn us not to construe rāgas something unchanging or
timeless, this evidence nonetheless points to its sheer historical depth.
8 Rāgs Around the Clock

1.4 Tāl
Tāl is the term used for the cyclic organisation of rhythm in Indian classical music. In
the Hindustani tradition, the job of projecting and sustaining the tāl falls chiefly to the
tabla player—or pakhāvaj player in a dhrupad performance. Common tāls include tīntāl
(based on a sixteen-beat cycle), ektāl(based on twelve beats), jhaptāl(ten beats), rūpaktāl
(seven beats), keharvātāl (eight beats; used for light classical music, including devotional
bhajans) and dādrātāl (six beats; also used for light classical music, including ṭhumrī).
A tāl’sfeeling of endless recurrence seems of a piece with the unchanging background
droneon Sā; but what gives a tāl its cyclic quality? This is a more complex matter than might
at first appear (a point explored in Clayton 2000: chapters 4–5). Some obvious features
include the unchanging length of each tāl cycle (āvartan), measured as a fixed number
of beats (mātrās); and the unbroken succession of one cycle by the next. Moreover, each
tāl organises its cycle in a characteristic way that gives it a unique shape and flow. This
is related to the fact that tāl is not only cyclic but also metrical: the mātrās of a tāl cycle
are organised into subdivisions known as vibhāgs (broadly similar to western music’s
grouping of beats into bars). This gives a tāl its distinctive pattern. Consider Figure 1.4.1,
which shows the metrical profile of tīntāl, one of the most common tāls in Hindustani
classical music. Looking along the top row of this figure, you can see how one āvartan
(cycle) comprises sixteen mātrās (beats) organised into four vibhāgs(subdivisions) of four
mātrāseach:

mātrā 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 1…

ṭhekā dhā dhin dhin dhā dhā dhin dhin dhā dhā tin tin tā tā dhin dhin dhā dhā ….

clap pattern clap clap wave clap clap

notation x 2 o 3 x
sam tālī khālī tālī sam

Fig. 1.4.1 Tīntāl: metrical structure and clap pattern. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

One way in which this metrical structure can be communicated is through its clap pattern.
This is partly a didactic device, but it is not absent from performance either. In a live
concert, audiencemembers can often be seen discreetly tapping out the tāl’s clap pattern
with their fingers or on their knee; and in the Karnatak tradition, vocalists themselves
may overtly execute the clap pattern as they sing. The details of the clap patternfor tīntāl
along with its accompanying notation are shown in the bottom three rows of Figure 1.4.1,
and can be explained as follows:
• The beginning of each vibhāg is signalled with a clap or a wave depending on
its place in the cycle (see third row up).
• Beat 1 of the entire cycle is known as sam (see bottom row). In tīntāl and
almost all other tāls, this is indicated with a clap, which is notated ‘x’ (a notable
exception is rūpaktāl, which begins with a wave). Because tāls are cyclic, sam
simultaneously marks both the beginning of each āvartan and the end of the
 1. Concepts, Conventions, History And Culture 9

preceding one. It is structurally the most significant feature of a tāl, and, after
an accumulation ofseveral āvartans, samcan mark a climactic point of release.
• By contrast, the complementary point of a tāl (and its associated vibhāg)
is termed khālī, meaning ‘empty’; this point is signalled with a wave, and is
notated ‘o’. In tīntāl, khālī falls on beat 9, at the opposite pole to sam, giving this
tāl a distinctive symmetrical aspect. Some tāls have more than one khālī—for
example, ektāl, discussed below.
• Stressed beats other than sam are termed tālī, and, like sam, are clapped. In
tīntāl these are found on beats 5 and 13, and are notated with the numbers 2
and 3, denoting the second and third claps of the cycle (see second row up in
Figure 1.4.1).

This technical description perhaps risks making the structure seem more complex than
it actually is. The best way to grasp these points in the first instance is simply to count
the beats out loud and clap or wave in the correct place, repeating this until the pattern
is ingrained in the body. A further important point is made by Neil Sorrell, who reminds
us that sam(or tālī) and khālī do not simplistically correspond to stressed and unstressed
beats as they might in western metre (Sorrell and Narayan 1980: 117). Sam might be a
point of focus, a locus of organisation, but it is not necessarily articulated with a major
accent (rūpaktāl is a case in point). Similarly, khālīmay be associated with lighter strokes,
but in symmetrical tāls such as tīntālit is nonetheless a complementary point of focus that
is in its own way structural—as saṃvādī is to vādī in a rāg, we might conjecture.
Just as a rāg is more than a scale, so a tāl is defined by more than the number of its
beats or its combination of claps and waves. In the Hindustani tradition, another way in
which a tāl is expressed is through its ṭhekā—a pattern of drum strokes unique to the tāl
and complementing the clap pattern. Drum strokes in Indian classical music are taught
and identified by their bols (meaning ‘words’), such as ‘nā’, ‘tin’, ‘ghe’, ‘ke’; and the ṭhekā
for any given tāl combines such strokes into a unique sequence. For example, the ṭhekā
for tīntāl is as shown in the second row of Figure 1.4.1, beginning with the bols ‘dhā, dhin,
dhin, dhā’. These particular bols onomatopoeically convey the simultaneous combination
of a percussive stroke on the smaller, tuned tabla drum (dāyā̃)̃ and a resonant stroke on
the larger one (bāyā̃)̃ . Conversely, the strokes that follow khālī, on beats 10–13 (... tin tin
tā | tā...), do not involve the larger drum, and hence the feel is lighter at this point. All
musicians should know the ṭhekā of any tāl they are using. So, students should practice
speaking it out loud until it becomes second nature, and then combine it with the relevant
clap pattern. Again, this is a way to know the shape and flowof a tāl experientially.
The tabla player may decorate the ṭhekā, but usually ensures it remains discernible.
This helps the vocal or instrumental soloist remain oriented within the tāl, so that after
improvisatorypassages they are able to resume the composition at the right point. Hence,
all the performers have a stake in tāl and need constantly to hold it in their awareness.
The same goes for the audience: because the tālforms the organising metrical framework
against which the musicians improvise, listenerswho are able to follow it are likely to gain
10 Rāgs Around the Clock

greater insight into the performers’ invention—hence the subtle participation of audience
members in keeping time, a gesture of identification with the musicians.
While almost all the compositions on the Rāg samay cakra album are in tīntāl, the
bandiś for Rāg Basant deploys ektāl, as do several compositions on Twilight Rāgs from
North India. Details of this twelve-beat tāl are given in Figure 1.4.2. Note here how ektāl
has two khālī vibhāgs, yet in the first of these, on beat 3, khālī is simultaneously associated
with a wave within the clap pattern and a heavy tablabol within the ṭhekā. The converse
is also true on mātrā 5, where a tālīin the clap pattern corresponds with a khālī bol (‘tū’)
in the ṭhekā. These seeming contradictions between ṭhekāand clap pattern—discussed at
greater length by Martin Clayton(2000: 65–6)—reinforce Sorrell’spoint that samand khālī
do not necessarily correspond to phenomenalstress or accentuation.

mātrā 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 1…

ṭhekā dhin dhin dhāge tirakiṭa tū nā kat tā dhāge tirakiṭa dhin nā dhin ...

clap pattern clap wave clap wave clap clap clap

notation x o 2 o 3 4 x
sam khālī tālī khālī tālī tālī sam

Fig. 1.4.2 Ektāl: metrical structure and clap pattern. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

Tāls can be performed across an entire gamut of speeds, but Hindustani classical music
nominally uses three categories of lay(tempo): vilambit(slow); madhya lay(medium tempo);
and drut (fast). While these represent quite broad tempo bandwidths as measured by the
metronome, each has its own personality. Madhya lay, for example, does not just occupy
a mid-point between vilambit and drut lays, but has an unhurried, relaxed character of its
own. It is also possible to perform in ati vilambit (very slow) and ati drut (very fast) lays—
the former usually the hallmark of a baṛā (large, grand) khayāl (as discussed in Section 4.3);
the latter often coming into play at the culmination of many an extended instrumental or
vocal performance (I make a detailed analysis of just such a drut khayāl in ektāl by Vijay
Rajput (henceforth VR) in Section 4.2).
 1. Concepts, Conventions, History And Culture 11

1.5 Tānpurā Drone, Svar

The tānpurā, a long-necked fretless lute, is responsible for providing the most elemental
feature of Indian classical music: its drone. This instrument is ostensibly easy to play,
requiring only that the player pluck the open strings at an unchanging tempo—different
from that of the other artists—remaining outside the accumulation of speed and intensity
characteristic of Indian classical music performances (see Clayton 2007 for an empirical
investigation of these conditions). Arguably, tānpurā players do not overtly perform, but
occupy a liminal place both inside and outside the performance.
Nowadays the tānpurā drone is often generated digitally, either by electronic śruti
boxes or—increasingly commonly—by smartphone apps. Although ostensibly for
practise purposes, such devices are commonly plugged into the sound system of concert
performances, boosting the sound of the live tānpurās. Occasionally, in an instrumental
performance, the live tānpurā might be entirely obviated by its electronic counterpart
softly unfurling its dronein the background.
The tānpurā player’s relatively low statusin the performer hierarchy is mitigated by the
fact that he or she may be a senior student of the principal artist; hence this accompanying
role can carry a degree of kudos. If the soloist is a singer, the tānpurā-playing student may
be solicited to provide short periods of vocal support during a performance. And for all
its modest technical demands, the tānpurā itself is held in high esteem—philosophically
because it embodies svar (see below), and practically because it provides the essential
reference point for the other performers’ tuning.
Most tānpurās have four strings that are plucked in a steady repeating sequence. The
middle two strings are tuned to the tonic in the middle register (madhya Sā); the lowest to
the lower-octave tonic (mandrā Sā); and the second lowest usually to the lower fifth degree
(Pa) or, if that note is not present in the rāg being performed, to some other appropriate
scale degree—most usually the fourth (Ma) or seventh (Ni).
What gives the instrument its characteristic buzz is the sandwiching of a cotton thread
between each string and the flat bridge at a key nodal point. This generates a cascade of
harmonics—an effect known as javārī, meaning ‘life-giving’ (see Dattaet al. 2019). It is to
this acoustic panoply that the soloist attunes, listening to the vibrations and seeking to
match and intensifythem. Musicians sometimes say that all the notes of a rāg are already
there in the sound of the tānpurā; the performer’s job is merely to tap into them and
release them.
This is the experience of svar—not merely ‘note’ in the prosaic sense of a specific pitch
with a specific amplitude and duration, but also a phenomenalconvergence of sound and
self, of tone and feeling. Svar can be coloured and enhanced by the śruti(microtones) that
lie within it; and as one svar melts into the next, so this concept blends into that of rāg.
Some musicians also invoke a relationship between svar and nād—a term for musicalised
sound that has metaphysical resonances going back to the Vedic era (ca. 1500–500 BCE)
(see Beck1995; Rowell1998). Related to this are philosophical ideas such as nāda yoga—the
oneness of mind and body achieved through sound—and nāda brahma—the convergence
of sound and consciousness.
12 Rāgs Around the Clock

As evocative as these ideas are, we have to be careful about regarding them as essential
or universal (see Clayton 2000: 6–7, 10–13). For one thing, the omnipresence of a tonic
drone in Indian classical music is probably a relatively recent development. Research by
Chaitanya Deva(1980b: 47–75), Lewis Rowell(1998: 293), Bonnie Wade(1998: 195–8) and
Widdess(1995: 7)—based variously on the historical evidence of iconography, instrument
construction and primary textual sources—suggests that this performing practice may go
back to no earlier than the fifteenth century. In the present day, notions such as nāda
yoga and nāda brahma hold greater currency for some genres, gharānās and individual
musicians than others. They feature, for example, in the discourse of certain lineages of
the dhrupad style, such as the Ḍāgar bānī (notably the Gundecha brothers), and among
some exponents of the Kirānā gharānā, including VR.
 1. Concepts, Conventions, History And Culture 13

1.6 Rāg and Time: Samay Cakra

The title of our book, Rāgs Around the Clock, references a convention fundamental to
Hindustani classical music: that a rāg should be performed at its proper time. The Sanskrit
term for this principle is samay cakra—where samay means ‘time’, or, more specifically, ‘at
the appointed time or right moment’ (Monier-Williams 1899), and cakra denotes ‘wheel’
or ‘circle’.
There is no single agreed representation of this time cycle (see Wade2004/1999: 77–8).
One example, from a now superseded incarnation of the ITC Sangeet Research Academy
website, divides the diurnal cycle into twelve segments—as shown in Figure 1.6.1. Under
another convention—the one we adopt in Rāgs Around the Clock—day and night are each
divided into four quarters, or prahars. The Sanskrit prahara literally means ‘watch’ as in
the watch of a guardsman; a similar word, prahāra, means a striking or hitting, as in the
sounding of the hours on a gong. This eightfold schema is represented, in conjunction with
the rāgs of our albums, in Figure 1.6.2.
4 am

Dawn
awn
Pre-d
m

m
2a

6a
nī Bhaṭ
Sohi

Ea
iyār

rly
t

m
gh

j
Parā Lalit

or
ni

ni
t
id

igh
s

Bh

ng
n
M

dn
Da au

air
mi
ālk

Śa aḍā ī

8 am
Rā

av
n r

12
Kā rbā
M

m
ka
Aḍ ānā

Jo

lī
giy
h

ā
ān

Morn
Bilās
Ahir
Night

Bihāg

rī
rā

khān
Bhair
Bāgeś

ing
Koma
ra-
Śanka

Riṣab
Āsāv
kauns
Cand

ī Toḍ
Toḍī

av
l
arī Jau

10 am
ī

10 pm
Bilāva
Al
npurī

Deśkā

L
Deś
ā

Bhair
h
antī
ing

a
Durg
r

t
Kedā

e
i y
even

l
aijaiv

morn
ā

avī
r

Sā
Ga raṅ
Ka mīr
e

g
ing
Ha

Sā uḍ
t

Pū ddh ṇ
a

Śu lyā
L

Śu aṅr
12
d g
m yā

8p
Br Sār dh
no
Y rir

m īp
Paṭd on
an

in aṅ
dā g
ba
a

Af

nī Multā
g

Śrī
te
in

nī
en

rno
v

on
E

ī Bhīmp
Pūrv alāsī
6p

2p

Late A
m

Dusk fterno
m
4 pm

on

Fig. 1.6.1 Samay Rāga—based on twelve time periods (after website of ITC Sangeet Research Academy). Created by
author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
14 Rāgs Around the Clock

(Basant) Bhairav

1st quarter of the

day
Toḍī

Mālkauns

Śuddh Sāraṅg
2nd quarter of the
day
Brindābanī Sāraṅg

3rd quarter of the

day

Bhīmpalāsī
Bihāg

4th quarter of the

day
Kedār
Multānī
Yaman
Bhūpālī Pūriyā Dhanāśrī

Fig. 1.6.2 Rāg samay cakra—based on eight time periods. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

Beginning with the dawn rāg, Bhairav, our first album, Rāg samay cakra takes us through
to Rāg Mālkauns, a midnight rāg. Some rāgs have associations with the annual cycle of
the seasons, so we have also included performances of Rāg Basant, which celebrates
springtime and at other times of the year can be performed in the final quarter of the
night, and Rāg Megh, a monsoonrāg.
Just how essential—and how old—is the connection between rāgs and their sanctioned
performing times? Although Karnatak (South Indian) music has largely dropped the
association, in the Hindustani tradition it still has currency. Musicians may privately
practise a rāg at any time, but to publicly perform a rāg at the incorrect time would be
to invite disapproval. Some leeway is allowed, however—for example, in the licence to
perform a late-night rāg such as Mālkaunsin the latter part of a concert, provided that it
does not precede a rāg with an earlier performing time.
This culturally regulated practice may have some psychological basis. But, as with
so many cultural factors, it also carries the weight and sanction of history. The samay
principlehas a long pedigree, although not as long as that of rāg itself. Antecedents of the
latter are discussed in written treatises going as far back as Bharata’s Nāṭyaśāstra, dated
between approximately 500 BCE and 500 CE. On the other hand, the earliest sources in
which we find connections between rāg and performing time come from the medieval
period. Possibly the earliest documented account of rāg and time is found in the Saṅgīta-
makaranda of Nārada,where the author states:
One who sings knowing the proper time remains happy. By singing raga-s at the wrong time one ill-
treats them. Listening to them, one becomes impoverished and sees the length of one’s life reduced.
(Part 1, slokas 23–4; as cited in Daniélou2003: 95.)
 1. Concepts, Conventions, History And Culture 15

Typically of such treatises, Nārada’s work is difficult to date with precision. In his
introduction to the 1920 edition of the text, Mangesh Rāmakrishana Telang locates it
between the seventh and eleventh centuries CE (Nārada 1920: viii–x), a view consistent
with M. Vijay Lakshmi’s overview of the extant scholarship (1996: 40–1, 65). On these
views, the treatise would predate Śārṅgadeva’s early thirteenth-century Saṅgīta-ratnākara
(1978, 2023/1993), one of the most important medieval treatises on Indian music, and
another early source that links rāg and performing time (Śārṅgadeva 2023/1993: chapter
II). However, Widdess(personal communication) queries whether the Saṅgīta-makaranda
is the earlier text, since it anticipates the later rāga-rāgiṇi system; Widdess nonetheless
acknowledges that it may be the earliest rationalisation of rāg–time association (as
opposed to the mere assertion of the principle in treatises such as the Saṅgīta-ratnākara
and the Bharata-bhāṣya of Nānyadeva). By contrast, Shripada Bandyopadhyayaimplicitly
endorses the view of Nārada’s treatise predating Śārṅgadeva’s; in his chronological
exposition, Bandyopadhyaya places the Saṅgīta-makarand between the Br̥̥had-deśī of
Mataṅga(ca. sixth to eighth century) and the Saṅgīta-ratnākara (thirteenth century), and
also comments that ‘Saranga Deva… followed in the footsteps of his predecessors, denying
only the principles of masculine and feminine Rāgas expounded by Nārada Muni in his
work “Sangeet Makaranda”’ (1977:17).
Another account of time theories in the early sources is given by Mukund Lath (1987),
who remains sceptical about any ‘psycho-physiological’ basis (see also Wade 2004/1999:
78–9). Lath reminds us that another important figure in the promotion of time theory
was the twentieth-century musicologist Bhatkhande (discussed in Section 1.10, below).
Bhatkhande integrated time theory with his ṭhāṭ system, which groups rāgs into families
based on their scale form (as recounted in Section 1.3). He attempted to show how rāgs
associated with the same performing time often also have commonalties in their scale
form. For example, rāgs using flattened second and natural third and seventh degrees are
commonly associated with dawn or dusk (sandhi prakāś rāgs). Bhatkhande also argued
that rāgs sung in the hours of darkness tend to prioritise the lower tetrachord of the scale
(pūrvaṅg), while those sung in the daylight hours favour the upper tetrachord (uttaraṅg).
These correlations and others are also raised by Chaitanya Deva(1980a: 19–20) in an account
not dissimilar to Powers’paraphrase of Bhatkhande(cf. Powers 1992: 15–16); subsequent
engagements with Bhatkhande’s theories can be found in work by N. A. Jairazbhoy(1971:
61–4). Powers tells us that Bhatkhande looked to treatises written between the fifteenth
and eighteenth centuries—rather than to earlier texts such as the Saṅgīta-ratnākara—
for theoretical evidence of the living practice he knew, and on which to develop his own
time theory and ṭhāṭsystem (1992: 11). But Powersalso relates how practitioners such as
Thakur disparaged Bhatkhande’s system and looked back to the earlier treatises for his
own theories of rāg organised on principles other than scalic ones.
Where does this leave us? On the one hand, critiques such as Thakur’spoint to the often
self-confessed inconsistencies in Bhatkhande’s system, and to the lack of any conclusive
empiricalevidence for the association between rāg and samay. On the other hand, in the
absence of any subsequent alternative systematic theory, Bhatkhande’s word continues
to hold considerable authority—a point conceded by Boret al. (1999: 4). There may be no
objective resolution to the issue. The connection between rāg and time is arguably not
16 Rāgs Around the Clock

an essential one, but is made ‘natural’ or ‘real’ as part of a historically mediated cultural
practice that also has regard for the ambience of each phase of the diurnal cycle. Rāg
Yaman, for example, can be felt to tap into the stillness of the early evening, the sun just
set, the day’s work completed; complementing this, the rāg’s tone colours—Ni and Ga in
reposeful prominence, Re their congenial mediator, Ma gently yearning, all resonating
peaceably against the prevailing tonic—feed back into those sensibilities and reinforce
them. Deva(1980a: 20) makes a similar point about sandhi prakāś(twilight) rāgs:
Sandhi means a junction: the passing of night into day and day into night. There seems to be a
psychological significance in this. For, it is the time of mental twilight between the conscious and the
non-conscious: a time when one sits for prayer and meditation. The dissonances engendered by [komal]
ri, [komal] dha and [suddh] Ni go well with the ‘dreamy’ state of mind during these hours.

Deva’s subsequent ruminations (ibid.) include the observation that some twilight rāgs have
both tivra and suddh Ma, presumably resonating with their liminal place in the time cycle.
The global diaspora of South Asian musicians and their music adds a further twist to
these experiences. For example, the subtropical daylight hours and climate of northern
India do not map comprehensively onto more remote northern or southern latitudes. At
VR and David Clarke’s(henceforth DC) own geographic location at 55 degrees North, where
the length of daylight varies significantly between Summer and Winter solstices, there
may be no right time or ambience for certain rāgs at certain points of the year. Consider
Rāg Yaman once again, which in India would be sung after sunset in the first quarter of
the night, between around 6 and 8 pm. At midsummer in the North of England, however,
the sky may not be fully dark even at midnight, the time of Rāg Mālkauns. As nature and
culture slip out of sync in these different geographic contexts, it requires a work of the
imagination (the meaning of khayāl), to reunite India and the foreign land (an idea so
often invoked in khayāl songs) in our minds.
 1. Concepts, Conventions, History And Culture 17

1.7 Khayāl: Stylistic and Performance Conventions

All the rāgs in Rāgs Around the Clock are performed in the khayāl style—a vocal idiom
that rose to pre-eminence in the eighteenth century and has remained centre stage among
Hindustani classical vocal genres ever since. Aesthetically, khayāl occupies a middle ground
between the older, more sober dhrupad style and the romantic, light-classical genre of
ṭhumrī. In Section 1.9 we will look at some recent perspectives on the historical origins of
khayāl, but first it will be useful to examine some of its present-day conventions. What is
it that performers expect to do, and that listenersexpect to hear, in a khayāl performance?
Khayāl is an Indo-Persian/Arabic term meaning ‘imagination’, a quality reflected in the
music’s largely improvisednature. The vocalist must extemporisewithin the constraints of
rāg and tāl, also drawing inspiration from one or more short song compositions (bandiśes)
based on just a few lines of poetry. The texts are usually devotional or romantic, or maybe
both, since divine and human love are not opposed in this imaginative world (a topic
discussed further in Section 2.2).
A khayāl performance may be expansive, or concise, or somewhere in between. A fully-
fledged presentation—which normally begins a recital and in present-day practice might
last 30–60 minutes—will comprise all of the components listed in the outline below: ālāp,
baṛā khayāl and choṭā khayāl. For shorter performances, it is possible to perform just an
ālāp and a single choṭā (small) khayāl. It is this latter, simpler framework that students first
aspire to master, and that forms the basis for all fourteen tracks of our first album, Rāg
samay cakra. By contrast, the second album, Twilight Rāgs from North India, presents two
extended rāg renditions, both of which include a baṛā (large) khayāl; this provides a model
for more advanced students. The three stages of the schema below are cross-referenced
to further, in-depth explorations undertaken in Parts 3 and 4 of this book, which are also
illustrated by examples from VR’s performances.
1. Ālāp: an unmetred, meditative exploration of the chosen rāg, improvised by the
soloist without tabla accompaniment (cf. Section 3.2). If followed by a baṛā khayāl,
this may be very short, as ālāp principles are in any case impregnated within the
first phase of that section.
2. Baṛā(large) khayāl: the most substantial section of an extended khayāl performance
(cf. Section 4.3). The inception of a baṛā khayālis marked by the entry of the tabla,
which joins the voice and establishes a slow, or very slow, tāl—hence, this stage
is sometimes known as a vilambit (slow) khayāl. A baṛā khayāl is based around a
rhythmically fluid composition, and comprises two principal phases:
a. The soloist sings the first part (sthāī) of the composition (bandiś) and then
embarks upon an extended series of improvisations that retain an ālāp-like
feel, despite the presence of the tāl, and create a sense of staged development
(baṛhat). Each improvisation ends with the opening motif (mukhṛā) of the
composition, which articulates sam (the beginning/end point of each cycle
of the slow tāl). The music gradually intensifies, rising in register until the
soloist achieves and sustains the upper tonic (tār Sā). This triggers the second
18 Rāgs Around the Clock

part (antarā) of the composition, which is followed by the second phase of

the baṛā khayāl.
b. The soloist returns to the mukhṛāof the first part of the composition, and the
feel now becomes more dynamic (the tempo may also move up a gear) as the
soloist improvisesusing a variety of devices, such as:
• Laykārī—syncopated rhythmic play.
• Bol bāṇṭ—rhythmic playwith the words of the song text.
• Tāns—melodic runs and patterns, which come in several varieties:
◦ Ākār tāns—sung to the vowel ā.
◦ Bol tāns—using the words of the composition.
◦ Sargam tāns—using sargam syllables.
◦ Gamak tāns—performed with a heavy shake around the note.
The intensity continues to build, leading to the next stage of the performance.
3. Choṭā (small) khayāl: a faster or up-tempo khayāl—hence also known as drut
(fast) khayāl—based around a further bandiś in the chosen rāg, with improvised
elaborations (cf. Section 3.3). Again, the bandiś is in two parts: sthāī and antarā.
The soloist is at liberty either to sing both parts at the outset or (quite commonly)
to delay the introduction of the second part until completing a significant period
of improvisation around the first. The first line of each part (especially that of
the sthāī) usually receives the most emphasis, and is often treated as a refrain
(mukhṛā). Between statements, the soloist improvises using a similar repertory of
devices to that listed above for the baṛā khayāl.
The performance may continue with one or more further compositions, often
with a corresponding increase in lay. It sometimes concludes with a tarānā,
deploying a composition based on non-semantic syllables such as ta, na, de, re,
nūm. This could be considered as an optional, fourth section of the performance.
 1. Concepts, Conventions, History And Culture 19

1.8 Khayāl: Ornamentation

Ornamentationis a vital aspect of rāg music in its many guises. Indeed, there is probably
no type of Indian music in which ornamentation does not in some way play a part. Degrees
and styles of ornamentation vary according to genre, gharānā(stylistic school), performer,
mood and circumstance: relatively sparingly in dhrupad, fulsomely in ṭhumrī, abundantly
in some light music and filmmusic idioms. Midway along this continuum is khayāl, which
has its own repertory of ornaments, some distinctive to itself, others held in common with
related genres. Pick a few seconds of any track on the albums accompanying this book, and
you will hear that many of the notes VR sings are either ornamented by or ornamenting
some other note—sometimes subliminally, discreetly, delicately; at other times overtly,
effusively, exuberantly.
Terminology with respect to ornamentation is beset by ambiguity. The word alaṅkār,
often used in Hindustani music to mean adornment or decoration, may also (or instead) be
used by musicians to mean sequential practise exercises. Meanwhile, in Karnatak music,
the general term for ornament is gamak, which, confusingly, signifies a particular kind of
ornament in Hindustani music. Moreover, different musicians or different stylistic schools
may mean slightly or appreciably different things by individual names of ornaments.
My aim here is not to definitively resolve such ambiguities, but rather to offer my
own window onto their complexities. To my knowledge, the most perspicacious account
in English of ornamentation in khayāl is by Nicolas Magriel (Magriel and du Perron
2013, I: Chapter 6), who does not shy away from ambiguities of terminology. Here I offer
a more concise treatment, which is based on VR’s gāyakī, and adds further to this not
entirely reconcilable mix of viewpoints. In what follows, I will consider the main classes
of ornament in khayāl, providing short audio illustrations from Rāg samay cakra, with
accompanying notations.

Kaṇ
A kaṇ is a single, delicate note that lightly touches the longer note it precedes—like a
grace note in western music (meanings of kaṇ include ‘particle’, ‘speck’ or ‘grain’). This
embellishment is a common khayāl fingerprint, but is also found in other performing
styles (sometimes under other names). In the ālāp of Rāg Bhūpālī on Rāg samay cakra
(RSC), VR presents several strings of consecutive kaṇ svars, whose elegance and simplicity
capture the spirit of this guileless pentatonic rāg. A short illustration is given in Audio
Example 1.8.1, with notation in Figure 1.8.1 (kaṇs shown in superscript); at this point we
hear VR approaching and quitting tār Sā.

Audio Example 1.8.1 Kaṇ: Rāg Bhūpālī (RSC, Track 9, 00:56–01:17)

[Link]



 ṠǡṠ–––––––– ṠṠṠ ––ǡ – – ––ǡ



 Fig. 1.8.1 Kaṇ: notation of Audio Example 1.8.1. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
20 Rāgs Around the Clock

A related type of ornament can sometimes be found following a sustained note. The
terminal position and near-subliminal quality of such decorations perhaps explains why
they are seldom mentioned in accounts of ornamentation in khayāl, and why they seem
to have no agreed name. They are an aspect of the style, nonetheless; at the end of many
a sustained note in VR’s performances (especially in ālāps) one can hear him make a little
oscillation: slightly wider than a vibrato, barely audible as a tiny flicker or two below
(or occasionally above) the main note. Audio Example 1.8.2 captures two such instances,
following sustained Pa in Rāg Kedār; the notations in Figure 1.8.2 indicate the terminal
ornament with a tiny ‘v’ symbol, one per oscillation.

Audio Example 1.8.2 Kampit/‘after-kaṇ’:

(a) Rāg Kedār (RSC, Track 10, 00:52–00:58)
 (b) Rāg Kedār (ibid., 01:01–01:07)
[Link]


ȋƒȌ Kedār


–––––––––––-


ȋ„Ȍ Kedār


Ḿ––––––––––– 


Fig. 1.8.2 Kampit/‘after-kaṇ’: notation of Audio Example 1.8.2. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

Magriel coins the term ‘after-kaṇ’ for such tiny gestures, and aptly describes them as
‘barely-sounded afterthoughts at the end of sustained tones … ways of “rounding-off”
the “sharp” ends of a steadily-intoned note’ (Magriel and du Perron 2013, I: 300). These
figures have at least some of the qualities associated with the ornament known as kampit
or kampan, which means ‘tremble’ or ‘shake’—a kind of vibrato, which does not decisively
voice any note outside of the sustained one (cf. Sanyaland Widdess2004: 163–4).

Mīṇḍ
Mīṇḍdenotes a gliding motion between two notes. Although this resembles a glissando in
western music, it has a different aesthetic significance here. Fluidity between pitches is
something of a norm in Indian music: the passage from note to note often feels seamless
(more like swimming than stepping, as I heard one musician put it). So we might say that
mīṇḍ projects this kind of motion from the background of consciousness, where it operates
subliminally, into the foreground, where it becomes expressively salient. Its qualities vary
according to how quickly or slowly it is executed and over what distance; it may also
fleetingly touch other notes along the way.
 1. Concepts, Conventions, History And Culture 21

Mīṇḍ may be among the defining attributes of a rāg. In Mālkauns, for example, slow
and ponderous mīṇḍ enhances its gravity as a gambhīr (serious) rāg. Parts (a) and (b) of
Audio Example 1.8.3 capture two such characteristic moments: the first between mandra
Ni andDha, the second between Ga and Sā. Part (c) of the example is taken from Rāg Megh,
also a gambhīr rāg. Here, the repeated mīṇḍ between Ma and Re at the beginning of the
extract and the slow glide from Ni to Pa at the end feel like tender expressions of entreaty
appropriate to the romance of the rainyseason. In the notation of these extracts in Figure
1.8.3 (and throughout this volume), mīṇḍ is indicated with either an upward or downward
oblique line, according to the direction of the glide.

Audio Example 1.8.3 Miṇḍ:

(a) Rāg Mālkauns (RSC, Track 12, 00:47–00:53)
(b) Rāg Mālkauns (ibid., 01:52–02:04)
(c) Rāg Megh (RSC, Track 13, 00:40–01:02)
 [Link]


ȋƒȌ Mālkauns


Ḍ Ṇ  Ḍ


ȋ„Ȍ Mālkauns


 


ȋ Ȍ ‡‰Š


 ǡǡ


 Fig. 1.8.3 Miṇḍ: notation of Audio Example 1.8.3. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.


Āndolan
While mīṇḍ signifies a glide between two notes, āndolan (also āndolit) denotes a gentle
oscillation within a single svar. This has the effect of colouring its sound quality and
amplifying its inner life. In Rāg Bhairav, this effect is conventionally applied to the vādī
and saṃvādī tones, Re and Dha—as we hear in parts (a) and (b) of Audio Example 1.8.4.
Here, VR also fleetingly catches the notes above, Ga and Ni, as if mixing these notes into
Re and Dha respectively in order to capture the blended colours of the dawn twilight.
Āndolan may also be judiciously used in other contexts. In part (c) of the audio example,
we hear it applied plaintively to Dha of Mālkauns. In the corresponding notations (Figure
1.8.4), āndolanis indicated with tilde symbols (~~~).
22 Rāgs Around the Clock

Audio Example 1.8.4 Āndolan:

(a) Rāg Bhairav (RSC, Track 1, 00:13–00:26)
(b) Rāg Bhairav (ibid., 01:33–01:40)
(c) Rāg Mālkauns (RSC, Track 12, 02:56–03:02)
 [Link]


ȋƒȌ Šƒ‹”ƒ˜

 
Ȁ̱̱̱̱̱ ̱̱̱̱



ȋ„Ȍ Šƒ‹”ƒ˜


̱̱



Fig.
 1.8.4 Āndolan: notation of Audio Example 1.8.4. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
ȋ Ȍ Mālkauns
Not for the first
 time  in these
 illustrations (nor the last), we can observe how the particular
ornament under the microscope
 is complemented by others (for example, mīṇḍ). The
several types of ornament
work together
ṠṠṠṠ towards the same end of conveying the particular
Ġ̱̱̱̱̱
 rāg; learning how to combine them in this way is part of the
ras(emotional ‘juice’) of the

khayāl singer’s art. 

Gamak
In Hindustani classical music, the term gamakis used to indicate a wide shake or oscillation
around a series of notes. Its presence in khayāl is a legacy of the genre’s historical
connection with dhrupad, in which this form of ornament is a definitive stylistic feature.
In khayāl, gamak may be applied in several ways and at any appropriate point. It can add
colour to ālāp, to bol ālāp, to elements of a bandiś and, most distinctively, to tāns. VRtells
of how Bhimsen Joshi(1922–2011) was influential in introducing gamak tānsinto khayāl,
and was regarded as an archetypal exponent: ‘When guruji sang gamak, you could feel the
stage shake’.
VR certainly continues his teacher’s legacy within the Kirānā gharānā; some instances
of his gamak are captured in Audio Example 1.8.5 and indicated in Figure 1.8.5 with wavy
lines. In (a), VR applies gamak to a decorative flourish (murkī) that precedes sustained Dha
near the opening of Rāg Bhairav—thus combining types of ornament. In (b), he employs
gamak in the bandiś of Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī, during the second half of its second line.
Again, this applies one decoration to another: the melodic contour here is already a tān-like
decoration of the original version of the melody, which the notation shows in paler font.
In (c), VR sings an extended gamak tānin the latter stages of a choṭā khayāl in Rāg Yaman.
Given that tāns themselves may be regarded as decorating a rāg (Mittal2000: 121–2), then,
again, we here find decoration applied to decoration.
 1. Concepts, Conventions, History And Culture 23

Audio Example 1.8.5 Gamak:

(a) Rāg Bhairav (RSC, Track 1, 00:26–00:30)
(b) Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī (RSC, Track 7, 02:46–02:53)
(c) Rāg Yaman (RSC, Track 9, 05:24–05:32)
[Link]

ȋƒȌ Šƒ‹”ƒ˜

ḎNSṞṞS N\
Ḍ

(b) Pūriyā dhanāśrī

o 3 x 2
9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

  Ḿ Ḿ  Ḿ Ḿ ḾP ḾG 
ŒŠƒǦ ƒǦ ƒ ŒŠƒǦ ƒǦ ƒ bā - Ǧ Œ‡ ŒŠƒǦ ƒǦ kā - Ǧ Ǧ rī.

ȏ‘”‹‰‹ƒŽ˜‡”•‹‘Ȑ
 Ḿ   
[bā -] Œ‡ ŒŠƒǦ ƒǦ kā - Ǧ Ǧ rī.

ȋ Ȍƒƒ

x 2 o 3
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

ṘṘ ĠĠ NṠ ṠṠ
ȏgamak  ‘–‹—‡•–Š”‘—‰Š‘—–ǤǤǤȐ
DṠ NṘ ṠN  ḾD NṘ DṘ ṠṘ  ṠṘ ṠṠ    ṠṠ NṠ

NṘ  ḾD PḾ ḾG DḾ   

Fig. 1.8.5 Gamak: notation of Audio Example 1.8.5. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

Ordinary human beings are helped in transcribing such breathtakingly rapid gamak
tāns by software such as Transcribe! which makes it possible radically to slow down the
recording. This has the effect of rendering the depth of gamak even more vividly, but
can also exacerbate the ambiguity of what one hears (cf. Magriel and du Perron 2013, I:
329). In general, the magnitude of the shake in gamak is sometimes so great that it can
be near-impossible to discern the target pitches beneath—though a singer should always
have these clear in their own mind, and a listener may also be able to divine them from
the context (see Sanyal and Widdess 2004: 165–6). There is also no obvious consensus as
24 Rāgs Around the Clock

to whether the shake should begin above or below the decorated note. Ali Akbar Khan
(1922–2009) and George Ruckert do not consistently prescribe any single approach in
their various exercises for sarod(2021/1998: 207, 211); Widdess provides a spectrographic
analysis of dhrupad gamak sung by Ritwik Sanyal, which shows a clear V-shaped motion
from above the notes, to below them, and back again (Sanyal and Widdess 2004: 165);
Magriel’s transcriptions of gamak in khayāl do not suggest any generalisable inferences
about direction of execution, but do underscore how the ornament is rarely heard in
isolation from others (Magrieland du Perron 2013, I: 328–33).
Gamak is perhaps the most distinctively Indian of ornaments, and may initially sound
alien to the ears of other cultures. But in its extremity, it points to two wider aspects of
ornamentation in Hindustani classical music. First, we might hear it as amplifying the
inner life of svar—in this case maximally so, like a volatile version of āndolan. Second,
this most literally visceral of decorations reminds us of the bodily nature of ornament:
the delicate ones too need a certain physicality to execute; and ornaments, in the guise of
jewellery, are a traditional form of body adornment in Indian culture.

Kaṭhkā and Murkī

No two commentators, it seems, will agree on what kinds of ornament are signified by
kaṭhkā and murkī. The two related terms have a range of inconsistent definitions, from
a kind of mordent to an elaborate string of decorative notes. Some musicians treat the
two words as actually or virtually synonymous (VR is in the latter camp). Magriel, who
surveys many performers’ use of these and other terms, in the end takes the pragmatic
decision to use kaṭhkā to signify all their possible meanings (Magriel and du Perron 2013,
I: 305–7). Bor et al. define murkī as ‘a fast and delicate ornament involving two or more
tones, similar to a mordent’ (1999: 181), but provide no corresponding gloss for kaṭhkā.
If delicacy is one possible connotation of murkī, a degree of force, percussiveness, or
the action of cutting is sometimes associated with kaṭhkā (Magriel and du Perron 2013,
I: 306). Ashok Ranade invokes the Hindi khaṭaknā, ‘to create a sharp clashing sound’,
and describes kaṭhkā as ‘a melodic embellishment in which a cluster of notes is quickly
and forcefully produced prior to the note projected as the important note’ (2006: 222); he
also mentions murkī as a synonym, but gives no further elaboration. Khan and Ruckert
describe kaṭhkā as ‘a type of murkī, involving the fast repetition of a note (lit., knocking)’
(2021/1998: 346). So it would not be wise to see these characteristics as clear markers of
one type of ornament or the other.

Audio Example 1.8.6 Kaṭhkā/murkī:

(a) Rāg Kedār (RSC, Track 10, 00:17–00:26)
(b) Rāg Kedār (ibid., 01:07–01:14)
(c) Rāg Bhīmpalāsī (RSC, Track 5, 01:29–01:37)
[Link]
 1. Concepts, Conventions, History And Culture 25



ȋƒȌ Kedār


–––––––ṆṆṆ–––––– 


ȋ„Ȍ Kedār


––––––––––––––
Ȁ




ȋ Ȍ Bhīmpalāsī


Ṇ    ––––––––


Fig. 1.8.6 Kaṭhkā/murkī: notation of Audio Example 1.8.6. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

Audio Example 1.8.6 and its accompanying notation in Figure 1.8.6 give three salient
extracts from Rāg samay cakra; I also played these to VR for his opinion regarding their
nomenclature. In the first extract (a), from the ālāp of Kedār, we hear a motion from
sustained Sā to sustained Re via a very rapid double oscillation between Ṇi and Sā (which
could also be heard as a blurred reiteration of Sā); VR seemed happy to label this figure
as kaṭhkā—which might be consistent with a conception, that includes, but is not limited
to, the emphatic repetition of a note. Conversely, he thought that the final extract, (c), in
which Ma of Bhīmpalāsī is approached by a delicate and wide-ranging run, was a clear
case of murkī. As for the second extract, in which Ma of Kedār is prefaced via a turn-like
figure around Pa, VR exclaimed ‘I don’t know; it could be kaṭhkā or murkī—or both!’ In
the same conversation, he described another attribute of kaṭhkāas decorating a note from
either side; and also suggested that murkīmight be a more free-formed kind of run; since
both notions seem to apply here, this might partly explain his equivocation. Importantly,
VRalso indicated that he does not think of these ornaments by name when he performs: ‘I
just sing, I don’t really know what they’re all called!’ His experience chimes with Magriel’s
observation that ‘musicians rarely use any of these terms in verbal discourse although
their music is replete with the nuances they signify’ (Magriel and du Perron 2013, I: 305).

Cultural and Aesthetic Significance

The loose fit—and sometimes blatant gap—between the theoryand practice of ornament
need not be seen as a deficit. The many ambiguities and divergences between word and
music instead tell us that ornamentation is performed in a constant state of invention
and evolution. The creative process involves not a pick-and-mix of prefabricated, rigidly
defined objects that must be rigorously named and categorised, but rather a continuous
26 Rāgs Around the Clock

arising of adornments that constantly blend and vary their form in the moment and
movement of imagination. The way ornamentation in Hindustani classical music teases
our ability to name, and perpetually eludes it, perhaps points to its very essence.
Whereas modern western conceptions may associate ornament with artifice and
superficiality, the Sanskrit alaṃkāra meant ‘things which make alam [sufficient], which
give strength required for something … which bestow a consecrated condition upon a
person’ (Gonda1975: 271; see also Ali 2004: 163). This notion has resonances in the history
of Indian court culture, not only in the Mughal era (1526–1857), in which Hindustani
classical music flourished, but also going back to the early medieval courts of the Gupta
era and beyond (fourth to seventh centuries)—as described in Daud Ali’s major work
on that topic (2004: 19, 162–70). Ali recounts how this was a culture in which aesthetic
adornment operated as a sign of courtly fitness and moral accomplishment—a culture
consistent with representations in Bharata’s Nāṭyaśāstra(Ali 2004: 148). In Bharata’s work,
we find canonical lines regarding decoration in music (Bharata 2006/1989: 407 [Chapter
29, Slokas 72–6]): ‘A song devoid of Alaṁkāra resembles the night bereft of the Moon, [a]
river deprived of water[,] [a] creeper that has not blossomed, and a woman unadorned’.
Here, then, from the early centuries of the common era, in lines that remain pertinent to
the present day, we have evidence of the essential place of ornament in Indian music.
 1. Concepts, Conventions, History And Culture 27

1.9 Khayāl: Origins

For all that many of its songs invoke Hindu deities and legends, khayāl developed and
flourished in and around the Muslimcourts of the Mughal era. One problem is that we do
not know exactly what the music would have sounded like in the earlier centuries of its
evolution. Like the music itself, accounts of khayāl’s history have tended to be transmitted
orally, accruing a variety of mythsin the process. For a factually grounded account of the
genre’s origins it is important to look to reliable scholarship based on consultation of the
available manuscript sources.
Significant among such historical treatments is Katherine Butler Schofield’s (née
Brown) revisionist essay ‘The Origins and Early Development of Khayal’ (2010). Brown
painstakingly pieces together an account whose authority is based on the evidence of Indo-
Persian sources. Interestingly, and perhaps provocatively, it differs in key respects from
received wisdom. Taking the earliest known uses of the term khayāl in the manuscript
sources as a starting point, Brown surmises that a form of the genre may have first
appeared at the Mughalcourt between 1593 and 1637—significantly later than the life of
Amir Khusrau(1253–1325) to whom the invention of khayāl is commonly attributed.
Alternative protagonists in Brown’s account include the Qavvāls of Delhi—Sufimusicians
who were regarded as the primary exponents of khayāl throughout the seventeenth
century (Brown 2010: 168ff.). They cultivated the raviś (style) of Amir Khusrau, which
included the genres of qaul, tarānā and—in some accounts—khayāl. However, Brown
argues that khayāl was not a direct inheritance from Amir Khusrau, but was rather part
of a legacy in which the Qavvāls synthesised his raviś with other influences. Important
among these was a genre known as cutkulā, which was a legacy of Sultan Husain Shah
Sharqiof Jaunpur (r. 1458–83).
Significant in the nexus between Delhiand Jaunpurwas the figure of Shaikh Bahauddin
Barnawi(d. 1628/9), associated with the village of Barnawa, East of Delhi (ibid.: 174–8). A
renowned musician, he is known to have composed khayāl. His great-grandfather, Shaikh
Pir Buddhan (d. 1498) was the pīr (spiritual master) and fellow connoisseur of Husain Shah
Sharqi of Jaunpur (ibid.: 177), and hence may have been a conduit for the transmission
of cutkulā—and its subsequent evolution as khayāl—into the lineage of the Barnawa
shaikhs. Indeed, Brown conjectures that the circumstances were exactly right for Shaikh
Bahauddin Barnawi himself to have been a creator of khayāl (ibid.: 178). And among the
Shaikhs’ retinue were qavvāls—a possible line of transmission to the Qavvāls of Delhi.
Crucial to these many interconnections are the religion and culture of Sufism, especially
its Chishti Order. This is the common denominator that links many of the protagonists and
places in Brown’s account: Amir Khusrau, Husain Shah Sharqi, the Qavvāls, the Barnawa
Shaikhs, other khayāl exponents such as Shaikh Sher Muhammed(seventeenth century),
and the centres of Delhiand Jaunpur. A possible channel of transmission could have been
Sufisamā‘ gatherings—ecstatic devotional assemblies in which khayāl, or generic variants
of it, may have been sung (ibid.: 180–2). Importantly, such gatherings were sympathetic to
Hindu devotional imagery—a fact which remained salient for the evolution of khayāl in
later centuries. There seemed to be no contradiction in Muslims singing songs informed
by the Hindu bhakti tradition, in which the pain of separation between lovers (most
28 Rāgs Around the Clock

emblematically Rādhāand Kr̥̥ṣṇa) might be implicitly equated with longing for union with
the divine(ibid. 186–7).
Brown’salready complex narrative forms part of an even more complex wider picture.
Although any extended exploration of the subsequent history of khayāl is beyond the
scope of this account, several points are worth briefly highlighting.
First, khayāl, alongside various other forms of Hindustani music, eventually established
a place in the secularcourt mehfilof the Mughalempire in the seventeenth century. While
dhrupadwas the pre-eminent classical genre (with Tānsen(ca. 1500–89) its most prominent
exponent) in the court of Akbar the Great (r. 1556–1605), we know from Faqīrullāh’s Rāg
Darpan (Mirror of Music, compiled mid-seventeenth century), that two khayāl singers
were listed in the retinue of the Emperor Shah Jahan(r. 1627–58) (Wade 1997: 1–2), albeit
that dhrupad was still in the ascendant at this point. It was by the beginning of the reign
of Aurangzeb(r. 1658–1701), that khayāl probably began to rival dhrupad, in popularity if
not prestige (Brown 2010: 182–4).
Secondly, while khayāl had acquired the characteristics of a classical form by this time, it
had arisen and would continue to develop through cross-fertilisation with other styles and
genres, and through a confluence of classical (mārga) and regional (deśī) features. Madhu
Trivedi tells of a flourishing of the musical arts in the first half of the eighteenth century
under Emperor Muhammad Shah (r. 1719–48), which also included a diversification of
patronage. Mehfilswere ‘arranged by nobles, affluent people and eminent musicians [and]
attracted large audiences. As a result the number of professional artists increased greatly’
(Trivedi2010: 83). Paradoxically, the crisis of the Mughalempire at this time (which marked
the beginning of its disintegration) further fostered this diversification. After the invasion
and sacking of Delhi by the Safavid Persian Emperor Nādir Shah (1688–1747) in 1739,
court artists were forced to find employment from a wider sphere of patrons, and this was
complemented by a cross-pollination of classical and folk(dhun)-based forms (ibid.: 84).
Thirdly, under this changing political and social background—increasingly marked by
the British presence in India—khayāl flourished during the eighteenth, nineteenth and
early twentieth centuries across various Northern Indian centres of patronage, including
Delhi, Gwalior, Lucknow, Benares, Baroda, Rampur, Calcutta and Bombay (Borand Miner
2010; Wade1997: 5–10).
Fourthly, there is the question of Ni‘mat Khan, also known by his pen name Sadāraṅg
(1670–1748). Ni‘mat Khan was active in the early eighteenth century, and is canonical
in histories and orally transmitted stories of khayāl. He was a celebrated player of the
bīn (a form of lute), a famed exponent of dhrupad and khayāl, and a renowned teacher.
Sulochana Brahaspati (2010: 271–5) describes how he was not only favoured by the
Emperor Muhammad Shah, but also established an important musical lineage associated
with Rampur, which included his nephew Firoz Khan, known under the pen name
Adāraṅg. Trivedicredits Ni‘mat Khan with the ‘renovation’ of khayāl through features still
recognisable in today’s versions of the genre (2010: 84). On the other hand, Brownrefutes
claims that he uniquely popularised or classicised khayāl—though she concedes him a place
within the broader landscape of the genre (2010: 189–91). She argues that Ni‘mat Khan’s
espousal of khayāl under the patronage of Muhammad Shah may have been related to
his need to distance himself from his association with dhrupad, which he practiced under
 1. Concepts, Conventions, History And Culture 29

the earlier patronage of the eventually discredited Emperor Jahandar Shah (r. 1712–13)
and his concubine Lal Kunwar. If this was the case, the strategy worked: to this day, songs
referencing Sadāraṅg (by no means all of which are authenticable) continue to circulate
in the khayāl repertory.
30 Rāgs Around the Clock

1.10 V. N. Bhatkhande
Any student or enthusiast of Hindustani classical music will sooner or later encounter the
figure of Vishnu Narayan Bhatkhande, whose name has indeed already surfaced several
times in this book. A seminal scholar-musician, Bhatkhandewas instrumental in ushering
Indian music into the modern era. He organised four All-India Music Conferences held
between 1916 and 1925 (see Trasoff2010). His lifelong efforts to modernise the way Indian
music was taught, understood and practiced was of a piece with the momentous social,
cultural and historical changes of India’s struggle for independence from the British.
He published a substantial body of historical and theoretical writings on Indian music,
some in Sanskrit, some in his mother tongue, Marathi (some of which were translated
into Hindi). To this day, his legacy remains pertinent, if contentious, to practitioners and
scholars of South Asian music.
Three traces of Bhatkhande’s influence can be discerned in Rāgs Around the Clock.
First, his time theory of rāg is of obvious relevance (cf. Section 1.6). Secondly, in our
descriptions and specifications of individual rāgs (in Section 2.5, below), we have drawn
on his Kramik pustak mālikā (1937)—a six-volume compendium of rāg commentaries
and bandiś transcriptions compiled from hereditary musicians of his day (a copy sits on
VR’s bookshelf, and is a not-infrequent reference point in our lessons). Thirdly, in our
transcription of bandiśes we have adapted Bhatkhande’s notation method, since this is
almost universally recognised by present-day Hindustani musicians.
Typically of many modernisers, Bhatkhande achieved historical significance and
influence through a process of othering—strategically differentiating himself from rival
individuals, peoples, ideas and tendencies. He asserted a future Indian music against a
colonial western present—a future underpinned by an institutionalised learning culture
distinct from the hereditary musical lineages of India’s own past. To this end, he and Rai
Umanath Bali established an academy for the study of Hindustani music in Lucknow in
1926, originally known as Marris College (see Katz 2017: 109–16). Bhatkhande’s vision of
Indian music as a culturally unifying force in a new, independent nation was an ostensibly
secular one. In this he differentiated himself from his rival reformer Vishnu Digambar
Paluskar (1872–1931), whose own urban music academies—which bear the name
Gandharva Mahavidyalaya and remain operative today—were intimately connected to
Hindunationalism and the notion of a return to the imagined Vedicroots of a pre-Muslim
era.
Janaki Bakhlediscusses Bhatkhande and Paluskaragainst the wider political background
of their projects in her 2005 monograph Two Men and Music. Bakhle’s account of Bhatkhande
is especially polemical, highlighting his antagonism toward the very hereditary Muslim
musicians whose musical knowledge he solicited. She underlines how he characterised
them as illiterate; how he held them responsible for a perceived decline of Indian music
into degeneracy; and how he regarded them as imperilling their musical legacy by relying
solely on oral transmissionwithin their own khāndāns(family lineages). Bakhle’s evidence
includes Bhatkhande’s own journal, which documents his frustration at what he perceived
as the shortcomings of musicians such as the sarod player Karamutallah Khan (Bakhle
2005: 109–13). Max Katz, on the other hand, evidences an altogether more cordial and
 1. Concepts, Conventions, History And Culture 31

constructive relationship between Bhatkhande and the sarod player Sakhawat Hussain
Khan (1877–1955), who was an important figure in the establishment of Marris College
(Katz 2017: 116–22). Yet Katz also argues that this relationship was played out against the
wider backdrop of a Hindu–Muslimcommunaliststruggle in which the former group was
to achieve ascendancy—both within the College and within India as a whole (2017: 100–28).
Bhatkhande’sultimate goal was to systematise and unify Indian music—to present it as
a classical tradition of equal stature to that of the West. His invention of a musical notation
system was part of this; and so was his search for a theoretical and historical basis for
Indian music that would demonstrate systemic linkages between its various forms (one
goal, eventually abandoned, was to unify the Hindustani and Karnataktraditions). Yet, he
was unable to find conclusive evidence for such a unified picture. For all his scholasticism,
his research eventually led him to believe that Indian music as actually practiced in his
own day had only a relatively short history of some two to three hundred years, and that
ancient canonical treatises such as the Nāṭyaśāstra of Bharata or the thirteenth-century
Saṅgīta-ratnākara of Śārṅgadeva were of limited relevance (Bakhle 2005: 105–6, 114–16).
In his attempt to write a systematic theory of his own, his Hindustānī-saṅgīta-paddhati, he
placed more value on treatises written between the fifteenth and eighteenth centuries (see
Powers 1992: 11), which he believed had a more discernible relationship to modern-day
musical practice.
Bhatkhande remains an ambiguous figure—canonised and criticised in equal
measure. Authors such as Sobhana Nayar (1989) and Shripada Bandyopadhyaya (1977)
are unstinting in their praise of him and unequivocal about his significance. Others, as
we have seen, can be searing in their critique. Yet even Bakhle is careful to consider the
nuances, ambivalences and contradictions in Bhatkhande’s thinking. His musical theories
have been criticised by scholars and musicians on theoretical and practical grounds,
yet he remains a key point of reference for many (for example, Jairazbhoy 1971). In a
sympathetic appreciation, Sulochana Brahaspati (2010: 278–9) reminds us that in his
youth Bhatkhandelearned the vīṇāas ‘a disciple of the [Muslim] maestros of Rampur’, and
that the historical texts he found valuable included sources in Urdu and Persian. As the
musical and geopolitical debates into which he pitched continue to play out in the present
day, we can only continue to hold his formidable achievement and the contradictions in
his outlook in tense juxtaposition.
32 Rāgs Around the Clock

1.11 The Guru-Śiṣyā Paramparā

Introduction
The content of Indian classical music is organically connected to the way it is taught. The
subtleties of rāg, svar and śruti; the spontaneity of improvisedperformance; the oftentimes
elliptical relationship between melody and tāl; the emotional flavour (ras) that can be
savoured in every phrase and ornament: these elements of the music’s lifeblood flow from
its distinctive oral pedagogy founded on the immediacy of face-to-face communication
and the bond between student and teacher. This historically longstanding tradition, which
has the figure of the guru at its heart, is known as the guru-śiṣyā paramparā.
Let us consider these words in turn. ‘Guru’ means more than simply ‘teacher’: it carries
connotations of ‘master’ or ‘preceptor’, and has a history going back to the Vedas, the
foundational texts of Hinduism. As Joel Mleckoexplains (1982: 34): ‘Gu means “ignorance”
and ru, “dispeller.” The guruis a dispeller of ignorance, all kinds of ignorance’. Similarly,
śiṣyā means more than merely ‘student’: it implies discipleship and devotion. Finally,
paramparā, means ‘lineage’ or ‘succession’: it points to a would-be unbroken transmission
of knowledge as śiṣyās themselves eventually become gurus and pass on their skills and
wisdom to the next generation.
These Sanskrit terms have their Urdu equivalents in Muslim traditions of learning—a
significant point given the prominence of Muslim hereditary lineages in Hindustani
classical music. The Muslim counterparts of guru and śiṣyā are ustād and śāgird; and
the equivalent of paramparā is silsilā. As James Kippen puts it (2008: 127): ‘what both
[sets of terms] have in common, in an ideal sense, is a system where the master becomes
the complete role model for the disciple not only in terms of the transmission of musical
understanding and the technical means to perform it but also in terms of moral and ethical
integrity, self-realization, vision, and personal depth’. What both versions of the tradition
also have in common is the place of the student as a member of the master’s household,
with its intimate and immersive learning environment. This last feature continues to be
regarded as the ideal milieu for the passing-on of musical knowledge and its attendant
values, even though, since the twentieth century, it has been challenged by other learning
systems that have emerged from it or have sought to displace it.
Which brings us to a further crucial aspect of the guru-śiṣyā paramparā: the impact of
modernisation. The tradition’s passage into modernity goes hand in hand with the rise
of a Hindu middle class that began to cohere in the nineteenth century (Van der Meer
1980: 122–6), came to prominence contemporaneously with the Indian independence
movement (Neuman 1990: 18–21), and achieved dominance in India after independence
and Partition in 1947 (ibid.: 142). Voices in recent anglophone musicology (for example,
Bakhle 2005, Katz 2017) have critically examined how this also involved an emerging
Hindu hegemony over hereditaryMuslimmusicians. However, complementing this, Justin
Scarimbolo(2014) argues for softening ‘polarized understandings’, based on his research
into the agency of Brahman musicians‘beyond nationalism’ during the colonial era.
What remains clear is that, in the earlier twentieth century, the Hindu middle-class
sphere became fertile ground for the learning of Indian classical music (and largely remains
 1. Concepts, Conventions, History And Culture 33

its habitus in India today). Since that time, musical pedagogyhas taken institutional form
within specialist music academies or music departments of universities (the earliest
modern Indian universities were founded on the colonial model of London University in
1857). Alongside such establishments, gurus and ustāds continue to teach privately, but
often along lines closer to western musicaltuition—what Regula Burkhardt Qureshiterms
the ‘Indian bourgeois version of music lessons’ (2009: 168).
To summarise and elaborate a little: we have so far identified three particularly
important moments in the long duration of the guru-śiṣyā paramparā. First, its historical
antecedents in the figure of the guruin the Vedicera (dating back to probably the second
millennium BCE); second, the significance of hereditary musicians as tradition bearers,
who were already a presence in the court culture of the DelhiSultanate (which arose in the
thirteenth century) and further flourished under the Mughaldynasty (from the sixteenth
to the nineteenth centuries); third the impact of modernity, with its attendant shift in the
nineteenth and twentieth centuries to a middle-class culture of musical pedagogy and
consumption. To these three moments we might add a fourth: a problematic side to the
paramparā, arguably rooted in its patriarchal underpinnings, that has begun to loom
especially large in the twenty-first century.
It is important to stress that these moments do not resolve into a unified, seamless
historical chronology or narrative. As Bakhlereminds us (2005: 257–8), ‘no single historical
trajectory is adequate to the task of telling the robust history of music’. Nonetheless,
these themes, with their overlaps and interpenetrations, will form important elements
in the following discussion of the paramparā. My starting point, however, will be what
is probably the tradition’s most crucial aspect (also mentioned above): the fact that the
student has historically acquired their musical training through living in (or near) their
teacher’s household, in an environment where learning becomes inseparable from daily
living. If this account takes more extended form than the other essays so far in this book,
this is largely because of the sheer significance of the paramparāto Indian classical music,
and because its social, historical and cultural features throw considerable light on the
practice as a whole.

The Tropes of the Tradition

What are the sources of our knowledge of the guru-śiṣyā paramparā? Like so much else
in Indian culture, much of what we know about the tradition has been orally transmitted
within it, through stories and anecdotes. These have assumed a status close to myth or
lore. Such narrative themes are often termed tropes; and if they project a highly idealised
picture of the relationship between master and disciple that is not always realised in
practice, this seems essential to sustaining and reproducing the ethos and ethic of the
learning culture (for does not every musician speak devotedly of their ustādor guruji?).
Another source of our knowledge comes from scholarly accounts by ethnomusicologists
who themselves have experienced musical discipleship as part of their fieldwork. These
accounts include writings by Daniel Neuman(1990: 43–58) who learnt sāraṅgīwith Ustād
Sabri Khan(1927–2015); Qureshi(2009) who, some years later, learnt with the same ustād;
Kippen(1988; 2008), who studied tablawith Ustād AfaqHussain (1930–90); Magriel(2001),
34 Rāgs Around the Clock

also a disciple of Ustād SabriKhan; and Wim van der Meer(1980: 138–50), who studied voice
with Pandit Dilip Chandra Vedi (1901–92). Our knowledge of the guru-śiṣyā paramparā is
also informed by historians’ investigations of the guru concept in ancient Vedic sources.
Further insight is afforded by musicological genealogies of hereditary musicians, and
by related accounts of the gharānās (stylistic schools) of the later nineteenth and earlier
twentieth centuries (see for example, Das Sharma [Dasasarma]1993; Neuman1990; Wade
1997).
Salient within these sources is the idea that the traditional locus of musical instruction
is the guru’s own home. This point is underlined by, among others, Qureshi (2009), who
describes first-hand how pedagogical transmission is predominantly oral, and how the
distinctive feature of discipleship under a hereditary musician is that the śagīrd or śiṣyā
live with or near their ustād or guru as an actual or honorary family member. Qureshi
recounts how the Urdu phrase ‘sīna ba sīna’, which loosely means ‘from heart to heart’,
was interpreted by her ustād, Sabri Khan, as meaning in effect ‘from father to son’—thus
stressing the intimate, familial nature of this culture (2009: 167–71). Familial might also
mean quasi-familial—in that non-family members can also be admitted to the teacher’s
circle and treated as a family member (as in Qureshi’sown case)—or extended familial—
in that teaching may also be from grandparent to grandchild, uncle to nephew etc. This
domain extends out into a wider kinship network or community, known as birādarī or
‘brotherhood’ (ibid.: 170).
In this familial setting—often known as a gurukul (meaning, roughly, domain or clan
of the guru)—teaching, learning, practice (riyāz), talk about music, and the goings-on
of everyday life blend seamlessly (Neuman 1990: 54–5). This is a particularly congenial
environment for younger family members to learn in. Magriel (2001: 104–40) observed
how the young sons and nephews of several hereditaryustādswere inducted into learning
music almost by osmosis, since music making was going on around them all the time
as extended family and community flowed in and out of the house. Learning for these
youngsters was in the first instance informal, even playful, and gradually became more
formalised and focused as they got older and acquired competence. The ustāds’aspiration
was for this younger generation to become professional artists themselves, and so pass on
the tradition and continue the family lineage (assuming the potential was there and the
opportunities for a career looked favourable). Such hereditary musicians are known as
khāndānī (Neuman 1990: 58).
The admission of non-family members into discipleship is one way that Hindumusicians
have learnt from Muslim teachers and vice-versa; it has also enabled the diversification
of traditions, and, in the more recent past, made it possible for western musiciansto study
with South Asian masters. Nonetheless, entry by non-family members into a guru’s or
ustād’sdomain has historically been difficult to negotiate. Another tropeamong musicians’
stories is of having to demonstrate the seriousness of their intent to a potential guru or
ustād, who might in the first instance appear indifferent or even discouraging. Van der
Meer provides examples of such stories, some of them legendary (1980: 144–8); Kippen’s
account of his own experience of gaining admission as a disciple of Ustād Afaq Hussain
is also paradigmatic (2008: 125–6, 128–9); and VR himself recounts how, after initially
approaching Pandit Bhimsen Joshi in person to take him on as his śiṣyā, it took another
 1. Concepts, Conventions, History And Culture 35

two years before the master finally confirmed he would teach him, during which time VR
would repeatedly turn up to Joshi’s concerts in Delhi, sometimes playing tānpurāfor him,
understanding that the whole process was a test of his patience and commitment (Rajput
2012).
Once admitted into the guru’s household, a student’s devotion might continue to be
tested before they are formally accepted and begin tālīm(tuition). A further tropeamong
musicians’ stories is of being expected to perform menial chores for their guru, such as
doing his shopping, running errands, and generally making his life more comfortable—all
of which could be seen as a demonstration of their submission (Kippen 2008: 129; Neuman
1990: §55). During this probationary phase, the student typically sits in on other students’
lessons, learning by immersion, rather than being directly taught.
Eventually, if convinced by the student’s commitment and general good character, the
master may formally take them on as a śiṣyāor śāgird. This rite of passage is traditionally
marked by a ceremony known as gaṇḍā bandhan, at which a thread is tied around the
wrists of master and disciple, symbolising the bond between them. Kippen describes
this ceremony as a mixture of Muslim and Hindu ritual (2008: 130); Qureshi (2009:
171–4) references the ceremony by its Muslim name—śāgirdī—in an account of sāraṅgī
player Nasir Khan’s admission into discipleship under his uncle, Ustād Sabri Khan. Such
ceremonies are undergone by hereditaryand non-hereditary musicians alike; indeed, the
distinction between the categories would seem to be erased from this point. The śiṣyā
commits to a life devoted to musical learning and its attendant values, and the guru
commits to the śiṣyā as if their own offspring, and to passing the tradition on to them.
If not already a family member, the śiṣyā is henceforward treated as such, and refers to
fellow students as their guru-bhāīor guru-bahan(‘guru brother’ or ‘guru sister’). There is
a strongly affective dimension in all these relationships: another tropehas it that the guru
should love his student like (or more than) he loves his own son, and the śiṣyā love his
guru like (or more than) he loves his own father (Neuman1990: 45–50).
At the gaṇḍā bandhan ceremony, the śiṣyā customarily makes a financial offering
known as a guru dakśinā; and although further offerings may also be subsequently made
(even expected), notionally these would not be regarded as direct payment for tālīm
which in principle is given freely (Neuman 1990: 51–2). ‘Guruji never asked for payment’,
confirms VR; in other accounts of the guru dakśinā, the śiṣyā simply pays what they can
afford. What the guru has to offer is regarded as being beyond price (as it were, outside
of any commodity exchange); in return the śiṣyā is expected to adapt his own behaviour,
showing respect and obedience. Even after initiation, a śiṣyācontinues to undertake tasks
and favours (such as carrying the guru’s instrument, bringing his food to the table) as acts
of respect and gratitude (Neuman 1990: 46, 51). Reverence is also conventionally shown in
the ritual greeting (praṇām) of touching a guru’s feet.

Perspectives from History

The historical depth of the paramparā—and of lineages within it—matters. There is status
for a musician in hailing from a long and distinguished pedigree. Lines of descent from
father to son (patrilinear) or from blood relative to blood relative (consanguineal) are
36 Rāgs Around the Clock

known as khāndān, and its members as khāndānī; wider family groups connected by
actual or potential marriage ties are known as birādarī (Neuman 1990: 95–9; Qureshi
2009: 170–1). Scholars seeking to compile genealogies must contend with sometimes
misremembered or conflicting accounts (where brothers may have been confused with
father and son or vice-versa (Neuman 1990: 166)) and sometimes tenuous claims by
musicians to have belonged to the khāndān or birādarī of a particularly eminent ustād
in order to enhance their own prestige. Even if some might be stretching a point to claim
themselves khāndanī of the legendary sixteenth-century dhrupad singer Tānsen, present-
day continuities with the four singing styles (bānīs) dating back to Akbar’scourt, and with
instrumental lineages putatively originated by the sons and daughters of Tānsen, mean that
this is at least imaginable (ibid.: 147–8, 164–5). Neuman asserts that the likely limit point
of any hereditarymusician’s plausible ancestry would be the Sufimusician Amir Khusrau
who was a famed singer in the era of the Delhi Sultanate. Before and alongside this, one
would need to look to pedagogical lineages of Hindu temple musicians, which were not
necessarily hereditary (ibid.: 85, 104, 105). For that matter, not all lineages associated with
courts were Muslim—for example, Tānsen and his teacher, the equally legendary Swami
Haridas (1480–1573), were both Brahmans (though the former is said to have become a
Muslim when he entered Akbar’scourt).
A further aspect of lineage is the institution of the gharānā, which was ‘conceived in
the mid-nineteenth century and born in the twentieth’, as Neuman puts it (1990: 146). In
seeking to distinguish a gharānā from a khāndān(beyond the fact that the former concept
has a more recent historical provenance), we might say that gharānā more strongly
implies the idea of a stylistic school. Gharānās are often named after their place of origin
(for example, Gwalior, Agra, Delhi, Kirānā) or their founder or most eminent pioneer (for
example, sitarist Imdad Khan). Gharānās may be predominantly vocal or instrumental,
or reputed for both. Each gharānā is distinguished from the others by particular forms of
performance style which have evolved across successive generations (Deshpande 1987;
Wade1997). For example, while the vocal strand of the Kirānā gharānā, with which VRis
affiliated, is known for its purity of svar and for giving less priority to lay(as can be heard
from historic recordingsof its founder, Abdul Karim Khan), the reverse is true for the Agra
gharānā (Deshpande1987: 41–5).
Although lines of transmission between generations of a gharānā may be hereditary,
this is not universally the case. For example, tracing back a line of pedagogy back from
VR within the Kirānā gharānā, we have Pandit Bhimsen Joshi, Pandit Sawai Gandharva
(1886–1952) and Ustād Abdul Karim Khan(1872–1937), none of whom are consanguineal.
For a gharānā to be recognised as such, it must customarily have at least three generations;
it is not enough for a teacher and his students to declare themselves a gharānā.
Despite their often geographic titles, gharānās do not necessarily designate physical or
geographic communities. Membership is generally consolidated through identification
with a performance style, and some artists may identify with more than one gharānā
(for example, Bhimsen Joshi’s singing style also drew influence from musicians of other
gharānās (Wade1997: 194)). Conversely, although the gharānāconcept did not arise until
the nineteenth century, once established, gharānās tended retrospectively to reconstruct
their roots back to earlier generations. At stake here was what Neumanterms ‘the politics
 1. Concepts, Conventions, History And Culture 37

of pedigree’—the need for agency and influence, which became particularly acute at a
time when the princely courts that supported professional hereditary musicians were in
decline (Neuman 1990: 146–7; 145–67).
As might be surmised, paternalism and patriarchyare notable features of the guru-śiṣyā
paramparā; in recounting its social structure, it is difficult not to reproduce the implicit
tendency to represent the actors as male. So it is important to stress that women have
also had a longstanding place in Indian classical music (Post 2000), albeit not outside the
relations of patriarchy. As Neuman explains and documents (1990: 97–9; 248–53), wives
and mothers had a role in preserving and expanding the hermetic lineages of khāndans.
Women also historically constituted their own class of hereditary musicians (ibid.: 100–2),
as temple dancers and court musicians (devadāsīs, tawaīfs)—professional functions that
overlapped with that of courtesan. In the temple and courtly milieux of their day, such
women were highly regarded for their cultural knowledge and artistic prowess. However,
they became vilified under colonial Victorian moralising attitudes in the nineteenth century,
and under related social reforms in the early twentieth that included the banning of temple
dancers (Post2000). Womensubsequently regained respectability within Indian classical
music largely through middle-class (and predominantly Hindu) teaching academies such
as Paluskar’sGandharva Mahavidyalaya(Bakhle2005), which, significantly, allowed non-
hereditary aspiring musicians access to tuition. Hereditary femaleperformers nonetheless
maintained a place as professional musicians, though needed to take steps to sanitise their
former courtesan associations. Learning with respected gurus and ustāds was one way
to do this, which gave them affiliation with gharānās (Neuman 1990: 100–1; 207–8). The
suffix bai—which can be intended honorifically—is not uncommonly added to the first
names of professional femaleperformers (ibid.: 100).
Qureshi (2002) sees the endogenous culture of hereditary musicians as reproducing
the feudalrelationships in which they were employed. When their princely or landowner
patrons could dismiss them on a whim, it was understandable that musicians would keep
the only commodity they had—their artistic skills and knowledge—within the family. Such
a feudalmentality partly explains the patriarchalauthority one can still find operating in
the ustād-śāgird/guru-śiṣyā culture of today—where the guruor ustād tends to be regarded
as a figure of absolute authority.
An even longer historical view reveals the guru as a venerated, near-deified religious
figure within the deep past of Hinduism. According to Mlecko (1982: 34), ‘[i]n his earliest
role the guru was a teacher of the Vedasand the various skills needed for their study, such
as grammar, metrics, etymology and mnemonics’. Mlecko stresses the importance of orality
in the transmission of this knowledge in which ‘proper accent and pronunciation’ were
paramount (ibid.); and it was the milieu of the gurukul that afforded the close personal
contact necessary to this learning process. In other words, the institutions of both guru and
gurukul, as we have continued to see them in the pedagogyof Indian classical music, were
already operative at a very early historical stage—in what Mlecko loosely terms ‘ancient
India’, probably meaning the first millennium BCE or earlier. Indeed Mlecko evidences
the importance attributed to the guru within the scriptures themselves—for example in
the R̥̥g Veda, Yajur Veda and several of the Upaniṣads, dating variously from the second
millennium BCE to the early centuries BCE. The writers of these texts often impute divinity
38 Rāgs Around the Clock

to the guru, some depicting him as a figure from whom even the gods learn. Jan Gonda’s
account (1965: 229–83) similarly evidences the exalted status of the guru as well as the
antiquity of the guru concept, which he argues as being co-extensive with Hinduism. Mlecko
likewise illustrates the continuity of these ideas through the Hindu epics and tantrism. He
goes on to demonstrate their later historical evolution in the medieval bhakti tradition
and beyond (1982: 47–52), in which the guru becomes emancipated from his priestly or
Brahminical origins and becomes a figure within popular devotional movements (see also
Sooklal2010).

The Impact of Modernity

The guru-śiṣyā paramparā has continued to evolve under late modernity. Since the
twentieth century, the paramparā has had to find a way to survive without the patronage
of princely courts and wealthy zamīndārs(hereditary landowners)—with the concert hall
largely taking the place of the mehfil (courtly gathering), the academy functioning as an
alternative site of pedagogy to the gurukul, and liberal-democratic social relationships
beginning to impinge on the feudally-sanctioned authoritarianism of the guru.
In modern times many gurus or ustāds still teach from their own home, but students
are more likely to be visitors than live-in family members, taking their lesson perhaps
weekly rather than daily, and commonly availing themselves of smartphonetechnology to
record their class as a way of maintaining their teacher’s virtual presence between lessons.
Alternatively, or additionally, a guru might be employed by one or more educational
institutions. Taking the residency of bansurī maestro Pandit Hariprasad Chaurasia at
the Rotterdam Conservatory as a case study, Huib Schippers (2007) analyses how such
artists manage traditional guru-śiṣyā teaching styles against the regulative processes of
qualification-awarding institutions, as well as balancing their students’ needs against the
itinerant lifestyle of a performer on the international stage. The profile of many jobbing
modern gurus takes the form of a freelance portfolio career in which they operate as
self-employed individuals juggling performing and private and institutional teaching
commitments across various locations.
The physical gurukul has also taken new forms. Some teachers rent alternative
premises—in effect an annexe to their home—from which to teach students locally.
Others have developed purpose-built gurukuls complete with residential accommodation
for national and international students. One example would be the Gundecha brothers’
Gurukul Dhrupad Sansthan in Bhopal, where, even though the scale is large, the core
pedagogical principles remain daily face-to-face contact with the gurus and the sustaining
of a community of śiṣyāswho predominantly live together (Sankaran2020). The Kolkata-
based ITC Sangeet Research Academyis another example, with its more formal institutional
infrastructure, research library and associated scholars; notwithstanding all this, the
Academy’s key objective remains to cultivate performers in the guru-śiṣyā paramparā
(Kashalkar2013).
Such modern gurukuls, which resist the idea of a formal curriculum or syllabus, remain
distinct from Indian university music departments and music schools which offer tuition
for a formal award such as a degree. As Andrew Alter summarises it (paraphrasing
 1. Concepts, Conventions, History And Culture 39

Banerjee 1986), tuition in these latter institutions is likely to be syllabus-based, involve a

variety of teachers rather than a single guru, be delivered to groups of students rather than
individuals, and emphasise musical literacy and academic training alongside practical
tuition (Alter 2000: 447–8). Yet, even in the face of more institutionalised and externally
regulated models, such as the western-influenced, curriculum-based, academy, the guru-
śiṣyā paramparā continues to be acclaimed by performers as the essential pathway to
learning Indian classical music, with the guruor ustād as its lynchpin.

Problematics of the Paramparā

The image of the guru conveyed in most narratives about the paramparā is an idealised
one. Sanyukta Kashalkar (2013: 83) puts it thus (in a statement mirrored on a now-
superseded version of the ITC Sangeet Research Academy website): ‘To the Shishya, the
Guru symbolises the art itself, while for the Guru, the Shishya signifies the continuity of
the art. The Guru shares the sacred knowledge of the art only with kindred souls, sincere
in their quest’. Given human nature, however, any individual guru or ustād may map
more or less perfectly onto the quasi-divine ideal they inherit; and a properly critical
assessment of the guru-śiṣyā paramparāneeds also to address its shadow side.
Problems, perhaps as longstanding as the tradition itself, have not gone unacknowledged.
Mlecko’shistorical long view includes the statement that ‘[g]urus can be completely selfless,
desiring nothing for themselves or they can be avaricious, seeking only an easy livelihood
off the naive or guilt-ridden—they use the śiṣyās’ (1982: 55). Kippentoo gives an account of
‘the problems of exploitation and manipulation’ by musical ustāds(2008: 134–7), including
a commonly referenced complaint: the guruwho teaches ‘with a closed fist’—who, in other
words, is parsimonious with the knowledge he passes on to his students (see also Slawek
2000: 462–3). The field also has its stories of gurus no less prone than other human beings
to addiction and desire; stories of sexual misconduct, harassment and abuse have also
come to light.
One aspect of the tradition’s grating up against modernityis the way these behaviours
are, in the earlier twenty-first century, being publicly called out, especially via social
media; the guru-śiṣyā paramparāis now also experiencing its #MeToomoment. At the time
of writing, this tendency has reached the point where some gurus are themselves calling
for reform. Karnatakvocalist and writer T. M. Krishnahas been at the spearhead: ‘Let me
say it as it is’, he writes, ‘[t]he parampara is … structurally flawed’ (Krishna 2020: n.p.). He
continues:
we need to reimagine our structures of learning. The system must begin with respect for students, and
recognition of their independence and rights as individuals. This is vital because the power structure
is naturally tilted in favour of the guru. But for this to happen, we need to first ‘humanise’ gurus. The
parampara that demands obedience and unquestioning deference, only because someone is a guru,
needs to be demolished. Simply put, gurus must be respected for being domain experts—nothing more.

Krishna holds fire—at least in this article—on what this reimagining might be, while
insisting he is not arguing for the institutionalisation of teaching. The issue is perhaps
whether what is distinctive and valuable about the guru-śiṣyā paramparācan be transmuted
into something compatible with liberal-democratic values. For the personal, affective and
40 Rāgs Around the Clock

relational aspects of the guru-śiṣyā paramparā at its best still represent something valuable
and humanising. Indeed, against the increasing regulation and corporatisation of learning
institutions in countries such as the UK (and their growing culture of transactionalism
between students and teachers) the values of the paramparā might, paradoxically, suggest
a more salutary critical alternative.
Krishnais surely right to argue for re-constructing gurus as nothing more (or less) than
human beings, and for unburdening them of the status of gods—a status which risks the
corresponding infantilisation of the śiṣyā. Yet in order not to lose what is heart-centred
in the tradition, perhaps we might still aspire for gurus and ustāds ethically to function
as something beyond domain experts. Kashalkar chooses her words well in the above
quotation when she says the gurusymbolises the art itself and that its continuity is signified
by the śiṣyā. For this potentially defends both parties from the mistake of attributing these
qualities to them a priori—from conflating the individuals with the art they hold in trust.
In reality both (human) parties might fall short of the ideal, but arguably they are less
likely to do so if they recognise that neither is bigger than the tradition they uphold.
 1. Concepts, Conventions, History And Culture 41

1.12 Riyāz
Like musical practitioners everywhere, Indian classical musicians practise for a purpose—
indeed several purposes. They practise to improve: to increase their technical mastery of
their voice or instrument. They practise to acquire knowledge: to internalisea repertoire of
rāgs, tāls, compositions and more. They practise to learn how to perform: how to create and
extemporise musical materials, and how to form them according to culturally recognised
conventions of style and syntax. Above all, they practise in order ultimately to transcend
these technical and material things: to reach for, and occasionally touch, moments of the
intangible. This last purpose also relates to a non-purposive aspect of practise which is
captured in the Urdu/Persianword by which Hindustani musicians know it: riyāz.
Riyāz construes practising as a devotional or spiritual act. It is often associated with
another, Sanskrit term (familiar to yoga practitioners): sādhana. This refers to any daily
practice aimed at attaining freedom from the ego. Despite this intent, the paradox is that
sādhana ‘should be undertaken without any specific goal in mind. [It] should be practiced
for the sake of maintaining the practice, and as a means of cultivating discipline’ (Yogapedia
2023). In the same vein, a musician’s riyāz is also often undertaken as an end in itself
rather than a means to an end—such as becoming a professional musician. Riyāz forms
the very heart of musicians’ musical lives and identities. They might routinely enquire of
one another not when their last performance was, but how their riyāz is going.
In this sense, riyāz occupies the same idealised value-sphere as the relationship between
guruand śiṣyā. Just as the guru ideally acts as spiritual preceptor, which makes him more
than an everyday teacher; and just as the śiṣyā ideally approaches their learning with an
attitude of discipleship, which makes them more than an everyday student; so riyāz is
ideally undertaken—by both guru and śiṣyā—with mindful devotion, which makes it more
than everyday practising.
And just as musicians’ received wisdom about the guru-śiṣyā paramparāis transmitted
through various narrative tropes, so too their understanding of riyāz is passed on through
tales that have assumed the status of mythor lore. These principally concern (i) prodigious
feats of riyāz (often told in respect of renowned pandits or ustāds); (ii) the demonstration
of bodily signs of riyāz; and (iii) the importance of formidable levels of repetitionin doing
one’s riyaz. The following tale by eminent khayāl singer Ajoy Chakrabarty (2002: 32) is
entirely typical:
My first guru, my father Sri Ajit Kumar Chakrabarty, used to have me practice one song or a single taan
for up to eight hours at a stretch for several days. … [He] would never let me stop until my practice was
complete. If mother intervened at this time, he used to become angry and say, ‘It is better to be childless
than to have a worthless son’.

Daniel Neuman(1990: 31–43) recounts similar tales of musicians practising between eight
and sixteen hours a day during the formative years of their training. He also tells of fellow
sāraṅgī players inspecting the callouses on his cuticles as physical evidence of his riyāz:
‘The practiced eye could gauge very accurately how much practice had been accomplished
and from it … the degree of dedication’ (2002: 32). Comparable stories in respect of the
sitar and sarodare told by Gerry Farrell(1986: 271).
42 Rāgs Around the Clock

While not every musician is in a position (or has the disposition) to practise the whole
day or night long, the most significant principle of riyāz, regardless of the actual hours
applied, is repetition. Commonly, Indian classical musicians spend a significant portion
of their riyāz practising scales, alaṅkārs (ascending and descending sequential patterns),
palṭās (similar, more developed patterns), merukhaṇḍ (permutation of a set of notes),
pakaḍs(catch phrases that capture the gist of a rāg) and tāns (running figurations). Sorrell
provides a more detailed account of such practise techniques and how these eventually
translate into performance (Sorrell and Narayan 1980: 67–91). Farrell notes that such
routine exercises are practised at all stages of learning, by beginner and maestro alike, the
only real difference being the speed of execution and level of sophistication (1986: 269).
A vital point is that in any riyāzsession, one should not practise many items a few times,
but one of them very many times. Again, this principle is enshrined in musicians’ anecdotes.
Chakrabartywrites: ‘As I grew up, I became habituated to practising the same taans 500–
600 times throughout the night, understanding my father’s and my gurus’ demands and
expectations’ (2002: 32). Farrell discusses a palṭā ‘which one of my teachers told me to
play one thousand times (and he wasn’t speaking figuratively!)’ (1986: 268). As well as
being the principal means of absorbing musical material, repetition (done mindfully) is
regarded as an essential route to ironing out one’s defects—if necessary to the point of
exhaustion: ‘you can take a small break if you start dying’, vocalist Veena Sahasrabuddhe
(1948–2016) is reported to have said (Phansalkar2017: 48). Some gurus commend the use
of a mālā (prayer beads) to count off repetitions (an aid more practicable for vocalists,
who have their hands free, than for instrumentalists): a mālā usually has 109 beads, and
is conventionally used when chanting mantras—significantly, a spiritual activity based on
repetition.
Insistence on apparently pathological levels of repetition may seem like a means
for a guru or ustād to assert their authority over a student, but essentially it is a way
to enculturate a foundational pedagogical principle: a discipline; an almost meditative
approach to internalisingmaterial at a beyond-conscious level. This is important because
in improvisedperformance a musician needs automatically to reproduce and re-permutate
musical ideas into new transformations without having to think (for there is no time for
conscious thought when one is on the spot). Dard Neumancoins the term ‘automaticity’ for
this process (2012: 438, 447 n. 3, 448 n. 16). He recounts how hereditary ustādswould seek
to impede their students from thinking in their practising by withholding any technical or
theoretical information about a rāg, pakaḍ, palṭā etc., even declining to use sargam note
names, until the student had mastered the material in question (ibid.: 432–6). The aim was
to achieve an essentially embodied practice—a ‘body-instrument’ in which the throat (in
the case of vocalists) or hands (in the case of instrumentalists) ‘think’ for themselves (ibid.:
438–42, 445–6).
While not all Indian classical musicians aspire to become professionals, and while many
undertake their practice and practising alongside other jobs or activities as part of busy,
complex lives, a commitment to riyāz—and to repetition as its key technique—remains
essential. The hard-won truth of the matter is that any musician is only as good as the
quality and rigour of their riyāz. Only by this route do they ultimately attain the creative
freedom in performance that can touch an audience’s heart.
2. A CYCLE OF RĀGS: RĀG SAMAY CAKRA

Performers:

Dr Vijay Rajput (khayāl vocalist)

with

Ustād Athar Hussain Khan (tabla)

Ustād Murad Ali (sāraṅgī)

Ustād Mahmood Dholpuri (harmonium)

©2024 David Clarke, CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 [Link]

44 Rāgs Around the Clock

2.1 The Album and Its Supporting Materials

Our first album, Rāg samay cakra, presents fourteen Hindustani rāgs in the khayāl vocal
style, performed by Dr Vijay Rajput (henceforth VR), a vocalist of the Kirānā gharānā
(stylistic lineage). With his accompanists, VR takes the listener through a cycle (cakra) of
rāgs ordered according to their designated performing times (samay): from the dawn rāg
Bhairav to the midnight rāg Mālkauns (for a visual representation see Figure 1.6.2). As
well as being identified with times of the day and night, rāgs are also associated with times
of the year; and so the sequence ends with two seasonal rāgs: Megh, a rāg for the monsoon
season, and Basant, a springtime rāg which may also be sung in the final quarter of the
night. These performances are followed by supplementary tracks in which VR provides
spoken renditions of the texts of the songs sung in each rāg. This is intended to help
students who are not Hindu/Urduspeakers achieve correct pronunciation. The music was
recorded in New Delhiin 2008; the spoken texts at Newcastle Universityin 2017, where the
producer was David de la Haye.
All the performances on Rāg samay cakra take the form of an ālāp and choṭā khayāl—
literally ‘small khayāl’. We gave a thumbnail account of these performance stages in
Section 1.7, but what follows is a further concise gloss.
In an ālāp, the soloist’s job is to establish the rāg—its mood, its colours, its characteristic
melodic behaviour. Listening to an ālāp is almost like overhearing an inner contemplation;
the tabla is silent, so the vocalist has licence to extemporise, without being tied to any
metre—an approach to rhythm known as anibaddh (similar to senza misura in western
music). By contrast, the ensuing choṭā khayāl is based around a short song composition
(bandiś), and is sung in a rhythmic cycle (tāl) supported by the tabla—which means the
rhythmic organisation is metrical (a condition termed nibaddh); the dynamic is interactive
and accumulative. Hence, the overall trajectory—from the meditative beginnings of the
ālāp to the climactic closure of the choṭā khayāl—is a journey from ruminative inwardness
to extravert exuberance.
As its name suggests, a choṭā khayāl is a vehicle for shorter performances in this style.
Even so, there is plenty of space for elaboration: not uncommonly a choṭā khayāl will
extend to around ten minutes—as on our second album, Twilight Rāgs from North India
(Tracks 3 and 6). But it is also possible to give a satisfying and idiomatic rāg performance,
including an ālāp, in around five minutes, as VR does throughout Rāg samay cakra. Because
it is ostensibly simpler to master than the majestic, slow-tempo baṛā khayāl, a choṭā
khayāl is usually what khayāl singers first learn to perform. Hence, we intend that these
compressed performances will be of value to students in the earlier stages of learning. But
we hope that they will inspire more advanced students too. For a choṭā khayālpresents its
own challenges: it is usually sung up-tempo, at a speed ranging from medium fast to very
fast—hence is also known as a drut khayāl (fast khayāl). This means the singer has to keep
their wits about them through many extemporised twists and turns in which they interact
with their accompanying artists; and physical as well as mental agility is required for the
rapid delivery of virtuosic features such as tāns.
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 45

In Section 2.5 we provide supporting materials for each rāg of the album—namely:
1. A description of the rāg, including a technical specification and an outline of its
musical and aesthetic characteristics.
2. A transliteration and translation of the bandiś text, as well as its original Devanāgarī
version.
3. A sargam notationof the bandiś (composition).

In the intervening sections, we provide writings that help elucidate these materials. In
Section 2.2 (relating to (2), above), we consider the poetic characteristics of the song texts,
as well as the problematics of trying to produce any kind of definitive version of them; we
also discuss conventions relating to their transliteration and pronunciation. In Section 2.3
(relating to (3), above) we explore issues to do with the musical notation of the bandiśes,
given that historically they have been transmitted orally; we also provide information
about the musical notation conventions applied in this book, and about how the bandiśes
as notated relate to their delivery in actual performance. Finally, in Section 2.4 (relating to
(1) above), we give a brief explanation of the technical terms used in the rāg specifications.
46 Rāgs Around the Clock

2.2 The Song Texts

Language and Poetics

Khayāl songs have a style and language all of their own—a point that Lalita du Perron
drives home in her richly detailed account in The Songs of Khayāl (Magriel and du Perron
2013, I: 201–50). Even though, in the heat of performance, the words of khayāl compositions
may get submerged under waves of invention and virtuosity, the texts remain important.
They offer keys to the mood of a bandiś, and can spark the singer’s imagination (the
meaning of the word khayāl, let us recall). Hence, in our commentaries on the individual
rāgs of Rāg samay cakra below (Section 2.5), we have extracted the bandiśtexts, along with
their translations, so that they can be perused in their own right, and so that students can
familiarise themselves with them prior to, or in tandem with, learning the song melody.
A definitive version of a khayāl text is no more possible than a final version of its melody.
Both are subject to mutation under oral transmission; both are susceptible to the vagaries
of memory and imagination. Any individual artist may carry several variantsof both tune
and text in their head. Another challenge comes from the language itself. Khayāl songs are
found in a range of North Indian regional languages and dialects, which may be related
to Hindibut which do not take its modern standard form. Prominent among these is Braj
Bhāṣā,which achieved status as a vernacular literary language between the late medieval
era and the nineteenth century (Snell1991), and continues to have currency in present-day
musical genres such as khayāl, ṭhumrīand dhrupad. Mutabilities of phonology, grammar
and spelling all add to the challenge of stabilising form and meaning. Further, there are
the often allusive and ambiguous meanings of khayāl poems, which seldom exceed four
lines and display numerous other stylistic idiosyncrasies (again, see du Perron’saccount).
Many of the common devotional and romantic tropesof khayāl poetry are illustrated in
the texts of Rāg samay cakra. These include the veneration of deities; the pain of romantic
separation; the entreaties of a lover; night-time assignations (and fear of being heard by
the mother- or sister-in-law); images of nature (including birds, bees and mango trees);
and celebrations of the seasons (notably springtime and the monsoon). Kr̥̥ṣṇa, typically
depicted playing his flute, is often centre stage or rarely far from the scene. He is regarded
as a figure who brings the divine and romantic into union. When not being adored by
all, he is frequently seen being scalded by his consort, the gopī (cowherd) Rādhā, for his
teasing, for his frequent absences, and for his assignations with a rival (sautan). Many of
the song texts are sung from a female standpoint, and while Rādhā is rarely named as
such, she is implicitly the archetype behind many of these songs of love and longing for
the divine.

Transliteration and Pronunciation

Our edition of the texts has been a collaborative venture (where, inevitably, the roles have
blurred a little). Initially, a Devanāgarī(देे वनाागरीी) version of the bandiś textswas supplied by
VR from his performer’s perspective. This was then transliterated into Roman script by
David Clarke(henceforth DC) and passed on to the translators; unless otherwise indicated,
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 47

the English translations were composed by Jonathan Katzand Imre Bangha. Versions were
then passed back and forth between collaborators, resulting in further modifications and
refinements.
The oral transmission of khayāl songs militates against any would-be final version of
their texts. Performers might not sing every detail of the text as they would write it, nor
write down the text (if they do so at all) exactly as they sing it. Sometimes the sounds of the
words may take them in one direction while their possible meaning may lead a translator
or editor in another. In our edition, alternatives to the actually sung version are shown in
square brackets; conversely, round brackets are used for words that are sung, but which
depart from the textual version.
In aiming for a scholarly transliteration from Devanāgarī into Roman script we have
followed the conventions of IAST, the International Alphabet of Sanskrit Transliteration,
a subset of ISO 15919 (see also the discussion above in Transliteration and Other Textual
Conventions). Through its use of diacritics—dots, lines and other inflections above or
below individual letters—this system provides a unique Roman counterpart for every
Devanāgarī character. This may look a little more complicated or fussy than informal
approaches to romanising Hindi or Urdu used in everyday vernacular practice, but it is
simply more fastidious and does not take long to master; moreover it is helpful to singers
in achieving correct pronunciation.
This is because IAST makes it possible to discriminate between closely related but
distinct Hindavi (Hindi/Urdu) sounds in a way that is not possible with only the normal
twenty-six characters of the Latin alphabet. For example, unlike English, Hindavihas two
distinct ‘t’ sounds: dental, with the tongue pressed against the front teeth; and retroflex,
with the tongue against the roof of the mouth. In Devanāgarī script (used for Hindi and
Sanskrit, among other languages), these are written as त and ट, and are transliterated as t
and ṭ respectively. The same goes for the ‘d’ sounds द and ड, transliterated as d and ḍ. (For
an admirably pragmatic online guide to Devanāgarītransliteration, see Snell2016.)
We do not indicate every aspect of pronunciationhere, but the following are particularly
pertinent:
• A macron (line) over a vowel indicates the sound is lengthened—hence ā = ‘aa’,
as in ‘bar’ in Standard English; ī = ‘ee’, as in ‘teen’; ū = ‘oo’, as in ‘loom’.
• A tilde (wavy line) over a vowel—for example, ã, ĩ, ũ—indicates nasalisation.
• A dot over an n—as in ‘Sadāraṅg’—also indicates nasalisation.
• C is pronounced ‘ch’, as in ‘cello’ or ‘church’.
• Ś and ṣ are both pronounced ‘sh’—as in the English ‘shoot’.
• J is pronounced as in ‘January’ or ‘jungle’.
• H after a consonant—for example, bh, dh, kh—indicates that it is aspirated, i.e.
pronounced with an additional puff of air.
• The underlined character kh—as in khayāl—is pronounced further back in the
throat than its non-underlined counterpart; these sounds are peculiar to Urdu
words of Persianor Arabic origin.
48 Rāgs Around the Clock

• The short vowel a (known as schwa by phoneticists) is pronounced further

forward in the mouth than the longer ā—especially when sung (see Sanyaland
Widdess 2004: 173, n. 17). Hence ‘pandit’ is pronounced slightly like ‘pundit’,
‘tablā’ slightly like ‘tublā’.

For more comprehensive guidance on pronunciation, readers should consult a primer

such as Rupert Snell’s excellent Beginner’s Hindi (2003: viii–xviii) or the Hindi section
of the website Omniglot, an online encyclopaedia of writing systems. Additionally, the
transliterated song texts can be studied in conjunction with the recorded spoken renditions
by VR found alongside the rāg recordings.
One further technicality should be noted. Spoken Hindavi, unlike Sanskrit, often
suppresses an implicit ‘a’ vowel after a consonant (a process termed schwadeletion). This
is especially common at the end of a word—hence the Sanskrit ‘rāga’ is pronounced‘rāg’
in Hindavi. However, in sung Hindavi, and in dialects such as Braj Bhāṣā,such suppressed
vowels are not silenced; indeed their enunciation is often essential to the metrical structure
of Braj poetry and song (see Snell 2016: 3–4). Hence, on the advice of our translators, we
have included the normally suppressed a in our transliteration of the song texts—for
example, ‘dhan dhan murat’ is sung (and hence transliterated) as ‘dhana dhana murata’;
similarly, ‘hamrī kahī mitvā’ as ‘hamarī kahī mitavā’.
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 49

2.3 Notating the Bandiśes (and Performing Them)

Prescriptive or Descriptive Music Writing?

Given that Hindustani classical music is primarily an oral tradition, its notation—while
useful for teaching and musical analysis—raises a number of issues. In this regard, it
will be useful to invoke the ethnomusicologist Charles Seeger’s (1886–1979) well-known
distinction between ‘prescriptiveand descriptive music writing’ (Seeger 1958). The former
type, typified by western staff notation, supplies instructions to the performer that are
essential in rendering a piece. The latter, typically used in ethnomusicologicaltranscription
seeks to detail a record of musical sounds and events as actually rendered—which may be
useful in documenting and scrutinising performances from non-notating cultures.
An exemplary use of descriptive notation can be found in Volume II of Nicolas Magriel
and Lalita du Perron’s The Songs of Khayāl (2013). Using an inflected sargam notation,
Magriel seeks to capture every nuance of ornamentation and note placement in classic
khayāl recordings. His aim is to illustrate—and in effect analyse—the mastery of the
genre’s greatest historical exponents, as found in their recorded legacy. By contrast, our
approach in Rāgs Around the Clock is more prescriptiveand heuristic. Our aim is generally
to notate a simplified outline of a song (bandiś) to assist students in learning it (though
on some occasions it will be useful to present more fully detailed descriptivenotations of
what VR actually sings).
For an authentic version of a bandiś, students will need to listen to their guru or ustād
demonstrate it multiple times—either live or, as with Rāgs Around the Clock, in recorded
form. Our (prescriptive) notation of the songs sung on Rāg samay cakra acts as nothing
more (or less) than a pedagogical aide memoire, and largely corresponds to the on-the-spot
sketch a student might make during their lesson. What is omitted is as significant as what
is included. What is notated are the essentials. What is not notated are the stylistic nuances
heard in the actual musical renditions—which is where VR’s gāyakī—his distinctive style—
is audible. Paradoxically, the abstraction of the notation helps make salient the nuances of
the songs as actually sung, by their very absence.
Even in the short performances captured on Rāg samay cakra, one can often hear
multiple variantsof a bandiś, richly exceeding the simplified notation. Sometimes the sung
version may only begin to conform to the notated one later in the performance; sometimes
the notation may represent a composite distilled from different moments; sometimes what
is notated may never be directly rendered as such but could be considered as a model of
the song operating at the back of the performer’s mind as they deliver it; or it may conform
to a version transmitted and notated on a different occasion, which may be no less—or
no more—‘definitive’. So, rather than representing an idealised version of a bandiś, our
notations form a practical or heuristicreference point that itself may transmute over time.

Notation Conventions
To notate the songs from our collection, we have developed a version of Vishnu Narayan
Bhatkhande’s (1860–1936) music writing system, as found, for example, in his multi-volume
50 Rāgs Around the Clock

Kramik pustak mālikā (1937), and informally applied by many Hindustani musicians.
Although it would have been relatively straightforward to have made transcriptionsusing
western staff notation, we have resisted that temptation, since it is not part of the currency
of Indian music, and would bring with it a welter of distorting connotations (a point
which resonates with Magriel’s comments in Magriel and du Perron 2013, I: 91–2). The
Bhatkhande-derived notation used here is, in any case, easy enough to decipher. Let us
consider the example in Figure 2.3.1, which quotes the antarā (second part) of the famous
̃ arīyā jīna māro’—as sung by VR on Track 2 of Rāg samay cakra
Toḍī bandiś, ‘Laṅgara kā̃k
(from 04:14).

tīntāl
x 2 o 3
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Ḏ
:Ḿ Ḿ G – Ḿ – D D Ṡ – Ṡ Ṡ N Ṙ Ṡ – :
Su - na pa - - ve mo - ri sā - - sa na - nan - dī - yā.

D Ġ Ṙ Ṡ – Ṡ N Ṡ N D N D P
Do - - rī do - - rī gha - ra ā - - ve.

Fig. 2.3.1 Bandiś in Rāg Toḍī: notation of antarā. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

Each row of the notation represents one āvartan (cycle) of the tāl—in this case the 16-beat
tīntāl. Individual beats (mātrās) are numbered in bold at the head of the notation on a
horizontal axis. Vertical lines (broadly similar to barlines in western notation) mark off
the subdivisions (vibhāgs) of the tāl; in the case of tīntāl, there are four vibhāgs, each
lasting four mātrās. The clap pattern for the tāl is also shown according to convention:
sam (the first beat) is indicated with ‘x’, khālī with ‘o’, and other clapped beats (tālī) with
consecutive numbers.
The notes of the melody are given above the text, using the abbreviated syllables of
sargam notation.A dot above a note name indicates that it is performed in the upper octave;
a dot below, in the lower octave. Flat (komal) scale degrees are shown by underlining the
note name (for example, R = komal Re); the sharpened fourth degree, tivra Ma, is indicated
with a wedge above the note name (i.e. Ḿ). Dashes signify that a note is sustained through
the following beat(s). Oblique lines (/ or \) indicate a glide (miṇḍ) upwards or downwards
between notes.
Superscripted note names are used for ornaments (discussed further at the end of this
section). Since khayāl performances are often replete with subtle ornamentationand pitch
bends, these are shown sparingly, in order not to clutter the notation; as stated above, our
aim is not to capture every tiny detail of the performance but to convey the basic outline
of the song for practical learning purposes.
The first line of both parts of a bandiś(sthāī and antarā) is conventionally repeated. To
signal this, we apply repeat mark signs (: :) from western staff notation. While subsequent
lines may also be repeated, and while the first line itself may be repeated several times over
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 51

(often with variations), this is not usually indicated, since the matter is largely dependent
on the context of any given performance and on the performer’s mood.
Typically of the khayāl style, all the tīntāl bandiśesin our collection begin not on sam, the
first beat, but with a lead-in of several beats. (Although the antarā cited in Figure 2.3.1 does
begin on sam, this is quite rare, and, in any case, the sthāī which opens the same bandiś
begins on beat 14.) Not uncommonly, songs start on beat 9 (khālī), but they may begin
earlier or later. Hence, the poetic lines of a song often straddle the rhythmic notational
framework. This can be seen in Figure 2.3.2, which quotes the sthāī of the composition
‘Koyalīyā bole ambuvā’ in Rāg Mālkauns(Track 12 of Rāg samay cakra (from 03:28)). Here,
the two lines of the stanza each extend from khālī to khālī.

tīntāl
x 2 o 3
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Ṡ
:Ṡ  Ġ Ṡ    
‘Ǧ ›ƒǦ lī - yā „‘Ǧ Ž‡ ƒǦ „—Ǧ

Ṡ – –     ǣ  Ṡ  Ṡ –
vā ḍā - Ǧ ”ƒ ’ƒǦ ”ƒǡ r̥ Ǧ –— „ƒǦ •ƒǦ Ǧ –ƒ ‘

–     –
†‡Ǧ Ǧ –ƒ •ƒǦ †‡Ǧ •ƒǦ vā.

Fig. 2.3.2 Bandiś in Rāg Mālkauns: notation of sthāī. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

This figure also illustrates the use of bowed lines (like slurs in western notation) beneath
note names to show notes grouped within a beat. For example, on beats 12 and 13 of the
second line there are two notes per beat; and since notes grouped this way are normally
sung more or less evenly, we can surmise that each note lasts half a beat. (In western
terms, if a beat were represented by a quarter-note or crotchet, these would be equivalent
to eighth-notes or quavers.) Furthermore, throughout the notations, bowed lines are also
used to connect decorative notes (shown superscripted) to the note they are decorating. In
Figure 2.3.2 this can be seen on beat 10 of the first line, where a kaṇ (grace note) on Ṡā is
grouped in with the main note, Ni.

From Notation to Performance

Finally, there is the question of how a bandiśas notated is deployed in performance—what,
actually, do you do with this material; which portions of it do you sing when? Although the
notations in this volume are, generally speaking, prescriptive, they do not unambiguously
specify the order of things. Learning how to integrate the different components of a bandiś
into a full khayāl performance takes time to learn, but here are some initial rules of thumb:
1. Begin your choṭā khayālwith the sthāī of the bandiś. It is customary to repeat the
first line—usually once, but possibly several times, depending on context.
52 Rāgs Around the Clock

2. After the first line, sing the rest of the sthāī. The second line can also in principle
be repeated, depending on the character of the composition, though this is less
common than repeating the first line. Any further lines are usually sung only once.
3. Once you have sung the complete sthāī, reprise the first line.
4. The antarā follows similar, though not identical, conventions to the sthāī. The first
line is usually repeated, other lines are less likely to be so. After the final line, you
should return directly to the first line of the sthāī.
5. You may sing the antarā immediately after the sthāī or save it for later, while you
improvise other material.

The improvisationof material can in fact apply to just about any stage of a performance.
This is necessary because, while a bandiś usually takes little more than a minute to sing,
a choṭā khayāl (even a compressed one) should last significantly longer: it is expanded
through a variety of devices, such as bol ālāp, tāns and various forms of laykārī. But,
throughout, the bandiś acts as the glue of the performance—the Hindi term carries the
connotation of binding together (Ranade2006: 71–4). For example, the first line of the sthāī
usually acts as a refrain between developmentalepisodes; and the antarā may be revisited
at a later stage.
The question of how to develop a khayāl is one of its key challenges. Ultimately this
must be learnt from the guidance of one’s teacher and the example of professional
performances. While further discussion of this matter is beyond the scope of the present
section, I will revisit it later in Rāgs Around the Clock, in Section 3.3, entitled ‘How Do You
Sing a Choṭā Khayāl?’. There, through a detailed analysis of VR’s performances on Rāg
samay cakra, I arrive at an expanded set of rubrics for performance, developing the ones
sketched out above, and ultimately conjecturing whether all this might point to an implicit
performance grammar for khayāl. But that more complex discussion is for later: for now,
the above rules of thumb provide a starting point for how to apply the notations of Section
2.5 in practice.
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 53

2.4 Terminology Used in the Rāg Specifications

The description of each rāg in Section 2.5 begins with a technical specification of its key
features. Unless otherwise indicated, we derive these thumbnails from Bhatkhande’s
Kramik pustak mālikā (1937), making his version of the information available probably
for the first time outside the Marathiand Hindieditions of his opus. Page references to the
relevant passages are given for each entry. Below, we provide a gloss on the terminology
used:

Āroh–avroh—the ascending and descending form of the scale on which the rāg is based.
Often this amounts to more than proceeding directly up and down: the representation
may also capture the twists and turns of the scale along its path, according to the rāg.
Bhatkhande uses commas to segment the scale formations, and sometimes plays
with typographical spacing—presumably in order to reflect the rāg’s grammar. These
conventions are reproduced in our own specifications, although exactly what Bhatkhande
means by their layout is sometimes opaque.

Pakaḍ—a quintessential phrase of the rāg, which captures its key features and syntax.
Again, we emulate Bhatkhande’s use of commas and spacing in the notation—with the
same caveat as above.

Jāti—literally ‘class’, ‘genus’ or ‘caste’. This is defined by the number of different pitch
classes in the ascending and descending scale forms of the rāg:
• Auḍav = 5-note (pentatonic).
• Ṣāḍav= 6-note (hexatonic).
• Sampūrṇ= 7-note (heptatonic).

The jātiexpresses the ascending and descending forms as a pair—for example:

• Auḍav–ṣāḍav= five notes ascending, six-notes descending.
• Sampūrṇ–sampūrṇ= seven notes ascending and descending.

Ṭhāṭ—literally ‘framework’ (also used to signify the sitar fret setting for a rāg). This
identifies the parent scale of the rāg according to Bhatkhande’sṭhāṭ system, which arranges
Hindustani rāgs into ten families distinguished by their different permutations of natural,
flat and sharp scale degree (see Figure 1.3.1, above).

Vādī—the most salient note in a rāg, usually considered in conjunction with saṃvādī.

Saṃvādī—the next most salient note, usually four or five steps higher or lower than the
vādī note. In other words, vādī and saṃvādī belong to complementary tetrachords of the
scale of the rāg: one in the lower tetrachord (pūrvaṅg), the other in the upper (uttaraṅg).
54 Rāgs Around the Clock

2.5 The Rāgs

2.5.1 Rāg Bhairav

Performing time first quarter (prahar) of the day.

Āroh (ascending) Avroh (descending)

S R G M, P D, NṠ Ṡ N D, P M G, R, S

Pakaḍ – S, G, M P, D, P

Jāti – Sampūrṇ–sampūrṇ (heptatonic–heptatonic)

Ṭhāṭ – Bhairav

Vādī – Re

Saṃvādī – Dha
(Source: Bhatkhande 1994/1937, II: 162, 164)

Bhairav should be sung at dawn or in the early morning. Its position in the rāg time cycle
(samaycakra) means that it rarely gets heard in live performance, unless perhaps at the end
of an all-night concert. But the rāg remains alive on recordings and in the early morning
practice (riyāz) of musicians. It is regarded as one of the major rāgs of the Hindustani
repertory. Its mood is generally serious and devotional (Bhairav is one of the names of
Śiva), though romantic compositions in Bhairav can certainly be found. In keeping with
the stillness of twilight, its delivery should be relaxed and unhurried, the tone unforced.
The keys to this rāg’s twilight ambience are its śrutis(microtonal tunings) on komal Re
and komal Dha—the flattened 2nd and 6th scale degrees. These most salient tones of the
rāg (vādī and saṃvādī) are often executed with a slow āndolan(oscillation) which borrows
something of the brighter colour of the note above, evoking the hues of dawn. While Re
and Dha can be sustained, they rarely stand alone: often decorated by a kaṇ svar (grace
note) on Ga or Ni respectively, they will typically want to fall to Sā or Pa respectively; or, if
approached from below, to continue in ascent.
Motions such as G–M–D are quite common, and can be a poignant way to approach
Pa—as at the start of ‘Dhana dhana murata’, the bandiś heard on Rāg samay cakra (notated
below). Ma, also salient, contributes to the rāg’s character and grammar: the antarā of
‘Dhana dhana murata’ sets out from this note and climaxes on it in the higher octave.
Although the jāti of Bhairav is commonly sampūrṇ–sampūrṇ—seven notes both
ascending and descending—in another variant, only five notes are used in ascent: Sā, Ga,
Ma, Dha and Ni. This form was sometimes favoured by artists of an older generation.
Among the recordings of such doyens, Gangubai Hangal’s (1913–2009) rendition of the
vilambit (slow) composition ‘Bālamavā more saīyā̃’̃ (as discussed in Section 4.2) shows
how, even in its romantic vein, Bhairav maintains its gravity; after all, early morning is
regarded as a time for meditation and prayer.
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 55

Performance by Vijay Rajput

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 1
[Link]

Spoken version of bandiś text

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 15
[Link]

Bandiś: ‘Dhana dhana murata’

This is a devotional song to Lord Kr̥̥ṣṇa, characteristically depicted playing his flute. In this
recording, the antarā begins with a reference to ‘bansī dhuna’ (‘flute sound’), using the
wording of the text taught to VRby his first guru. However, a textual variant‘bansīdhara’
(‘flute bearer’), is also possible. The former version emphasises the divinesound of Kr̥̥ṣṇa’s
flute, the latter his human figure. Sabaraṅg, invoked at the end, is the pen name (chāp or
takhallus) of Ustād Bade Ghulam Ali Khan(1902–68), the probable composer of the song.

Sthāī
Dhana dhana murata Kr̥̥ṣṇa Murāri, Blessed the image of Kr̥̥ṣṇa Murāri,
sulaksaṇa giridhārī, Auspicious the mountain-bearer,
chavi sundara lāge atī pyārī. How beauteous his brilliance, most
dear to me.
Antarā
Bansī dhuna [Bansīdhara] Lovely is the flute-bearer, enchanter
manamohana suhāve, of the mind,
bali bali jāū̃̃, Again and again I devote myself,
more mana bhāve, Sabaraṅga Delightful it is to my mind—thereon
dhyāna vicāre. dwell the thoughts of Sabaraṅg.

रााग भैै रव
स्थााई
धन धन मुुरत कृृष्ण मुुराारि�
सुुलक्षण गरि�धाारीी
छवि� सुुन्दर लाागेे , अति� प्याारीी।
अंं तराा
बंं सीी धुुन [बंं सीीधर] मनमोोहन सुुहाावेे
बलीी बलीी जााऊँँ
मोोरेे मन भाावेे , सबरंं ग ध्याान वि�चाारेे॥
56 Rāgs Around the Clock

Bandiś in Rāg Bhairav: 'Dhana dhana murata'

tīntāl
x 2 o 3
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Sthāī

:G M D D P – M M
Dha - na dha - na mu - - ra - ta

G R G M G
R – S – : S Ḍ – S – S S S
Kr̥ṣ - - ṇā mu - rā - - ri, su - la - - kṣa - - ṇa gi - ri -

N
R – S – S R G M P P P D Ṡ – D P
dhā - - ri, cha - vi sun - - da - ra lā - - ge a- tī

PD NṠ ṠṘ ṠN DN DP MG M
py ā - - - - - - rī.

Antarā

:M – M – P P D D
Ban - - sī dhu - na ma - na -
[Ban - - sī - - dha - ra ]

P D Ṡ N Ṡ – Ṡ – : Ṡ Ṙ Ṁ Ġ Ṙ – Ṡ –
mo - ha - na su - hā - - ve, ba - li ba - li jā - - ū ̃

N N Ṡ N D – P – M M G M P – P P
mo - re ma - na bhā - - ve, Sa - ba - raṅ - ga dhy ā - - na vi -

PD NṠ ṠṘ ṠN DN DP MG M
cā - - - - - - re.
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 57

2.5.2 Rāg Toḍī

Performing time second quarter (prahar) of the day.

Āroh (ascending) Avroh (descending)

S, R G, Ḿ P, D, NṠ Ṡ N D P, Ḿ G, R, S

Pakaḍ – Ḍ, Ṇ S, R, G, R, S, Ḿ, G, R G, R S

Jāti – Sampūrṇ–sampūrṇ (heptatonic–heptatonic)

Ṭhāṭ – Toḍī

Vādī – Dha

Saṃvādī – Ga
(Source: Bhatkhande 1994/1937, II: 429–30)

Toḍī is an important rāg in the Hindustani classical repertoire. It is also known as Miyā̃ ̃
kī Toḍī—an attribution to the legendary singer Miyā̃ ̃ Tānsen (ca. 1500–89)—although
Bhatkhande uses the shorter title. Sung or played in the second phase of the morning,
Toḍī draws from the karuṇ ras, which is noted for its qualities of pathos, sadness and
compassion. Possessing greater gravity than its close relative Gujarī Toḍī, this rāg expands
slowly in an ālāp or baṛā khayāl; in a fast-moving choṭā khayāl like the one presented here
the mood can be lighter and more playful.
All the flattened notes—Re, Ga and Dha—should be rendered very flat (ati komal).
Pa needs subtle handling: the beauty and significance of this svar should be in inverse
proportion to its limited frequency. When Pa does appear, it most usually features in
descent, approached by a subtle and carefully timed glide from sustained Dha, probably
prefigured by Ni.
In rendering Miyā̃ ̃ kī Toḍī, the performer must take care not to create confusion with
rāgs based on the same scale, such as Multānīor Gujarī Toḍī. Whereas in Multānī, Dha is
only used as a passing note, in Miyā̃ ̃ kī Toḍī, this note assumes considerable prominence
as the vādī note—often in association with Ni. What most obviously distinguishes Miyā̃ ̃
kī Toḍī from Gujarī Toḍī is the presence of Pa; and in Miyā̃ ̃ kī Toḍī, Ga rather than Re is
prominent. (The prominence of Re and Dha in Gujarī Toḍī gives it similar properties to the
evening rāg Mārvā, causing some to refer to the former as ‘subah kā Mārvā’—‘morning
Mārvā’.)
Although Bhatkhande theoretically includes Pa in his notation of the ascending scale
of Toḍī (see the rāg specification above), in practice, any ascent to this note would not
normally continue to Dha, but would rather reverse direction. In an old form of melodic
construction, Pa can form part of an upward motion to Dha if immediately quitted by
descent—for example, Ḿ–P–D–Ḿ–G—, R–G–R–S.
58 Rāgs Around the Clock

Performance by Vijay Rajput

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 2
[Link]

Spoken version of bandiś text

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 16
[Link]

̃ arīyā’
Bandiś: ‘Laṅgara kāk

This famous Toḍī composition is a staple of the khayāl repertoire, and is a perfect example
of the ‘amorous hassling’ song type—to use du Perron’s nomenclature (Magriel and du
Perron 2013, I: 137–9). The text might refer to a courting practice in which the boy tries to
attract the girl’s attention by throwing small pebbles at her. Or perhaps he is aiming for
the pitcher of water she is carrying on her head—a common image in such songs—and she
fears the pebbles will bounce off and hurt her. The girl’s anxious reference to her ever-
suspicious female in-laws is also typical. The archetypal pair in such stories of amorous
teasing is of course Rādhāand Kr̥̥ṣṇa.
This bandiś is usually rendered as a drut (fast) khayāl, though it might be sung in a not-too
slow madhya lay(medium tempo). VR’s performance here focuses on the numerous ways
in which the first line of the sthāī and antarā can be varied. This brings up the question of
which version, if any, is the definitive form of the melody and which are the variants. The
song notation attempts to show a possible ‘normative’ version, but its purpose is, as ever,
primarily heuristic.

Sthāī
̃ arīyā jīna māro,
Laṅgara kā̃k Shameless boy! Don’t throw these
pebbles at me,
more aṅgavā laga jāve [jāe]. They’ll hit my body.
Antarā
Suna pave morī sāsa nanandīyā. My mother-in-law and sister-in-law
will hear,
Dorī dorī ghara āve. Quickly, come home.

रााग तोोडीी
स्थााई
लंं गर कॉंं� करीीयाा जीीन माारोो
मोोरेे अंं गवाा लग जाावेे [जााए]।
अंं तराा
सुुन पाावेे मोोरीी साास ननंं दीीयाा
दोोरीी दोोरीी घर आवेे ॥
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 59

Bandiś in Rāg Toḍī: 'Laṅgar kā̃ karīya'

tīntāl
x 2 o 3
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Sthāī

ǣ Ḿ Ḿ
Laṅ - ‰ƒǦ ”ƒ
★
 – –      Ḿ  Ḿ – :  
kā̃ Ǧ Ǧ Ǧ ƒǦ rī - yā jī - ƒ mā - Ǧ ”‘ǡ ‘Ǧ Ǧ ”‡

   – Ḿ –    Ḿ –     (→ ★Ȍ
aṅ - ‰ƒǦ vā ŽƒǦ ‰ƒ jā - Ǧ Ǧ ˜‡Ǥ Laṅ - ‰ƒǦ ”ƒ
[jā - Ǧ Ǧ ‡ǤȐ

Antarā
Ḏ
:Ḿ Ḿ – Ḿ –   Ṡ – Ṡ Ṡ  Ṙ Ṡ – :
—Ǧ ƒ ’ƒǦ Ǧ ˜‡ ‘Ǧ rī sā - Ǧ •ƒ ƒǦ ƒǦ dī - yā.

 Ġ Ṙ Ṡ – Ṡ  Ṡ      Ḿ Ḿ (→ ★Ȍ
‘Ǧ Ǧ rī †‘Ǧ Ǧ rī ‰ŠƒǦ ”ƒ ā Ǧ Ǧ ˜‡Ǥ Laṅ - ‰ƒǦ ”ƒ
60 Rāgs Around the Clock

2.5.3 Rāg Śuddh Sāraṅg

Performing time second quarter (prahar) of the day.

Āroh (ascending) Avroh (descending)

S R MR R Ḿ P N Ṡ Ṡ N D
P M R S

Pakaḍ – S, RMR, P, ḾPDḾP, MRSṆ, ṆḌSṆRS

(Source: VR)

Jāti – Auḍav–ṣāḍav (pentatonic–hexatonic)

Ṭhāṭ – Kāfī

Vādī – Re

Saṃvādī – Pa
(Source: Bhatkhande 1993/1937, VI: 155)

While Bhatkhande states that Śuddh Sāraṅg may have both forms of Ni and both forms
of Ma, many performers employ only śuddh Ni, while indeed using both suddh and tivra
Ma. It is this latter version that VRadopts on Rāg samay cakra, and this is reflected in his
specification above for the āroh–avroh and pakaḍ.
This melodious rāg is closely related to other rāgs in the Sāraṅg aṅg (group). As in
Brindābanī Sāraṅg,śuddh Ma is frequently heard falling to Re; but in Śuddh Sāraṅgthis is
complemented by tivra Ma which tends towards Pa. Nonetheless, the latter should not be
overstated, otherwise the rāg will veer towards its relative, Śyām Kalyāṇ.
Dha needs careful handling. It should not be sustained, but rather woven inconspicuously
into melodic figures such as ṆḌSṆ, or NDP, or PḾDP—all of which can be heard in the
bandiś sung here. A characteristic melodic pathway (or calan) once Pa is reached, is ḾPN–,
NṠ, ṠNDP—DḾPM\R–, RḾPM\R–, MRSṆ, ṆḌSṆRS—.

Performance by Vijay Rajput

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 3
[Link]

Spoken version of bandiś text

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 17
[Link]
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 61

Bandiś: ‘Aba morī bāta’

This composition may originate from Ustād Fayaz Khan(1886–1950) of the Agra gharānā—
as suggested by the inclusion of his pen name, Prem Pīyā, at the start of the antarā. VR
learnt it from Prof. Manjusree Tyagi, his one-time mentor.
There are different ways of understanding who is being addressed in the song. In the
sthāī (first part) the protagonist implores her beloved, while in the antarā (second part) she
speaks to herself or to a companion, expressing her frustration at the lack of a response.
In this recording, VR experiments with varied repetition of the different lines of the
bandiś, as well as with the rhythmic placing and decoration of notes. So this is a good example
of how a musical realisation may part company from the corresponding notation—or at
least from the form of notation used here, which is intended more to communicate the gist
of a bandiśthan to record its potentially inexhaustible nuances in performance.
What is more structural, however, is the way the metre of the compositioncuts liltingly
acrossthe 4x4 beat tīntāl structure. For example, the five-beat figure, ‘Aba mori’ that opens
the song, can be divided into 2+3 beats; while the fourfold repetition of ‘vārī’, at the end of
the sthāī, and ‘hārī’, at the end of the antarā, yields a 3+3+3+2 pattern.

Sthāī
Aba morī bāta mānale pīharavā, My beloved, now believe what I say,
jāū̃̃ tope vārī vārī vārī vārī. I sacrifice myself for you, over and over
again.
Antarā
Prema pīyā hama se nahī̃ ̃ bolata, My loved onemakes no answer,
binatī karata mẽ to hārī hārī hārī And I am wholly spent, exhausted with
hārī. entreating.

रााग शुुद्ध साारंंग

स्थााई
अब मोोरीी बाात माानलेे पीीहरवाा
जााऊँँ तोोपेे वाारीी वाारीी वाारीी वाारीी।
अंं तराा
प्रेेम पीीयाा हम सेे नहींं बोोलत
बि�नतीी करत मेंं तोो हाारीी हाारीी हाारीी हाारीी॥
62 Rāgs Around the Clock

Bandiś in Rāg Śuddh Sāraṅg: 'Aba morī bata'

tīntāl
x 2 o 3
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Sthāī

M R Ṇ – S
A- ba mo - - rī
(1st time)
:Ṇ – – – Ṇ – Ḍ S – Ṇ R – S M R Ṇ – S :
bā - - - - (bā) - - - - - - ta A- ba mo - - rī
(2nd time)
R – S R Ḿ P – P
- - ta mā - na - le pī -

PḾ
NṠ ṘṠ N – D P – ḾP DP M – R Ḿ P NṠ Ṙ Ṡ
ha - - ra - - - - - - vā, jā - ū̃ to - - pe

P Ṡ N Ḿ – P R M R Ṇ S
vā - - rī vā - - ri vā - - rī vā - rī.

Antarā

:P Ṡ Ṡ Ṡ Ṡ – Ṡ Ṡ
Pre - - ma pī - yā ha - ma

D
ṠṀ RṀ Ṙ Ṡ NṠ ṘṠ N P : RḾ Ḿ Ḿ Ḿ P Ḿ P
se na - hı̄̃ bo - - la - ta, bi-na- tī ka - ra - ta mẽ to

PN Ṡ N Ṁ – P R M R Ṇ S
hā - - rī hā - - rī - rī hā - rī.
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 63

2.5.4 Rāg Brindābanī Sāraṅg

Performing time noontime (madhyan).

Āroh (ascending) Avroh (descending)

Ṇ S, R, MP, NṠ Ṡ NP, M R, S

Pakaḍ – Ṇ SR, MR, PMR, S

Jāti – Auḍav–auḍav (pentatonic–pentatonic)

Ṭhāṭ – Kāfī

Vādī – Re

Saṃvādī – Pa
(Source: Bhatkhande 1995/1937, III: 496)

This rāg is also known as Vṛindābanī Sāraṅg, along with other variants of its name
(Bhatkhande, for example, has Bindrābanī Sāraṅg). These all invoke the village of
Vrindavan—in the present day, a town in Uttar Pradesh—where the historical Kr̥̥ṣṇa is
said to have spent his childhood.
Brindābanī Sāraṅg is considered by some to be the definitive representative of the
Sāraṅg group (aṅg). Among this rāg’s distinguishing features are its pentatonic jāti, which
is differently configured in ārohand avroh: the ascending scale begins on suddh Ni, while
its descending counterpart incorporates komal Ni.
Perhaps most distinctive of all is Re, the vādī tone, which is very often approached
tenderly from above via Ma. This intimate connection is mirrored by a similar affinity
between Pa and Ni.
Bhatkhandediscusses the relation of Brindābanī Sāraṅg to other members of the Sāraṅg
aṅg, in particular Madhma Sāraṅg, distinguished by its more exclusive focus on suddh
Ni. By contrast, in Brindābanī Sāraṅg, suddh and komal Ni have equal status. Joep Bor et
al. (1999: 52) remind us that Brindābanī Sāraṅg is generally treated as a light rāg, with
similarities to Megh(also included in this collection) and Deś.

Performance by Vijay Rajput

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 4
[Link]

Spoken version of bandiś text

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 18
[Link]
64 Rāgs Around the Clock

Bandiś: ‘Raṅga le manavā’

This is a romantic song for the hot noontime and early afternoon, in which the protagonist,
sitting under the flowering mango tree, tells joyfully of the colours and beauty of the scene.
It is most appropriately rendered in a leisurely madhya laytīntāl.
Like its Śuddh Sāraṅg forebear, this Brindābanī Sāraṅg bandiś nicely illustrates the
possibilities of cross-metrical play between text and tāl. In the sthāī, the opening line,
‘Raṅga le manavā bānā’, comprises 2+4+4+6 beats; while the second line, ‘jhulata bora
jhukī’, creates a 3+3+2 beat lilt; and the third line, ‘koyala saṅga alī umaṅga’, creates a
3+3+3+3 beat feel.

Sthāī
Raṅga le manavā bānā, Take delight, O my mind, of this
lustrous sight,
jhulata bora jhukī ambuvā kī ḍaliyā, The blossom swaying on the bending
branch of the mango tree,
koyala saṅga alī umaṅga nisa. Gladdening the cuckoo and the bee
alike.
Antarā
Chāī dopaharī caṛho [caḍhī] sunharī, Noon, that now has spread all around,
kalaśa līai nīja rāja pratāpī. Went up with his golden vessel to
the glory and brilliance of his own
kingdom.
Nisa ranga kī le ḍubakī hararaṅga le. Plunge and bathe yourself in the
colour and passion of Hari!

रााग ब्रिं�ंदााबनीी साारंंग

स्थााई
रंंग लेे मनवाा बाानाा
झुु लत बोोर झुु कीी अंं बुुवाा कीी डलि�याा
कोोयल संं ग अलीी उमंं ग नि�स।
अंं तराा
छााई दोोपहरीी चढ़ोो [वढीी] सुुनहरीी
कलश लीीऐ नीीज रााज प्रताापीी
नि�स रंंग कीी लेे डुु बकीी हररंं ग लेे ॥
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 65

Bandiś in Rāg Brindābanī Sāraṅg: 'Raṅga le manavā'

tīntāl
x 2 o 3
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Sthāī

★
Ṇ S :R M P N PN PM RS ṆS
Raṅ - ga le ma - nu - vā

(1st time)
S
R – – Ṇ S – Ṇ S :
bā - - - - nā, Raṅ - ga
(2nd time)
S – – :Ṇ Ṇ Ṇ S – S Ṇ S
nā, jhu - la - ta bo - - ra jhu - kī

R M R M P N M P : P Ṡ N Ṡ – Ṡ P N
am - bu - va kī ḍa - li - yā, ko - ya - la saṅ - - ga a- lī

P N – N PN PM RS ṆS (→ ★)
u- maṅ- - ga nī - sa. Raṅ - ga

Antarā

: M M M P P N –
Chā - ī do - pa - ha - rī

N –Ṡ – Ṙ N – Ṡ – : N N N N Ṡ – Ṡ Ṡ
ca - - ṛho sun - ha - - rī, ka - la - śa lī - ai nī - ja
[ca - - ḍhī]

PN ṠṘ NṠ Ṡ N P P P Ṡ N Ṡ Ṡ P N
rā - - ja pra - tā - - - pī. Nī - sa raṅ - ga kī le

P N N – PN PM RS ṆS (→ ★)
ḍu - ba - kī ha - ra - raṅ - ga - [le.]
66 Rāgs Around the Clock

2.5.5 Rāg Bhīmpalāsī

Performing time third quarter (prahar) of the day.

Āroh (ascending) Avroh (descending)

Ṇ S G M, P, NṠ Ṡ N D P M, GRS

Pakaḍ – N S M, MG, PM, G, MGRS

Jāti – Auḍav–sampūrṇ (pentatonic–heptatonic)

Ṭhāṭ – Kāfī

Vādī – Ma

Saṃvādī – Sā
(Source: Bhatkhande 1995/1937, V: 561–2)

While Bhīmpalāsī can be rendered at all tempi—from the slowest baṛa khayāl to the
fastest tarānā—its movements are characteristically languid, matching the heat of the
early afternoon. Most characteristic is the slow mīṇḍ (glide) from Ma to Ga. Ni especially
contributes to this rāg’s association with the karuṇ ras—with its aesthetic of poignancy,
compassion and sadness.
As vādī, Ma is officially one of the most prominent notes in this rāg. Pa is also important
even though it should not be overly sustained, which would risk confusion with Rāg
Dhanāśrī. Among Bhīmpalāsī’s rarely mentioned subtleties is the possibility that komal Ni
be inflected very slightly sharper when approached from above and very slightly flatter
when approached from below. In avroh, Ni may move to Dha via a kaṇ svar (grace note)
on Pa—as in ṠNPDP. Similarly, in the lower tetrachord, Ga may move to Re via a kaṇ svar
on Sā—as in M\GSRS.
Similar rāgs with which Bhīmpalāsī should not be confused include Dhānī (same scale
but with no Re or Dha), Patdīp(similar flavour but with suddh Ni), and Bāgeśrī(same scale
but SGMDNṠ in āroh, greater prominence of Dha, and only occasional, specialised use of Pa).

Performance by Vijay Rajput

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 5
[Link]

Spoken version of bandiś text

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 19
[Link]
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 67

Bandiś: ‘Hamarī kahī mitavā’

This song is a composition by Pandit Vinaychandra Modgal (1918–95), who was Principal
of the Gandharva Mahavidyalaya, New Delhiat the time VRstudied there. The song bears
the pathos of the karuṇras: the protagonist implores her lovernot to leave her side. In the
antarā, the image of the beloved in a far-away place is another common trope of khayāl
songs.

Sthāī
Hamarī kahī mitavā māna le, Consider well my words, dear friend,
bīnatī karata tore paīyā parata hū̃̃. In humble submission I fall at your
feet.
Antarā
Jina jāvo bidesa bālamavā. Do not go abroad, O my beloved.
Tuma bina maikā kala nā parata hai. Without you, there is no peace for me.
Binatī karata tore paīyā parata hū̃̃. In humble submission I fall at your
feet.

रााग भीीमपलाासीी
स्थााई
हमरीी कहीी मि�तवाा माान लेे
बि�नतीी करत तोोरेे पईयाा परत हूँँ।
अंं तराा
जि�न जाावोो बि�देे स बाालमवाा
तुुम बि�न मैै काा कल नाा परत हैै
बि�नतीी करत तोोरेे पईयाा परत हूँँ॥
68 Rāgs Around the Clock

Bandiś in Rāg Bhimpalāsī: 'Hamarī kahī mitavā'

tīntāl
x 2 o 3
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Sthāī

:N D P D M P G M
Ha - ma - rī ka - hī mi - ta -

P
P – – MG M G R S : GM P M G R Ṇ S
vā ma - - na le, bī-na-tī ka - ra - ta to - re

M – M M M P G M
paī - - yā pa - ra - ta hū ̃.

Antarā

: P P PN PM G – M
Ji - na jā - - vo bi -

P – N N Ṡ Ṡ Ṡ – : P N Ṡ Ġ Ṙ – Ṡ –
de - - sa bā - la - ma - vā. Tu - ma bi - na mai - - kā

N N Ṡ N D D P – GM P M G R Ṇ S
ka - la nā pa - ra - ta hai. Bī-na-tī ka - ra - ta to - re

M – M M M P G M
paī - - yā pa - ra - ta hū ̃.
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 69

2.5.6 Rāg Multānī

Performing time fourth quarter (prahar) of the day.

Āroh (ascending) Avroh (descending)

Ṇ S, G Ḿ P, N Ṡ Ṡ N D P, Ḿ G, R S

Pakaḍ – Ṇ S, Ḿ G, P G, R S

Jāti – Auḍav–sampūrṇ (pentatonic–heptatonic)

Ṭhāṭ – Toḍī

Vādī – Pa

Saṃvādī – Sā
(Source: Bhatkhande 1991/1937, IV: 171–2)

Bhatkhande suggests that Multānī occupies a transitional place within the diurnal cycle
of rāgs. It is a parmel-praveśakrāg, meaning that it introduces a new ṭhāṭ(group of rāgs).
Leading us away from the Kāfī ṭhāṭ—which includes rāgs such as Bhīmpalāsīwith flat Ga
and Ni—Multānī looks towards the Pūrvī ṭhāṭ—in which rāgs such as Pūriyā Dhanāśrī
take flattened Re and Dha, and sharpened Ma. Multānī itself, belonging to the Toḍī ṭhāṭ,
sits between those other ṭhāṭs and mediates their different qualities. With flattened Ga
and Dha, and sharpened Ma, it has properties of both a late afternoon and a twilight
(sāndhi prakaś) rāg. These points, then, provide support for theories of rāg performing-
time (samay) based on scale construction; indeed they are cited by Nazir Jairazbhoy(1971:
63–4) in his own development of Bhatkhande’stime theory.
While Multānī shares a scale with Rāg Toḍī, it has a different grammar, which
foregrounds Sā, Pa and Ni, and uses Re and Dha only discreetly. In descending patterns,
Re is commonly approached elliptically from below via a kaṇsvar (grace note) on Sā. And
Ga often bears the shadow of tivra Ma—hence ḾG is a common figure. These various
properties might typically be joined together in a phrase such as P–DPḾPḾ\GSRṆS–, which
encapsulates Multānī’smelodious, flowing character. Its mood is romantic compared with
the pathos of Toḍī; but this does not diminish its status as an important rāg in the khayāl
repertory.

Performance by Vijay Rajput

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 6
[Link]

Spoken version of bandiś text

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 20
[Link]
70 Rāgs Around the Clock

Bandiś: ‘Runaka jhunaka’

While technically a drut khayāl, this bandiś is best sung not too quickly. The scene depicted
appears in a number of khayāl compositions (see, for example, Pūriyā Dhanāśrī (Section
2.5.7) in this collection). The female protagonist, discreetly approaching the bed of her
loved one, fears that the tinkling of the bells on her anklet and belt might give the game
away to her mother- and sister-in-law; perhaps this is as much a topic for the sultry heat
of the deep afternoon as it is for the quiet of the night.

Sthāī
Runaka jhunaka morī pāyala bāje, My anklets jingle-jangled,
bichuā chuma chuma chananana Chum chananana went my toe rings.
sāje.
Antarā
Saija caṛhata morī jhāñjhara hālī, I mounted the bed, my anklets shook
and trembled,
sāsa nananda kī lāja. My mother-in-law and sister-in-law
close by, I felt coy.

रााग मुुलताानीी
स्थााई
रुनक झुु नक मोोरीी पाायल बााजेे
बि�छुु आ छुु म छुु म छननन सााजेे ।
अंं तराा
सैै ज चढ़त मोोरि� झांं�झर हाालीी
साास ननंं द कीी लााज॥
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 71

Bandiś in Rāg Multānī: 'Runaka jhunaka'

tīntāl
x 2 o 3
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Sthāī

:P Ḿ G Ḿ G R S S
Ru - na - ka jhu - na - ka mo - rī

N S G Ḿ P – Ḿ G : G Ḿ P N Ṡ N D P
pā - - ya - la bā - - je, bi - chu - ā chu - ma chu - ma

Ḿ Ḿ P D P – Ḿ G
cha - na - na - na sā - - je.

Antarā

:Ḿ – P D P Ḿ
G Ḿ P
Sai - - ja caṛ - ha - ta mo - rī

N – Ṡ N Ṡ – Ṡ – : P N Ṡ Ġ Ṙ Ṙ Ṡ –
jhañ - - jha - ra hā - - lī, sā - - sa na - nan - da kī

P N Ṡ N D P Ḿ G
lā - - - - - - - ja.
72 Rāgs Around the Clock

2.5.7 Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī

Performing time evening twilight (sandhyākāl).

Āroh (ascending) Avroh (descending)

ṆR GḾP, DP, NṠ Ṙ NDP, ḾG, Ḿ R G, RS

Pakaḍ: – ṆRG, ḾP, DP, Ḿ G, Ḿ RG, D ḾG, RS

Jāti – Auḍav–sampūrṇ (pentatonic–heptatonic)

Ṭhāṭ – Purvī

Vādī – Pa

Saṃvādī – Re
(Source: Bhatkhande 1991/1937, IV: 341–2)

Pūriyā Dhanāśrī is an early evening rāg, which Bhatkhande indicates should be sung at
the time known as sandhyākāl: the transition between day and night; a time when lamps
are lit and prayers are said. VRrecounts how his one-time teacher, Pandit M.G. Deshpande
similarly numbered Pūriyā Dhanāśrī among the sandhi prakaś (twilight) rāgs. Prakash
Vishwanath Ringe and Vishwajeet Vishwanath Ringe (n.d.: [Link]
english/puriya-dhanashri_eng.htm) assign it to the fourth quarter (prahar) of the day.
A related rāg is Pūrvī. But Bhatkhandereminds us that while Pūrvī admits both forms
of Ma, Puriyā Dhanāśrī has only tivra Ma. The latter rāg’s characteristic figure PḾGḾRG
links this svar to the vādī and saṃvādīnotes Pa and Re. Further characteristic movements
are GḾDNṠ and ṘNDP.
The status of Pa as vadī is confirmed by its obvious prominence in performance—for
̃ alīyā jhanakāra’,
instance, this pitch initiates both the first and second lines of the bandiś ‘Pā̃y
sung here. But Bhatkhande’s identification of Re as saṃvādī is more ambiguous, given that
this note is never dwelled on. It is likely that his choice here is theoretically driven, since
vadī and saṃvādī should be four or five notes apart. Conversely, Ringeand Ringe cite Sā as
saṃvādī. Either way, these tones further distinguish Pūriyā Dhanāśrī from Pūrvī, where
Ga and Ni are the vadī and saṃvādī.

Performance by Vijay Rajput

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 7
[Link]

Spoken version of bandiś text

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 21
[Link]
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 73

Bandiś: ‘Pāỹ alīyā jhanakāra’

This famous song depicts a canonical scene of Braj Bhāṣā poetry: a young woman who
fears that the jingling of her ankle bells will wake her mother- and sister-in-law as she
steals away to her loverin the night. As with all good bandiśes, this one eloquently captures
the key melodic features of the rāg (as described above), offering a good guide to its rūp or
structure. VR’s rendition here illustrates the many ways in which the opening lines of the
sthāī and antarā can be varied in performance.

Sthāī
̃ alīyā jhanakāra morī,
Pā̃y My ankle bells are ringing,
jhanana jhanana bāje jhanakārī. Jingle-jangle, jingle-jangle, they ring.
Antarā
Pīyā samajhāū̃̃ samajhata nāhī̃,̃ If I explain to my beloved, he doesn’t
understand,
sāsa nananda morī degī gārī. My mother-in-law and sister-in-law
will scold me.

रााग पूूरि�याा धनााश्रीी

स्थााई
पाँँ�यलीीयाा झनकाार मोोरीी
झनन झनन बााजेे झनकाारीी।
अंं तराा
पीीयाा समझााऊँँ समझत नााहींं
साास ननंं द मोोरीी देे गीी गाारीी।।
74 Rāgs Around the Clock

Bandiś in Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī: 'Pā̃ yalīyā jhanakāra'

tīntāl
x 2 o 3
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Sthāī
:P – Ḿ G Ḿ D N D
Pā̃ - - ya - lī - yā jha - na -

N – D P – Ḿ D P : P P Ḿ G Ḿ R G –
kā - - - ra mo - - rī, jha - na - na jha - na - na bā - -

G R G Ḿ G R S S
je jha - na - kā - - - rī.

Antarā
:Ḿ Ḿ G G Ḿ – D –
Pī - yā sa - ma - jhā - - ū̃

Ṡ Ṡ Ṡ Ṡ N Ṙ Ṡ Ṡ : D – N Ṙ N D P P
sa - ma - jha - ta na - - - hı̄,̃ sā - - sa na - nan - da mo - rī

P – Ḿ G GḾ PḾ GR S
de - - - gī gā - - - rī.
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 75

2.5.8 Rāg Bhūpālī

Performing time first quarter (prahar) of the night.

Āroh (ascending) Avroh (descending)

S R G P, D, Ṡ Ṡ, D P, G, R, S

Pakaḍ – S, R, S Ḍ, S R G, P G, D P G, R, S

Jāti – Auḍav–auḍav (pentatonic–pentatonic)

Ṭhāṭ – Kalyāṇ

Vādī – Ga

Saṃvādī – Dha
(Source: Bhatkhande 1995/1937, III: 23)

Bhūpālīis found across a range of musical idioms—from folk musicand light classical genres
such as ṭhumrī, through khayāl (as here), to more heavyweight styles such as dhamārand
dhrupad. So, although this seemingly simplepentatonic rāg is well suited to beginners, it
can also be rendered expansively and with gravity by experienced performers.
While Ga and Dha are the vādī and saṃvādīnotes, Sā and Pa may also be sustained. Re
can sometimes be savoured on its way to other notes, but should not be overly dwelled on.
Bhūpālī is associated with the śāntras(Sanskrit: śāntam rasa) and its feelings of peace
and tranquillity. Related rāgs include Deśkār, a morning rāg with the same ārohand avroh
but with Dha rather than Ga as the vādī note, and greater emphasis on the upper tetrachord.

Performance by Vijay Rajput

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 8
[Link]

Spoken version of bandiś text

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 22
[Link]
76 Rāgs Around the Clock

Bandiś: ‘Gāīye Gaṇapatī’

The text of this bandiś is by the devotional poet and Hindu saint, Goswami Tulsidas.
Commentators variously give his birth date as 1497, 1511, 1532 and 1554; most agree he
died in or around 1623. The words of ‘Gāīye Gaṇapatī’ come from the beginning of his
poem Vinay-Patrikā (‘Letter of Petition’), and are part of a hymn to the elephant-headed
god, Gaṇeś (Ganesh).
The language here is in a different poetic vein from the other songs in Rāgs Around the
Clock. Tulsidas wrote primarily in the Avadhī and Braj languages—eastern and western
dialects of Hindirespectively. The version of the song text given below is partly based on a
Hindiedition of the Vinay-Patrikāedited by Hanuman Prasad Pohar(Tulsidas2015).
VRwas taught this bandiś by Pandit M.G. Deshpandewhile his student at the Gandharva
Mahavidyalaya, New Delhi. Numerous other versions of it can readily be found online.
The text may also be heard sung to different melodies in other rāgs, such as Mārvā,
Hansadhvanīand Yaman, often in the lighter style of a bhajan.

Sthāī
Gāīye Gaṇapatī jag vandanā. Sing praise to Gaṇpatī [Gaṇeś] to
whom the whole world prays.
Śaṅkara sumana [suvana] Bhavānī The brilliance of Śaṅkar [Śiva], the
nandana. son of Bhavānī [Pārvatī].
Antarā
Siddhī sadana, gaja vadana, The embodiment of spiritual
vināyaka. accomplishment, elephant-faced,
destroyer of obstacles.
Kr̥̥pā sindhu, sundara, saba dāyaka Compassion dwells in him, handsome
[lāyaka]. one, helper of all.

(Translation adapted by DC from a word-to-word translation in Rasikas 2008.)

रााग भूूपाालीी
स्थााई
गााईयेे गणपतीी जग वंं दनाा।
शंं कर सुुमन [सुुवन] भवाानीी नंं दन ॥
अंं तराा
सि�द्धीी सदन, गज वदन, वि�नाायक।
कृृपाा सि�न्धुु, सुुन्दर, सव दाायक [लाायक]॥
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 77

Bandiś in Rāg Bhūpālī: 'Gāīye Gaṇapatī'

tīntāl
x 2 o 3
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Sthāī

:Ṡ –     
Gā - Ǧ ī- ›‡ ƒǦ ṇa - ’ƒǦ tī

  – – : –    Ṡ
ŒƒǦ ‰ƒ ˜ƒǦ Ǧ †ƒǦ nā. Śaṅ - Ǧ ƒǦ ”ƒ •—Ǧ ƒǦ ƒ ŠƒǦ
ȏ•—Ǧ ˜ƒǦ ƒȐ

 Ṡ Ṡ –  Ṡ  
vā - Ǧ nī ƒǦ Ǧ †ƒǦ ƒǤ

Antarā

 ǣ –   Ṡ Ṡ Ṡ Ṡ
‹Ǧ Ǧ ddhī •ƒǦ †ƒǦ ƒǡ ‰ƒǦ Œƒ

Ṡ Ṙ Ġ Ṙ Ṡ – Ṙ Ṡ : Ṡ –  –   –
˜ƒǦ †ƒǦ ƒǡ ˜‹Ǧ nā - Ǧ ›ƒǦ ƒǤ Kr̥ Ǧ pā •‹Ǧ Ǧ †Š—ǡ •—Ǧ Ǧ

 Ṡ     
†ƒǦ ”ƒǡ •ƒǦ „ƒ dā - Ǧ ›ƒǦ ƒǤ
[lā - Ǧ ›ƒǦ ƒȐ 
78 Rāgs Around the Clock

2.5.9 Rāg Yaman

Performing time first quarter (prahar) of the night.

Āroh (ascending) Avroh (descending)

Ṇ R G Ḿ D N Ṡ Ṡ N D P Ḿ G R S

Pakaḍ – ṆRG; PḾGRS

Jāti – Ṣāḍav–sampūrṇ (hexatonic–heptatonic)

Ṭhāṭ – Kalyāṇ

Vādī – Ga

Saṃvādī – Ni
(Source: VR)

Rāg Yamanexists in more than one version. The commonly adopted form passed down to
VR, and thence to his students, has a jāti that omits Sā and Pa in ascent—as shown in the
specification above. Even though this ascending form eventually leads to upper Sā, making
a hexatonic rising scale, the common association within Yaman of figures such as ṆRG
and GḾDN adds subtle pentatonic (auḍav)hues to its overall ṣāḍav–sampūrṇ(hexatonic–
heptatonic) jāti. By contrast, Bhatkhande describes a different incarnation, whose jāti he
notes as, simply, ‘sampūrṇ’ (heptatonic): he gives the āroh–avrohas SRG, ḾP, D, NṠ | ṠND,
P, ḾG, RS; and the pakaḍas ṆRGR, S, PḾG, R, S (Bhatkhande 1994/1937, II: 17, 18).
The mood of Yaman is typically calm and romantic, capturing the peacefulness of
the time immediately after sunset. The emphasis on Ga and Ni does much to create this
mood. Re and Pa are also prominent, and contribute to the rāg’s beauty. Indeed, all notes
in Yaman are to some degree able to be sustained: while Ḿa and Dha are relatively less
prominent, they are more than fleetingly touched upon, contributing significantly to the
rāg’s colouration.
Although musicians commonly learn Yaman early in their studies, this in no way
detracts from its importance in the repertory. It was much loved by Pandit Bhimsen Joshi,
who performed it up to the very end of his musical life. As well as being a staple of the
Hindustani classical canon, Yamanis also found in light classicaland filmmusic.

Performance by Vijay Rajput

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 9
[Link]

Spoken version of bandiś text

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 23
[Link]
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 79

Bandiś: ‘Śyām bajāi’

This joyful composition depicts Lord Kr̥̥ṣṇa (Śyām) playing his flute, the whole world
intently listening. The lyricist would appear to be Manaraṅg (Mahawat Khan of Jaipur,
according to Bonnie Wade (1997: 20)), who names himself in a play on words in the text.
This bandiś was popularised by Bhimsen Joshi, who taught it to VR and numerous other
disciples.

Sthāī
Śyām bajāi āja muraliyā̃,̃ Today Śyām [Kr̥̥ṣṇa] plays upon his
flute,
ve apano [apane] adharana gunī so. On his lips, like a musician.
Antarā
Jogī jaṅgama jatī satī aura gunī munī, Yogīs, ascetics and saints and good
women,
saba nara nārī mil. All men and women come together.
Moha liyo hai Manaraṅga [man He has enchanted Manaraṅg [their
raṅga] ke. minds with passion].

रााग यमन
स्थााई
श्यााम बजााइ आज मुुरलि�याँँ�
वेे अपनोो [अपनेे ] अधरन गुुनीी सोो।
अंं तराा
जोोगीी जंं गम जतीी सतीी और गुुनीी मुुनीी
सब नर नाारीी मि�ल
मोोह लि�योो हैै मनरंं ग [मन रंंग] केे॥
80 Rāgs Around the Clock

Bandiś in Rāg Yaman: 'Śyām bajāi'

tīntāl
x 2 o 3
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Sthāī

: G – R S – S
Śyām ba - jā - - i

Ṇ Ḍ Ṇ R G R G – : P – Ḿ G G Ḿ P –
ā - ja mu - ra - li - yā̃ , ve a- pa - no
[a - pa - ne]

N D P Ḿ G R S –
a- dha - ra - na gu - nī so.

Antarā

P – P P – P P
Jo - - gī jaṅ - - ga - ma

G Ḿ G Ḿ P – P P Ḿ N D N Ṡ – – –
ja - tī sa - tī au - ra gu - ni mu - nī,

N Ṙ Ġ Ṙ Ṡ N DP ḾG G G R G Ḿ P –
sa - ba na - ra nā - rī mil. Mo - ha li - yo hai

N D P Ḿ G R S –
Ma - na - raṅ - - - ga ke.
[ma - na raṅ - - - ga]
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 81

2.5.10 Rāg Kedār

Performing time first quarter (prahar) of the night.

Āroh (ascending) Avroh (descending)

S M, M P, D P, N D, Ṡ Ṡ, N D, P, Ḿ P D P, M, GMRS

Pakaḍ – S, M, M P, D P M, P M, R S

Jāti – Auḍav–sampūrṇ (pentatonic–heptatonic)

Ṭhāṭ – Kalyāṇ

Vādī – Ma

Saṃvādī – Sā
(Source: Bhatkhande 1995/1937, III: 118)

The warmth of this śr̥̥ṅgār ras (romantic-aesthetic) rāg comes in part from its sensitivity
to śuddh Ma. Its sensuous entreaties are captured by oblique (vakra) motions such as
MG-PḾ-DP—as at the opening of the bandiś ‘Bola bola mose’, sung here. Such indirect
patterns crucially distinguish Kedār from Bihāg, which likewise has both forms of Ma.
While in Bihāg,Ga is prominent (the vādī tone), in Kedār, it is Ma that is the vādī, and Ga is
typically subsumed into it—within figures such as M\GP.
These are just some of the subtleties which the performer needs to master in this
melodically complexrāg. Others include the treatment of Re—absent entirely in āroh, and
typically prefaced by a kaṇ svar (grace note) on Sā in the elliptical descent from Ma—i.e.
M–SRS. Handled carefully, komal Ni is also very occasionally permitted as a vivādī(foreign)
note. Rāgs that feature similar melodic movements to Kedār include Hamīrand Kamod.

Performance by Vijay Rajput

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 10
[Link]

Spoken version of bandiś text

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 24
[Link]
82 Rāgs Around the Clock

Bandiś: ‘Bola bola mose’

Here is a classic devotional song to Lord Kr̥̥ṣṇa, addressed—in one of his many alternative
appellations—as ‘son of Nand’. The setting is his home village of Brij, whose denizens are
depicted as ever hungry for their god. Although this bandiś is in drut lay, the pace should
be sufficiently measured to bring out the feelings of entreaty and devotion. VRlearnt this
song from his former teacher Pandit Vinay Chandra Maudgalya.

Sthāī
Bola bola mose Nanda kũvaravā, Talk, talk to me, O son of Nand,
rasa bharī batiyā̃ ̃ lāge madhura torī. So sweet to me is your talk, so full of
feeling.
Antarā
Subhaga hātha tore bansī Śyāma sī, The flute in your graceful hands,
brijavāsī nīrakhata naina bharī, The people of Braj gaze upon it and fill
their eyes,
nahī̃ ̃ aghāta jaise bhūkha bhikhārī. Like mendicants ever hungry for
more.

रााग केेदाार
स्थााई
बोोल बोोल मोोसेे नंं द कुंं� वरवाा
रस भरीी बति�याँँ� लाागेे मधुुर तोोरीी।
अंं तराा
सुुभग हााथ तोोरेे बंं सीी श्यााम सीी
बृृजवाासीी नीीरखत नैै न भरीी
नहींं अघाात जैै सेे भूूख भि�खाारीी॥
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 83

Bandiś in Rāg Kedār: 'Bola bola mose'

tīntāl
x 2 o 3
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Sthāī

:M – G P – Ḿ D P
Bo - - la bo - - la mo - se

M – R S Ṇ R S – : S S M G P Ḿ D P
Nan - - da kũ - va - ra - vā, ra - sa bha - rī ba - ti - yā̃

PP DN ṠN DP Ḿ P D P
lā - - - ge ma - dhu - ra to - rī.

Antarā

:P P P Ṡ – Ṡ Ṡ Ṡ
Su - bha - ga hā - - tha to - re

Ṡ
Ṡ – Ṡ Ṡ N Ṙ Ṡ – : Ṡ D D – Ṡ – M Ṡ
ban - - sī Śyā - - ma sī, bri - ja - vā - - sī nī - ra -

Ṡ
N Ṡ D – Ḿ DP MGM – M M G P – Ḿ D P
kha - ta nai - - na bha - rī, na - hı̄̃ a- ghā - - ta jai - se

PP DN ṠN D P ḾP DP M M
bhū - - - kha bhi- khā - - - rī.
84 Rāgs Around the Clock

2.5.11 Rāg Bihāg

Performing time second quarter (prahar) of the night.

Āroh (ascending) Avroh (descending)

S G, M P, NṠ Ṡ, N D P, M G, RS

Pakaḍ – Ṇ S, G M P, G M G, R S

Jāti – Auḍav–sampūrṇ (pentatonic–heptatonic)

Ṭhāṭ – Kalyāṇ/Bilāval

Vādī – Ga

Saṃvādī – Ni
(Source: Bhatkhande 1995/1937, III: 181–2)

Bihāg is an example of a rāg whose identity has changed within recent memory. This
mutation turns around the subtly increasing status of tivra Ma (the sharpened fourth
degree), which in Bihāg co-exists with the always more prominent suddh Ma (natural
fourth). At one time, tivra Ma was expressed only fleetingly—perhaps touched on within a
descending mīndh (gliding motion) between Pa and Ga. Subsequently, tivra Ma has become
more salient with some performers, though it is still heard only in avrohbetween Pa and
Ga or in patterns such as PḾP. Sung with the right kind of inflection, this can bring out
the romantic character of the rāg. In the later-twentieth century VRwas taught the earlier
style of the rāg by his then guru, Pandit M. G. Deshpande, though he himself now gives
greater prominence to tivra Ma (as we hear in Rāg samay cakra).
The ambiguity around the status of tivra Ma is reflected in Bihāg’s place in the ṭhāṭ
system. Ringe and Ringe (n.d.: [Link] and
Patrick Moutal (1997/1991: 101) classify it under the Kalyāṇ ṭhāṭ, which has a sharpened
fourth. Conversely, Bhatkhande, writing in the earlier twentieth century, places it in the
Bilāval ṭhāṭ (the natural-note scale), classifying tivra Ma as vivādī—a note outside the rāg
yet available as an occasional nuance. He also cautions against overstressing Re and Dha,
so as to avoid confusion with Rāg Bilāvalitself.
As ever, knowledge of related rāgs is important: here the comparators include Kedār,
Kāmod and Hamīr. The motion SMG, for example, while allowable in Bihāg (as at the
word ‘tarapa’ in the bandiś performed here), should not be over-emphasised, as this figure
is more characteristic of Kedār. Meanwhile, Māru Bihāg complements its sibling rāg by
reversing the dominance of tivra Ma and suddh Ma (placing the former in the ascendant),
and by according much greater prominence to Dha and Re which only have a passing
function in Bihāg itself.
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 85

Performance by Vijay Rajput

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 11
[Link]

Spoken version of bandiś text

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 25
[Link]

Bandiś: ‘Abahũ lālana’

This is another classic song of longing for an absent lover. In the antarā, the natural world
and inner world come together in the images of rain clouds and the welling up of tears, of
lightning and the trembling heart.

Sthāī
Abahũ lālana maikā yuga bīta gāe, Already now, my love, so many eons
have passed for me,
tumhāre darasa ko tarapa tarapa My heart is tormented, longing
jīyarā tarase re. endlessly to see you.
Antarā
Umaṅgẽ nainā bādarī sī jhara lāge, My welling eyes rain forth like clouds,
jīyarā tarase [larajai], My heart trembles,
dāminī sī kaundha caundha, It is as if lightning had dazzled me,
maiharvā barase. The cloud showers forth rain.

रााग बि�हााग
स्थााई
अबहुंं लाालन मैै काा युुग बीीत गए
तुुम्हाारेे दरस कोो तरप तरप जीीयराा तरसेे रेे।
अंं तराा
उमंं गेंं नैै नाा बाादरीी सीी झर लाागेे
जीीयराा तरसेे [लरजैै ]
दाामि�नीी सीी कौंं� ध चौौध
मैै हरवाा बरसेे ॥
86 Rāgs Around the Clock

Bandiś in Rāg Bihāg: 'Abhũ lālana'

tīntāl
x 2 o 3
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Sthāī
:Ṇ S G M P – N N
A- ba - hũ lā - - la - na

Ṡ – N – PḾ
P Ḿ G G : GM PḾ G M G – R SṆ
S –
mai - - kā y u - ga bī - - ta gā - e,

N. P. N. N. S S S – S M G M G M P PḾ
tum - hā - re da - ra - sa ko ta - ra - pa ta - ra - pa jī - ya-

G M P M G – R SṆ
S –
rā ta - ra - se re.

Antarā
P P Ṡ – Ṡ – Ṡ – Ṡ – Ġ ṠN
Ṡ – Ṡ N N
U- maṅ - gẽ nai - - nā bā - - da - rī sī jha - ra

PḾ
P – P Ṡ – N – D PḾ
P – G M P M G R S –
lā - - - - ge, jī - ya- rā ta - ra - se,
[la - ra - jai]

N – P S – S S – G S – S N – PḾ
P –
. .
dā - - mi - nī sī kaun - - dha caun - - dha, mai - - har - -

G – P M G – R S
vā ba - ra - se.
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 87

2.5.12 Rāg Mālkauns

Performing time third quarter (prahar) of the night.

Āroh (ascending) Avroh (descending)

Ṇ S, G M, D, NṠ Ṡ N D, M, G, GMGS

Pakaḍ – MG, MDND, M, G, S

Jāti – Auḍav–auḍav (pentatonic–pentatonic)

Ṭhāṭ – Bhairavī

Vādī – Ma

Saṃvādī – Sā
(Source: Bhatkhande 1995/1937, III: 700–1)

Performed in the depths of the night, Mālkauns likewise inhabits the depths of the
imagination and cultural memory. Daniel Neuman (1990: 64–6) recounts stories from
hereditary Muslim musicians who feared to sing this rāg alone after midnight because it
might summon up capricious spirits known as jinns. Mālkauns is regarded as a masculine
rāg belonging to the vīrras, with its connotations of heroism and war; the mood is one of
gravity. Unhurried presentation and pervasive use of very slow mīṇḍ(gliding motion) are
essential to capturing its character.
Omkarnath Thakur (2005: 227) tells us that Mālkauns is a dialect form of the name
‘Mālvakausik’, and that its correct prakriti(mode of delivery) is śānt(peaceful) and gambhīr
(serious). Thakur describes the formal features of Mālkauns using more traditional
terminology than does his rival, Bhatkhande. In Thakur’s account, Ma has the status of
nyās svar—a standing or sustained note; Sā and Ni have the status of grah svar (notes
used to initiate a phrase) in ālāp and in tāns respectively; and Ga and Dha are anugāmī
svar (passing notes). Thakur also draws attention to the significance in this rāg of samvad
svar—notes paired in fourths: Sā–Ma, Ga–Dha, Ma–Ni.

Performance by Vijay Rajput

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 12
[Link]

Spoken version of bandiś text

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 26
[Link]
88 Rāgs Around the Clock

Bandiś: ‘Koyalīyā bole ambuvā’

This cheerful song makes the point that a rāg can encompass a spectrum of moods, and
that a choṭā khayālin particular can show facets of the rāg other than the dominant one.
In this romantic bandiś full of natural imagery, the Kokila (Asian Koel) bird—which has
similar poetic connotations to the nightingale in western culture—sings from the mango
tree, heralding spring (for more on the place of birds in Braj Bhāṣāpoetry and Hindustani
bandiśes, see Magriel and du Perron 2013, I: 146–53). In the antarā, the image of the bee
playing among the buds could be an allusion to Kr̥̥ṣṇaamong the cowherds.

Sthāī
Koyalīyā bole ambuvā ḍāra para, The sweet Kokila bird gives voice on
the branch of the mango tree,
r̥̥tu basanta ko deta sandesavā. And so heralds for us the arrival of
Spring.
Antarā
Nava kaliyana para gunjata bhãvarā, On the new buds the bee buzzes,
una ke saṅga karata raṅgaraliyā̃,̃ In their company he plays his games,
yahī basanta ko deta sandesavā. This is what heralds the Spring.

रााग माालकौंं� स
स्थााई
कोोयलीीयाा बोोलेे अंं बुुवाा डाार पर
ऋतुु बसंं त कोो देे त संं देेसवाा।
अंं तराा
नव कलि�यन पर गुंं�जत भँँ वराा
उन केे संं ग करत रंंगरलि�याँँ�
यहीी बसंं त कोो देे त संं देेसवाा॥
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 89

Bandiś in Rāg Mālkauns: 'Koyalīyā bole ambuvā'

tīntāl
x 2 o 3
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Sthāī
Ṡ
:Ṡ N Ġ Ṡ D M D N
Ko - ya - lī - yā bo - le am - bu -

Ṡ – – ND N D M M : G G G MD NṠ N Ṡ –
vā ḍā - - ra pa - ra, r̥ - tu ba - san - - ta ko

G – M D G M GS –
de - - ta san - de - sa - vā.

Antarā

:G G M M D D N N
Na - va ka - li - ya - na pa - ra

Ṡ – Ṡ Ṡ ṠĠ ṠN Ṡ – :N N N – Ṡ – Ṡ Ṡ
gun - - ja - ta bhã - va - rā, u- na ke saṅ - - ga ka -
[bhā - - ḍā]

D M D N D D M – G G G MD NṠ N Ṡ –
ra - ta raṅ - ga - ra - li - yā̃ , ya - hī ba - san - - ta ko

G – M D G M GS –
de - - ta san - de - sa - vā.
90 Rāgs Around the Clock

2.5.13 Rāg Megh

Performing time rainy season (varṣa r̥̥tu).

Āroh (ascending) Avroh (descending)

S R M P N Ṡ Ṡ N P M R S

Pakaḍ – SMRP— , PN–P, ṠPNPM\R S

Jāti – Auḍav–auḍav (pentatonic-pentatonic)

Ṭhāṭ – Kāfī

Vādī – Sā

Saṃvādī – Pa
(Source: VR; Bhatkhande 1991/1937, VI: 242–3)

For all that the rainy season is regarded as a time of romance, this monsoon rāg is
quintessentially weighty and serious—an old and revered gambhīr rāg. Megh draws its
gravity from its place in the Malhārgroup of rāgs; indeed it is often known as Megh Malhār
or Megh Mallār. It evokes dark storm clouds, the rumbling of thunder, and dramatic
lightning flashes. Ringeand Ringe (n.d.: [Link]
associate it with the heroic and masculine vīrras.
All this distinguishes Megh from similar but lighter (cancal) rāgs of the Sāraṅg group—
such as Bṛindābanī Sāraṅg and, especially, Madhmād Sāraṅg. The latter superficially
resembles Megh through its use of the same scale and similar melodic figures. But Megh
plumbs greater depths through its application of slow and heavy mīṇḍ(glides) and its more
ponderous treatment of svar and ornaments. Re is often dwelled on, and is nearly always
approached via Ma, which, conversely, is often treated as a kaṇ svar (grace note). The
use of āndolan (oscillation) between these two notes is another point of difference from
Madhmād Sāraṅg; and the figure M\R–P, drawn from Rāg Malhār, is similarly distinctive.
(For further details see Moutal1991: 121–2.)
As with many rāgs, it would be unwise to try and pin down too definitive a form of Megh.
The specificationand description above reflect a synthesis of Bhatkhande’s and VR’s slightly
different understandings. VRmakes a pragmatic distinction between Meghitself and Megh
Malhār, the latter being distinguished by the subtle inclusion of komal Ga; but he admits
that it remains moot whether these constitute entirely different rāgs. Bhatkhande discusses
only Megh Mallār (Megh Malhār) in his Kramik pustak mālikā, mentioning that this can
sometimes include the note Dha. Walter Kaufmannoutlines three possible variantsof Megh
Mallār (1993/1968: 395–401). Similar ambiguity surrounds the identification of vādī and
saṃvādītones. Following Bhatkhande, we here give Sā and Pa, while Ringeand Ringe (ibid.),
Moutal(1991: 122) and Kaufmann (ibid.: 397) all have Ma and Sā.
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 91

Performance by Vijay Rajput

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 13
[Link]

Spoken version of bandiś text

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 27
[Link]

Bandiś: ‘Ghanana ghanana’

This bandiś evokes the might of an approaching thunderstorm, not only through the
meaning of the words (ghor—frightful, rumbling; garajnā—to thunder, to roar), but also
through their sounds; onomatopoeia and cumulative repetition serve both a textual and
a musical purpose. These devices are brought out by gamak(heavy shakes) and ākār tāns.
In the antarā the lyricist identifies himself with the pen name (chāp) Sadāraṅg—the
early eighteenth-century musician, Ni‘mat Khan—which may or may not be an authentic
attribution. He implies he is drenched not just by the rain but also by love.
VR learnt this composition from his guide and teacher Manjusree Tyagi, and further
draws inspiration from historic recorded performances of the rāg by Ustād Amir Khan
(1912–74).

Sthāī
Ghanana ghanana ghana ghora Awesome rumbling, cloud on cloud,
ghora,
ghora ghora garajata āe. Frightful roaring thunder looms.
Antarā
Āī r̥̥ītu barakhā bhīje [bhīge] The rainy season has come and
Sadāraṅga, Sadārang is drenched,
pavana calata pūravīyā, The East wind blows,
sanana sanana so Singing, whistling, thrilling, all the
sananananananana. while.

रााग मेे घ
स्थााई
घनन घनन घन घोोर घोोर
घोोर घोोर गरजत आए।
अंं तराा
आई ऋीीतुु बरखाा भीीजेे [भीीगेे ] सदाारंंग
पवन चलत पूूर्वीीयाा
सनन सनन सोो सननननननन॥
92 Rāgs Around the Clock

Bandiś in Rāg Megh: 'Ghanana ghanana'

tīntāl
x 2 o 3
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Sthāī

:R R R S N S R S
Gha - na - na gha - na - na gha - na
(1st time)
Ṇ .P S – S Ṇ S :
gho - - ra gho - - ra, gha - na
(2nd time)
P
– S Ṡ – Ṡ N – P PN PM RS ṆS
- ra, gho - - ra gho - - ra ga - ra - ja - ta

ṆS RM RM PN PN PM RS ṆS
ā- - - - - - e.

Antarā
Ṉ
:M M P P N N P –
Ā- ī r̥ī - tu ba - ra - khā

Ṡ – Ṡ Ṡ Ṙ N Ṡ Ṡ : N Ṡ Ṙ Ṁ Ṙ Ṙ Ṡ Ṡ
bhī - - je sa - dā - - raṅ - ga, pa - va - na ca - la - ta pū - ra -
[bhī - - ge]

N Ṡ NṠ ṘṠ N P – P P P Ṙ Ṙ Ṙ Ṡ –
vī - - - - - - yā, sa - na - na sa - na - na so

P N P M R S Ṇ S
sa - na - na - na - na - na - na - na.
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 93

2.5.14 Rāg Basant

Performing time springtime (Basant) or final quarter of the night (rātri kā antim prahar).

Āroh (ascending) Avroh (descending)

S G, ḾD, Ṙ, Ṡ Ṙ N D, P, ḾG, ḾG, ḾDḾG, RS

Pakaḍ – ḾD, Ṙ, Ṡ, Ṙ NDP, ḾG, ḾG

Jāti – Auḍav–sampūrṇ (pentatonic–heptatonic)

Ṭhāṭ – Pūrvī

Vādī – Tār Sā

Saṃvādī – Pa
(Source: Bhatkhande 1991/1937, IV: 371–2)

Basant, which means ‘spring’, is a seasonal (mausam) rāg. On the Indian subcontinent,
springtimeextends from around early February—the time of the Sarasvatī pūjā—to around
mid-to-late March—the festival of Holī. During this period, Rāg Basant may be performed
at any time. Otherwise, it may be heard in the last phase of the night, which has similarly
romantic connotations.
Basant is an uttaraṅg pradhanrāg: it emphasises the upper tetrachord of the scale. Hence
tār Sā, the upper tonic, is the principal note (or vādī). Like Rāg Purvī, Basant uses both
versions of Ma, though tivra Ma predominates. Śuddh Ma appears in the characteristic
figure S–M–Ḿ–M–G, which draws from the grammar of Rāg Lalit—one of the few rāgs
to permit two versions of the same note consecutively. While the Lalit aṅg (limb) is not
compulsory in Basant, its effect can be beautiful if used sparingly; it is typically followed
by the figure ḾGN–D–P.
A related rāg is Paraj. Bor et al. (1999: 30) mention that some musicians do not even
distinguish between the two rāgs; but Paraj has its own characteristic melodic figures, such
as Ṡ–Ṙ–S–Ṙ–N–D–N and G–M–G; and unlike Basant it incorporates Pa in ascent. Moreover
Paraj is a cancal (light, flowing) rāg, while Basant would be classified as a more serious,
gambhīrrāg—notwithstanding the lively choṭā khayāl sung here.

Performance by Vijay Rajput

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 14
[Link]

Spoken version of bandiś text

(Rāg samay cakra, Track 28
[Link]
94 Rāgs Around the Clock

Bandiś: ‘Phulavā binata’

This ektālcomposition can be sung in madhya lay(medium tempo) but is most effective in
drut lay(fast tempo). The notation of the final line of the antarā simplifies the tān sung by
VR in the last six beats on the recorded version. The poem can be read as a conversation
between two onlookers, who address each other with the endearing term ‘rī’. They admire
a daughter of the village of Gokul, which we can presume to be Rādhā, the consort of
Lord Kr̥̥ṣṇa (in the antarā, Kr̥̥ṣṇa is identified with the name Nandalāl). The girl’s beauty
parallels that of the natural world: her face is like the moon, she has eyes like lotus flowers,
and is radiant like the sun. This imagery perfectly captures the romantic feel of springtime
and the rāg that bears its name.

Sthāī
Phulavā binata ḍāra ḍāra, She picks blossoms from every branch,
Gokula kī sukumārī, She the beauteous one of [the village
of] Gokul,
candr̥̥badana kamalanainī, Moon-faced, lotus-eyed,
bhānu kī laṛiyai rī [laḍīrī]. The daughter of the sun, O my dear one!
Antarā
Ai rī eka sukumārī, And while she, that beauteous one,
calata nā añcala savārī, Walks along and takes little care to
veil herself,
āvenge nandalāla. The son of Nand [Kr̥̥ṣṇa] will come.
Dekha ke ḍarīyai rī. Seeing him she will feel afraid.

रााग बसंं त
स्थााई
फुुलवाा बि�नत डाार डाार
गोोकुुल कीी सुुकुुमाारीी
चंं दृबदन कमलनैै नीी
भाानुु कीी लड़ि�यैै रीी [लडीीरीी]।
अंं तराा
ऐ रीी एक सुुकुुमाारीी
चलत नाा अंं चल सवाारीी
आवेंंगेे नंं दलााल
देे ख केे डरीीयैै रीी॥
 2. A Cycle Of Rāgs: Rāg Samay Cakra 95

Bandiś in Rāg Basant: 'Phulavā binata'

ektāl
x o 2 o 3 4
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Sthāī

:Ṡ Ṡ Ṡ Ṡ Ṡ Ṡ Ṡ – N Ḿ – D :
Phu - la - vā bi - na - ta ḍā - - ra ḍā - - ra,

:Ḿ – Ḿ Ḿ Ḿ – Ḿ G R S – S :
Go - - ku - la kī su - - ku - mā - - rī,

M – M M M M M Ḿ M G – G
can - - dr̥ - ba - da - na ka - ma - la - nai - - nī,

Ḿ – Ḿ D – D Ṡ – – Ḿ – D
bhā - - nu kī la - ṛi - - - yai rī.
[la - ḍī - - - - - rī]

Antarā

:Ḿ – Ḿ – Ḿ D Ṡ – Ṡ Ṙ – Ṡ :
Ai rī e- ka su - - ku - mā - - rī,
.
Ṡ Ṡ Ġ Ġ – Ġ Ḿ Ġ Ṙ Ṡ – Ṡ
ca - la - ta nā añ - ca - la sa - vā - - rī,

Ṡ – – Ṡ – Ṡ N Ṡ N Ḿ – D
ā- - - ven - - ge nan - - da - lā - - la.

Ḿ – Ḿ D Ḿ D Ṡ – – Ḿ – D
De - - kha ke ḍa - rī - - - yai rī.
 3. EXPLORATIONS AND ANALYSES (I):
RĀG SAMAY CAKRA

©2024 David Clarke, CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 [Link]

98 Rāgs Around the Clock

3.1 Introduction
In the next two parts of Rāgs Around the Clock, I (David Clarke, henceforth DC) undertake
a close reading of Vijay Rajput’s (henceforth, VR) performances on the book’s associated
albums: Rāg samay cakra (here, in Part 3) and Twilight Rāgs from North India (in Part 4).
While it would have been possible to organise these studies as track-by-track analyses of
the albums, I have opted for a different strategy. Sections 3.2 and 3.3 consider in turn the
two performance stages on which every track of Rāg samay cakra is based: ālāp and choṭā
khayāl. The analyses pull out extracts from across the entire album in order to illustrate
the different facets of these two stages (and in so doing also provide commentary on all of
the fourteen rāgs sung). Following this, Part 4 includes a similarly extended account of the
baṛā khayāl in Rāg Yaman from Twilight Rāgs. Hence, across the two parts, all of the three
principal stages of a khayāl performance are investigated. (Other contents of Part 4 are
discussed in its own introduction, Section 4.1.)
While these essays are longer reads than the earlier writings in this book, and have
a stronger theoretical orientation, I have couched the material in ways that I hope will
be accessible to students and lay listeners, as well as being of interest to researchers and
professional musicians (I should add that it is not compulsory to read every part of every
essay; each section is designed to be, to some extent, freestanding and informative in its
own right). Importantly, these inquiries continue to include a pedagogical dimension. A
key heuristic strategy is to place the reader in the position of the performer, and ask:
what do I need to know in order to sing (and hence also to understand) an ālāp, or a choṭā
khayāl, or—in Part 4—a baṛā khayāl?
In asking such questions, I also seek to pull out general truths from the specifics of
VR’s performances, and speculate on some of the bigger questions raised by khayāl and
Hindustani classical music more widely. The answers are often formulated as rubrics that
codify the knowledge which musicians and listenersacquire over a long period—musicians
in order to perform, listeners in order to become appreciative audiencemembers (rasikas)
with whom artists can subtly and co-creatively interact in the live event. Ultimately this
inquiry leads to the question (also addressed in the book’s Epilogue) of what kind of
knowledge is constituted by such rubrics, and how this relates to the intrinsically musical
knowledge that is passed down through successive generations of performers—more
bluntly, the perennial question of the relationship between theoryand practice.
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 99

3.2 How Do You Sing an Ālāp?

Preamble
Ālāp is a fundamental principle of Indian classical music. It is the quintessential means
through which a performer brings rāg into being: as musicologist Ashok Ranadereminds
us (paraphrasing the medieval scholar Śārṅgadeva(1175–1247)), the Sanskritword ālapti
means ‘to express or elaborateraga’ (Ranade 2006: 176).
In order to distil this melodic essence, ālāp loosens its bonds with rhythm—with tāland
lay. Hence, during the ālāp that opens practically every Hindustani classical performance,
the accompanying drum—tabla or pakhāvaj—is silent. Alone under the spotlight, the
vocal or instrumental soloist is able to extemporise and explore a rāg at their own pace,
free from any manifest pulse or metre—a condition known as anibaddh. Vocalists are also
largely liberated from the constraints of text, instead singing non-semantic syllables.
Ālāps vary enormously in length—in contemporary practice, lasting anything from
about a minute to over an hour. They also vary in form, according to whether the soloist is
a vocalist or instrumentalist; according to genre (for example, khayāl, dhrupad); according
to gharānā(stylistic school); and according to performance circumstances. Audio Example
3.2.1 illustrates ālāp in the context of khayāl and the circumstances of the album Rāg samay
cakra, in which rāg performances are compressed to an average of just five minutes; here
we have the opening track, in which Vijay Rajput sings the dawn rāg, Bhairav.

Audio Example 3.2.1 Rāg Bhairav, ālāp (RSC, Track 1, 00:00–02:01)

[Link]

We might describe this unaccompanied, prefatory stage of a rāg performance as the ālāp
‘proper’. But—importantly—the principles of ālāp often also manifest in the subsequent
stages of a performance. In khayāl, a soloist often returns to this manner of singing during
the subsequent bandiś (composition), alongside the tabla which now sustains the tāl. In
such passages, nibaddh (metred) and anibaddh (unmetred) states co-exist as the rāg is
further developed—a process sometimes known as vistār; I examine this matter further
in my discussions of choṭā khayāl principles (Section 3.3) and baṛā khayāl principles
(Section 4.3). In instrumental performance, and in vocal performances in the dhrupad
style, the ālāp proper may be followed by two further stages, joṛ and jhālā, which invoke
a pulse, though not yet the metrical rhythmic cycle of tāl (and usually still without drum
accompaniment). While these stages are also considered part of the ālāp process, I do not
extensively discuss them here, as they are not directly relevant to khayāl, my main topic
of inquiry.
Given the significance of ālāp to Indian classical music, learning how to improvise in
this fashion is paramount for a student. Indeed, this goes hand in hand with learning
a rāg. The latter involves the student imitating phrases sung or played to them by their
teacher in rhythmically free form, from simple to more complex, from lower register to
higher register and back, so as gradually to internalise the characteristic behaviour of
100 Rāgs Around the Clock

each svar and the rāg’s repertory of melodic formations. In effect, this is the same process
as fashioning an ālāp.
Just about every musician will affirm that learning mimetically like this is the only
way truly to acquire such skills. They will probably also recommend close listening
to performances and recordings by the great masters and other professional artists
(increasingly possible in an internet age, and an opportunity afforded by the albums
accompanying the present volume). While this wisdom is unimpeachable, it is also true
that pedagogy is not entirely uninformed by theory, including the legacy of the śāstras—
the historical Indian treatises on music and performing arts. For example, in one of the
most thoroughly researched accounts of ālāp in anglophone musicology, Ritwik Sanyal
and Richard Widdess (2004: 144–52) show a continuity between rubrics for ālapti set
out in Śārṅgadeva’s thirteenth-century treatise, Saṅgīta-ratnākara (2023/1993: 199–201),
and ālāp performances by present-day dhrupadiyās—findings not without relevance to
khayāliyās. While Widdess’s investigation (with which I dialogue below) analyses Sanyal’s
own ālāp practice against the background of this wider historical context, my approach
here is more inductive, seeking to channel rubrics for performing a khayāl-style ālāp from
VR’s renditions on Rāg samay cakra and from my own experience of learning from him.
Nonetheless, this will also reveal a degree of consistency with historic formulations; and
I will also seek to draw out some generalisable theoretical principles from my analysis.
I approach my question, How Do You Sing an Ālāp?, through three explorations, each
involving close musical analysis. In effect, these are self-contained essays that could be
read in any order. In the first and longest, I consider ālāp formation: how does a performer
shape an ālāp, both across its entire span and from phrase to phrase? In the second, I
undertake an empirical analysis of duration and proportion in an ālāp: how long should
an ālāp last, both in absolute terms and relative to its place in a rāg performance as a
whole? And in the third exploration, I broach the under-examined issue of what it is that
khayāl singers sing instead of words in an ālāp: how do they select and combine non-
lexical syllables?

Exploration 1: Ālāp Formation

Although an ālāp is improvised, and approaches to it vary between artists and gharānās,
this does not mean that anything is possible. An ālāp must take a coherent shape, beyond
mere rāg-based noodling. ‘What is your plan?’, VRonce provocatively asked me in a lesson,
after I sang him a rather formless ālāp. Listen to any of the ālāps on Rāg samay cakra and it
is clear that he always has a plan, even if an unconsciousone. How, then, does a performer
shape an ālāp—give it form, and in the process elicit a rāg? In this exploration, I approach
this question through two stages of inquiry. First, I explore VR’s ālāp in Rāg Bhairav in
its entirety as a case study. In the second stage, I widen the discussion, selecting extracts
from Rag samay cakra as a whole, in order to explore variants of this and other principles
identified in the case study.
Key to Exploration 1 are a number of theoreticalterms that encapsulate certain essential
processes of an ālāp and its melodic materials. Some of these terms come from explanations
VR has given me verbally in class; others are adapted from western music theory; and
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 101

yet others I have devised myself. Although I introduce these concepts individually as the
account proceeds, I also summarise and further explain them at the end of Exploration 1.
Readers may want to consult that passage for reference as they work through the analysis
below.

Case Study: An Ālāp in Rāg Bhairav

Since every performer needs to know how to begin their performance, and since we have
already listened to VR’s Bhairav ālāp in its entirety (Audio Example 3.2.1), let us now
consider how he creates the sense of an opening—as extracted in Audio Example 3.2.2.

Audio Example 3.2.2 Rāg Bhairav, ālāp: opening (establishing phase)

(RSC, Track 1, 00:00–00:37)
[Link]

What do we hear in this passage? To begin with, the omnipresent drone of the tānpurā
and just a hint of the rāg to come as harmonium player Mahmood Dholpuri discreetly
touches komal Re in the background. But the first main event is VR’s entry at 00:07, where
he sustains Sā, centring himself in his svar, the felt inner life of the note. Svar begins to
mutate into rāg, and this single tone into a phrase, as he moves from Sā to Re; and he
allows us to hear just a little flash of Ga, as a grace note (kaṇ), before descending back to
Sā. These details are notated in Figure 3.2.1, phrase (i).


•–ƒ„Ž‹•Š‹‰’Šƒ•‡

ȋ‹Ȍ Ȁ–––––∨∨Ȁ̱̱̱̱ –––––∨∨Ǥ


ȋ‹‹Ȍ ḌṆṆḌ––––Ḍ–̰ǡḌ Ḍ ––∨∨Ǥ Ȁ




Fig. 3.2.1 Ālāp in Rāg Bhairav: opening (establishing phase), transcription. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

This transcriptionalso includes VR’s next phrase, (ii), which begins with a rapid flourish of
notes—the ornamental figure known as murkī—and then sustains komal Dhā in the lower
octave; following this, as before, we return to Sā.
From even this tiny amount of material, there is already much we can glean about how
to perform an ālāp. First, as we have already begun to observe, what VR sings is more
than a plain sequence of pitches. The sustained tones—notated (approximately to scale)
with extended lines in Figure 3.2.1—are variously approached, enlivened, or ended by
various kinds of ornamentation (alaṅkār). The more explicit decorations, such as kaṇand
murkī, are indicated with superscripted sargam letters. Below this threshold are other
embellishments that would be distractingly cumbersome to spell out: instead, the initial
approach to Sā from an unspecified pitch space and the subsequent glide (miṇḍ) up to
Re are shown with an oblique (/); continuous oscillation (āndolan) (as applied here to
Re) is shown with a string of tildes (~~~), while a shake or mordent at the end of a note
102 Rāgs Around the Clock

(one possible understanding of the term kampit) is indicated with one or more wedge or
inverted wedge symbols (for example, ^, ∨∨); the application of gamak (a wide shake), is
shown with a wavy line. Meanwhile, other microscopic fluctuations are left for discerning
ears to savour. (For more on ornamentation see Section 1.8.)
For the performer, there is a careful balance to be struck between sustained notes and
decoration. ‘Just relax’, VR might advise; ‘take your time, don’t make it too busy’. Indeed
one of the distinguishing features of Hindustani classical music is the prevalence of
sustained notes during ālāp—as compared with its Karnatak counterpart, which places
ornamentation much more in the foreground. VR sometimes refers to the sustained (or
‘standing’) notes in khayāl with the older śāstricterm, nyās svar (see Jani2019: 24; Ranade
2006: 233). As is so often the case, the meaning of this Indic term is mutable: nyās can also
mean the note on which a phrase or a rāg ends—which may or may not be the same as
any of its sustained notes. Ambiguities aside, such notes provide a crucial melodic focus
to each phrase; hence I sometimes also refer to them below as ‘organising pitch’ or ‘goal
pitch’ (the latter borrowed from Sanyaland Widdess (2004: 145)).
The second point we should infer from this opening phase of VR’s Bhairav ālāp is his
projection of the rāg’s grammar. Which notes can be sustained, which ones have a more
decorative role, and in what fashion, will depend on the rāg. In this example in Bhairav,
VR sustains the vādī tone, Re, in the first phrase, and the saṃvādī tone, Dha, in the second.
In fact, in Bhairav, most pitches—with the qualified exception of Ni—can be sustained in
some manner, as we will eventually hear.
Thirdly, we should note how the two short phrases transcribed in Figure 3.2.1, form a
balanced pair—evidence of a plan. Each begins and ends on Sā; the first phrase ascends to
the vādī tone and the second descends to the saṃvādī, as already noted. The first phrase
begins to explore the middle octave (madhyā saptak), the second the lower octave (mandra
saptak). And while the first phrase is longer than the second (around seventeen seconds
compared to around twelve seconds), the two might still be perceived as durationally
equivalent because they are relatively equivalent in substance. There is elasticity in the
equivalence, a stretchy periodicity whose unit of measurement is something closer to a
breath rather than a beat. (This observation complements Widdess’s identification of a
subliminal pulse in the ālāp practice of Sanyal(Sanyal and Widdess 2004: 176–80).)
All the material we have considered so far constitutes what I term the establishing phase
of an ālāp. This is, in turn, part of a larger phase schema for the ālāp as a whole—a notion
explored below. Introducing another theoretical concept, adapted from western music
theory, we can say that the establishing phase starts to map out svar space (pitch space)
around Sā. By voicing vādī and saṃvādī, and their associated āndolan, VR introduces those
colours fundamental to the rāg’s identity. Above all, the establishing phase confirms Sā
as the embracing tonic—as the key reference point, and ultimate point of departure and
return. While there is no single way to execute the establishing phase, the structure that
VR adopts here is classic, and can be summarised in the following simple rubrics:
1. Sustain Sā.
2. Explore the svar space slightly above and return to Sā.
3. Explore the svar spaceslightly below and return to Sā.
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 103

What next? In a nutshell, over the course of the rest of the ālāp, VR fully establishes the
rāg by: (i) fashioning a series of similarly well–formed phrases that gradually ascend to tār
(upper) Sā; and then (ii), in a somewhat shorter timescale descend back to madhya (middle)
Sā. In this, we see how, behind the music’s surface, the basic āroh–avroh contour of the
scale of the rāg provides a structuring framework (as it does for just about every other
facet of musical material in a performance). I refer to these complementary trajectories as
the ascending phase and descending phase of the ālāp.
In our Bhairav example, VR ascends to tār Sā between 00:38 and 01:32, and returns
to madhya Sā between 01:32 and 01:59. However, his ascent is made indirectly: in an
intermediate ascending phase, he gets some way towards the goal, but breaks off with a
descent back to Sā; then, in a concluding ascending phase, he resumes his ascent, this time
completing the journey to tār Sā. Let us consider these individual phases in more detail.
The intermediate ascending phase is extracted in Audio Example 3.2.3 and notated in
Figure 3.2.2. In phrase (iii), VR improvises around Ga, picking up from the highest pitch of
the establishing phase. Next, in phrase (iv), he rises to Ma and reinforces it—for Ma has
structural salience in Bhairav. Then, in phrase (v), he quits the ascent and returns to madhya
Sā, lingering on the vādī tone, Re, whose significance and character are highlighted by the
decorative murkīthat leads into it and the āndolit(microtonal oscillation) that prolongsit.

Audio Example 3.2.3 Rāg Bhairav, ālāp: intermediate ascending phase

(RSC, Track 1, 00:38–01:01)
[Link]



–‡”‡†‹ƒ–‡ƒ• ‡†‹‰’Šƒ•‡

ȋ‹‹‹Ȍ  –––––– ǡ
̳


ȋ‹˜Ȍ ––––––∨∨ǡ–∨∨ǡ

ȋ˜Ȍ Ȁ  ̳̱̱̱̱̱̱–––Ǥ



Fig. 3.2.2 Ālāp in Rāg Bhairav: intermediate ascending phase, transcription. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

The concluding ascending phase is captured in Audio Example 3.2.4, and notated in Figure
3.2.3. The initial organising pitch, in phrase (vi), is Pa, which terminates with a momentary
deflection back to Ga. The next two pitches on VR’s trajectory, voiced in phrases (vii) and
(viii), are Dha and Ni; in the latter phrase they are heard in conjunction, illustrating the
acute sensitivity between them in Bhairav. On the one hand, Ni strongly implies upward
resolution to tār Sā, the goal of this phase; on the other, Dha also points downward to Pa,
suggesting another deflection from the ultimate goal of the passage. However, this time,
VR sees the implied ascent through to its conclusion and in phrase (ix) rises from Dha to
tār Sā—another way in which Dha may behave under the rāg grammar of Bhairav (and
in any case here catching Ni again in an ornamental kaṭhkā on the way). Such decisions
104 Rāgs Around the Clock

can retrospectively change our understanding of what we heard prior to them. It is only
because VR chooses to proceed to tār Sā that we hear this passage as the concluding phase
of the ascent; had he chosen to reverse course after phrase (viii) and returned from Ni to
madhya Sā—a stylistically available option—the whole passage would have instead been
be perceived as a second intermediate phase. (For more on the changing significance of
ālāp material in real time, see Clarke2017: paras. 6.1–6.5.)

Audio Example 3.2.4 Rāg Bhairav, ālāp: concluding phase of ascent to

tār Sā (Track 1, 01:02–01:32)
[Link]



‘ Ž—†‹‰ƒ• ‡†‹‰’Šƒ•‡

ȋ˜‹Ȍ  ––––––– –Ǥ
Ȁ ̳


ȋ˜‹‹Ȍ  ̱̱̱̱––̱ǡ

ȋ˜‹‹‹Ȍ –––––––̳ǡ–̳ǡ
Ȁ


ȋ‹šȌ Ṡ––––––∨∨Ǥ

Fig. 3.2.3 Ālāp in Rāg Bhairav: concluding ascending phase, transcription. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

Having achieved tār Sā, VR now embarks on the descending phase of his ālāp. Following
convention, this is accomplished in considerably less time than the ascending phase (I
discuss the question of the relative duration of ālāp phases in Exploration 2, below). The
descent is executed in a single span from tār Sā to madhya Sā, though the pathway has
its twists and turns—as can be heard in Audio Example 3.2.5, and seen in Figure 3.2.4. In
phrase (x), VR echoes the preceding coupling of Dha and Ni; in phrase (xi), he approaches
sustained Pa elliptically via Ma, and follows it with a drop to Ga. Behind the ornamentation,
the overall trajectory of these two phrases yields the pattern N–D–M–P–G—a vakra
(crooked) formation congenial to Bhairav. In the final gesture of the descent, phrase (xii),
VR exploits the particular qualities of Re in this rāg. Paralleling the association between
Ni and Dha in the upper tetrachord, Re is here approached via Ga, which creates a longing
for continuation to, and closure on, Sā. Initially, that implication remains unfulfilled while
VR repeats the G–R motion three more times, stretching out the moment, until finally
resolving to Sā.

Audio Example 3.2.5 Rāg Bhairav, ālāp: descending phase (return to

mahdya Sā) (RSC, Track 1, 01:32–02:01)
[Link]
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 105



‡• ‡†‹‰’Šƒ•‡

ȋšȌ ṠṘṠṠ̳–––– ̱̱̱–̱Ǥ
̳


ȋš‹Ȍ  –––– –Ǥ

 ȋš‹‹Ȍ   ̳–̱̱ǡ ̱̱ǡ ̱ǡ  ––––Ǥ
̳ ̳ ̳ ̳


Fig. 3.2.4 Ālāp in Rāg Bhairav: descending phase, transcription. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

By way of summary, we can extrapolate from the particulars of VR’s performance some
rubrics for how to execute the ascending and descending phases of the ālāp (this list
continues the one given above for the establishing phase):
4. Maintaining a balance between sustained and ornamental tones throughout,
improvise a series of phrases, progressing steadily through the āroh scale of the
rāg; continue until you reach tār Sā. This creates the ascending phase.
5. You may interrupt the ascending phase partway along by a return to Sā, to form
an intermediate phase of the ascent.
6. If you take this option, you should next resume the ascending phase. You do not
need to begin again at madhya Sā, but can pick up either from where you left off
or in the space between Sā and that point.
7. On reaching tār Sā, return to madhya Sā, using the avroh scale. This creates the
descending phase, which should be shorter than ascending phase.
8. Throughout, ensure the rāg grammar is projected; stay mindful of the vādī and
saṃvādītones, of other nyās(sustainable) svars that are important to the rāg, and
of melodic motions salient to the ascending or descending phases. Not all of these
features need to be projected equally prominently, but attending to at least some
of them will help you convey the salient qualities of the rāg.

Phase Schema: Variations

At this juncture, we need briefly to pause to absorb the following points: the rubrics
sketched out above are primarily heuristic; they do not represent universally applied
principles, but offer pragmatic guidelines for what may take place in an ālāp; variants
of them are possible, and indeed common. For example, the complete ālāp schema—
establishing, ascending and descending phases—is often abbreviated in order to proceed
more directly to the entry of the bandiś (which is always felt to be waiting in the wings).
In the ensuing section I will consider some of the ways in which the duration and ambit
of a khayāl ālāp can be expanded or contracted, and its content elaborated, simplified or
nuanced. Looking ahead to later sections, we should also note that what a performer does
or does not do in their ālāp may well have an impact on the succeeding khayāl stage of the
performance, and vice versa. For example, a choṭā khayāl may resume the uncompleted
106 Rāgs Around the Clock

āroh trajectory of an abbreviated ālāp in a series of rising bol ālāp passages (discussed in
Section 3.3). And a baṛā khayāloften requires only the most perfunctory ālāp, since it may
assimilate the contour of the entire ālāp phase schema into its own initial process—as
manifested in the staged ascent of its baṛhat phase to tār Sā, and the eventual descent of
the culminating antarā back to madhya Sā (discussed in Section 4.3).
But for now, let us consider some inflections of the rubrics derived from our case study,
in order to get a sense of the wider spectrum of possibilities for an ālāp in the khayāl style.
The supplementary rubrics below pick up from the ones above, and are each followed by
an explanatory gloss. Rubrics 9–15 consider the construction of phases, rubrics 16–19 the
formation of phrases. My examples draw largely from subsequent tracks on Rāg samay
cakra, so also offering a wider window onto the album as a whole.
9. While madhya Sā is usually the organising pitchof the establishing phase, you do
not have to make this the very first note you sing (cf. rubric 1).
A theoretical distinction from the śāstras—one also made by VR—is useful here.
This is between grah svar, a note on which you may begin a phrase, and nyās svar,
a note which you may sustain, or which may act as a goal (as discussed above).
Hence, while Sā functions as the nyās svar of the establishing phase, any other
note appropriate to the rāg may serve to initiate it.
For example, on Rāg sama cakra, Track 2, VR begins Rāg Toḍīby dwelling on Re
and Ga before falling to Sā (Audio Example 3.2.6, 00:25–00:51). This is consistent
with the rāg grammar for Toḍī, in which Ga is the saṃvādī tone and Re can also
be given prominence in conjunction with it. Following this (00:52–01:13), VR steps
back up to Ga from mandra Dha, the vādī of the rāg, before once again returning to
Sā. All this underwrites the particular importance of the vādī and saṃvādīin this
rāg, which at times rival Sā.

Audio Example 3.2.6 Rāg Toḍī, ālāp: establishing phase (RSC, Track 2,
00:00–01:13)
[Link]

10. In the establishing phase, when exploring the space below Sā, do not normally go
any lower than the upper tetrachord of the lower octave (cf. rubrics 2 and 3).
While it is possible in principle to go all the way down to mandra Sā in an
extended ālāp, in a shorter khayāl ālāp one would not normally explore more
than four or five notes below Sā—in other words, confining oneself largely to the
upper tetrachord (uttaraṅg) of the lower octave (mandra saptak). In Rāg samay
cakra the deepest VR goes in his lower-octave explorations is to mandra Ma—most
notably, in Rāg Mālkauns, as heard in Audio Example 3.2.7. Here Ma is the vādī;
the opening up of svar space between it and Sā prolongs the establishing phase,
capturing the particular gravity of this rāg.

Audio Example 3.2.7 Rāg Mālkauns, ālāp: establishing phase (RSC, Track
12, 00:18–01:37)
[Link]
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 107

11. You may create more than one intermediate ascending phase; this/these should
be each based around successively higher notes within the rāg, according to its
grammar(cf. rubric 5).
While, in our case study, VR includes just one intermediate ascending phase,
further additional stopping-off points are possible. These should focus on
successively higher pitches—those that are allowed to be sustained within the rāg
grammar. Each intermediate ascent should return to mahdya Sā.
This principle is an important means of growing an ālāp and appears to be
historically consistent with Śārṅgadeva’s division of his ālapti framework into
gradually ascending phases, termed svasthāna (Śārṅgadeva 2023/1993: 199–200,
also discussed by Sanyaland Widdess(2004: 145).
12. The ascending phase can go beyond tār Sā (cf. rubric 4).
As we can hear on several tracks of Rāg samay cakra, VR follows through on
the accumulating intensityof the ascending phase to rise to tār Re or Ga. In longer
performances it would be possible to go even further, and in fact VR touches just
momentarily on tār Ma at the peak of the ascending phase in Brindābanī Sāraṅg
(Track 4, 01:30–01:52). As ever, such moves follow the grammarof their respective
rāg and serve to bring out its particular emotive properties (ras). The following
instances are illustrated by the respective excerpts in Audio Example 3.2.8:
a. In Multānī, VR fleetingly sings tār Ga and tār Re as decorations of tār Sā,
within the figure N–Ṡ–ĠṘṠNṠ—. This does not disturb the prominence of Sā as
the saṃvādī of the rāg.
b. In Toḍī, by contrast, VR voices tār Ga much more fulsomely after he has
reached tār Sā. In this passage, he also emphasises komal Ga’s connection
with komal Dha (as saṃvādī to vādī), as he did in the lower register (cf. Audio
Example 3.2.6). This plangent rendering of upper Ga evokes the karuṇ ras,
which is associated with this rāg.
c. In Pūriyā Dhanāśrī, VR moves to tār Re before he settles on tār Sā, in a phrase
that can be distilled as G–Ḿ–D-N—, N-D–N–Ṙ–N–D-P—. Shortly afterwards,
we hear tār Re again, this time following the attainment of tār Sā; once
again the higher note is touched on elliptically via Ni, in a movement that
skirts around tār Sā. All these figures help create the particular expressive
colouristic palette of this sandhi prakāś (twilight) rag.

Audio Example 3.2.8 Ascents beyond tār Sā:

(a) in Multānī (RSC, Track 6, 00:59–01:14)
(b) in Toḍī (RSC, Track 2, 01:57–02:18)
(c) in Pūriyā Dhanāśrī (RSC, Track 7, 01:19–01:59)
[Link]

13. The ascending phase does not have to go all the way up to tār Sā (cf. rubric 4).
Whereas rubrics 11 and 12 showed how the notional phase schema can be
expanded, here we consider ways in which its elements can be contracted, or even
simply not applied.
108 Rāgs Around the Clock

Foreshortening of the ascending phase is common when an ālāp needs to be

concise. Often this is the case prior to a baṛā khayāl, where an overly developed
ālāp would upstage the following khayāl, which, after all, is meant to be the main
focus of the performance. For example, in both ālāps on the Twilight Rāgs album,
VR takes the ascending phase only as far as Pa.
But brevity—actual or relative—is only one factor. In VR’s ālāp in Rāg Śuddh
Sāraṅg (Track 3), where the ascending phase stops at Pa (Audio Example 3.2.9,
00:00–01:03), we can assume brevity not to be top priority, because he then allows
himself a second ascent to the same pitch (Audio Example 3.2.9, 01:03–01:34).

Audio Example 3.2.9 Rāg Śuddh Sāraṅg, ālāp (RSC, Track 3, 00:00–01:35)
[Link]

VR’s motive for stopping at Pa is more likely not to overshadow the generally low
profile of the first line of the following bandiś. When I asked him about this, he
replied that this was not a consciousdecision, though, interestingly, he did affirm
a wider principle: ‘you must let the khayāl influence your ālāp; the ālāp is not just
your creation, but is influenced by lots of things. You have to know the meaning of
the bandiśand match its style in your ālāp’.
This point is further illustrated by a presentation in Rāg Bhairavon the Music in
Motion(AUTRIM Project) website (Raoand Van der Meern.d.: [Link]
[Link]/bhairav/, 01:06–02:10). Here, vocalist Padma Talwalkarprogresses
the ascending phase of her ālāp only as far as Dha; on the return journey to Sā she
pauses on Ga. These prominent tones prepare the svar spacefor the same pitches
in the opening of the bandiś ‘Jāgo mohan pyāre’, which flowson almost seamlessly
in a beautiful transition into the khayāl that obviates any further exposition of the
ālāp. This example nicely illustrates the point made at the opening of this section,
that the ascending phase of an ālāp is often curtailed in order not to overly delay
the entrance of the bandiś.
In other circumstances, it may be possible to dispense with the ascending and
descending phases of the ālāp altogether. Many khayāl performances present only
the establishing phase of an ālāp—enough to affirm Sā and indicate the essential
characteristics of the rāg which are then fully explored in the ensuing khayāl.
In such cases, this is usually a baṛā khayāl, and the prescinded form of the ālāp
resembles the form known as aucār.Examples include Gangubai Hangal’s(1913–
2009) recording of Rāg Bhairav (1994) or Kumar Gandharva’s(1924–92) rendition
of Mālkauns(1993).
14. In certain rāgs, it can be appropriate to begin with the descending phase.
Some rāgs, known as uttaraṅg pradhan rāgs, emphasise the upper tetrachord.
In such contexts, phrases may be oriented around tār Sā rather than madhya Sā,
taking this higher pitch as their starting point and/or ultimate goal. One such rāg
is Basant, whose vādī is identified by Bhatkhandeas, explicitly, tār Sā (see Section
2.5.14).
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 109

This characteristic can be heard in the bandiś ‘Phulavā binata’, which VR chooses
for this rāg (Track 14). Its opening sets out from tār Sā; and so, accordingly, does
the ālāp which prefaces it. Here, then, VRis true to his maxim that what you do in
your ālāp should relate to the content of your khayāl. Indeed, the phase schema of
this ālāp unusually comprises two descending phases, both beginning on tār Sā,
with no prior establishing or ascending phase. The first descent (Audio Example
3.2.10), pauses on Pa, then Ga. VR then momentarily drops further to mahdya
Sā, but only as a jumping off point to sing the so-called Lalit aṅg, which involves
both suddh and tivra versions of Ma sung adjacently—a figure that draws on the
idiosyncratic grammarof Rāg Lalit. This motion resolves onto Ga, which could be
heard as the goal tone of this first, intermediate descending phase.

Audio Example 3.2.10 Rāg Basant, ālāp: first descending phase (RSC,
Track 14, 00:00–00:29)
[Link]

VR next steps back up through Ḿa and Dha to regain tār Sā; he redoubles this
motion, touching on tār Re, and then curves back to begin the second descending
phase (Audio Example, 3.2.11). This is initially modelled on the first descent; again,
Pa and Ga function as intermediate goal tones. From Ga, VR makes a delightful
rising deflection, Ḿ–N, before completing the descent to madhya Sā. This ends the
ālāp and leads directly to the following drut ektālkhayāl, launched from the same
uttaraṅg register.

Audio Example 3.2.11 Rāg Basant, ālāp: second descending phase,

leading to opening of bandiś (RSC, Track 14, 00:29–01:06)
[Link]

(As a codicil to these observations, we should also note the complementary type of
rāg, pūrvaṅg pradhan, which focuses on the lower tetrachord. Some rāgs are often
considered in complementary pairs that exhibit similar scale forms and qualities
but privilege opposite tetrachords. Well-known examples include Darbārī Kānaḍā
and Aḍānā, which are pūrvaṅg and uttaraṅg pradhan rāgs respectively; and,
similarly, Bhūpālī and Deśkār.)
15. The elements of the phase schema are not radically discrete; they should flow
from one another as a continuous process; their identities may sometimes blur.
Phrases do not always map onto phases.
These points are a reminder that the phase schema which we extrapolated
from VR’s Bhairav ālāp is more an implicit, notional framework behind the music’s
surface than an explicit, empiricalstructure that manifests on every occasion. The
actually sung phrases do not always align with the theoretical phases of the schema.
We can hear this by revisiting the extract from Pūriyā Dhanāśrī, discussed
under rubric 12, above—Audio Example 3.2.8(c). In the elliptical turn around
tār Sā the ascending phase blends seamlessly into the descending phase within a
110 Rāgs Around the Clock

single sung phrase. Here, phase boundary and phrase boundary do not coincide.
Contrast this with the equivalent point in Rāg Yaman—Audio Example 3.2.12.
Here, after ascending from Ni to tār Sā, VR sustains this goal pitch, winds joyful
variants of the decorative figure N–D–N–Ṙ around it, then takes a short breath;
this phrase and the ascending phase are both over. In a new phrase (at 00:25 on
the audio example), he sings tār Sā again, and begins the descending phase. Here,
then, phrase and phase are in alignment. Even so, there is no change of idiom at
the turning point; we still sense continuity between the successive ph(r)ases.

Audio Example 3.2.12 Rāg Yaman, ālāp: turn from ascending to

descending phase (RSC, Track 9, 02:19–02:56)
[Link]

In VR’s realisation of Bhīmpalāsī, we find a subtle blurring of identity between all

the elements of the ālāp’s phase schema, none of which precisely aligns with the
manifest phrases—as we can trace in Audio Example 3.2.13. In the establishing
phase (00:00–00:18), VR merges the motion below and above the initially sustained
Sā into a single phrase: S—, .P–Ṇ–S–G—R–S. Already this elicits an ascending
tendency beyond the immediate svar space around Sā, to Ga; and this blends into
the trajectory of the subsequent intermediate ascending phase, to Ma, to Pa, to Ni
(00:19–00:43)—before returning to Sā (00:44–01:00). This non-alignment of the phase
framework with the phrase structure continues in the concluding ascending phase
(begins 01:00), where the attainment of tār Sā (at 01:21) melts into the beginning of
the descending phase back to madhya Sā, all within a single arc.

Audio Example 3.2.13 Rāg Bhīmpalāsī, ālāp (RSC, Track 5, 00:35–02:26)

[Link]

A similar compression of establishing, ascending and descending phases can be

heard in VR’s ālāp for Rāg Bihāg (Audio Example 3.2.14). Striking here is the way
practically all phrases are drawn magnetically to Ga, the vādī of the rāg and a
recurrent goal pitch(nyās svar) whose force of attraction becomes a key organising
principle, working in productive tension with the phase schema.

Audio Example 3.2.14 Rāg Bihāg, ālāp (RSC, Track 11, 00:00–01:34)
[Link]

The phrases discussed in these examples are so fluidly conjoined that it may seem
arbitrary to conceptually separate them into different phases at all. Nonetheless
the phase schema remains discernible, even if, in these circumstances, it is sensed
as a more abstract presence behind the sensory formation of actual phrases. This
tells us that these discrete but interacting principles are both part of an ālāp’s
organisation. And it also tells us that the way successive phrases are conjoined is
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 111

an important aspect of how to sing an ālāp. It is to this matter that we turn next,
in a further set of rubrics.

Phrase Formation and Succession

16. In each phrase of the ascending phase, do not generally go higher in your melodic
elaborations than its organising pitch or goal tone. However, you may subtly
allude to the organising pitch of the next phrase as you approach the end of your
present one.
The sustained organising pitch (nyās svar) of a phrase represents a kind of
ceiling. The musical elaborations that decorate this pitch should normally come
from below—from the svar space that you have already begun to open up—so
as to deepen the impression of the rāg as so far unfolded, rather than steal the
thunder of what is coming up. However, this is more of a general principle than an
abstract rule, and may sometimes be relaxed. In particular, it can be appropriate
to give a discreet hint of the nyās svar of the next phrase as you reach the end of
your present one. To illustrate this, let us briefly revisit the intermediate ascending
phase of VR’s ālāp in Rāg Bhairav—as captured in Audio Example 3.2.3 and Figure
3.2.2. Here the goal tone is Ma, attained and sustained in phrase (iv); and it is
approached from Ga, sustained in phrase (iii). Within each of these phrases, the
sustained tones are elaborated by notes no higher than themselves. Nonetheless,
once he reaches Ma, VR turns back to Sā with a murkīthat fleetingly touches on Pa:
for those with sharp ears, this anticipates the organising pitch of the next phase.
17. You don’t have to begin a phrase on its organising pitch.
Just as an ālāp does not have to begin on Sā (rubric 9) so any phrase can begin on
a note other than its organising pitch. To reiterate the terminology of the historical
treatises, there is a distinction between grah svar, a note on which you can begin,
and nyās svar, a note which you can hold. (Of course, in order to comply with
rubric 16, the former must not be higher than the latter.) This is clearly illustrated
in the extract from Bhairav just considered.
18. You don’t have to end a phrase on its organising pitch.
Even though the sustained, organising pitch of a phrase is usually perceived as its
goal, it does not have to be sustained right to the phrase’s end. We can see examples
of such behaviour in Figure 3.2.5, which notates the ascending and descending
phases of VR’s Bhūpālī ālāp, as heard in Audio Example 3.2.15 (I do not consider
the establishing phase here). We can readily note that in phrases (i) and (ii) the
respective organising pitches Pa and Dha—shown in bold—are approached from
Ga, below (cf. rubric 16), and are then quitted with a drop back to Ga. While not
compulsory, this return helps keep the svar spacebelow each goal pitch(indeed also
the vādī svar) alive as VR progresses through the ascending phase.

Audio Example 3.2.15 Rāg Bhūpālī, ālāp: ascending and descending

phases (RSC, Track 8, 00:34–01:30)
[Link]
112 Rāgs Around the Clock



• ‡†‹‰’Šƒ•‡

ȋ‹Ȍ P–––– –––Ǥ

ȋ‹‹Ȍ  D–––ǡ  –––Ǥ 

ȋ‹‹‹Ȍ  ṠǡṠ–––––––––…

‡• ‡†‹‰’Šƒ•‡

ȋ‹˜Ȍ …ṠṠṠG––Ǥ

ȋ˜Ȍ – –G––Ǥ

ȋ˜‹Ȍ – ǡ ̳R–ǡ

ȋ˜‹‹Ȍ  ḌS––Ǥ


Fig. 3.2.5 Ālāp in Rāg Bhūpālī: ascending and descending phases, transcription. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

19. The svar spacesof successive phrases can (and usually do) overlap.
We can note a related property in the same Bhūpālī ālāp—namely that successive
phrases often start by revisiting part of the earlier svar space, creating a svar-
space overlap. For example, in Figure 3.2.5 while phrase (i) reaches Pa, phrase (ii)
begins on Ga below it, before attaining Dha; phrase (iii) also starts on Ga, before
ascending even higher, to tār Sā.
Svar-space overlaps may occur in the opposite direction. In the descending
phase of the Bhūpālīextract, phrase (iv), dropping from tār Sā, has Ga as its goal;
Ga remains the goal tone of the next phrase, (v), which backfills the previous
pitch space by recapturing Pa, even as it also alludes to an impending descent
by touching on Re. Similarly, the final phrase, (vii), begins on, and is organised
around, Sā; but the phrase recoups the higher space of its forebear, in the motion
SSRGGR–, before mapping out new pitch space in the lower octave—…SSḌS—.
The purpose of such overlaps is to foster connectivity between phrases and to
keep the entire rāg alive and growing even when the focus is on specific organising
pitches. This makes the point that it is the nurtured rāg itself—rather than the
more abstract principles of the phase schema—that is the living heart of the music.

Summary: Terminology and Key Principles of Ālāp Formation

To conclude this Exploration, I here recapitulate and re-gloss some of the main technical
terms used above, along with their associated principles. This is principally by way of
summary, but it also points to the possibility of a formalised theoryof khayāl-style ālāp—a
potential future project.
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 113

• Ālāps progress through several phases: typically an establishing phase, an

ascending phase (which may be subdivided into interim and concluding phases),
and finally a descending phase. In this, my own nomenclature, I have preferred
the word ‘phase’ to ‘section’ since it captures the essentially fluid nature of
ālāps and the way they shape time. I use the term phase schema to signify this
sequence as a whole.
• Ālāps comprise a succession of phrases. Pragmatically, we may describe a phrase
as a short unit of melodic material articulated by a breath, pause or some other
marker. While it is possible to make a theoretical distinction between different
phrase levels (for example, ‘phrase’, ‘sub-phrase’), this has not been essential to
our present purpose (for a formalised investigation of phrase grammarin ālāp,
see Clarke2017). A more useful distinction, pursued above, is that between the
phrases and phases of an ālāp, which, significantly, do not always map onto
each other.
• Phrases are usually organised around one or more sustained tones or standing
notes—or, to use the śastric term for this, nyāssvar, meaning a note which can
be held or sat on. Eligible notes include the vādī and saṃvādītones of a rāg but
need not be confined to these. Nyās can also mean the note on which a phrase
(or a rāg) concludes—which may or may not be the same as any of its sustained
notes. In similar vein, goal pitch refers to an emphasised note within a given
stage of an ālāp (Sanyaland Widdess2004: 145). Depending on context, I have
used all these terms, with their overlapping shades of meaning, as well as the
general descriptor, organising pitch. It should also be clear that I have used
‘note’, ‘tone’ and ‘pitch’ largely interchangeably, none of which fully captures
the meaning of the Hindavi term svar.
• The sustained, organising pitch of a phrase is usually embellished by various
kinds of ornament (alaṅkār) which bring the svar to life. In the notation of
individual phrases, I have not shown every microscopic detail of these, as
important as they are, since my aim has usually been to foreground what is
melodically structural.
• I have invented the term svar space(adapting the westerntheoretical term pitch
space) to refer metaphorically to the compass of pitches available to decorate
a sustained note. As an ālāp unfolds, and the rāg opens up, so the bandwidth
of this space gradually increases. In the ascending phase, the available svar
space lies primarily below the current sustained note. In the descending phase,
because the svar space has already been fully opened up, there is somewhat
freer movement through it. Perceptually, svar space is embedded as a trace in
the memory, subtly regenerated as we pass through the ālāp, deepening the rāg.
114 Rāgs Around the Clock

Exploration 2: Duration and Proportion

One question that faces any soloist as they begin a rāg performance is, how long shall
I make my ālāp? The possibilities are elastic. Musicians often nostalgically recount a
mythologicalheyday (I have heard VRdo this) when famed artists performed ālāps lasting
up to two hours, making it possible to penetrate the true depths of a rāg. At the other
extreme, an ālāp may last under a minute: accomplished performers know how to present
a rāg’s essence in just a few phrases when necessary.
An ālāp’s duration—in both relative and absolute terms—is dependent on genre and
performing context. Figure 3.2.6 considers several exemplary Hindustani classical genres,
indicating typical proportions of their ālāp stage (shaded) relative to their composition-
based stage (unshaded). These representations are highly schematic—approximate
indications of events which may be variously extended, contracted, omitted or compounded,
according to circumstance. The same rāg is of course performed continuously throughout.
ȋƒȌŠ”—’ƒ† ȋ‡š–‡†‡†Ȍ

Ālāp Joṛ Jhālā Bandiś



ȋ„Ȍ •–”—‡–ƒŽȋ‡š–‡†‡†Ȍ

Ālāp Joṛ Jhālā Gat

ȋ ȌŠƒyāl ȋ‡š–‡†‡†Ȍ

Ālāp Baṛā khayāl Choṭā khayāl 

 

ȋ†ȌŠƒyāl ȋ•Š‘”–‡”Ȍ

Ālāp Choṭā khayāl




Fig. 3.2.6 Relative duration of ālāp and composition stages in Hindustani classical genres. Created by author (2024),

CC BY-NC-SA.

In part (a) we see how, in an extended dhrupad performance (whether vocal or

instrumental), ālāp is the predominant feature. Even under present-day concert constraints
and audience expectations, ālāps lasting between thirty and forty-five minutes are not
uncommon; these will often include joṛand jhālāsections, extending the ālāp proper, and
invoking a regular rhythmic pulse, but not the full metrical apparatus of tāl (and usually
without drum accompaniment). The succeeding bandiś (with pakhāvaj accompaniment)
is proportionally much shorter—in absolute terms commonly lasting up to around ten to
fifteen minutes, which still gives scope for extemporisationand development. In variants
of this schema (usually in subsequent, lighter items of a programme), the ālāp stage may
be less extensive, perhaps dispensing with joṛ and jhālā, and re-balancing the proportional
relationship with the succeeding bandiś.
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 115

Instrumental rāg performances likewise often begin with an extended ālāp, typically
lasting between fifteen and forty minutes, and also including joṛ and jhālā—as mapped in
Figure 3.2.6(b). The composition (gat) section that follows (accompanied by tabla) is likely
to be commensurably substantial. It may involve more than one composition, the first in a
relatively slow (vilambit) layor in madhya lay, the subsequent one(s) in drut lay. In lighter
renditions, both ālāp and gatmay be briefer, with joṛand jhālāomitted.
In a khayāl performance, an ālāp’s duration depends to a large extent on what follows it.
At the beginning of a programme, an ālāp is likely to preface a slow, extended baṛā khayāl,
followed by a faster choṭā khayāl, the former imparting an aesthetic gravity comparable
to dhrupad (a topic I discuss at greater length in Section 4.3). Paradoxically, this requires
the ālāp to be radically shorter than is the case with dhrupad—compare parts (a) and (c)
of Figure 3.2.6—since the opening stage of the baṛā khayāl itself draws on the anibaddh
(unmetred) ethos of an ālāp. The ālāp proper is accordingly often reduced to just a few
phrases, though it can be longer (as in VR’s ālāps on the Twilight Rāgs album, which last
around three minutes). In subsequent or shorter concert items, the baṛā khayāl may be
omitted, leaving just the ālāp and choṭā khayāl; this allows the ālāp scope for expansion—
see Figure 3.2.6(d). Even so, there remains the question of proportion: it would be unusual
for an ālāp to be longer than the succeeding choṭā khayāl.
All the tracks on Rāg samay cakra follow the simpler, ālāp–choṭā khayālschema shown in
Figure 3.2.6(d). The album format and the pre-requirement to keep each rāg performance
to an average of around five minutes serve as creative constraints at every level. At the
level of the album as a whole, VR plays with the duration of tracks on either side of the
mean length. This is demonstrated in Figure 3.2.7, which provides track data and a related
column chart. Here we see significant variation in the length of performances, with Rāg
Kedār at the shortest extreme (3’48”), Pūriyā Dhanāśrī at the longest (7’39”), and Bihāg
lasting exactly the mean duration of the entire series (5’33”). These variations create a
subtle ebb and flow in the large-scale pacing, which is tracked by the trendline mapped
onto the column chart; this is based on a three-period moving average (i.e. the average
duration of successive sets of three rāgs—of Tracks 1–3, then 2–4, then 3–5 etc.).

Track durations

1. Bhairav [Link]
2. Toḍī [Link]
3. Śuddh Sāraṅg [Link]
4. Brindāb anī Sāraṅg [Link]
5. Bhīmpalāsī [Link]
6. Multānī [Link]
7. Pūriyā Dhanāśrī [Link]
8. Bhūpālī [Link]
9. Yaman [Link]
10. Kedār [Link]
DH ĀNĪ

YA Ī
V

11 Ā R

S
ḌĪ

ṄG

ṄG

.B H
1 0 AN

T
PŪ 6 . M SĪ

BH Ī

G
ĀL
R

UN

AN
RA

G
. M HĀ
ĀŚ
LĀ
TO

ŪP

ED

11. Bihāg [Link]

RA
RA

E
T

.M
AI

KA

AS
UL
PA

1 2 . BI
AN

.K
2.

SĀ
SĀ
BH

ĀL
ĪM

13
9.

12. Mālkauns [Link]

NĪ
H

8.

14
1.

BH
DD

YĀ
BA

5.

RI
ŚU

DĀ

13. Megh [Link]

3.

IN

7.
BR

14. Basant [Link]

4.

Average duration [Link]

Fig. 3.2.7 Rāg samay cakra: track durations. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
116 Rāgs Around the Clock

Figure 3.2.8 shows how VR varies the absolute and relative lengths of individual
components—ālāp and choṭā khayāl—across performances. The durations of ālāps, range
from 0’56” (Basant) to 3’27” (Pūriyā Dhanāśrī); with Bhairav, at 1’59”, clocking in close to
the mean duration of 2’01”. (Instrumental introductions, whose lengths are also somewhat
variable, are not analysed separately here, but rather included in the ālāp duration.)
Similarly for choṭā khayāldurations: these range from 1’45” (Brindābanī Sāraṅg) to 5’19”
(Pūriyā Dhanāśrī), with Mālkauns, at 3’30”, close to the mean of 3’32”. But interestingly,
while ālāp and khayāl sometimes increase or decrease their three-period moving average
length in step, at other times the trends proceed in contrary motion. We see flexibility in
every dimension.
Choṭā
Ālāp
khayāl
duration
duration

1. Bhairav [Link] [Link]

2. Toḍī [Link] [Link]
3. Śuddh Sāraṅg [Link] [Link]
4. Brindāb anī Sāraṅg [Link] [Link]
5. Bhīmpalāsī [Link] [Link]
6. Multānī [Link] [Link]
7. Pūriyā Dhanāśrī [Link] [Link]
8. Bhūpālī [Link] [Link]
9. Yaman [Link] [Link]
10. Kedār [Link] [Link]
NĪ

Ī
V

ĀR

S
ḌĪ

ṄG

H
AN

T
SĪ

RĪ

ĀG
ṄG

ĀL

UN

AN
RA

EG
11. Bihāg [Link] [Link]
TĀ

ĀŚ
LĀ
TO

ED
RA

ŪP

IH
RA

.M
AI

KA

AS
UL
PA

AN

.B
.K
2.

YA
BH
BH

SĀ
SĀ

.B
M

ĀL
ĪM

12. Mālkauns [Link] [Link]

13
11
10
DH

9.
NĪ

8.

14
.M
1.

DH

6.
BH
BA

YĀ
D

12
13. Megh [Link] [Link]
5.

RI
ŚU

DĀ

PŪ
IN
3.

14. Basant [Link] [Link]

BR

7.
4.

Ālāp duration Choṭā khayāl dura3on

3 per. Mov. Avg. (Ālāp duration) 3 per. Mov. Avg. (Choṭā khayāl dura3on)
Average duration [Link] [Link]

Fig. 3.2.8 Rāg samay cakra: ālāp and choṭā khayāl durations. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

These relativities are shown in another way in Figure 3.2.9, which charts ālāp length as a
percentage of the overall performance duration. For example, in Bhūpālī and Basant, the
ālāp only accounts for some 20% of the overall duration, whereas in Yaman this figure is
44%. And, unusually, in the cases of Mālkaunsand Brindābanī Sāraṅg, the ālāp lasts half of
the performance or more (50% and 55% respectively). If these seem relatively long durations,
they remain acceptable because of the context: a sequence of many short performances,
which would not be the norm in a live concert. Here, in the interests of creating a satisfying
whole, VR seems to be teasing norms without violating them: the ālāps, which on average
account for 37% of the performance time, do not overshadow the khayāls.
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 117

Ālāp Performance
Ālāp as % of duration duration duration

1. Bhairav 39 [Link] [Link]

2. Toḍī 46 [Link] [Link]
3. Śuddh Sāraṅg 30 55 [Link] [Link]
4. Brindāb anī Sāraṅg 55 50 [Link] [Link]
46 46 44
5. Bhīmpalāsī 46 39 40 [Link] [Link]
36
6. Multānī 28 30 31 [Link] [Link]
28 27
7. Pūriyā Dhanāśrī 31 [Link] [Link]
21 20
8. Bhūpālī 21 [Link] [Link]
9. Yaman 44 [Link] [Link]
10. Kedār 36 [Link] [Link]

Ī M NĪ …

Ī
ṄG

AN
NĪ

1 4 EGH
V

1 1 ĀR

T
BH Ī

YA Ī
ḌĪ

1 3 NS
G
ĀS

L
R

AN
11. Bihāg 27 RA [Link] [Link]

. M I HĀ
ĀŚ
TO

TĀ

ED
RA

U
ŪP

M
L
B
AI

.M
PA

KA
UL

AS
AN
DĀ
2.

B
.K
SĀ
BH

.B
12. Mālkauns 50 [Link] [Link]

ĀL
.
DH
IN

10
9.
H

8.
BH
1.

6.
BR
DD

YĀ
5.

12
13. Megh 40 [Link] [Link]
4.
ŚU

RI
PŪ
3.

14. Basant 20 [Link] [Link]

7.
Average: 37 [Link] [Link]
Fig. 3.2.9 Rāg samay cakra: ālāp durations as percentage of track durations. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

Finally, Figure 3.2.10 analyses duration within ālāps. This measures the periods before
and after the arrival on tār Sā, a key goal in the phase schema (as discussed in Exploration
1). In the case of Rāg Śuddh Sāraṅg, which only ascends as far as Pa, I have taken the
second ascent to this note as the point of measurement; and Basant is omitted from the
data, because, as an uttaraṅg pradhanrāg, it begins on tār Sā and hence has no ascending
phase as such (see rubric 14, above). As would be expected, this analysis shows the period
prior to tār Sā (or equivalent highest note) to be significantly the longer, accounting for on
average 77% of the overall ālāp duration. This is approximately the inverse proportion of
the ratio of overall ālāp duration to overall performance duration shown in the previous
figure.
Duration Pre-tār
Duration
after tār Sā as %
up tār Sā*
Sā* of ālāp

1. Bhairav [Link] [Link] 73

2. Toḍī [Link] [Link] 66
3. Śuddh Sāraṅg* [Link] [Link] 76
4. Brindāb anī Sāraṅg [Link] [Link] 72
5. Bhīmpalāsī [Link] [Link] 81
6. Multānī [Link] [Link] 80
7. Pūriyā Dhanāśrī [Link] [Link] 76
V

S
ḌĪ

ṄG

H
AN
SĪ

RĪ

Ī
*

ĀG
ĀR
ĀL
ĀN

UN
RA

EG
ṄG

ĀŚ
LĀ
TO

8. Bhūpālī [Link] [Link] 67

ŪP

ED

IH
RA

M
T

.M
AI

KA
RA

PA

UL

AN

.B
2.

YA

.K
BH
BH

SĀ

ĀL
ĪM

13
SĀ

11
DH

9. Yaman [Link] [Link] 76

10
9.
NĪ

8.

.M
1.

6.
BH
DH

BA

YĀ

12
5.
D

10. Kedār [Link] [Link] 89

RI
DĀ
ŚU

PŪ
IN
3.

BR

11. Bihāg [Link] [Link] 79

7.
4.

12. Mālkauns [Link] [Link] 75 Duration up tār Sā* Duration after tār Sā*
13. Megh [Link] [Link] 92
3 per. Mov. Avg. (Duration up tār Sā*) 3 per. Mov. Avg. (Duration after tār Sā*)

Average: [Link] [Link] 77

(* or highest goal tone)

Fig. 3.2.10 Rāg samay cakra: durations before and after reaching tār Sā within ālāp. Created by author (2024),
CC BY-NC-SA.

In summary, these analyses illustrate the extent to which the relative and absolute
durations of an ālāp and its internal elements can be varied within a given performance
context. The approach here is empirical—measurement based—and could be suggestive
of a wider programme of analysis comparing, say, artists, gharānās and genres from
118 Rāgs Around the Clock

similar standpoints across a wide corpus. But there is also the question of the performer’s
phenomenology—of how duration is felt and judged in experience. This question has
practical relevance for the student, since the pacing of a performance cannot be learnt
just by looking at the clock—even though its absolute length may well be determined by
an external agency, such as a concert organiser or album producer. Having presented VR
with the empiricaldata assembled here, I asked him whether he had consciouslyintended
any of the trends shown. He answered in the negative: the artists had begun recording the
earlier rāgs in the cycle, and then got into a groove, encouraging each other through their
interaction to develop the music artistically; the rest just followed. The data empirically
evinced from the end-product of this process demonstrate that durational proportion is
as important a factor as any other in Indian classical music, and can be similarly nuanced
and creatively fashioned—indeed at several levels. But, like those other factors, this one
also has to be internalisedthrough a long period of practice and accumulated experience.
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 119

Exploration 3: Ālāp Syllables

Among the least explained aspects of khayāl are the non-lexical vocables—syllables
without a meaning—that vocalists use when fashioning an ālāp. For all that this matter is
barely talked about, these sounds are crucial, since a singer cannot sing without singing
something, and the introductory ālāp of a khayāl does not, as a general principle, use any
text. (This changes during a bandiś, when a singer may use the technique of bol ālāp, that
is, ālāp-style passages which deploy words from the song text.) So, if you are singing a
prefatory ālāp, what vocables should you use?
Two options might be sargam syllables and ākār (singing to the vowel ‘ā’)—as in the
case of tāns. But, while your teacher may encourage you to sing sargam syllables while you
are learning ālāp (to stay aware of what you are singing and the direction you are going
in), it is less common to do so in an actual performance. Conversely, one might indeed
use ‘ā’—but often this would be one of only several syllables. In practice, a large range of
vocablesis available: a sample taken from the ālāps VRsings on Rāg samay cakra includes
‘ā’, ‘a’, ‘nā’, ‘mā’, ‘e’, ‘re’, ‘de’, ‘ī’, rī, and ‘nū’—a syllabary typical of many khayāl singers. I
spell these as if they were transliterated from Hindi, Urdu or Sanskrit, to reflect possible
linguistic backgrounds, even though, in an ālāp, such syllables are non-lexical (they do not
form parts of actual words) and non-semantic (they carry no conventional meaning).
When and how does a singer deploy such vocables? And, more speculatively, what is
their source, and what logic governs their combination? In the following discussion, I will
explore both these dimensions—the practical and theoretical—since each has a bearing
on the other.
To begin with the practical, let us revisit VR’s ālāp in Rāg Bhairav, listening again to
Audio Example 3.2.1, and giving particular attention to the syllables sung. Figure 3.2.11
transcribesthese for each phase of the ālāp, in a layout corresponding to that of the sargam
transcriptions in Figures 3.2.1–3.2.4.

Audio Example 3.2.1 [repeated] Rāg Bhairav, ālāp (RSC, Track 1,

00:00–02:01)
[Link]
120 Rāgs Around the Clock



•–ƒ„Ž‹•Š‹‰’Šƒ•‡ȋͲͲǣͲͲ–ͲͲǣ͵͹Ȍ
Nā—ǡ—εā—nāǤ
Nā nā—nu>ā—ǡ”‡—εā—Ǥ
–‡”‡†‹ƒ–‡ƒ• ‡†‹‰’Šƒ•‡ȋͲͲǣ͵ͺ–ͲͳǣͲͳȌ
Ā—ȋȌƒǡ
ā—, ā—ǡ
ā—ȋȌƒnā—Ǥ
‘ Ž—†‹‰ƒ• ‡†‹‰’Šƒ•‡ȋͲͳǣͲʹ–Ͳͳǣ͵ʹȌ
Ā—(m)ā—Ǥ
Ā—nā—ǡ
nā—nā—ε‡ǡ‡ǡ
nā—Ǥ
‡• ‡†‹‰’Šƒ•‡ȋͲͳǣ͵ʹ–ͲͳǣͷͻȌ
Nā—, nu>ā—Ǥ
Nu>āā—ȋȌƒǤ
—>ā—, nu>ā—, nū, nū>e—Ǥ

 Fig. 3.2.11 Rāg Bhairav, ālāp: syllable sequence. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

It is clear from Figure 3.2.11 that the two most common syllables in this ālāp are ‘nā’ and
‘ā’. The prevalence of ‘ā’ confirms ākāras an implicit underlying principle for ālāp singing.
‘Nā’ could be interpreted as an inflection of this which adds a soft dental consonant that
focuses the initial articulation and tuning of svar—especially important in the establishing
phase. In the ascending phase, VRuses ‘ā’ and ‘nā’ in full chest voice as he approaches tār
Sā, to give a strong open sound—appropriately to this serious rāg. As he descends back to
mahdya Sā, he returns to ‘nā’ and its variants, giving this performance a general symmetry.
Prominent among these variants is ‘nu>ā’—which should be read as ‘nu’ morphing into
‘nā’. Initially, ‘nu’ is only briefly touched on, concentrating the beginning of the sound
envelope at the front of the mouth before opening up to ‘ā’ at the back. At the end of
the descending phase, VR more explicitly voices ‘nū’ as a vocable in its own right, before
morphing it to ‘e’. A related tendency is his subtle shaping of the envelope of a vowel with
a half-articulated ‘m’ or ‘n’—notated with parentheses in the Figure—which gives a subtle
rhythmic nudge to the sustained vowel.
The syllabaryin this ālāp, then, is carefully controlled: the overall selection is relatively
confined; adjacent syllables are usually related; and contrasting ones—such as ‘re’—or less
regular ones—such as ‘nū’—are used sparingly and/or at strategic moments. The penchant
for morphing sounds is a more individual aspect of VR’s gāyakī; indeed, in the next track,
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 121

Rāg Toḍī, we find an even more idiosyncratic application. VR’s ālāp in this rāg can be
found complete in Audio Example 3.2.16; and its syllable sequence is notated in Figure
3.2.12, following the conventions used above.

Audio Example 3.2.16 Rāg Toḍī, ālāp (RSC, Track 2, 00:00–02:42)

[Link]


•–ƒ„Ž‹•Š‹‰’Šƒ•‡ȋͲͲǣʹͷ–ͲͳǣͳʹȌ
ȋȌƒ—ǡ
”ƒε‡nā—, a>ā>e—Ǥ
Da re da nā—‡—ǡ
nā—”‡—‡”‡nu>ā—Ǥ
• ‡†‹‰’Šƒ•‡ȋͲͳǣͳ͵–ͲʹǣͳͳȌ
Dā—ǡ
†‡”‡—ǡ
nā—(n)ā—ā—ε‡—‡—Ǥ
ā—ǡ
ā—, nā—ǡ
‡—ȏtārSā] —(m)a(v)e(m)a(d)uā—Ǥ
Nā—ȋȌƒε‡ȋ˜Ȍ‡Ǥ
—Š‡—ȋȌā—Ǥ
‡• ‡†‹‰’Šƒ•‡ȋͲʹǣͳͳ–ͲʹǣͶͳȌ
Ā—ȋŠȌ‡—Š‡Ǧ‡Ǧ‡—, nā—Ǥ
Nā—εƒ—(n)ā—ǡ
”‡—‡—ȋŠȌ‡Š‡, nu>ā—Ǥ

 Fig. 3.2.12 Rāg Toḍī, ālāp: syllable sequence. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.


Syllables such as ‘da’, ‘de’, ‘re’ and ‘nā’, provide a sonic contrast to those VR deployed in
his Bhairav ālāp. Sung in close succession, the initial consonants lend a forward impulse
to the
 musical progression. While these sounds would be recognised as part of a khayāl
syllabary, the morphing phonetic string that VR sings after reaching tār Sā, ‘(m)a(v)e(m)
a(d)uā—’, is more idiosyncratic, as are the succeeding sequences, ‘E—he—(n)ā—’ and ‘Ā—
(h)e—he-e-e—’. What is the intent here? We might surmise that, in the imaginative spirit
of khayāl, VRis pushing a little beyond the orthodox syllabary in order to intensifya peak
expressive moment in a rāg associated with the karuṇ ras, whose qualities are pathos,
122 Rāgs Around the Clock

sadness and compassion. He brings emotional expression to the brink of actual words, but
holds back from crossing the boundary, as this would destroy the very effect of yearning
for the ineffablethat is so essential here.
But, in any case, who decides what is or is not permissible? The question of who or
what determines orthodoxy for ālāp syllablesin khayāl remains moot. Historical writings
offer some guidance, though the lessons may be equivocal. For example, Hakim Karam
Imām’streatise of 1856–7, Ma’adan ul-musīqī, lays down a distinct orthodoxy about which
syllablesmay or may not be used in an ālāp, and in what combinations (Imām 1959: 11–13;
for a commentary on the socio-historical significance of this work see Qureshi2001: 324–
35). Imām roots his maxims in mythological prehistory, invoking ‘Mahadeo’ (Śiva) and
‘the inhabitants of the Nether world’ as the source of the originating syllables ‘ā’, ‘nā’, ‘tā’
and ‘rā’ (Imām 1959: 11–12). But his authority for how this syllabary can be extended (to
include, for example, ‘re’, ‘nām’, ‘tom’), and its elements combined into bols (such as ‘ta-
nā’, ‘ni-rī’), comes from the historically sanctioned practice of the kalāvants—elite singers
whose pedigree goes back to the court of Akbar the Great(r. 1556–1605). Yet Imām is here
discussing the kalāvants as exponents of dhrupad, not khayāl; conversely, he tells us that
the qavvāls, among whom ‘the singing of Khayal has been prevalent’, ‘do not have Alap.
Instead they begin with words of Tarana’ (ibid: 11).
On the one hand, then, Imām’s rubrics would seem not to bear on present-day khayāl
practice, since contemporary khayāliyās indeed do sing ālāps, unlike their qavvālforebears,
but in a different way from dhrupadiyās/kalāvants. On the other hand, a comparison
between the syllables sanctioned by Imām and those used by present-day khayāliyās
reveals some overlaps and connections. So it is worth considering the extent to which the
non-lexical syllabaries of tarānā and dhrupad bear on khayāl—even if indirectly—given
that these remain current in Hindustani music.
Tarānā syllables are familiar to most khayāl singers because this genre remains part of
khayāl practice—a tarānā would optionally be sung at the end of a rāg performance as a
virtuosic follow-on (or alternative) to a choṭā khayāl. The syllables used—such as ‘tā’, ‘nā’,
‘de’, ‘re’, ‘dim’, ‘nūm’—facilitate rapid vocal articulation and lively cross-rhythmic play
(laykārī). They are believed to have their origins in the Persianlanguage—which would be
consistent with the cultivation of this form by the Sufi qavvāls. Complementing this, the
syllabary of dhrupad, often termed nom tom, is held to have its roots in Hindu mantras,
quintessentially ‘oṃ ananta nārāyaṇa hari oṃ’, from which syllables such as ‘ā’, ‘nā’,
‘ta’, ‘ra’, ‘rī’ and ‘nūm’ are argued to be derived (Sanyal and Widdess 2004: 156–7). Such
syllables, along with related ones such as ‘te’ and ‘tūm’, are key to the life force of dhrupad
ālāp—appropriately also known as nom tom ālāp.
While in both tarānā and nom tom ālāp, syllables can be permutated in many ways,
there are also implicit conventions governing their combination. This takes us back to the
orthodoxy reinforced by Imām, even though he gives no systematic rationale for which
combinations are desirable and which are circumscribed. By contrast, Sanyaland Widdess
(2004: 154–6) successfully sketch out an explicit syntaxfor the combination and ordering
of dhrupad syllables, even though the authors acknowledge that their formula may not
be rigorously followed in practice; and Widdess develops some of these ideas further in a
subsequent analysis (2022).
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 123

All this sheds light on khayāl. On the one hand, most syllables used in a khayāl ālāp can
also be found in the syllabaries of dhrupad, tarānā, or both (given that there are some
overlaps). The fact that syllables such as ‘do’, ‘mī’ or ‘to’ would sound eccentric in a khayāl
ālāp is probably related to the fact that they would not be sanctioned in dhrupad or tarānā
either. For khayāl singers, then, these genres—with which most are familiar—might act
as an unconscious regulating presence in the background. And, for some, their influence
might be more conscious. When I discussed this matter with VR, he confirmed that dhrupad
is a subtle influence on his ālāp style, and reminded me that he had spent several months
learning dhrupad with Ustād Wasifuddin Dagar; indeed, his own guruji Pandit Bhimsen
Joshi (1922–2011), also studied dhrupad. When singing an ālāp, VR told me, he holds the
mantra (or its devotional spirit) in his head as would a dhrupad singer, even though he
may not literally be voicing its syllables.
On the other hand, part of what characterises the use of syllables in khayāl ālāp is its
self-differentiation from those other genres. For one thing, not all their syllables seem
equally available—VR once reprimanded me for using ‘te’, presumably because it too
strongly connotes dhrupad. But it is also a question of delivery style: not at all like tārānā,
with its rapid-fire syllables that fully engage with tāl, and different too from dhrupadālāp,
which is considerably less melismatic than its khayāl relative. In khayāl the enunciation
of syllables may be fuzzy, and the rules for how they go together are most definitely
so, compared with the quasi-syntactic constraints that Sanyal and Widdess identify for
dhrupad. Even so, there are implicit understandings of appropriateness that are more
elusive to define—more of an ethos than a syntax. In sketching some of these conventions
below, I return from theory to practice, and to a more specific response to a student’s
question, ‘What syllablesshould I sing, and when?’
1. Vowels such as ‘ā’ and ‘e’ are commonly sung; ‘ī’ is also possible, though less
frequent.
2. These can also be sung with an initial consonant, giving options such ‘nā’ and ‘re’
(more common), and ‘de’ and ‘rī’ (less common, but still appropriate); this helps
focus tuning, and perhaps also alludes to more formalised syllabaries, such as that
of dhrupad.
3. Syllable choice may be conditioned by register. Hence ‘ā’ and ‘nā’ tend to be more
congenial to the lower register, ‘e’ to the middle, ‘ī’ to the higher; but this is not to
say that any of these syllables cannot be used in other registers.
4. Carefully measured variety among syllables can help underscore the flow and
direction of melodic invention; but don’t have too big a selection at any one time—
it is undesirable to draw attention to the syllables themselves.
5. Rarer syllables should be used sparingly and in strategic places. For example, ‘nū’
might best be used at or towards the end of a phrase to indicate closure (as would
be the case with ‘nūm’ in dhrupad).

As our brief look at VR’s ālāp renditions has shown, much is also dependent on the
expressive context—this is khayāl after all, a genre noted for its range of expression and
creative imagination. For example, when singing tār Sā, ‘rī’ is a congenial syllable, since
124 Rāgs Around the Clock

it focuses svar, constrains the airflow, and hence can be sustained for a long time; on the
other hand, the same note can be sung in full chest voice to a syllablesuch as ‘nā’ if a certain
robustness is appropriate—as in VR’s Bhairav ālāp. What seems particularly important to
his gāyakī—no doubt an aspect of his grounding in the Kirānā gharānā and his affinities
for dhrupad—is the intimate connection between syllable and svar. On any given svar,
changing the syllable will change its formant—the relative strength of overtones within
the note, and hence its tone colour. This perhaps explains VR’s calculated penchant for
morphing vowels and blurring syllables.
Thus, the salience of a particular note within a rāg, the expressive connotations of ras,
and the colouring one accordingly seeks to give it, can all be affected by the syllable chosen.
This is not to say that these things are invariably consciously calculated—more probably
they are imbibed through an intuitive absorption of style. Compared with dhrupad and
tarānā, the syllabary of a khayāl ālāp is more open, flexible, and personal. While some
artists and gharānās may choose to keep to a circumscribed syllable set, we have seen
that, for VR, a measure of play within this parameter is part of the rich expressive world
afforded by khayāl.

Conclusion
The preceding explorations have examined some key principles that bear on how one
sings an ālāp. In the process I have sought also to illuminate VR’s ālāp renditions on Rāg
samay cakra, and to illustrate aspects of his gāyakī. Throughout, I have allowed a tension
to play out between providing pragmatic rubrics for practice and developing these into a
theoryof ālāp in its own right. To that extent I have allowed my text somewhat to exceed
what would have been strictly necessary for a purely practical primer.
The tendency to theorise here is no doubt a response to the far-reaching nature of ālāp
in Indian classical music; ālāp carries with itself a complex story that asks to be told. But
what is also at the heart of the matter, is the way a beautiful, or touching, or searching
ālāp may exceed or qualify any theoretical rubrics that can be written for it. This is not to
dismiss the role of theory—whose own essence is a kind of reflection and exploration (not
unlike an ālāp). But it is to note that theory and practice are rightly not identical—a point
honoured in the śāstras, which sought to codify and recount past practices while also
acknowledging their evolution in the present. Theory—whether communicated orally or
set down in practice—will always try to capture the riches of practice and pass these on
to future generations. Practice will always pull at the moorings of theory, and sometimes
slip them, especially if your search is to touch the divine. Perhaps the orally transmitted
and improvised nature of rāg music makes any kind of comprehensive theory of ālāp
fundamentally impossible. Any claim that the rubrics I have tried to draw out here might
make to universality is countervailed by a practice that nudges all such formulations
towards the status of heuristics—of rules of thumb.
VRdraws attention to a strongly pragmatic and contingent dimension to performing an
ālāp, when he says, ‘everything affects your ālāp, not just the rāg, but the compositionthat
follows it, the accompanists, the audience, the room you’re singing in, your mood’. These
things would have had an impact on the performances recorded on Rāg samay cakra,
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 125

involving particular people, in a particular place, on a particular day. Nonetheless, what

we have been able to explore through that album is something that also exceeds those
contingencies. Its ālāps connect with those performed by countless other musicians, and,
as we have glimpsed, have resonances with treatises going back through a long and rich
history. My hope is to have conveyed from the intense specifics of the performed moment
something of that bigger picture and abundant culture.
126 Rāgs Around the Clock

3.3 How Do You Sing a Choṭā Khayāl?

Introduction: Song and Its Elaboration

In Indian classical vocal music, ālāp finds its complement in song. Ālāp—free from the
constraints of text and metre—explores rāg in purely musical terms. Song—animated by
words and rhythms—grounds music in images and ideas. And while it may be a truism to
say that song is vital to all Indian vocal types (whether khayāl, dhrupad, ṭhumrī, bhajan,
ghazal, varṇam, kirtan, filmi, and so on), what distinguishes genres at the classical end
of the continuum is the way they embed song into a process of improvised musical
development.
In the vocabulary of Hindustani classical music, one word for song is cīz, though the
more commonly used term is bandiś. The equivalent in instrumental music is gat, though
instrumentalists also talk about playing a bandiś, especially if this also happens to be a
song melody, as is not uncommonly the case. Significantly, bandiś carries the meaning of
‘binding’ (Ranade2006: 71–4). A bandiś is bound to, and bound together by, the underlying
tāl framework: it belongs to the nibaddh (metred) stage of the performance; by contrast,
an ālāp belongs to the prior, anibaddh (unmetred) stage. Bandiś, gat and cīz are also
often translated as ‘composition’—though this differs from the western understanding of
the word, since this one fixed element of a performance is only a few lines or phrases
long, and usually lasts not much more than a minute. This is why considerable musical
extemporisation around a bandiś is needed to make a fully-fledged performance. The
bandiś, used as a reference point throughout, is what binds the elaborated passages into a
larger whole.
Here, I use the concepts improvisation, extemporisation and elaboration somewhat
interchangeably. I do not intend these terms in any transcendental sense, to imply the
continuous, spontaneous generation of utterly novel ideas. Rather, Hindustani performers
internalisea large stock of phrases, formulae, gestures, shapes and schemata through many
hundreds of repetitions over thousands of hours of riyāz, which they then combine and
permutate during a performance—sometimes predictably, sometimes unexpectedly, often
engagingly, occasionally breathtakingly. (More detailed de-mystifications of the process
include Napier2006, Nooshinand Widdess2006, Zadeh2012.)
To present and improvisearound a bandiśin the khayāl style is what is meant by ‘singing
a khayāl’. In this book, I use italics to denote performance in this vein, and upright font
for the genre itself; hence, also, in dhrupad one sings a dhrupad, and in ṭhumrīone sings
a ṭhumrī. In fact, khayāl singers sing two types of khayāl: the slow-tempo baṛā khayāl, and
the medium- or fast-tempo choṭā khayāl. A full-length performance includes both types,
while a shorter performance is more likely to feature just the choṭā khayāl—which means
‘small khayāl’ or ‘short khayāl’. In this section, I focus on the latter type, which, while less
weighty than a baṛā khayāl, has its own complexities and presents its own challenges for
the performer (I consider baṛā khayāl—‘large khayāl’—later, in Section 4.3).
How, then, do you sing a choṭā khayāl? In the first instance, I explore this question
with examples from Vijay Rajput’s album Rāg samay cakra, on which all the khayāls are
choṭā khayāls. I take his performance of Rāg Bhairav (Track 1) as an initial case study, and
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 127

then widen the canvas with further empiricalanalyses of extracts from the entire album,
examining the full range of elaborative techniques he employs. In a second approach to
the question—a more formally theoretical account—I draw the threads of these analyses
together into an extensive series of rubrics for performance; ultimately, I speculate
whether what underpins the flow of a choṭā khayāl might be something like a grammar.
All this amounts to quite a journey; if its latter stages push beyond the everyday discourse
of musicians, I nonetheless continue to make the pragmatics of practice my touchstone.
Readers are of course at liberty to tarry with the parts that interest them most.

Case Study: A Choṭā Khayāl in Rāg Bhairav

The choṭā khayālin Rāg Bhairavheard on Track 1 of Rāg samay cakra is among the simplest
of the cycle, and hence a good starting point for analysis. Here, VR demonstrates that even
a minimal set of ingredients—the relatively straightforward delivery of a bandiśtogether
with a few simple tāns—can make an aesthetically satisfying performance. We hear him
in Audio Example 3.3.1; a notation of the bandiś—‘Dhana dhana murata’—can be found
above, in Section 2.5.1.

Audio Example 3.3.1 Rāg Bhairav, choṭā khayāl (RSC, Track 1, 02:00–05:06)
[Link]

For this bandiś in tīntāl, VR chooses a stately medium tempo (madhya lay)—about 105
beats per minute (bpm)—which matches the sober, devotional mood of Bhairav. Typically
of many a bandiś, this one does not begin on sam, the first beat of the tāl, but with a
lead-in from several beats earlier—in this case from khālī, beat 9. Also typical is the way
tabla player Athar Hussain Khan delays his own entrance until beat 13 (he might have
held back longer, until sam). VR presents the sthāī, the first part of the bandiś, according
to convention—repeating the first line, singing the remaining lines just once, and then
returning to the first line, which thus begins to function as a refrain. This opening portion
can be heard in Audio Example 3.3.2.

Audio Example 3.3.2 Rāg Bhairav, sthāī (RSC, Track 1, 02:00–02:45)

[Link]

Having reached this point, VR has the option of sticking with the sthāī and extemporising
around it. However, on this occasion he goes down another stylistically sanctioned path:
he segues into the antarā, the second part of the composition (Audio Example 3.3.3), thus
giving us the bandiś complete before any elaboration begins. In the antarā, as in the sthāī,
he repeats the first line as per convention; and because the antarā cannot stand alone—it is
a contrasting episode—once its final line is sung, VR segues back to the first line of the sthāī.
128 Rāgs Around the Clock

Audio Example 3.3.3 Rāg Bhairav, antarā (with lead in) and return to sthāī
(RSC, Track 1, 02:43–03:30)
[Link]

Already this structure, with its various levels of repetitionand contrast, begins to imbue the
choṭā khayālwith shape and form. While VR keeps the execution simple, he does not lose
the opportunity to add judicious embellishments to the melody, especially when material
is repeated. Most notably, he applies the technique of gamak—a wide shake—to create
expressive intensity at salient points in the composition. Several instances are captured in
Audio Example 3.3.4: (a) on the last line of the sthāī (on the word ‘pyārī’), which already
has a tān like form; (b) on the equivalent line of the antarā (on ‘vicārī’), which echoes its
forebear and rhymes with it; and (c) on the repetition of the first line of the antarā (at
‘mohane suhave’) in figuration that fills the gap between Dha and tār Sā, immediately
followed (at the climactic ‘bālī bālī’) by a gesture that similarly fills the gap between tār
Re and tār Ma. Entirely suited to the steady madhya lay, these inflections add gravity and
substance.

Audio Example 3.3.4 Rāg Bhairav: gamak inflections (RSC, Track 1):
(a) 02:28–02:36
(b) 03:11–03:20
(c) 03:02–03:12)
[Link]

Having completed his exposition of the bandiś, VR now needs to extend his performance.
On this track, he does this quite simply, by presenting a series of short, eight-beat tāns—
melodic runs—that succeed the first half-line of the sthāī. As the latter also lasts eight
beats, each statement and its associated tān in total lasts one āvartan of the sixteen-beat
tīntālcycle. Three such iterations—captured in Audio Example 3.3.5 and notated in Figure
3.3.1—are enough to create contrast and move the proceedings forward.

Audio Example 3.3.5 Rāg Bhairav: sargam tāns (RSC, Track 1, 03:20–03:59)
[Link]

tīntāl
o 3 x 2
9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

G M D D P – M M ṠN DP –D MP GM P P –
Dha - na dha - na mu - - ra - ta

G M D D P – M M SR GM PD NṠ –N DP MG RS
Dha - na dha - na mu - - ra - ta

G M D D P – M M ṠN DP MP DP MP DP MG M
Dha - na dha - na mu - - ra - ta
Fig. 3.3.1 Rāg Bhairav: sargam tāns, notated. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 129

These are sargam tāns—i.e. tāns sung to sargam syllables(we will consider other types of
tān below). Such examples can be readily emulated by students, and are often recorded
in their notebooks, either dictated by their teacher, or invented by themselves. Repeating
tāns many times over in one’s riyāzhelps build a stock of fixed ideas that can be dissected
and permutated in ever-new variations in the moment of performance—as discussed in
the preceding reflections on improvisation. VR has often reminded me that there is no
shame in drawing from memorised, pre-composedmaterials on stage: ‘even guruji [Pandit
Bhimsen Joshi] used to do it’, he has told me more than once: ‘the first few tāns were
always composed. Once you get settled in, then you can improvise.’
As it happens, VR holds back from extended tān work in this opening track—we will
hear more elaborate ones later. In the final stages of this choṭā khayāl (from 01:58 of Audio
Example 3.3.1), VR simply returns to the sthāī, reprising it in its entirety, and including a
repetitionof the first line that has a slight variationat ‘Kr̥̥ṣṇamurāri’.
Practically all Indian classical performances end with a tihāī—a figure repeated three
times—and this one is no exception. As we hear in Audio Example 3.3.6, VR’s strategy is
again straightforward, and in fact typical of the Kirānā gharānā(stylistic school), which is
not preoccupied with excessive rhythmic complexity. Having reprised the sthāī, VR takes
its first half-line, ‘dhana dhana murata’ and sings it three times, so that the last iteration
ends on sam with the word ‘Kr̥̥ṣṇa’. On cue, the tabla stops playing, and VR winds down
the performance, improvising a brief, unmetred continuation of the phrase in the vein of
an ālāp, which brings us home to Sā.

Audio Example 3.3.6 Rāg Bhairav, choṭā khayāl: concluding tihāī (RSC, Track 1,
04:32–05:06)
[Link]

By way of a coda, it is worth pointing out that a well-written bandiśprovides an excellent

encapsulation of the grammarand melodic behaviour of a rāg. As George Ruckertputs it
(2004: 54), ‘The fixed compositions carry the maps of the rāgs—the balances of the notes,
the moods, the typical phrases, the proper way to begin and end—in short, the lore of the
rāgs’. And so it is the case with the present composition, which exemplifies many salient
features of Bhairav, some of which were noted in Section 2.5.1. A useful exercise is to
note which pitches are used to begin and end each phrase, and which can be dwelled
upon. The bandiś can suggest material for improvisation: taking several adjacent notes
of a composition (such as G–M–D, or GRGMGR), slowing them down, singing them non-
metrically while preserving their relative prominence, and applying discreet decoration
can, for example, yield suitable phrases for an ālāp.
Having narrated VR’s progress through a single rāg performance, I now take a
complementary look across Rāg samay cakra as a whole, highlighting particular techniques
VR uses to extend a choṭā khayāl. In what follows, I discuss typical vehicles of musical
expansion, such as bol ālāp, tāns and behlāvā. But I first consider how VR exploits the
potential of the bandiś itself for extending a performance.
130 Rāgs Around the Clock

Treatments of the Bandiś: Simplicity and Repetition

Although VR sometimes keeps things simple for didactic purposes (as in his Bhairav
performance), his purpose is also to show that this can still be musically satisfying.
Simplicity can be a creative option when placed on a continuum encompassing more
elaborate treatments. Across the course of rāg samay cakra, we find several rising
waves of complexity which fall back to simpler formations—peaks and troughs broadly
commensurate with the length of tracks, as mapped in Figure 3.2.7. For example, one of
the most developed workings of material comes mid-way through, in Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī
(Track 7), followed by relatively straightforward treatments of Kedārand Bihāg(Tracks 10
and 11).
Most straightforward of all is Track 4, Brindābanī Sāraṅg. At 1’45”, the choṭā khayāl
on this track is the shortest on the album—shorter even than its prefatory ālāp. The
khayāl focuses exclusively on the bandiś: we do not find even the handful of tāns heard
in Bhairav. This perhaps reflects the fact that the bandiś is relatively long: the sthāī and
the antarā each have three lines (Audio Example 3.3.7). The bandiś also has an interesting
cross-metrical structure (for details, see the rāg description in Section 2.5.4). As if to help
us savour this feature, VR repeats the second line of the sthāī in addition to the more usual
repetitionof the first. There is also a nice enjambement between the last line of the antarā
and the return to the first line of the sthāī. By dispensing with any further development,
VR allows the flowing elegance of the bandiś to speak for itself.

Audio Example 3.3.7 Rāg Brindābanī Sāraṅg, sthāī and antarā (RSC,
Track 4, 02:09–03:25)
[Link]

In Rāg Bhīmpalāsī (Track 5), VR applies repetition intensively throughout the bandiś (see
Section 2.5.5 for the notation). Here the sthāī has just two lines. He sings the first line three
times, the second twice; returns to the opening line, again singing it three times; goes back
to the second line, again sung twice, then back to the first. The first line of the antarā is
similarly intensified, in this case being sung four times; the second and third lines are both
sung twice. The complete sequence of events is shown line-by-line in Figure 3.3.2, which
should be read in conjunction with Audio Example 3.3.8; time codes in the figure (and in
the discussion below) are given for both the album track itself and for this audio example
respectively.

Audio Example 3.3.8 Rāg Bhīmpalāsī, choṭā khayāl (RSC, Track 5,

02:26–05:20)
[Link]
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 131

Sthāī (02:26/00:00)
1st line x 3
2nd line x 2
1st line x 3 (* varied 2nd time)
2nd line x 2
1st line x 1.5

Harmonium interlude (03:36/01:10) for 1.5 āvartans

Antarā (03:44/01:18)
1st line x 4 (* varied 3rd time)
2nd line x 2 (* varied 2nd time)
3rd line x 2

Sthāī (04:33/02:09)
1st line x 2 (tabla tihāī 2nd time)
2nd line
1st half-line x 3 (= final tihāī)

Fig. 3.3.2 Rāg Bhīmpalāsī, choṭā khayāl: repetition structure. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

Again, there is no tān work in this choṭā khayāl; repetition is virtually the sole means of
expansion. But this is never monotonous, thanks to various subtleties that are also traces
of the performers’ own enjoyment and invention. These include the short harmonium
interlude by Mahmood Dholpuri at 03:36/01:10, which picks up where VR breaks off,
halfway through the first line of the sthāī, and artfully foreshadows the second line of the
upcoming antarā. Then there are variants of individual lines—indicated with asterisks
in Figure 3.3.2. VR is careful not to overdo this: he needs only one variant to complement
several iterations of the original. Added to these variants are numerous subliminal
inflections to the rhythmic and textual delivery of the ostensibly non-varied lines, and
other elements such as tabla player Athar Hussain Khan’s tihāī a few seconds after the
reprise of the sthāī at 04:33/02:09.
Here, then, we get a strong sense that VRis composing with the composition. Out of the
small form of the bandiś he creates something bigger. The bandiś need not simply serve
as a foil for improvisatoryepisodes, but can itself act as a basis for musical expansion. We
can hear a similar approach in Rāg Śuddh Sāraṅg(Track 3, from 01:34; notation in Section
2.5.3). The choṭā khayāl extends itself through substantial repetition within the bandiś
(especially the sthāī); and it is only in the last minute or so of the track that VR begins to
apply other techniques of expansion, such as bol ālāp and tāns (devices I discuss below).
132 Rāgs Around the Clock

First-line Accumulation
The technique of expansion-through-repetition finds its epitome in a process I term first-
line accumulation. While the first line of both sthāī and antarā is normally repeated once,
or possibly twice, sometimes—most notably in fast-tempo khayāls—it can be repeated
repeatedly, to the point where a listener might lose count of how many times. And this is
the point: in such a context, the first line’s role as a formal element in a balanced poetic
structure is temporarily suspended as it becomes a point of intrinsically musical focus—a
kind of time loop. The aforementioned performance of Rāg Śuddh Sāraṅg, where VR at
one point repeats the first line of the sthāī five times (Track 3, 02:34–03:04), verges on
this category. But for an archetypal example in Rāg samay cakra we should consider Rāg
Yaman(Track 9; bandiś notation in Section 2.5.9). VR launches this choṭā khayāl by singing
the sthāī’s opening line, ‘Śyām bejāi āja moraliyā̃’̃ , a total of eleven times—as excerpted in
Audio Example 3.3.9 and transcribedin Figure 3.3.3.

Audio Example 3.3.9 Rāg Yaman, sthāī: first-line accumulation (RSC,

Track 9, 03:10–04:01)
[Link]
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 133

tīntāl
o 3 x 2
9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Sthāī

i G – R S – S Ṇ Ḍ Ṇ R G R G –
Śyām ba - jā - - i ā- - ja mu - ra - li - yā̃ ,

ii – G – R S – S Ṇ Ḍ Ṇ R G R G –
Śyām ba - jā - - i ā- - ja mu - ra - li - yā̃ ,

G R G Ḿ P
iii – G – R S – S Ṇ Ḍ Ṇ R G Ḿ
Śyām ba - jā - - i ā- - ja mu - ra - li - yā̃ ,

iv G G – R S – S Ṇ Ḍ Ṇ R G R G –
Śyām ba - jā - - i ā- - ja mu - ra - li - yā̃ ,

ḾG
v – G – R ṆḌ ṆR S Ṇ –N – R G Ḿ – G
Śyām ba - jā - - i ā- - ja mu - ra - li - - yā̃ ,

vi – G – R ṆḌ ṆR S Ṇ Ḍ Ṇ R G R G R
Śyām ba - jā - - i ā- - ja mu - ra - li - yā̃ ,

vii G G – R ṆḌ ṆR S Ḍ – Ṇ R G R G –
Śyām ba - jā - - i ā- - ja mu - ra - li - yā̃ ,

viii – GR GP GR S – S Ṇ Ḍ Ṇ R G R G –
Śyām ba - jā - - i ā- - ja mu - ra - li - yā̃

ix – G – R ṆḌ ṆR S Ḍ Ṇ R G R G R
Śyām ba - jā - - i ā- ja mu - ra - li - yā̃ ,

x G G – R ṆḌ ṆR S Ṇ Ḍ Ṇ R G R G –
Śyām ba - jā - - i ā- - ja mu - ra - li - yā̃ ,

xi – G – R ṆḌ ṆR S Ṇ Ḍ Ṇ R G R G –
Śyām ba - jā - - i ā- - ja mu - ra - li - yā̃ ,
Fig. 3.3.3 Rāg Yaman, sthāī: first-line accumulation. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

I will return to this passage presently, but first let us consider a couple of further examples.
In Rāg Toḍī (bandiś notation in Section 2.5.2), the opening line, ‘Laṅgara kā̃k ̃ arīya jīna
māro’, is heard eight times, and then four times more after a brief deflection to the second
134 Rāgs Around the Clock

line, ‘more aṅgavā’—so, twelve times in total (Audio Example 3.3.10(a)). This intensification
is reflected in the antarā, whose opening line, ‘suna pave morī’, is heard five times (Audio
Example 3.3.10(b)).

Audio Example 3.3.10 Rāg Toḍī: first-line accumulation:

(a) sthāī (RSC, Track 2, 02:41–03:50)
(b) antarā (ibid., 04:14–04:46)
[Link]

In Rāg Basant, VR sings the opening line of the sthāī, ‘Phulavā binata ḍāra ḍāra’, nine times
in succession, and that of the antarā, ‘Ai rī eka sukumārī’, seven times (Audio Example
3.3.11 (a) and (b); bandiś notation in Section 2.5.14). The process in fact seems endemic
across this khayāl: more unusually, it is applied to the third line of the antarā, ‘āvenge
nandalāla’, which is sung five times, a gesture perhaps unconsciously triggered by its
resemblance to the opening of the sthāī (Audio Example 3.3.11 (c)).

Audio Example 3.3.11 Rāg Basant: repetition–accumulation:

(a) sthāī opening line (RSC, Track 14, 00:57–01:25)
(b) antarā opening line (ibid., 02:03–02:28)
(c) antarā, third line (ibid., 02:29–02:46)
[Link]

As can be heard from these several examples, such intensive repetition is an occasion
for melodic and rhythmic variation. The process needs discreet handling—as illustrated
in Figure 3.3.3, which transcribes the opening of the sthāī from Rāg Yaman (cf. Audio
Example 3.3.9, above). Here, the variationprocess does not begin until the end of iteration
iii, with a melodic flourish on the last syllable, after which the fourth statement is sung
‘straight’. In iteration (v), VR decorates the second vibhāg to create what is in effect a
little bol tān(ṆḌ ṆR) on the last two syllables of ‘bajāi’. Subsequently, this figure virtually
becomes a fixture, being subtly voiced in every iteration except for the eighth, which
instead makes a short tān out of the content of the first vibhāg. (Such morphing of identity
perhaps also gives an indication of how bandiśes mutate over time.) We can also note tiny
rhythmic displacements after sam in iterations (v) and (ix), which add further life and
unpredictability to the sequence.
If these are the manifest characteristics of such intensive repetition, what is its function?
In choṭā khayāls that follow extended and intensive baṛā khayāls, first-line accumulation
creates a kind of clearing of the air; gives the soloist a chance to mentally re-group; and
gives the accompanists, especially the tabla player, a chance to move into the limelight
for a short period—as can be heard at the onset of the choṭā khayāl in Rāg Yaman on
the Twilight Rāgs album, Track 6. On Rāg samay cakra, first-line accumulation provides
contrast between the different rāg renditions, as well as providing didactic exemplars of
how to do it in any context. As the name suggests, the aesthetic effect of such intensive
repetition is accumulative. Rather than stalling the proceedings, the process actually
creates momentum, tension and excitement by generating the expectation of moving on,
while withholding change. We might see this as a melodic embodiment of the principle
of tāl: a ceaseless cycling which nevertheless is also part of a directional drive. Subtle
variationsof the kind analysed in Figure 3.3.3 underwrite this tendency: their succession
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 135

creates an expansion of content, a localised sense of development, the whole becoming

greater than the sum of the parts.
Even though a bandiś can serve as its own resource for extending a performance,
sooner or later, a soloist will reach a point where they have to do something else in order
to create contrast and further expansion. In the following sections, I will consider some of
the available techniques for doing so.

Bol Ālāp/Vistār
Musical developmentcan flow quite naturally out of the bandiś. A technique that facilitates
this is bol ālāp, in which the soloist improvisesin the manner of an ālāp using the words—
bols—of the composition, over the continuing tāl. In Rāg Multānī (Track 6), VR sings a
bol ālāp after completing the opening sthāī—as we hear in Audio Example 3.3.12 and see
transcribedin Fig 3.3.4 (for a notation of the complete bandiś see Section 2.5.6).

Audio Example 3.3.12 Rāg Multānī: bol ālāp (RSC, Track 6, 01:45–02:22)
[Link]
136 Rāgs Around the Clock

tīntāl
x 2 o 3
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Sthāī
P Ḿ G Ḿ G R S S
Ru - na - ka jhu -na - ka mo - rī

Ṇ S G Ḿ Ḿ P Ḿ G [harmonium interlude] ~~~~

pā - - ya - la bā - - je,

bol ālāp
(i)
~~~~~~~~~~ ~~ /P – – – – – P – – – –
bā - - - - - - je

(ii)
– Ḿ
G – Ḿ
G –R Ṇ S – – S S – Ḿ
G
Ru - - - - na - - - - ka Ru - - -

(iii)
GGḾPḾP /
– Ḿ – – – – ḾḾ
P – Ḿ
G N D P –
- (ā) - - - - - - - (ā) - - - (mā) -
[bā]
Sthāī
– ḎP Ḿ – P
Ḿ – P Ḿ
G Ḿ
G\ S P Ḿ G Ḿ G R S S
Ṇ

- - - - - - je Ru-na - ka jhu -na - ka morī

Ṇ S G Ḿ […]
pā - - ya - la […]
Fig. 3.3.4 Rāg Multānī: bol ālāp, transcription. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

The transcription includes essentials of melodic ornamentation without seeking to

be too granular. Similarly, it locates the rhythmic position of notes in the bol ālāp only
approximately in relation to the metrical tīntāl grid indicated at the top of the notation.
This is partly for technical reasons, but also because, paradoxically, paying too much
attention to precise rhythmic positioning would be contrary to a singing style whose
spirit is to detach itself from precise rhythmic positioning: while the character of the
tāl is nibaddh (bound—metrical), the melody gravitates towards the opposite condition,
anibaddh(unbound—non-metrical).
The notation remains sufficiently sensitive to capture these qualities. It clearly reflects
how, in contrast to the sthāī, VR’s bol ālāp melody is melismatic (several notes to one
syllable) rather than syllabic; and how the soloist begins his phrases on non-structural
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 137

points of the metrical framework—in this case on (or around) beats 6, 14 and 11 (the three
episodes are labelled with roman numerals). This positioning is probably less the result
of conscious calculation and more the outcome of intuitive avoidance of key metrical
markers, such as the beginning of vibhāgs. Even so, a soloist has to keep one ear open for
the tāl. Phrase (iii) ends directly on khālī—which means that when VR resumes the sthāī it
is initially shunted one beat ‘to the right’, and he has to compress the two syllables of ‘morī’
into a single beat, so that the second half of the first line (beginning ‘pāyala’) is correctly
aligned on sam.
Melodically, VR begins phrase (i) of his bol ālāp by sustaining Pa, and ends it by falling
to Sā. Following this, Pa remains the organising tone, though now as a goal rather than a
point of prolongation: in phrase (ii) it is approached from below with the motion S–ḾG–Ḿ,
and in phrase (iii) from above with NDP. All the while, there is subtle melodic decoration
appropriate to the supple contours of Multānī. We should recall from our prior discussion
of ālāp (Section 3.2) that the term ālaptimeans ‘to express or elaborateraga’; as he gradually
expands the compass of his free melodic explorations, this is just what VR is doing here.
In the expressive flow of bol ālāp, a vocalist may also loosen ties to the text itself—
choosing just one or two words and even re-ordering them; sometimes phonetic integrity
also falls away as text syllables dissolve into sustained vowels. Figure 3.3.4 reveals how,
in phrase (i), VRselects just two words—‘baje’ and ‘runaka’—from the bandiś, dislocating
them from their surrounding text and reversing their original order. In phrase (ii), which
would begin with ‘runaka’, the first vowel, ‘u’, soon morphs into ‘ā’, on which VR fashions
a long melismatic melody. Rather than completing the word (with ‘-naka’) he ends the
melody with ‘-je’, the second syllable of ‘baje’, thus conflating the fragments of the original
two words. Clearly, there is a shift of aesthetic priorities in this semantic and phonetic
dissolution, away from the syntaxand storytelling of the bandiś, and towards the general
feelings engendered by it and the rāg itself.
It is only a short step from these conditions to using this anibaddh technique without
words at all—instead using ākār (singing to the vowel ‘ā’) or other non-semantic syllables.
This happens in VR’s choṭā khayāl for the monsoonrāg Megh(Track 13), captured in Audio
Example 3.3.13. As before, these anibaddh passages flowfrom statements of the first line of
the bandiś (‘Ghanana ghanana ghana ghora ghora’). The first has a strong focus on the pitch
Re (prominent in Megh), and begins with the syllable ‘gho-’, taken from ‘ghor’ in the bandiś
text. But ‘o’ quickly shifts to ‘a’, and then to ‘re’ and ‘nā’—non-semantic syllables often
used in an ālāp(see Section 3.2, Exploration 3). Something similar happens in the second
anibaddh passage, which uses the syllable sequence ‘gho-’, ‘ā’, ‘dā’, ‘nā’, in a melodic ascent
to tār Sā. Aesthetically, there is no discernible difference between this style of delivery and
that of bol ālāp (which uses actual words), even though any contact with the bandiś text is
highly attenuated.

Audio Example 3.3.13 Rāg Megh: bol ālāp/vistār (RSC, Track 13,
2:15–03:09)
[Link]

Do we need a different name for a bol ālāp without bols? The question prompts a brief
digression on the vicissitudes of Indian music terminology. Pragmatically, VR tends to
138 Rāgs Around the Clock

describe this type of wordless elaboration simply as ‘ālāp’ (even though, in this context,
a tāl is also present). Alternatively, some commentators might apply the term vistār,
meaning ‘expansion’ (for example, Ruckert 2004: 57–9)—though, vistār is also sometimes
used interchangeably with another term, baṛhat, meaning ‘increase’ (Clayton2000: 137–8).
For some, baṛhat has the more specific connotation of a systematic process of ālāp-style
elaborationover a tāl, gradually rising through the scale degrees of a rāg—a procedure that
dominates a baṛā khayāl, but may also be intermittently encountered in a choṭā khayāl. But
then others also understand vistār this way; while yet others use baṛhat to mean a more
generalised process of growth and acceleration across a rāg performance (Ruckert 2004:
57). My own preferences in this book are to reserve the term ālāp for the unaccompanied
ālāp ‘proper’ that opens a performance; to use vistār for bol ālāp-style passages without
words in a choṭā khayāl (as discussed above), or sometimes even as a synonym for bol ālāp
itself; and to reserve baṛhat for the more thorough expansion process of a baṛā khayāl (as
discussed in Section 4.3).
As well as knowing how to sing bol ālāp or vistār, there is also the question of when
to do so. As with much else in a choṭā khayāl, there are seemingly no completely hard
and fast rules for this, only certain conventions that can be expressed heuristically and
then applied and adapted according to mood and circumstance. Some possible models are
shown in Figure 3.3.5—schematised respectively from VR’s renditions of Rāgs Multānīand
Megh, as already discussed, and Yaman, discussed below.

(a) MODEL 1(cf. Multānīǡ”ƒ ͸Ȍǣbol ālāp ™‹–Š‹sthāīǡ–Š‡™‹–Š‹antarā

sthāī sthāī  bol ālāp /  sthāī  antarā  bol ālāp /  antarā  ȏ”‡–—”–‘sthāīǢ
ȋ ‘’Ž‡–‡Ȍ ȋͳ•– vistār ȋͳ•– ȋͳ•– vistār  ȋ ‘’Ž‡–‡Ȍ ’‡”ˆ‘”ƒ ‡
Ž‹‡Ȍ Ž‹‡Ȍ Ž‹‡Ȍ  ‘–‹—‡•→Ȑ
             
‰”ƒ†—ƒŽƒ• ‡–‹–‘ •—•–ƒ‹ „‡‰‹‘tārSā
uttaraṅg tār Sā



(b) MODEL 2ȋ ˆǤ‡‰Šǡ”ƒ ͳ͵Ȍǣbol ālāp ‡’‹•‘†‡•™‹–Š‹sthāīǡŽ‡ƒ†‹‰–‘antarā

sthāī sthāī  bol ālāp /  sthāī  bol ālāp / antarā  ȏ”‡–—”–‘sthāīǢ’‡”ˆ‘”ƒ ‡
ȋ ‘’Ž‡–‡Ȍ ȋͳ•– vistār ͳ ȋͳ•– vistār ʹ ȋ ‘’Ž‡–‡Ȍ ‘–‹—‡•→Ȑ
Ž‹‡Ȍ Ž‹‡Ȍ   
   pūrvaṅg    uttaraṅg –    
–‘tārSā



(c) MODEL 3 ȋ ˆǤƒƒǡ”ƒ ͻȌǣbol ālāp ™‹–Š‹antarāȋ’”‘Ž‘‰‹‰tār Sā)

sthāī sthāī  ȏ‡š’ƒ•‹‘–‡Ǥ‰Ǥ antarā bol ālāp /  ȏ‡š’ƒ•‹‘ antarā  ȏ”‡–—”–‘sthāīǢ
ȋ ‘’Ž‡–‡Ȍ ȋͳ•– ™‹–ŠtānsȐ ȋͳ•– vistār  –‡Ǥ‰Ǥ™‹–Š ȋ ‘’Ž‡–‡Ȍ ’‡”ˆ‘”ƒ ‡
Ž‹‡Ȍ Ž‹‡Ȍ  tānsȐ ‘–‹—‡•→Ȑ



Fig. 3.3.5 Models for timing of bol ālāp/vistār within a choṭā khayāl (not drawn to scale). Created by author (2024),
CC BY-NC-SA.

Model 1 proposes one answer to the question, when do you sing bol ālāp or vistār? You
can sing it after the sthāī and at the start of the antarā. But note that it is conventional to
have sung the sthāī in its entirety first, because this provides stable ground from which
the more expansive vistār episodes flow. After this, you may initiate your bol ālāp or vistār
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 139

(shown in dark shading in the graphic). As we heard in VR’s Multānīperformance (Audio

Example 3.3.12), this might involve several phrases which successively expand the ambit
of the rāg, gradually ascending into the uttaraṅg (upper tetrachord) of its scale. A fall back
to madhya Sā and a reprise of the first line of the sthāī close off this episode. Next, from
several possible avenues of continuation, VR elects to sing the antarā, and this generates
another occasion for vistār (the entire passage can be heard between 02:28 and 03:34 of
Track 6). Characteristically, this episode is sparked by the arrival on tār Sā in the first line
of the antarā: VR sustains that pitch for a while before he begins his vistār (in this instance,
he also morphs into another singing style, behlāvā, discussed below; but vistār or bol ālāp
would be the norm). Only when he has completed his extemporisation does he sing the
antarā complete, and this leads back to the sthāī and further development. Under this
model, then, the bol ālāp episodes are embedded into their discrete performance stages,
as shown by the braces under the graphic of Model 1.
Model 2 shows another option. It is possible to sing two or more vistār passages after
the initial sthāī, each prefaced by the sthāī refrain, and each rising higher than the last,
until tār Sā is reached, which then launches the antarā. This is the model VR adopted in his
performance of Megh, as discussed above and heard in Audio Example 3.3.13: first, vistār
in the lower tetrachord (pūrvaṅg); then back to the first line of the sthāī; then another
vistār, this time in the upper tetrachord (uttaraṅg), reaching tār Sā; finally the antarā,
sung complete. The arrows in Model 2 indicate the overall goal-directed tendency of the
individual vistār episodes.
The overarching ascending trajectory here could be understood to reflect the conventions
of an ālāp ‘proper’—or indeed the staged rising profile that some call baṛhat. And we
could interpret the ensuing antarā, whose initial melodic focus is tār Sā and descends
back to madhya Sā, as similarly mirroring the subsequent descending phase of an ālāp.
What all this suggests is that the overall process and its āroh–avroh vector can underpin
a performance in different guises at different times (it is also lies implicitly behind Model
1, for that matter).
In their different ways, the vistār passages of Models 1 and 2 help promote continuity
between sthāī and antarā; but it may also be possible to use the technique to create a contrast.
This option is represented in Model 3, which is based on VR’s choṭā khayāl in Rāg Yaman.
Here, as in Model 1, bol ālāp is used as a means of expanding the antarā. However, unlike
Model 1, there is no prior bol ālāp passage associated with the sthāī. Instead, expansion in
the sthāī phase is achieved initially through first-line accumulation—as already discussed
(see Figure 3.3.3 and Audio Example 3.3.9, above)—and then through an energetic series
of tāns. These last are heard at the beginning of Audio Example 3.3.14, and are followed
by a short harmoniuminterlude. VR then sings the first line of the antarā—‘Jogī jaṅgama
jatī satī aura gunī munī’—pausing on the last word, sustaining tār Sā, and—only now—
giving time for an expansive bol ālāp episode, which contrasts with the previous, more
metrically oriented material. After several bol ālāp phrases, VR seems poised to sing the
antarā complete—but not yet: the emotion behind this burgeoning melodic expression
first explodes into a dazzling, extended ākār tān whose energy finally takes us there.
140 Rāgs Around the Clock

Audio Example 3.3.14 Rāg Yaman: antarā and bol ālāp, with lead-in
(RSC, Track 9, 04:32–05:45)
[Link]

There is no single model, then, for when and how to sing bol ālāp/vistār—the examples given
here are by no means exhaustive. Although the technique, with its reflective sensibility, is
commonly applied before moving to more virtuosic tān work, this need not always be the
case—as we saw in Model 3. In a choṭā khayāl, anything is in principle possible within the
available stylistic conventions and constraints, as long as the performance is coherent in
its concept and convincing in its execution. I will return to the wider question of how we
might codify those conventions and constraints in the later stages of this section. But first
let us consider some more of the available devices for expansion of a khayāl.

Tāns
Tāns—melodic runs and flourishes—are as important a device for extending a performance
as anything else a khayāl singer has in their armoury. Tāns are a hallmark of the style;
neither dhrupad nor ṭhumrī—related Hindustānī vocal styles—use them. There are
essentially four basic types of tān that khayāl singers use on a regular basis:
• Sargam tāns—sung to sargam syllables.
• Ākār tāns—sung to the open vowel ‘ā’.
• Bol tāns—incorporating words from the bandiś.
• Gamak tāns—incorporating a wide melodic shake or oscillation around each
note.

Not all types will be equally prominent in any given performance. This may depend on the
gharānā(s) with which a singer identifies, and on their personal skill set. However, ākār
tānsusually feature particularly strongly, given that they are most conducive to flights of
invention. They are certainly favoured by VR, who is a virtuoso of rapid tān work (as was
his late guru, Bhimsen Joshi). Hence, there are plenty of examples of ākār tāns on Rāg
sama cakra; but the other types of tān are also heard. Let us consider all four in turn.

Sargam Tāns

Sargam tānsare normally the first form of tān a student learns. We have already considered
some simpleexamples in our earlier account of Bhairav, but to amplify the principles, we
can also consider the latter part of VR’s choṭā khayāl in Rāg Bihāg(Track 11)—as captured
in Audio Example 3.3.15 and notated in Figure 3.3.6.

Audio Example 3.3.15 Rāg Bihāg: sargam tāns (RSC, Track 11, 03:47–
04:47)
[Link]
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 141

tīntāl
o 3 x 2
9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

i Ṇ S G M P – N N SP ḾP GM GP ḾP GM GR S
A- ba - hũ lā - - la - na

ii Ṇ S G M P – N N ṆS GM PM GM PM GM GR S
A- ba - hũ lā - - la - na

iii Ṇ S G M P – N N GM PN ṠN DP ḾP GM GR S
A- ba - hũ lā - - la - na

iv Ṇ S G M P – N N PṠ ṠN DP – D ḾḾ PG GM PS
A- ba - hũ lā - - la - na

GM PṆ SG MP MG MP N – Ṡ – ĠṘ ṠN DP ḾP G MG RS

v Ṇ S G M P – N N ṆS GM PN ṠĠ ĠṘ ṠN ṠṘ ṘṠ
A- ba - hũ lā - - la - na

ND PḾ PṠ ṠN DP PN ND PḾ PD DP ḾP GM MG RS ṆS

Fig. 3.3.6 Rāg Bihāg: sargam tāns, notation. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

We can draw several general principles of tān construction from this example, which may
apply equally to other types of tān:
1. The tāns alternate with the first line, or first half-line, of the composition(sthāī or
antarā, depending on the stage of the performance).
2. The tāns subdivide each mātrā, so intensifyingthe level of rhythmic activity.
3. Several tāns are performed in succession; they loosely relate together.
4. The tāns vary in length; as the sequence proceeds, they tend to get longer.
5. Tāns often have an underlying āroh–avroh contour; as the sequence progresses,
their compass tends to get wider; profiles may vary from tān to tān to avoid
predictability.

To elaborate on these general principles as VR applies them in this specific tān sequence,
as notated in Figure 3.3.6:
1. The first half-line of the sthāī (‘Abahũ lālana’) occupies beats 9–16 of the tīntāl
cycle; this is then followed by either an 8-beat or 24-beat tān, beginning on sam
and concluding on beat 8, ready for the next iteration on khālī.
142 Rāgs Around the Clock

2. In general, the tāns proceed at a rate of two notes per beat, though in tān (iv) there
are some longer notes or short gaps which create rhythmic play (laykārī).
3. Here we have a sequence of five tāns that begin simplyand become more complex.
We can hear linkages between them: the first three end similarly; tāns (iv) and (v)
spend more time in the higher registerintimated by tān (iii); the figure GM PN ṠN
DP ḾP at the beginning of tān (iii) is developed as the figure PṠ ṠN DP –D ḾḾ P
at the beginning of tān (iv); and the all-encompassing tān (v) captures fragments
from all the preceding ones (for example, ṆS GM P; GM PN Ṡ; PṠ ṠN DP).
4. VR opts for just two lengths of tān in this particular passage. The earlier ones
last eight beats, the later ones twenty-four. Tāns of other durations would also
have been possible, though for durations divisible by sixteen it is necessary to
sing the entire first line of a tīntāl composition to ensure it returns at the right
place in the tāl cycle. In principle, tāns of any length are possible in any tāl. But for
beginners (and even experts) simplicityhas its place, especially in the first stages
of improvising a tān sequence.
5. Regarding contour and compass: tāns (i) and (ii) suggest an āroh–avroh contour
by ascending to Pa within the first few beats and falling back to Sā in the last
three beats. Tān (iii) does this by ascending directly from Ga to tār Sā, and then
returning slightly elliptically to madhyā Sā. In tān (iv), the āroh–avroh pattern only
emerges about halfway through, after an early descent from tār Sā; this avoids
predictability. Tān (v) opens with a steep ascent to tār Ga and uses the remaining
twenty beats to wind gradually back to madhyā Sā. This happens to be a palṭāthat
VR often teaches his students—a practice phrase that encapsulates key melodic
features of a rāg (this one also works for Rāg Bhīmpalāsī, which has the same
āroh–avroh structure as Bihāg). Such phrases serve as storehouses of ideas for
improvisation.

Although sargam tānsare common enough, they beg the question, why spell out the names
of the notes one is singing? Is such musical self-referentiality not a little odd, tautologous
even, compared to bol tāns which use words from the bandiś text, or ākār tāns which
free the performer from verbal constraints altogether? One possible answer is historical:
singers sing sargam tāns because that is simply the way it has been done by previous
generations; by continuing to do so, one upholds tradition—paramparā. Other reasons
are didactic: singing tāns to sargam syllables encourages students to communicate to
themselves a terminology for pitch in Indian music in the very act of singing it—a unified
moment of theory and practice. Practically speaking, sargam tāns are easier to sing at a
steady tempo than is the case for ākār tāns; the presence of a consonant at the start of a
note makes it easier to sing in tune.
While these features facilitate behind-the-scenes learning, they can also be attractive
in a performance. The articulation of tāns with sargam syllables can imbue them with
life and playfulness, and audiences can also find enjoyment in subliminally identifying
the syllables with the notes—affirming that they too are in the know. Sargam tāns can
be particularly effective at faster tempos in a demonstration of vocal flair. We hear this
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 143

in a later stage in VR’s performance of Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī, captured in Audio Example
3.3.16. Here a short sequence of sargam tāns contributes to an extended process of musical
development that also includes ākār tāns, instrumental tāns and, beyond the excerpt,
much more. When the performers are seeking to pull out all the stops like this, sargam
tāns afford a valuable additional resource.

Audio Example 3.3.16 Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī: sargam tāns in a

developmental context (RSC, Track 7, 05:03–06:03)
[Link]

Ākār Tāns

In principle, any sargam tān can also be sung in ākār, provided the tempo is fast enough
to let the tān flow freely, which is their essence. The reverse is also true: any ākār tān
could also be sung in sargam provided the tempo is not tongue-twistingly rapid. What
these observation point to is the intimate connection between tān and lay. Ākār tāns are
particularly suited to drut lay, where they contribute to rhythmic drive. They feature
abundantly in VR’s up-tempo performance of Rāg Yaman: Audio Example 3.3.17(a)
illustrates a passage after the reprise of the sthāī, when, following an interlude from the
accompanying instrumentalists, he surfs across the tāl in strings of melismatic tāns, two
notes per mātrā. The entry of the tāns builds on energy generated in the instrumental
interlude; as in the previous audio example, from Pūriyā Dhanāśrī, we find ourselves in
the thick of an extended developmental process at a climactic point in the performance,
and it feels like the music is free from any formulaic confines. A similar pattern of events
can be heard in Audio Example 3.3.17(b), taken from the latter part of Rāg Basant, in drut
ektāl (Track 14). We first hear harmonium player Mahmood Dholpuri mirroring VR’s tān
style, which VR picks up on in further tāns of his own, finally returning to the bandiś.
In both these examples, then, we hear how tāns contribute to rhythm: they channel the
burgeoning forward flow of the music and help expand time within a wider interplay of
ideas and techniques.

Audio Example 3.3.17 Ākār tāns in a developmental context:

(a) in Rāg Yaman (RSC, Track 7, 05:03–06:03)
(b) in Rāg Basant (RSC, Track 14, 03:40–04:08)
[Link]

Even in less rapid tempos, VR finds opportunities for virtuosic displays of ākār tānsin the
later, more developmentally oriented stages of the performance. In such cases, he sings
tāns at a rate of four notes per mātrā. Audio Example 3.3.18 extracts moments from his
choṭā khayāls in Śuddh Sāraṅgand Bhūpālī.

Audio Example 3.3.18 Four-note-per-mātrā ākār tāns:

(a) in Rāg Śuddh Sāraṅg (RSC, Track 3, 04:15–04:37)
(b) in Rāg Bhūpālī (RSC, Track 8, 04:08–04:26)
[Link]
144 Rāgs Around the Clock

Bol Tāns

Bol tāns are similar in style to ākār tāns—only with words from the bandiś text rather
than purely with vowels (analogously to bol ālāp). On Rāg samay cakra, VRuses this device
sparingly, usually applying it to repetitions of a bandiś in order to create variety. In Audio
Example 3.3.19, two very brief extracts illustrate this usage in contrasting ways. In (a),
from Rāg Multānī, VR sings a bol tān to the words ‘pāyala bāje’, following the opening
half-line of the sthāī: it displaces the second half-line of the melody with a different profile.
Conversely, in (b), from Rāg Bhūpālī, the function of a bol tān sung to ‘gāīye’ is to decorate
the first half-line melody with a flourish: it maintains the original profile.

Audio Example 3.3.19 Bol tāns:

(a) in Rāg Multānī (RSC, Track 6, 03:41–03:50)
(b) in Rāg Bhūpālī (RSC, Track 8, 02:11–02:19)
[Link]

Not uncommonly, we hear VR move from bol tāns to ākār tāns in close proximity,
demonstrating that to some extent these devices are interchangeable. Revisiting Audio
Example 3.3.11(a), at the inception of the choṭā khayāl in Rāg Basant, we hear both forms
of tān as comparable ways of varying the many iterations of the first line of the bandiś; it
is as if the ākār tāns realise an emancipation from the bandiś implied in the earlier bol tān.
Revisiting Audio Example 3.3.10(b) (from 01:12), we again hear bol tānsjudiciously adding
variety to a period of first-line accumulation—in this case in the antarā of Rāg Toḍī.

Gamak Tāns

As ākār tāns may be fostered by the drive of a drut khayāl, so gamak tāns are prompted
by steadier lays. Their shaking style adds colour and character, bringing tāns in slower
tempos to life. Gamak is unquestionably a difficult technique to master, involving a single,
wide oscillation around each note that at its extreme may make the actual svar almost
unidentifiable to the listener—though not to the performer (for a more detailed account,
including spectrographic analysis see Sanyal and Widdess 2004: 164–6). While gamak
is a technique cultivated in dhrupad, it is no stranger to khayāl, its heavy style being
especially appropriate to gambhir rāgs—rāgs of gravity. We have already commented on
its application in the tān-like elements of VR’s bandiś in Rāg Bhairav (Audio Example 3.3.4);
in Audio Example 3.3.20 we can hear examples of actual gamak tānsin Rāg Mālkauns.

Audio Example 3.3.20 Rāg Mālkauns: gamak tāns (RSC, Track 12,
04:47–05:15)
[Link]

Behlāvā
A related technique can be heard in Audio Example 3.3.21: an extraordinary vistār passage
in the antarā of Rāg Multānī, where VRextemporiseswidely in a style that hybridises bol
ālāp and gamak. He explained to me that this is a rare technique called behlāvā, peculiar
to the Gwalior gharānā. This provenance is confirmed by Nicolas Magriel, who describes
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 145

it as ‘an emotive “calling out” voice quality’ (Magriel and DuPerron 2013, I: 60). Sandeep
Bagchee also acknowledges the Gwalior origins, stating that behlāvās ‘develop the rāga
through swar-vistār in ākār’ (1998: 123)—a description consistent with the way VR sings
in this passage.

Audio Example 3.3.21 Rāg Multānī: behlāvā (RSC, Track 6 , 02:34–03:20)

[Link]

Bol Bāṇṭ, Lay Bāṇṭ

A further way to extend a khayāl performance is through laykārī—an umbrella term that
encompasses various techniques of rhythmic elaboration or variation (see Clayton 2000:
153–4). One such technique is bol bāṇṭ (‘word division’), which draws out the rhythmic
potential of the song text by repeating words or re-arranging their order. Although this
device is more a feature of dhrupad than khayāl, we do find occasional instances in VR’s
gāyakī—for example, during his baṛā khayāl in Rāg Bhairav on the Twilight Rāgs album
(Track 2, 12:22–12:55). A related device, also associated with dhrupad, is lay bāṇṭ—defined
by Martin Clayton as ‘a special technique involving diminution of the bandiś to double,
triple, and/or quadruple speed within an unchanging tālstructure’ (2000: 159). VRprovides
us with an example of this in his choṭā khayāl in Rāg Kedār(Rāg samay cakra, Track 10)—
as captured in Audio Example 3.3.22, and notated in Figure 3.3.7. In this extract, he sings
the bandiś first at normal speed (ekgun) and then at double tempo (dugun), while the
underlying layin tīntālremains constant. Strictly speaking, in lay bāṇṭ, the bandiś melody
would remain unchanged under such rhythmic diminution, whereas here VR creatively
re-composes it; but he arguably invokes the spirit if not the letter of the technique.

Audio Example 3.3.22 Rāg Kedār: lay bāṇṭ and laykārī (RSC, Track 10,
02:30–03:12)
[Link]
146 Rāgs Around the Clock

tīntāl
o 3 x 2
9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

i  –  – Ḿ    – 
  
Ṇ   –
‘Ǧ Ǧ Žƒ „‘Ǧ Ǧ Žƒ ‘Ǧ •‡ ƒǦ Ǧ †ƒ kũ - ˜ƒǦ ”ƒǦ vā,

ii  P Ṡ – Ṡ Ṡ Ṡ Ṡ Ṡ Ṡ N Ṙ Ṡ N  Ṡ Ṙ Ṡ N     

‘Ǧ Žƒ„‘ ǦŽƒ ‘Ǧ•‡ƒǦ †ƒ—Ǧ˜ƒǦ”ƒǦ˜ƒ ”ƒǦ•ƒ bha-rī „ƒǦ–‹Ǧ yā̃ ŽƒǦ ‰‡ƒǦ†Š—Ǧ”ƒto-rī

iii  –  – Ḿ    –   
Ṇ   –
‘Ǧ Ǧ Žƒ „‘Ǧ Ǧ Žƒ ‘Ǧ •‡ ƒǦ Ǧ †ƒ kũ - ˜ƒǦ ”ƒǦ vā,

iv   – P  Ḿ P    Ḿ P Ḿ P Ḿ D P Ḿ Ḿ P   

‘Ǧ Žƒ„‘Ǧ ǦŽƒ ‘Ǧ•‡ƒǦ †ƒ—Ǧ˜ƒǦ”ƒǦ˜ƒ ”ƒǦ•ƒ bha-rī „ƒǦ–‹Ǧ yā̃ ŽƒǦ ‰‡ƒǦ†Š—Ǧ”ƒto-rī

v  –  – Ḿ    –   
Ṇ   –
‘Ǧ Ǧ Žƒ „‘Ǧ Ǧ Žƒ ‘Ǧ •‡ ƒǦ Ǧ †ƒ kũ - ˜ƒǦ ”ƒǦ vā,

vi Ḿ P  Ṡ N   Ḿ Ḿ  –  –   –  – 

ȏsargam Ȑ

vii   –  – Ḿ    –  
 Ṇ   –
‘Ǧ Ǧ Žƒ „‘Ǧ ǦŽƒ ‘Ǧ •‡ ƒǦ Ǧ †ƒ kũ - ˜ƒǦ ”ƒǦ vā,
Fig. 3.3.7 Rāg Kedār: lay bāṇṭ and laykārī, notation. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

Already in its original form, the bandiś is rhythmically playful. The opening words, ‘bola
bola mose’, group the eight beats from khālīto saminto a 3+3+2 pattern that cuts liltingly
across the 4+4 arrangement of the vibhāgs—as indicated by braces over line (i) of the
notation. In his lay bāṇṭ treatment of the bandiś, transcribed in lines (ii) and (iv), VR not
only delivers the words at double speed, but also recomposes the melody. Although this
does not break up the text (as it would under bol bāṇṭ), it does intensifythe syllabic cross-
accentuation: the 3+3+2 figure of the bandiś gets condensed into the first vibhāg, creating
a lively syncopated feel. This compression creates space to fit the second line of the bandiś
(‘rasa bharī batiyā̃ ̃ …’) into the same āvartan; it is again presented in dugun and again
re-composed, this time as a torrent of syllables. While these variationskeep the text intact,
they nevertheless direct our attention towards its phonetic and rhythmic properties—
towards what is musical in the poetry. After a further ekgunstatement of the first line of the
bandiś (Figure 3.3.7(v)), VR sings a sargam tān (vi), which, slightly syncopated, maintains
the previous laykārī feel. Midway, at sam, he introduces a new figure lasting five beats
(M— MM P—, highlighted with a brace in the notation), and repeats it. This has the effect
of shifting the melody’s accentuation out of line with the tīntāl structure, so that the first
line of the bandiśbegins a beat late and has to be compressed in order to reach samat the
right point (vii).
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 147

Lay Increase
The introduction of tāns and lay bāṇṭ increases rhythmic density: the level of activity per
mātrāor beat (see Clayton2000: Chapter 6). A further option is to increasethe rate of the
lay itself. While not compulsory, one or more upward tempo shifts are quite common in
longer performances (conversely, drops in tempo are extremely rare). Even though the
choṭā khayālson Rāg samay cakra are all short, three of the longest ones—in Rāgs Pūriyā
Dhanāśrī, Yamanand Mālkauns—include lay increases. The several moments where these
step changes occur can be found in Audio Example 3.3.23.

Audio Example 3.3.23 Lay increase:

(a) Rāg Yaman (RSC, Track 9, 06:20–06:49)
(b) Rāg Mālkauns (RSC, Track 12, 05:48–06:14)
(c) Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī (RSC, Track 7, 04:41–05:11)
(d) Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī (ibid., 05:54–06:32)
[Link]

Performers must stay mindful of the relationship between the character of the bandiśand
the lay in which they perform it; and they must ensure that any acceleration of the lay is
justified—that it either issues out of already intensifying activity or facilitates it. In the
Yamanexample, the bandiś is well suited to drut lay: the exuberant picture painted by the
words would be less effectively conveyed if the lay were slower. So, VR sets out at around
270 bpm; the gradual acceleration to 290 bpm heard in Audio Example 3.3.23(a) arises
logically after a passage of ākār tānsthat very slightly nudges the tempo forward, as if the
performers were previously straining at the leash.
While this takes us from drut to ati drut (very fast) lay, the tempo increase in the
Mālkauns extract (Audio Example 3.3.23(b)) takes us from 165 bpm—only a little faster
than madhya lay—to 225 bpm—clearly drut. This enables VR to diversify the types of tān
he can include: gamak in the earlier phase (cf. Audio Example 3.3.20); ākār in the final
minute. If the former type reflects the gambhīrcharacter of the rāg, the latter is perhaps a
response to the joyful poem about springtime.
In the Pūriyā Dhanāśrīexamples—(c) and (d)—we find a bandiśthat can sit comfortably
at either end of the drut spectrum—a point evidenced by two tempo increases. Both of
these are associated with the extended developmentalprocess heard in this performance.
The first tempo uplift (c) accelerates the lay from 165 to 225 bpm. It comes once VR has
completed an exposition of both sthāī and antarā and turns to expand his presentation:
reprising the sthāī, he now embarks on a series of sargam tāns (discussed above in
conjunction with Audio Example 3.3.16). The second tempo increase (Audio Example
3.3.23(d)) follows intensive engagement with the accompanists, and takes us to around
260 bpm for the climactic closing stages. VR initially takes advantage of this even faster lay
not to inject further tāns (these will come later), but to sing an expansive bol ālāp passage
which takes him well into the upper octave. In other words, the faster lay sustained by the
tablais initially accompanied by a radical drop in rhythmic densityfrom the soloist, who
instead increases melodic intensity. This makes the point that lay accumulation is not a
one-dimensional strategy.
148 Rāgs Around the Clock

Putting It All Together: A Scheme of Rubrics

In the next stage of this investigation, I seek to synthesise all the above observations into a
theoretical schema for the event sequence of a choṭā khayāl. In more extended form, this
revisits the question we examined earlier in respect of bol ālāp: not only what do you sing,
but also when (and how) do you sing it?
In truth, musicians do have a kind of mental road map through which to navigate their
journey through a khayāl. This is very clear in the case of a baṛā khayāl, as I discuss in
Section 4.3; but, paradoxically, although (or because) a choṭā khayāl is less weighty, the
number of possible routes through it is greater, and in this respect it is more complex.
Its particular challenge to the singer—mirrored in the enjoyment of a knowledgeable
listener—is to decide at every juncture, which way now? Student performers are likely
to be advised by their teacher to plan their route in advance and keep it simple—as in
our opening Bhairav example. But as they gain in skill and confidence, musicians may
increasingly leave their options open. The ideal is a state of spontaneity and aliveness,
where, in the moment of delivery, even the performers do not know exactly what will
happen next.
Of course, while much of this creative decision-making may be unconscious, and while
the ineffable may play its part, the process is firmly underpinned by convention, even
though this permits considerable flexibility. Is it possible systematically to capture such
conventions in words, and to organise their presentation in such a way as to reflect that
flexibility? Would we even want to? Clearly, khayāl singers are eminently capable of
practicing their art, and listeners are capable of enjoying it, without consulting theory
books. However, while the kind of theoretical description to which these questions steer
us takes us beyond what is strictly necessary for performance, it also makes conscious a
yet more compelling image of what is at stake when performers perform; and potentially
all parties—students, listeners, researchers and professional artists—have investment in
such knowledge.
As in my analysis of ālāp in Section 3.2, I here proceed by assembling a schema of
rubrics. As before, these do not represent axiomatic, final principles, but rather heuristic
guidelines for possible actions in live performance. The rubrics are arranged below in
three groups. The first—termed event sequence rubrics—focuses on the overall ordering
of events. The second group—musical elements—explores options for executing different
techniques and types of musical material within that sequence. And the third group—
global rubrics—has a more generalised bearing on a performance over and above the
sequence itself. Each rubric has its own label, comprising one or more letters, and there
is frequent cross-referencing: the quasi-algebraic style reflects an intention to keep
descriptions rigorous, parsimonious and systematic. Nonetheless, I have tried to think
from a performer’s perspective throughout; hence, I express the rubrics as if directed to a
student performer—which is also to invite the identification of non-performers with the
soloist’s situation in the moment.
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 149

Event Sequence Rubrics

So, let us first consider those rubrics that relate to the order of what happens. Beneath the
surface of the musical events, it is possible to discern a beginning–middle–end sequence,
whose components I term opening phase, elaboration phase and closing phase. The bulk
of a choṭā khayāl is usually oriented around the elaboration phase, but in any case, like
the phase schema of an ālāp, the phases here are not discrete ‘sections’ as such. Rather,
they succeed one another almost imperceptibly; they are more correlates of the artist’s
disposition at each stage of the performance: ‘now I’m beginning’; ‘now I have to grow the
core of my performance’; ‘now it’s time to end’. Each phase is described below under its
own rubric; its components are in turn cross-referenced to the rubrics for musical elements
(indicated in parentheses).

O – Opening phase
• Sing the sthāī of your chosen bandiśin its entirety (S), either in simple mode (s)
or extended mode (e).
• You may optionally sing the entire sthāī (S) a second time.
• You may optionally follow the sthāī with the antarā (A) in simple mode (s).
• After you have sung the sthāī (and antarā, if you elect to do so) you should
normally sing a reprise of its—the sthāī’s—first line (S1), which from here on
acts as a refrain, or mukhṛā.
• Next, proceed to the elaboration phase (E).
NOTES:
◦ A complete second statement of the sthāī immediately following the first
is less commonly made, but is not unusual. (On Rāg samay cakra, VR
applies it in the choṭā khayāls for Toḍī, Śuddh Sāraṅg, Bhīmpalāsī, Pūriyā
Dhanāśrī, Yaman, Kedārand Mālkauns.)
◦ The antarā is quite commonly deferred until the elaboration phase, where
there are additional options for its delivery.

E – Elaboration phase
You have several options for what to sing next. You can mix and match from the
following:
• Bol ālāp/vistār (V).
• Tāns (T).
• Antarā (A).
• Laykārī (L).
• Reprise of the entire sthāī (S).
• Lay increase(LI).
• Instrumental interlude(Int).
150 Rāgs Around the Clock

NOTES:
◦ Vistār and tāns are the most common vehicles for musical expansion, and
normally begin to be heard earlier in the elaboration phase.
◦ Not all these elements are compulsory, though all are in principle available.
There is some mutability regarding order, but the antarā (unless already
sung in the opening phase) is not likely to appear before passages of vistār
and tāns have begun to do their work of expansion. Similarly, laykārī
techniques, and especially any lay increase, make most sense once some
developmentalmomentum has already been achieved.
◦ In principle, all the above elements may be executed more than once.
Indeed, this would be strongly expected in the case of vistār and (especially)
tāns, which occur frequently and are often linked together in series. Other
features, such as the antarā, are likely to be revisited at most once.
◦ Between episodes of each type of material, and often within them, it is
customary to interpolate the first line of the sthāī as a refrain (S1).
◦ A reprise of the complete sthāī (S) within the elaboration phase tends to
re-focus the musical direction after a period of growth involving tāns and/
or vistār. As in its initial statement, a reprise of the sthāī may take simple
or extended form, including first-line accumulation (S1A). This may also
be associated with an increase in lay(LI).
◦ Some principles of instrumental interludes(Int) are outlined under ‘global
rubrics’, below.
◦ Once you have executed the elaboration phase to your (and your
audience’s) satisfaction, proceed to the closing phase (C).

C – Closing phase
• Your performance should normally end by first returning to the sthāī, or at
least the first line (S/S1).
• The first line or half-line of the sthāī may then be used as the basis for a final
tihāī(Th) which leads to closure on sam, whereupon the tablastops playing.
• You, the soloist, should keep going for a few seconds more with a concluding bol
ālāp phrase (Cba) that finally comes to rest on madhya Sā.
NOTE:
◦ The first step of the closing phase (S or S1) may also serve as the final step
of the elaboration phase, thus creating an elision () between the two
phases.
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 151

Musical Elements

The following rubrics are glosses on the musical elements and gestures referenced in the
event sequence rubrics above. The rubrics below include options—and hence decisions
that have to be made—regarding each kind of material.

S – Complete statement of sthāī

Either:
(s) Simple presentation: the sthāi is sung in its entirety, the first line normally
repeated once, the other lines less likely to be repeated—see rubric BH (bandiś
hierarchy), below. This is followed by a return to the first line of the sthāī (S1).
Or:
(e) Extended presentation: the first line is subjected to several repetitions, creating
first-line accumulation(S1A), before the whole sthāī is delivered. Subsequent lines
may also be repeated once (analytically notated as S2R, S3R etc.), though this is less
common.
NOTES:
◦ Option (s) is more usual in a freestanding choṭā khayāl, i.e. without a prior
baṛā khayāl.
◦ Option (e) often occurs when the choṭā khayāl follows a baṛā khayāl.
◦ The greater the level of repetitionwithin the sthāī, the greater the need for
variationor decoration of the melody in order to sustain musical interest.

S1 – Sthāī, first line as refrain

The first line of the sthāī acts as a refrain throughout a choṭā khayāl; in this guise
it is sometimes referred to as the mukhṛā. This gesture commonly punctuates the
end of events and actions, and/or acts as a launchpad to succeeding ones. This
principle is built into the specification of many rubrics, but even where it is not, its
operation may be assumed. Here are the most common places you might apply it:
• Following entire statements of the sthāī (S).
• Following (or preceding) individual vistār/bol ālāp episodes (V), individual tāns
(T) and individual laykārīepisodes (L).
• Following the final line of the antarā (A).
NOTE:
◦ You may also treat the first line of the antarā in a similar, more localised
way (A1) once you get there—for example, as a launching-off point for
tāns, vistār and other developmental techniques in the upper register
around tār Sā before singing the antarā complete (A).
152 Rāgs Around the Clock

S1A – Sthāī, first-line accumulation

The first line of the sthāī may be repeated several or many times as a means of
accumulating intensity. There are two contexts where this rubric may normally
be applied:
• In the opening phase, as part of the extended delivery of the sthāī (S(e)); this is
more likely when the choṭā khayāl follows a baṛā khayāl.
• In the elaboration phase, where it may also be associated with an increase in
lay(LI).
NOTE:
◦ The first line of the antarā may be similarly treated (A1A)—see next.

A – Antarā
It is usual to sing the antarā at least once in a performance. Essentially, there are
three possibilities:
(s) Simplepresentation: sing the antarā in its entirety, usually repeating the
first line once.
(e) Extended presentation: sing the first line of the antarā one or more times
(A1), then sustain tār Sā (which is normally the goal tone of the first line);
extemporise around this pitch, rising higher if you feel this is appropriate (tār
Sā is most commonly prolongedby vistār/bol ālāp, but tāns are also possible).
Once this work is done, you may either: (i) sing the complete antarā; or (ii)
first repeat the entire process to build further intensity.
(d) Delayed presentation: the first line is subjected to first-line accumulation
(A1A) before the whole antarā is sung; or the first line is treated as a localised
refrain (A1) with several intervening episodes of vistār or tāns before the
entire antarā is sung; or there may be some blending of these processes.
NOTES:
◦ Option (s) is usually applied when the antarā is sung as part of the opening
phase, though it may be delivered this way in the elaboration phase too.
◦ Option (e) is normally associated with the elaboration phase, and
occurs quite commonly. Its elaborations around tār Sā create localised
development, as well as contributing to the larger tendency of growth.
◦ Option (d) is less common and usually occurs in the elaboration phase. Its
essence is a spirit of play around the moment of arrival of the complete
antarā. Its orientation is towards the future.
◦ The antarā itself is usually composed with a built-in return to the lower
register and madhya Sā, which prompts a return to the first line of the
sthāī (S1) or possibly all of it (S).
◦ In principle, it is possible to sing the antarā a second time, following an
intervening period of development (for example, VR does this in the choṭā
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 153

khayāl of Rāg Mālkauns). However, this is not common: if you wish to take
this option, you should bear rubric BH in mind (see below).

V, T – Vistār, tāns
Vistār and tāns are the main techniques for musical expansion and development
in a choṭā khayāl. Because they often interact, I here treat them together.
• Vistār is used to expand the expressive reach of the bandiś and the rāg. The
term is used in this rubric to mean either a passage of wordless ālāp (V(a)) or
a passage of bol ālāp (V(b))—sung independently of the tāl maintained by the
tabla.
• Tāns have a contrasting function: they ‘bring out … the decorative possibilities
within a rāga’ (Mittal2000: 121). They normally take one of the following forms:
T(s) sargam tāns
T(a) ākār tāns
T(b) bol tāns
T(g) gamak tāns
NOTES:
◦ It is common to present one or more episodes of either or both techniques
during the elaboration phase.
◦ Each instance of either technique is normally preceded and followed by
the mukhṛā(S1 or A1, depending on the context).
◦ You may proceed directly from one technique to another, or interpolate
these with S1/A1.
◦ Which technique to use when is partly a question of whether it is desirable
to increase or lower rhythmic densityat any given point: tāns will increase
it, vistār will lower it. This is related to whether you wish to step up the
intensity or introduce a period of contrast after a period of busy activity—
cf. rubric AI, below.
◦ Although sargamand ākār tānsare most commonly heard among the tān
types, and the former may more likely be sung before the latter, there are
no hard and fast principles regarding ordering.

L – Laykārī
Although the term can encompass ‘any technique intended to develop or vary
rhythm’ (Clayton 2000: 153), for this rubric I use laykārī to signify techniques of
rhythmic play or intensificationthat are not listed in other rubrics, notably:
• L(bb) bol baṇṭ.
• L(lb) lay baṇṭ.
154 Rāgs Around the Clock

NOTES:
◦ These techniques are more commonly associated with dhrupad, and not
extensively used in their own right in khayāl. But their cross-rhythmic,
syncopated style may sometimes be applied to variationsof the bandiś or
within the delivery of tāns.
◦ Laykārītechniques are more likely to be introduced later in the elaboration
phase.
◦ Other laykārī devices listed under separate rubrics include lay increase
(LI), and tihāī(Th)—see next.

LI – Lay increase
As the elaboration phase proceeds, you have the option of increasing the lay.
This may be associated with an episode of first-line accumulation (S1A/A1A). The
decision to increase the lay, as well as when to do so, should be made with regard
to the overall accumulation of intensity(AI).

Th – Tihāī
While most Indian classical performances end with a tihāī—a phrase repeated
three times—this rhythmic device can be introduced anywhere to create musical
interest. Usually a tihāī will end either on sam or at the beginning of S1 or A1.
Tihāīs can create cunning cross-rhythmicplay; they can even be compounded into
a cakradār—a tihāī within a tihāī within a tihāī, though this device is more usually
deployed in instrumental music. In the Kirānā gharānā, where melodic invention
is more important than rhythmic, tihāīs are normally kept simple. At the very
least, a khayāliyā needs to know how to employ a tihāīin the closing phase (C) of
their performance.

Int – Interlude
Occasionally, as the lead artist, you may want to signal an interlude, giving one or
more of the accompanying team a little time in the limelight. This is an effective
way to create contrast and/or to give yourself a moment to re-group physically and
mentally. As always, timing needs to be judicious, as does duration. An interlude
is most likely to be effective some way into the elaboration phase, once you have
established your presence as soloist. Too long a break from centre stage will
detract from the main focus of the performance: yourself and your own invention.
A similar foregrounding of one of the accompanists might happen at the beginning
of a choṭa khayāl (S(e)) when this follows an extended baṛā khayāl.
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 155

Global Rubrics

The following rubrics do not apply to any specific phase of the performance, nor, usually,
to any specific type of musical material; rather they condition the performance as a whole.

AI – Accumulation of intensity
Practically every Hindustani classical performance is shaped by one or more arcs
of mounting intensity at local and global levels. This principle (AI) is engineered
through the combination and permutation of a number of elements, including:
• Ascending register, for example, across episodes of vistār and tān work.
• Increasing length of such episodes.
• Increasing lay (LI).
• Increasing lay density—i.e. level of rhythmic activity per mātrā, āvartan, etc.
• Increasing complexity of invention, including level of interaction with
accompanists.
• Increasing volume.
NOTE:
◦ AI is usually not manifested as a single uninterrupted gradient, but as a
series of rises and falls within an overall ascent. The choice of techniques,
and the manner of their application, should be made with this in mind.

BH – Bandiś hierarchy
The overall performance is conditioned by an assumed hierarchy within the
different components of the bandiś:
a) The sthāī is superordinate to the antarā. It is presented first, and it or its
elements (notably the first line) should preponderate. While the antarā is quite
often sung only once (and may very occasionally be omitted entirely), it would
be unthinkable to treat the sthāī this way. The antarā is always followed by a
return to the sthāī.
b) The first line of both sthāī and antarā have greatest salience within their
respective portion of the bandiś. In the case of the sthāī, the first line is usually
repeated, sometimes cumulatively (S1A); and it operates as a refrain, or mukhṛā,
across the entire performance (S1), helping bind it together. The first line of the
antarā is often similarly repeated, and may similarly operate as a reference
point while that stage holds sway (A1, A1A).
c) Other lines of the sthāī and antarā may be repeated, but this is rarer. Overstating
them would violate (a) and (b). For example, it would be highly unusual to repeat
the last line of the antarā, since it tends to have the composed-in function of
leading back to the sthāī.
156 Rāgs Around the Clock

NOTES:
◦ At one extreme of the hierarchy we have the first line of the sthāī, which
could be seen to stand synecdochally for the bandiś as a whole; and at the
other we have the last line of the antarā, which may be heard only once in
the entire performance.
◦ This rubric matters because it regulates the balance of the different
elements across the performance as a whole. For example, if, after a period
of development, you decide to introduce the antarā a second time, you
need to ensure that you give comparably greater attention to the sthāī, so
that the latter is not eclipsed. For the same reason, you would be less likely
to sing the antarā a third time.

 Merge/elision
Not all the categories of musical material outlined above remain discrete at all
times. Bol ālāp may merge into wordless ālāp (vistār), or, as it becomes more
rhythmically energised, morph into tān singing or laykārī. Similarly, as you
begin singing the sthāī or its mukhṛā, you may want to hand over to one of the
accompanists, hence transitioning into an interlude. A late statement of the sthāī
may simultaneously round off the elaboration phaseand initiate the closing phase,
creating an elision between them. These and other examples of merging or elision
are represented in this account with an arrow symbol between the components,
for example, V(a)T(a) (= vistār/wordless ālāp merging into ākār tāns).

Does a Choṭā Khayāl Have a Performance Grammar?

If the above schedule of rubrics looks surprisingly complicated, this is because the options
for singing a choṭā khayāl actually are complicated—or can be. What this schema implies
is that beneath a performance there may lie something not unlike a grammar that can
generate realisations on a continuum from the simpleto the complex. If the above rubrics
are correctly formulated, they should in principle be able to model any choṭā khayāl
performance. While fully testing this hypothesis would be a long-term project, we can
consider a complementary pair of instances here as initial proof of concept.
At the simpler end of the spectrum, Figure 3.3.8(a) presents a second analysis of VR’s
Bhairav choṭā khayāl, in the form of an event synopsis. This re-description applies the
rubrics developed above to the performance events in tabular form. The first column
gives the track time code for the inception of each event. The second indicates the āvartan
in which the event begins: āvartans are numbered successively, and beat numbers are
indicated with superscripts—which confirm that virtually all the events in this tīntāl
performance begin on khālī, beat 9. (The final āvartan, 19, is shown in brackets since this
is not a complete instance at all: the tāldissipates as soon as the final samis articulated.)
The third and fourth columns respectively show the performance phase and constituent
musical elements, using rubric codes from the schema. The fifth column provides a concise
generic description of the elements, and is supplemented by the sixth which comments on
features specific to the performance.
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 157

Choṭā khayāl in Rāg Bhairav

(a) Event synopsis


1 2 3 4 5 6
Time Āvartan Perf. Elements Description Comments
code no. phase
ͲʹǣͲͳ Ͳͻ O ȋ•Ȍ Sthāī ‘’Ž‡–‡ 
ȋ•‹’Ž‡‘†‡ȌǤ
Ͳʹǣ͵͸ Ͷͻ ͳ ͳ•–Ž‹‡‘ˆsthāī 
ȋmukhṛāȌǤ
ͲʹǣͶͷ ͷͻ ȋ•Ȍ Antarā ‘’Ž‡–‡ 
ȋ•‹’Ž‡‘†‡ȌǤ
Ͳ͵ǣʹͳ ͻͻ ͳ ͳ•–Ž‹‡‘ˆsthāī 
ȋmukhṛāȌǤ
Ͳ͵ǣʹͻ ͳͲͻ E ȋ•Ȍ Sargam tān•Ǥ ͵šͺ„‡ƒ–tān•ǡ
’”‡ ‡†‡†„›ͳ•–
ŠƒŽˆǦŽ‹‡‘ˆsthāīƒ•
mukhṛāǤ
Ͳ͵ǣͷ͸ ͳ͵ͻ E→C ȋ•Ȍ Sthāī ‘’Ž‡–‡ 
ȋ•‹’Ž‡‘†‡ȌǤ
”‡ƒ–‡•‡Ž‹•‹‘
™‹–Š Ž‘•‹‰
’Šƒ•‡Ǥ
ͲͶǣ͵͵ ͳ͹ͻ C ŠȋΦȌ Tihāīǡ„ƒ•‡†‘ͳ•– 
Ž‹‡‘ˆsthāī.
ͲͶǣͶ͸ ȏ19…Ȑ „ƒ Ž‘•‹‰bol ālāpǤ 
ͲͷǣͲͲ    ȏ†•Ȑ 



(b) Event string

Oǣȋ•Ȍǡͳǡȋ•Ȍǡͳ
Eǣȋ•Ȍ
E → Cǣȋ•Ȍ
CǣŠȋΦȌǡ„ƒǤ
 Rāg Bhairav, choṭā khayāl: (a) event synopsis; (b) event string. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
Fig. 3.3.8


This synoptic analysis makes the straightforwardness of the performance transparent. It
shows how the opening phase (O) prevails for half the total duration (nine āvartans out of
eighteen); how the elaboration phase (E) essentially comprises a simplesequence of tāns;
and how it elides with the closing phase (EC) as the sthāī is reprised in its entirely before
the final tihāī.
Part (b) of the figure extracts this information more concisely still. This event string
arranges the sequences of musical elements linearly by performance phase. It is this
notation that suggests the possibility of some form of quasi-grammatical underpinning.
158 Rāgs Around the Clock

Choṭā khayāl in Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī

(a) event synopsis

1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Description Comments

Elements

elements
Āvartan

phase
Time
code

Perf.

Sub-
no.

02:21 010 O S(e) S1A Complete presentation First line 4x.

of sthāī, in extended
mode: first-line
accumulation.
02:46 49 S2R Second line of sthāī,
repeated.
02:59 610 S(e) S1A Further complete First line 4x.
presentation of sthāī. Overall pattern
First-line accumulation same as preceding.
(sthāī).
03:25 1010 S2R Second line of sthāī,
repeated.
03:38 1210 S1 First line of sthāī used
as refrain (mukhṛā).
03:44 1310 E A(e) A1 Antarā (first line). Extended mode.
03:50 1410 A1àV(b) First line of antarā, Ends with short
merging into vistār (bol tān.
ālāp).
04:15 189 A1A 1st-line accumulation First line 4x.
(antarā).
04:41 2210 A2 2nd line of antarā. Concludes antarā.
04:47 2310 E2 S1A+LI First-line accumulation First line 3x. LI
(sthāī), with lay begins during 2nd
increase. statement.
05:06 27 T(s) Sargam tāns. 3 tāns, with 1st
half of S1 as
mukhṛā.
05:18 299 S1àInt First line of sthāī
merging into harm.
interlude.
05:28 319 T(a) Ākār tān. Single, short tān
lasting ½ āvartan.
05:31 32 Th(S¼) Tihāī based on first
àS1 quarter-line of sthāī;
àInt elides with first line,
merging into harm.
interlude
05:46 35 T(a) Ākār tān. Single, longer tān
lasting 1.5
āvartans.
05:53 3610 S1àInt First line of sthāī
àS1 merging into interlude,
merging back into first
line of sthāī.
06:07 399 E3 S1R+LI First line of sthāī,
àInt repeated, with lay
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 159

 increase, merging into

harm. interlude.
06:17 4113 V(b) Vistār (bol ālāp). Segue into
following tans.
06:32 459 T(a) Ākār tāns. Climactic,
accumulative. S1
(or fragments) as
mukhṛā.
06:58 522 Th(S¼) Tihāī based on first
àS1à quarter-line of sthāī,
merging into 1st line,
merging into …
07:04 539 C S(s) reprise of sthāī
(complete).
07:12 5510 Th(S½) Tihāī, based on 1st half-
line of sthāī.
07:18 [57…] Cba Closing bol ālāp Returns to madhya
Sā.
07:36 [Ends.]

(b) Event string

O: S(e){S1A, S2R}, S(e){S1A, S2R}, S1

E: A(e){A1, A1àV(b), A1A, A2}
E2: S1A+LI, T(s), S1àInt, T(a), Th(S¼)àS1àInt, T(a), S1àIntàS1
E3: S1R+LIàInt, V(b), T(a), Th(S¼)àS1à
C: S(s), Th(S½), Cba.

Fig. 3.3.9 Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī, choṭā khayāl: (a) event synopsis; (b) event string. Created by author (2024),
CC BY-NC-SA.

The elements are arranged syntagmatically, i.e. in a meaningfully related chain; and they
elaborate principles implicit in the performance-phase rubrics.
Before reflecting further on the validity of the grammatical conceit, let us first apply
the above model to a more complex example of a choṭā khayāl performance. This one
is in Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī, from Track 7 of Rāg samay cakra. The event synopsis of VR’s
rendition is shown in Figure 3.3.9(a). It follows the format of the previous figure, except
that it contains an additional column, 5, which shows sub-elements of musical elements
where appropriate; this is necessitated by the greater complexityof the performance, the
longest on the album. We can see in column 4 that VR elects to open with the sthāī in its
extended mode (S(e)), whose sub-elements are a period of first-line accumulation(S1A), in
which the first line is heard four times, and a repeated second line (S2R). As if this were not
repetition enough, VR then repeats the entire sequence—S1A, S2R—followed by a reprise
of the first line of the sthāī (S1) which henceforward acts as a mukhṛā or refrain. Such
pervasive repetition requires imaginative delivery, and VR obliges with subtle variations
of the first line throughout—as captured in Audio Example 3.3.24.
160 Rāgs Around the Clock

Audio Example 3.3.24 Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī: opening phase (sthāī in

extended mode) (RSC, Track 7, 02:20–03:43)
[Link]

Audio Example 3.3.25 Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī: beginning of elaboration

phase (antarā in extended mode) (RSC, Track 7, 03:43–04:49)
[Link]

The antarā is likewise presented in extended mode (A(e))—heard in Audio Example 3.3.25
and summarised in Figure 3.3.9(a). The antarā’s position, immediately following the sthāī,
initially suggests that it might be a continuation of the opening phase. However, mid-way
through a repeat of the first line, VR pauses on tār Sā and morphs this into an extended
period of vistār (bol ālāp)—(A1V(b)). By this point it is clear that we have moved into the
elaboration phase (see column 3)—an impression confirmed by a subsequent period of
first-line accumulation (A1A). This mirrors the opening treatment of the sthāī (S1A) and
retrospectively suggests that even the opening phase had something of the quality of an
elaboration phase. Moreover, the event synopsisshows how the elaboration phase ‘proper’
dominates the performance; column 3 interprets it as compounded into three stages—E,
E2 and E3—the latter two being articulated by lay increases(LI).
As was the case with the Bhairav analysis, Figure 3.3.9(b) distils this information into
an event string, one line per performance phase. Sub-elements are notated within curly
brackets, as subsets of their respective elements; these in turn are presided over by the
rubric code for the respective performance phase—shown in bold. This concise notation
facilitates comparison between performances: even a superficial glance reveals something
of the significantly greater complexity of the performance compared with its precursor.
While the algebraicstyle looks abstract, the compressed encryption of rubrics is in fact an
apt metaphor for the near-instantaneous decision-making demanded of a performer in the
live moment: each letter symbolises a commitment to a musical action that subsequently
unfolds with full expression (and often passion) in real time. And, even more than the last
example, this encoding is suggestive of an underlying grammarthat might have generated
it. But in what sense might we understand this notion?

Conclusion
The event-string representation suggests a grammarbecause it reflects the way elements
of musical material are chained together under repeatable and combinable principles
that are understood by those making and hearing the music; it reflects how a potentially
infinite number of combinations can be generated from a finite number of conventions.
However, the notation is not yet a formal description of the putative grammar itself, but
rather of its outputs. To model the underlying principles of the grammar per se would need
a yet further level of formalisation: one able algorithmically to express the options for the
combination and succession of rubrics, perhaps in the form of a flow diagram, perhaps
mutating quasi-algebra into actual algebra. A properly formalised grammar would also
need to find a systematic and rigorous way to express the probability of options within the
 3. Explorations And Analyses (i): Rāg Samay Cakra 161

schema, which in this account I have only indicated informally with modal verbs such as
‘should’, ‘can’ or ‘may’, or with adverbs such as ‘usually’ or ‘not commonly’.
Such a grammar would also need to contend with the fact that a choṭā khayāl is both
hypotacticand paratactic. To explain: hypotaxis refers to the way language may structure
ideas in terms that are mutually dependent—for example, the embedding of sub-clauses
within a main clause. Parataxis refers to a sequence of ideas whose order is mutable and
does not subordinate any one to any other. We can see hypotaxis operating within the
hierarchic conditions described in global rubric BH—for example, the first line of the
sthāī as superordinate to the following lines. Hypotaxis is also visible in the event-string
notation, which shows several nested levels: a line for each performance phase, presided
over by a governing rubric (indicated in bold); the linking of elements so governed with
commas; and the representation of their sub-elements inside curly brackets, as subsets.
However, many of those same elements also function paratactically, thus manifesting a
countervailing, anti-hierarchic tendency. For example, S1 and S1A may occur at various
points; and devices such as tāns and bol ālāp operate under similarly loose conditions, with
considerable flexibility as regards order. Thus, hypotaxisand parataxisintermingle, with
an attendant challenge for grammatical modelling—or even for the notion of grammaras
such. I do not intend to pursue these matters further here, but signal that these are some of
the issues that any future programme of analysis along such lines would need to address.
Finally, does any of this matter? I think it does. While on the one hand, the written schema
of rubrics, and the implicit grammar to which its formal organisation points, exceeds what
practicing musicians consciouslyneed to know, on the other hand, the rubrics are closely
related to performance: they codify the guidance communicated orally by gurus and
internalised by students over many years of practice until it takes the form of intuition.
The notion of a performance grammarmay be apposite because, as Harold Powersput it
in a classic article, ‘few musics are as much like language as Indian music is’; and in Indian
classical music, ‘spontaneous and flexible musical discourse is as essential and almost as
easy for the trained musician as speech for the fluent speaker of a language’ (1980: 38, 42).
At the back of my own mind in attempting such a theoretical distillation of practice has
been the historically remote example of the classical grammarian Pāṇini, who, between
the sixth and fourth centuries BCE, codified Sanskritinto a compact number of algorithms
(Kiparsky1993). I speculate about this connection not to aggrandise my own findings, but to
throw light on what such frameworks proffer in their abstraction. Significantly, they model
unconscious collective knowledge that lies deep beneath everyday discursive utterances.
And, as I have attempted to show in this analysis, they make the orally transmitted artistry
of Hindustani classical culture—in all its complexity and sophistication—legible to us.
 4. EXPLORATIONS AND ANALYSES (II):
TWILIGHT RĀGS FROM NORTH INDIA

Performers:

Dr Vijay Rajput (khayāl vocalist)

with

Ustād Shahbaz Hussain (tabla)

Ustād Fida Hussain (harmonium)

©2024 David Clarke, CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 [Link]

164 Rāgs Around the Clock

4.1 Introduction
In contrast to Rāg samay cakra, an album comprising concise renditions of fourteen rāgs
in an extended sequence, Twilight Rāgs from North India presents extended accounts of
just two rāgs, Bhairav and Yaman. These concert-length performances by Vijay Rajput
(henceforth VR) and accompanists exemplify the wider and deeper reaches of rāg music.
Each begins with an ālāp, followed by a weighty baṛā khayāl (also termed vilambit khayāl)
and a fully developed choṭā khayāl (also termed drut khayāl). This form of rāg performance
launches many a modern-day classical Hindustani vocal recital, after which the soloist
usually moves on to shorter and lighter items, including some in semi-classical vein, such
as bhajansand ṭhumrīs, or sometimes even folk- and filmi-derived songs.
Two factors drew us towards Bhairav and Yaman. First, bearing in mind the theme of
our anthology, these rāgs mark especially evocative performing times (samay). They are
associated with the awakening and ending of the day respectively—just after sunrise and
just after sunset: times of stillness conducive to contemplation. Second, the rāgs have a
core place in the Hindustani canon. They are usually learnt early in a student’s training,
and remain touchstones throughout an artist’s career. This is especially true of Yaman—
often the first rāg a student might learn, yet not disdained by the great artists either. VR
tells of how his late guruji, the feted Bhimsen Joshi(1922–2011), never stopped exploring
this rāg; he was especially fond of the drut bandiś ‘Śyām bajāi’, which VR sings as a tribute
on both albums of Rāgs Around the Clock.
As the specifications and descriptions for Bhairav and Yaman were outlined in the
supporting materials for Rāg samay cakra (Section 2.5.1 and Section 2.5.9), there is no
need to repeat that content here. Rather, this part of Rāgs Around the Clock has two
main objectives. First, Section 4.2 provides notations, transliterations, translations and
commentaries relating to VR’s Bhairav performance on Tracks 2 and 3. Second, Section 4.3
examines the principles of a baṛā khayāl, taking VR’s Yaman rendering on Track 5 as a case
study; this complements (and completes) the analysis initiated in Part 3, which looked at
the ālāp and choṭā khayāl stages of performances from Rāg samay cakra.
Twilight Rāgs from North India was recorded at Newcastle Universityin April 2006 and
released the same year in CD format (with slightly different orthography in the title). The
sound engineer was John Ayers, and David Clarke(henceforth DC) was the producer. Work
published elsewhere (Clarke 2013) provides contextual background to the album.
 4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 165

4.2 Rāg Bhairav: Texts, Notations and Commentaries

Aims
The subject under the spotlight in the present section is VR’s performance of the first rāg
on the Twilight Rāgs album, Bhairav. One priority is to provide details of the texts and
notations of the bandiśes, in the interests not least of students who want to add them to
their repertoire. A further aim is to consider the issues raised by these materials and their
associated performances. Hence, in the first part of this section, I consider the mutable
identity of the baṛā khayāl bandiś ‘Balamavā more saīyā̃’̃ , alongside alternative versions
sung by doyens of the Kirānā gharānā. And, in the second part, I analyse the subtleties of the
drut bandiś ‘Suno to sakhī batiyā’, and the ways in which VR works it into an extended choṭā
khayāl. With this last analysis, I conjecture further about the possibility of an underlying
performance grammar, as first raised in Section 3.3. As I have already considered general
principles of ālāp in Section 3.1, I will not discuss that stage of VR’s performance here (for
an analysis of his Yaman ālāp from the album, see Clarke2017).

Baṛā Khayāl: ‘Bālamavā more saīyā’̃

Characteristically, VR chooses a baṛā khayāl in vilambit (slow) ektāl for his performance.
The text of the Bhairav composition, given below, is characteristically ambiguous as to
whether the object of the lyricist’s longing and devotion is earthly or divine, or both:

Rāg Bhairav—Baṛā Khayāl

Sthāī
Bālamavā more saīyā̃ ̃ sadā raṅgīle. My beloved, my lord, is always
resplendent.
Antarā
Hū̃̃ to tuma bīna, tarasa gaai, Without you, I have been pining.
Darasa bega dīkhāo. Quickly, show yourself.

रााग भैै रव—बड़ाा ख़यााल

स्थााई
बाालमवाा मोोरेे सईयाँँ� सदाा रंंगीीलेे |
अंं तराा
हुँँ तोो तुुम बीीन, तरस गऐ
दरस बेे ग दीीखााओ ||
166 Rāgs Around the Clock

Audio Examples 4.2.1 and 4.2.2 extract the sthāī and antarā respectively from VR’s
performance on Track 2 of the album; typically, the former is heard at the very outset, while
the latter comes some way in, around 11:20. These extracts can be followed in conjunction
with their respective musical transcriptionsin Figure 4.2.1 (a) and (b).

Audio Example 4.2.1 Rāg Bhairav: baṛā khayāl, sthāī (TR, Track 2,
00:00–01:09)
[Link]

Audio Example 4.2.2 Rāg Bhairav: baṛā khayāl, antarā (TR, Track 2,
11:20–12:20)
[Link]

(a) Sthāī mukhṛā

12
Ṟ
SG G R S
Bā - - la - ma -

x o
1 2 3 4
Ṟ G
G R R M
vā mo - re

2 o
5 6 7 8
G
G P P M G G G D
sa - ī - yā̃ sa - dā

3 4 mukhṛā
9 10 11 12
PM .PSGMPMGM MP PM Ṟ
P M G G G R S G G R S
raṅ - - - - gi-le Bā - - la - ma -

x
1
Ṟ
G [etc.]
vā [etc.]
 4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 167

mukhṛā
(b) Antarā 12
M M D N
Hū̃ to tu-ma

x o
1 2 3 4
N
Ṡ Ṙ Ṡ Ṡ D D D Ṡ
bī - - - - - - - na ta - ra - sa

2 o
5 6 7 8
ṠNṠṘ ṠNṘ N MN N N N Ḏ
Ṙ Ṙ Ṡ Ṡ D M D D D
ga - ai da - - ra - sa

3 4 mukhṛā
9 10 11 12
ḎḎḎ N MG GMPM SṆ
D Ṡ Ṡ D Ṡ D M G M G R S G RS
be - - ga dī - khā - o (ā) (mo - - re) Bā - - la-ma

x
1
G
vā

Fig. 4.2.1 Notation of baṛā khayāl, ‘Bālamavā more saīyā̃’̃ : (a) sthāī; (b) antarā. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

Notating the composition of a baṛā khayāl has its own complications. This is because the
form it takes is closer in style to an ālāp than to the metrically organised song of a choṭā
khayāl; it has only a loose connection with the tāl framework. Attempting to set down its
somewhat amorphous contours in any definitive notated form runs even more against the
grain than is the case with a choṭā khayāl—a matter I explore in greater depth in Section
4.3. In the present notation of VR’s Bhairavbandiś, I have sought to render the composition
in a reasonable approximation of how he actually sings it—in Charles Seeger’s(1886–1979)
terminology, this would be descriptive music writing (Seeger 1958; see also Section 2.3).
Because VR does not overly elaborate the slowly unfolding melodic arc of the composition,
or significantly depart from what one might imagine to be its underpinning archetype,
this version may also act as a model for emulation by students—in Seeger’s parlance, it
also serves as prescriptive music writing. This is provided students bear in mind that, in
any actual performance, the timing of notes in relation to each mātrāof the tālis mutable.
Although I have notated the pitches here (as closely as the software permits) in the positions
at which VR sings them on this particular occasion, the duration, decoration and location
of notes do not have to be—indeed should not be—reproduced exactly this way every time.
Such flexibility can be illustrated by comparing VR’s different executions of the mukhṛā—
the head motif that begins the composition and that is used as a refrain throughout the
performance. Notionally, the beginning of this figure (‘bālama-’) should fit within the final
beat (beat 12)—of the slow ektāl cycle, more or less locking on to its four sub-beats; the
final syllable, ‘-vā’ lands on sam and extends some way into the beginning of the first
complete āvartan. But Figure 4.2.1(a) shows how VR already allows himself some metrical
168 Rāgs Around the Clock

leeway, extending the initial prolongedGa by a beat, so that the whole figure lasts five sub-
beats rather than four. Conversely, when he reiterates the mukhṛā at the end of the sthāī
(bottom of Figure 4.2.1(a)), he begins it later in beat 12, compressing it into three sub-beats
and holding the final Ga on the following samfor a shorter duration than before. Further
variations can be heard at the end of every āvartan; one such is notated near the end of
Figure 4.2.1(b), where, after completing the antarā, VR further compresses the mukhṛā
into the last two sub-beats of the cycle.
The indeterminate identity of a baṛā khayāl bandiśmeans not only that an artist might
subtly vary it each time they perform it, but also that even greater differences occur
between artists. Interestingly, on commercially released performancesof ‘Bālamavā more
saīyā̃’̃ by Bhimsen Joshi(2016) and Gangubai Hangal(1994), the sthāī is so different from
VR’s version that it could be regarded as a different composition, even though the text is
essentially the same. Most saliently, the mukhṛāin their versions establishes an altogether
different trajectory, taking Dha as the initial goal tone—as shown in Figure 4.2.2 which
notates the first three phrases of Gangubai’s account. The prominence of Dha reflects the
saṃvādī status of this pitch in Bhairav; and I will call this the ‘dhaivat version’ of the song.
(The salience of Ma at the beginning or ends of phrases here is another characteristic of
Bhairav, and another point of contrast between this version and the one sung by VR.)
Bhimsen Joshi sings the dhaivat version a little differently from Gangubai—most notably
his rendition is in vilambit tīntālwhile hers is in vilambit ektāl—but the same underlying
bandiś is discernible behind both performances. Given that both artists belonged to the
same branch of the Kirānā gharānā—both were disciples of Sawai Gandharva—we might
infer a single line of transmission.

(vilambit ektāl )
x
ͳ ʹ

     
Bā - - - ŽƒǦƒǦ vā (ā) (ā)

o
͵ Ͷ
Ȁ
 
‘Ǧ Ǧ Ǧ Ǧ”‡

2
ͷ ͸
 
   
saī - - - (aī) - Ǧ Ǧ yā̃

Fig. 4.2.2 Opening of ‘Bālamavā more saīyā̃’̃ , as performed by Gangubai Hangal (1994: Track 1). Created by author
(2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
 4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 169

I have referenced commercially available CDs here, but of course these recordingscan also
be found in online uploads on streaming platforms such as YouTube by using the artist,
rāg or bandiś name as search terms. Searches also throw up yet further variants of the
dhaivat version—not only by the same artists, but also by singers of younger generations,
such as Manali Bose and Richa Shukla. This suggests the continuing transmission of the
dhaivat version, and possibly its emerging status as the canonical melody for this text.
Yet the version sung by VR on Twilight Rāgs—which we can term the ‘gāndhār
version’, because Ga is the salient pitch of its mukhṛā—can also be found
with a little assiduous online searching. Two different performances by Bhimsen
Joshi are captured on YouTube (Sangeetveda1 2017: [Link]
watch?v=p18MARsM92g&ab and Nadkarni 2022: [Link]
As would be expected, there are differences of contour, pace, melodic segmentation and
text underlay between Joshi’s version and VR’s; but they are recognisably the same bandiś,
with the foregrounding of Ga in the mukhṛāas a salient shared feature. The very sweetness
of Ga brings out the romantic aspect of the text, as compared with the gravity of the dhaivat
version, which foregrounds Dha; we might interpret the gāndhār version as invoking
the śr̥̥ṅgār ras, and the dhaivat version the karuṇ ras. Across the spectrum of recordings
available both commercially and online, the contrast is greatest between VR’s rendering
of the gāndhār version—the heartfelt performance of a younger man—and Gangubai’s
more austere performances of the dhaivat version—documents of a much later stage in
an artist’s life. I make this point not to set these very different accounts in opposition, but
rather to point to how they reveal complementary aspects of the rāg, its sheer range of
expressive possibility. This also underscores the importance of the Twilight Rāgs recording
as a dissemination channel for the rarer, gāndhār version of the bandiś, and of VRas one of
its bearers within the Kirānā gharānā.

Drut khayāl: ‘Suno to sakhī batiyā’

On Track 3 of Twilight Rāgs, we have a quintessential example of a khayāl in drut ektāl. This
rapid twelve-beat cycle has a distinctive momentum, owing to successive stresses (tālī) on
its last two metrical subdivisions (vibhāgs), which drive towards sam. This particular drut
khayālis based on a fine bandiś in Rāg Bhairavtaught to VRby Pandit Madhup Mudgalat the
Gandharva Mahavidyalayain New Delhi. The text is given below in the original language
and in translation, and its musical setting is notated in Figure 4.2.3. Audio Examples 4.2.3
and 4.2.4 extract the sthāī and antarā from VR’s performance.
170 Rāgs Around the Clock

Rāg Bhairav—Drut Khayāl

Sthāī
Suno to sakhī batiyā Ghanaśyāma Listen, my companion, to words
kī rī about Ghanaśyāma [Kr̥̥ṣṇa].
bīta gaī sagarī raina The whole night has passed,
kala nā parata āve caina I have no repose, no peace of mind.
sudha nā līnī āna kachu dhāma kī You did not remember the place, and
rī. did not come at all.
Antarā
Bhora bhaī mere āe Dawn has come, and you have come
to me,
pāga peca laṭapaṭāai Your curly hair all dishevelled,
atahī alasāne naina Your eyes all bleary—
tadarā mukha veta naina Your eyes evasive.
bāta karata mukha rijhāta As you talk, your face is alight
pagavā dharata ḍagamagāta But you can’t walk straight.
juṭhī sau nā khāta dilā Rām kī rī. Don’t swear vainly on the name of
Rām.

रााग भैै रव—द्रुुत ख़यााल

स्थााई
सुुनोो तोो सखीी बति�याा घनश्यााम कीी रीी
बीीत गई सगरीी रैैन
कल नाा परत आवेे चैै न
सुुध नाा लीीनीी आन कछुु धााम कीी रीी।
अंं तराा
भोोर भई मेे रेे आए
पााग पेे च लटपटााऐ
अतहीी अलसाानेे नैै न
तदराा मुुख वेे त नैै न
बाात करत मुुख रि�झाात
पगवाा धरत डगमगाात
जुुठीी सौौ नाा खाात दि�लाा रााम कीी रीी॥
 4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 171

Audio Example 4.2.3 Rāg Bhairav: drut khayāl, sthāī (TR, Track 3,
00:41–01:09)
[Link]

Audio Example 4.2.4 Rāg Bhairav: drut khayāl, antarā (TR, Track 3,
04:26–05:03)
[Link]


(a)
ektāl
x o 2 o 3 4
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Sthāī

S1 :N D P – M P G M P – G Ḿ :
Su - no to sa - khī ba - ti - yā Gha - na -

S2 D – – – P NṠ ṘN Ṡ – N D P
śyā - - - - ma kī rī

S3 D – D D P – P M P M – M
bī - - ta ga - ī sa - ga - ri rai - - na

S4 G G G R G P M G M R – S
ka - la nā pa - ra - ta ā- - ve cai - - na

S5 S S Ḍ S G M P – P P G –
su - dha nā lī - - nī ā- - na ka - chu

S6 D – – – D NṠ ṘN Ṡ – N D P
dhā - - - - ma kī rī.
172 Rāgs Around the Clock

(b)
ektāl
x o 2 o 3 4
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Antarā

A1 :M – M M D – N Ṡ N Ṡ – Ṡ :
Bho - - ra bha - ī me - - re ā- - e

A2 D – D Ṡ – Ṡ N N Ṡ N – D
pā - - ga pe - - ca la - ṭa - pa - ṭā - - ai

A3 D D P – M P P M P M – M
a- ta - hī a- la - sā - - ne nai - - na

A4 G G G R G M RG MP M R – S
ta - da - rā mu - kha ve - - ta nai - - na

A5 M G M D D D N Ṡ N Ṡ – Ṡ
bā - - ta ka - ra - ta mu - kha ri - jhā - - ta

A6 D D P Ṡ N Ṡ N N Ṡ N
D – P
pa - ga - vā dha - ra - ta ḍa - ga - ma - gā - - ta

A7 D – D P – D P M P G M –
ju - - ṭhī sau nā khā - - ta di - lā - -

A8 D – – – D NṠ ṘN Ṡ – N D P
Rā - - - - ma kī rī.

Fig. 4.2.3 Notation of drut khayāl, ‘Suno to sakhī batiyā’: (a) sthāī; (b) antarā. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

What is immediately apparent in all these forms of capture, is that this is a long bandiś.
The sthāī and antarā respectively comprise six and eight phrases, each phrase lasting one
āvartan—numbered S1, S2 etc., A1, A2 etc. in Figure 4.2.3; interestingly, the antarā in effect
has two strophes, the second beginning at ‘bāga karata’ (phrase A5). In a spontaneous
moment, VR sings the sixth phrase (‘pagavā dharata’) four times, enhancing it with lāykārī.
The text tells yet another tale of the gopī (cowherd) Rādhābeing stood up by her divine
lover, Kr̥̥ṣṇa. She recounts to her companion (rī) how she spent the whole night waiting
for him; how she said to him when he finally appeared at dawn, your eyes are bleary,
your hair’s dishevelled, your footing’s unsteady; don’t take the name of Ram in vain [by
lying to me about where you’ve been]. For all that such a scene is a classic tropeof khayāl
poetics (cf. Magriel and du Perron 2013, I: 139–42), the text does not rely on formulaic
Braj Bhāṣāphrases typical of so many bandiśes.Rather, it has its own distinctive language
and construction. For one thing, it is underlaid with a metrical sophistication mirrored in
 4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 173

the musical setting and amplified by various internal cross-correspondences within the
melody. Figure 4.2.4 shows how textual and musical rhyming reinforce each other: (a)
between phrases S2, S6 and A8; (b) between S3 and A3; and (c) between S4 and A4; equivalences
are shown with a mix of horizontal alignment, boxes and braces.

Fig. 4.2.4 ‘Suno to’: musical and textual rhyme patterns. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

There are further subtleties. Focusing on the sthāī, Figure 4.2.5 illustrates the imaginative
ways the metre of the song variably reinforces or counterpoints the metre of the tāl. In
S1, the poetic metre divides the twelve beats of ektāl into three groups of four—which is
congruent with the tāl’s 6x2-beat clap pattern(shown at the top of the figure). By contrast,
in S2 and S6, the main impulses fall on beats 1 and 7, creating two groups of six beats; here
the emphasis on beat 7 contradicts the unstressed, second khālīof the tāl cycle. Sometimes
complementary groupings take place within an āvartan. In S3 and S4 the beats are arranged
in a (2+2+2)+(3+3) pattern; while S5 reverses the grouping to form (3+3)+(2+2+2). These
several patterns are generated through their various combinations of melodic and textual
stresses and saliences. Their cross-metrical play creates a sense of cut and thrust that
conveys the ambivalent feelings recounted in the text, and that imbues the song with life
and energy.
174 Rāgs Around the Clock

ektāl
x o 2 o 3 4
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

1
S :N D P – M P G M P – G Ḿ :
Su - no to sa - khī ba - ti - yā Gha - na -
4 4 4

S2 D – – – P NṠ ṘN Ṡ – N D P
śyā - - - - ma kī rī

6 6

3
S D – D D P – P M P M – M
bī - - ta ga - ī sa - ga - ri rai - - na
2 2 2 3 3

S4 G G G R G P M G M R – S
ka - la nā pa - ra - ta ā- - ve cai - - na
2 2 2 3 3

S5 S S Ḍ S G M D – D D G –
su - dha nā lī - - nī ā- - na ka - chu
3 3 2 2 2

S6 D – – – D NṠ ṘN Ṡ – N D P
dhā - - - - ma kī rī.
6 6
Fig. 4.2.5 ‘Suno to’: metrical play. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

Performing a bandiś stylishly is one thing, but a khayāl singer’s artistry also lies in
extemporising around it to create a full-length performance. Always an issue for the
improvising soloist—and especially in such a fast lay—is the ever-pressing question of
what to do next. Figure 4.2.6 graphically summarises the elaborate chain of events that
VR generates in response to this imperative. Shadings highlight the different kinds of
materials deployed: the sthāī (in its complete form), the antarā, passages of bol ālāp,
and tāns. Unshaded areas principally signify the first line of the sthāī (S1) when sung
independently from the whole and functioning as a refrain or mukhṛā; perhaps because
of the rapid tempo, this function is often performed by joining statements of S1 in pairs,
sometimes in a relay from voice to harmonium. White space also indicates occasional
rests and fills. The 248 āvartans of the drut khayāl are numbered underneath each line
and are supplemented by time codes cross-referenced to Track 3 of the album. Readers are
invited to follow this graphic while listening to the entire track.
 4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 175

Fig. 4.2.6 ‘Suno to’: event sequence in graphical form. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
176 Rāgs Around the Clock

Fig. 4.2.6 (cont'd) ‘Suno to’: event sequence in graphical form. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
 4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 177

Fig. 4.2.6 (cont'd) ‘Suno to’: event sequence in graphical form. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
178 Rāgs Around the Clock

Fig. 4.2.6 (cont'd) ‘Suno to’: event sequence in graphical form. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
 4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 179

Fig. 4.2.6 (cont'd) ‘Suno to’: event sequence in graphical form. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

What this empirical representation makes clear is that, while statements and repetitions
of the first line of the sthāī (S1) are prevalent, accounting for over a quarter of the total
performance time, statements of the complete sthāī are rare. It is not heard in full until the
fifteenth āvartan, having been deferred by a period of first-line accumulationinterjected
with tāns; after that it is heard complete only twice more, in the closing stages of the
performance at āvartans 205 and 241. Even more selectively, the complete antarā is sung
only once, at āvartan 93 (though its inception can be traced back to āvartans 74 and 87).
These components of the bandiś, then, function as stand-out moments against the more
loosely ordered tān and bol ālāp passages that prevail for so much of the rest of the time.
Tāns in fact represent the predominant means of musical extension. Their virtuosic
execution here is appropriate to the climactic drut lay, and no doubt also reflects VR’s
predilection for effusive tān singing. As already noted, he interjects them into the drut’s
opening period of first-line accumulation—a gesture that would be premature in a
freestanding choṭā khayāl, but is fitting following a baṛā khayāl, which has already done
much of the exegetical work. In total, tāns—principally ākār tāns—account for about
a third of the drut khayāl’s performance time. Like the less-prevalent bol ālāp or vistār
passages which complement them, the appearance of these musical gestures feels more
contingent and fungible than the nested phrase structure of the sthāī and antarā. To put it
technically, their organisation is paratactic—i.e. not dependent on any particular ordering:
a tān here could be replaced by a bol ālāp there; either could in principle be longer or
shorter, or come earlier or later. This complements the hypotacticorganisation of the sthāī
and antarā, which convey a strong sense of internalised narrative direction, due not only
to the presence of a text, but also to a corresponding musical syntax that organises the
succession of their several phrases into a larger, integrated whole.
That a choṭā khayāl, blends hypotactic and paratactic principles is a point I discussed in
Section 3.3, where I evaluated the possibility of an actual or virtual grammarunderpinning
a performer’s choices in the moment. It is worth re-visiting this issue here, for VR’s drut
khayāl is a performance both richly spontaneous and subconsciouslyconditioned by a set
of culturally understood conventions. Alongside hypotaxis and parataxis, what further
180 Rāgs Around the Clock

principles might govern the dynamics between the immediate moment and the constantly
evolving whole?
Because any larger organising principle or grammar for extemporisation must by
definition exist ex tempore—that is, outside the time of any actual performance that it
generates—we will need momentarily to pull back from the empiricalsurface of the music
as graphed in Figure 4.2.6 if we want to define it. To this end, Figure 4.2.7 distils that
information into an event synopsis, following the model adopted in Figure 3.3.8 and Figure
3.3.9. In column 4 of this table, each musical element, and its rubric for performance, is
encoded with one or more letters, glossed in column 5 (a full schedule of rubrics can be
found in Section 3.3); column 6 gives additional information specific to the performance.
4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 181

Fig. 4.2.7 ‘Suno to’: event synopsis. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
182 Rāgs Around the Clock

Fig. 4.2.7 (cont'd) ‘Suno to’: event synopsis. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

Two larger principles of organisation are made legible in this synopsis. First, it conveys the
saliency of the complete statements of the sthāī and antarā by carrying over their shading
from the previous graphic. The highlighting of the antarā in particular draws attention to
its presentation in extended mode, with several subcomponents preceding its complete
statement at āvartan 93. Even though those components include such features as bol ālāp
and tāns, they are here mobilised hypotactically under the auspices of the antarā itself
(they fall within its orbit), and hence are also shaded in the synopsis.
The second organisational principle is shown in column 3, which identifies the different
phases of the performance: the opening phase(O), elaboration phase(E), and closing phase
(C) (an arrow signifies a transitional overlap between the opening and elaboration phases).
In a previous analysis (Figure 3.3.9) we saw how the elaboration phase accounted for by
far the greater part of the performance. This is even more true here, where it extends
across āvartans 25–240. If we further extract the information from columns 3 and 4 into
a linear event string—as in Figure 4.2.8(a)—we are left in no doubt about just how many
events are concatenated into the elaboration phase(E). (When listening to the performance
in conjunction with this string notation it should be noted that a single symbol such as
‘T(a)’ might signify an entire episode of several ākār tāns, and also imply statements of the
mukhṛā (S1) interpolated between them but not separately indicated.)
 4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 183



(a)


O:  S1A /T(a), S
→ S1R
E: T(a), V(b), T(a), T(b), T(a), S1R, S2→Int, T(a), S1A, A(e, ii){A1R,
V(a)→(b), T(b), A1R, T(a), A}, S1A+LI, T(a), V(b)→L(bb), S1R→Int,
T(a), S1A, T(a), V(b), T(a), S1A, T(a), S1A, T(a), S1A→S, S1R, T(a), T(b),
T(a)
C S, Th→Cba.
 

(b)


O:  S1A /T(a), S
→ S1R
E: T(a), V(b), T(a), T(b), T(a), S1R, S2→Int, T(a)

E2: S1A, A(e, ii){A1R, V(a)→(b), T(b), A1R, T(a), A}

E3: S1A+LI, T(a), V(b)→L(bb), S1R→Int, T(a)

E4: S1A, T(a), V(b), T(a)

E5: S1A, T(a)

E6: S1A, T(a)

E7: S1A→S, S1R, T(a), T(b), T(a)

C S, Th→Cba.

 

Fig. 4.2.8 ‘Suno to’: (a) event string; (b) event substrings. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

Although the very long event string of the elaboration phase captures the ceaseless
experience of ‘keeping going’ typical of a drut khayāl, it does beg the question of whether
there might not be divisions or undulations within it that make the performance more
than an experience of just one thing after another. In response, Figure 4.2.8(b) surmises a
third possible principle of organisation. Here, instances of first-line accumulation of the
sthāī (S1A) are posited as salient points of orientation that divide the main event stringof
the elaborationphase into several substrings, labelled E2–E7. This modelling may to some
extent reflect the empirical experience of both performer and listener. Even so, it would
be erroneous to regard the substrings as explicitly articulated formal sections like those
found in, say, western rondo form.
There are other salient features that additionally mark out waystations in our
perception of the larger flow. For example, it could be valuable to integrate the already-
noted salience of complete statements of the sthāi and antarā into this picture. To this end,
Figure 4.2.9 maps those events onto the previous pattern of substrings by showing them
in larger type. The same convention is also applied to the lay increase(LI) that reinforces
the first-line accumulation (S1A) at around the half-way point. (For the sake of visual
clarity, the figure drops the performance-stage indications.) With its superimposition of
184 Rāgs Around the Clock

several organisational principles, this analysis perhaps represents a closer match between
theoretical modelling and the empiricalexperience of the performance.

S1A /T(a)

S
S1R, T(a), V(b), T(a), T(b), T(a), S1R, S2→Int, T(a)
S1A

A(e, ii){A1R, V(a)→(b), T(b), A1R, T(a), A}

S1A+LI, T(a), V(b)→L(bb), S1R→Int, T(a)
S1A, T(a), V(b), T(a)
S1A, T(a)
S1A, T(a)

S1A→S, S1R, T(a), T(b), T(a)

S, Th→Cba.
 
Fig. 4.2.9 ‘Suno to’: event substrings/salient moments. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

Further to the three organisational principles so far identified, we need to recall a fourth:
the principle of accumulating intensity (AI) described under ‘global rubrics’ in Section 3.3.
This has an effect on elaborative materials such as tāns, which, across the course of the
performance, exhibit a principle of growth. For example, in the opening phase, prior to the
first complete statement of the sthāī, the interjected tāns last just one tāl cycle—āvartans
8, 11 and 14; but after this point, they extend to two āvartans (25–6, 29–30), then to three
(42–4, 48–50), then to four (66–9, 110–13), and ultimately to six (181–6). Although there
are intermittent periods of contraction and expansion within this tendency, the tendency
obtains nonetheless. This tells us that even though there is a paratactic dimension to the
timing of tāns, they also manifest a discontinuous hypotaxisthrough this larger cumulative
tendency.
Something similar applies to episodes of bol ālāp, of which there are essentially three,
beginning at āvartans 33, 76 and 147 (another, at 116, soon mutates into bol bāṇṭ). Across
these discontinuous passages, all of which initially focus on tār Sā, we can hear a gradual
lifting of the registral ceiling: the first pushes gently upwards to tār Re, the second to tār
Ga, and the third to tār Pa. The climactic character of the final episode might also qualify
it as an addition to the strongly salient passages of this performance. The staged process
of ascent and growth here is another connotation of the term vistār, which is often used
(as in this book) as a close synonym for bol ālāp or its wordless counterpart. Vistār, in this
guise could be considered a fifth principle of organisation within khayāl.
Additionally, we might introduce a sixth principle. In live performance, decisions about
what to do next would also be conditioned by the performer’s judgement of audience
response: do they want more; are they getting bored; do they need some contrast? Even a
studio performance such as this would involve an internalisedimagining of such factors,
based on years of live performance experience, as well as actual interaction between lead
artist and accompanists.
 4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 185

Collectively, these principles neither conclusively affirm nor definitively refute

the operation of a grammatical or syntactic process behind the build-up of a khayāl
performance. Instead, in their heterogeneity, they suggest a possible epistemic messiness.
However, rather than tidy things up in a quest for some overriding unifying principle (a
motive which has driven much western musictheory), we might ponder—on this occasion
at least—the merits of living with a little chaos. For, in one sense, that is just what the
performer has to do. I want to conjecture whether what goes on in their inner experience
might not be something like the multiple drafts model of consciousnessproposed by Daniel
Dennettin his 1991 volume, Consciousness Explained.
Among other things, Dennett relates this notion to the inner logistics of speech
production—which, I would suggest, may not be unrelated to the production of musical
utterances. To summarise a complicated argument, Dennett dismisses the idea of any
unifying centre of consciousness, and, by analogy, of any central ‘meaner’ or any central
process of generating meaning when human beings create sentences. His memorable
image for speech production is of an inner pandemonium, operating at a pre-conscious
level, of ‘word-demons’ and ‘content-demons’ that spontaneously and simultaneously
generate bits of vocabulary, morsels of syntax, fragments of sentences, and so on, some
of which coagulate and eventually get voiced as meaningful utterances (1991: 237–52).
Dennettposits that ‘[f]ully fledged and executed communicative intentions—meanings—
could emerge from a quasi-evolutionary process of speech act design that involves the
collaboration, partly serial, partly in parallel, of various subsystems none of which is
capable on its own of performing—or ordering—a speech act’ (1991: 239). Substitute
‘quasi-evolutionary’ with ‘cultural’, and ‘speech act’ with ‘musical gesture’, and we can see
how this could apply to performing khayāl. While for some musicians, ideas may be lining
up in their minds in an orderly queue waiting to be executed (I have heard reports of such
claims), I suspect that for many others, especially in ati drut lay, looking into their mind
would reveal a ferment of vying possibilities—like the following:
now sing a tān / sing the antarā / don’t get too intense yet / keep the audienceengaged / go higher in this
bol ālāp than the last time / merge this with something else / let the harmoniumplayer take over for a
bit / don’t repeat that idea, you sang it a while ago / do it for longer this time / just repeat the first line till
something happens / surprise them, break off, go in a different direction / savour this svar / don’t stop
yet, let them guess how long …

This is not to say that the singer would be literally thinking these thoughts as such—
since the whole process is going on below consciousness and as much in parallel as in
succession. Rather, I use these words as a conceit to signify pre-conscious intentions, or
what Dennett calls ‘content-demons’: a host of dispositions looking for proto-materials
which are similarly looking for desired content. Such materials (which Dennett would call
‘word-demons’, but which we could here term ‘musical ideas’) would include memories
of musical materials, figures, shapes, patterns, actions and gestures, stored over years of
practice and waiting to be triggered by the content demons—the whole pandemonium
a buzz of parallel, emerging, collaborating possibilities some of which will eventually
manifest as musical gestures—less through conscious decision-making than through a
stacking of the odds according to the accumulating circumstances of any given moment.
To adapt Dennett (1991: 238, substituting ‘singer’ for ‘speaker’): ‘In the normal case, the
186 Rāgs Around the Clock

[singer] gets no preview; he and his audiencelearn what the [singer’s] utterance is at the
same time’.
What all this means is that the various organisational principles described and graphed
above may all be operating simultaneously in a performance, and that none has any
greater privilege over the others as the organising model. It may even mean that the
rubrics for musical material and behaviour specified in Section 3.3 might represent the
maximum level of formalisation possible for any putative performance grammar. This is
not to say that some form, or indeed several forms, of syntaxmight not be operating, since
there is a clear difference between a well-timed, elegantly executed musical gesture and
a random-sounding or botched one. Nonetheless, if Dennett is right, it could be that such
principles operate in an inner cognitive environment that is not entirely free of chaos.
Such speculations about the phenomenology, the lived experience, of a performance are
important. They suggest, once again, that the musical event of khayāl is a complex and
perhaps not entirely tidy admixture of theoreticalrubrics and the material contingencies
of a real time and place. The creative aim is to produce neither a great work, nor even an
interesting piece, but a compelling, indeed memorable performance: a coming together of
people, music and imagination.
 4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 187

4.3 How Do You Sing a Baṛā Khayāl? Performance Conventions,

Aesthetics, Temporality

Preamble: Time Is of the Essence

A baṛā khayāl lies at the heart of a full-length khayāl performance. Here is where an artist
is able (and expected) most fully to display their artistry—not only their technical prowess,
but also their ability to explore the deeper reaches and subtleties of a rāg. Learning how
to present a baṛā khayāl is so essential to the khayāl singer’s art that no treatment of
Hindustani classical music would be complete without considering it; for audience
members too, knowledge of its conventions is invaluable for more rewarding listening.
Paradoxically, while a baṛā khayāl is more expressively searching than its choṭā khayāl
counterpart, pathways through it are generally clearer cut, with fewer likely forks in the
road and more time to make decisions. Hence, while the inner game of what to sing next
remains an issue, my greater concern in this section is with the aesthetic principles of a
baṛā khayāland the way these are implicated in the singer’s shaping of musical time. My
case study is taken from Vijay Rajput’s performance of Rāg Yaman on the album Twilight
Rāgs from North India. And since I don’t want to exclude feelings, sensations and lived
experience from this discussion, readers would be repaid by listening to the recording
(Track 5), before going further; those wanting a preliminary thumbnail of performance
conventions can consult Section 1.7.
The expressive possibilities of a baṛā khayāl are afforded by its extended duration
(‘baṛā’ means ‘large’) and by its spacious tempo (an alternative name is vilambit khayāl,
meaning slow khayāl). Time is of the essence here in a different way from how we have
so far considered it: while we previously focused on samay, the principle of performing
a rāg at its given time, in this essay I consider time as actually experienced through the
course of a performance, from the standpoint of both singer and listener. These concerns
resonate with Martin Clayton’sbook-length study, Time in Indian Music (2000), though my
emphases differ; in particular, I will focus on the subtle tension between non-metrical and
metrical principles (anibaddh and nibaddh) that permeates a baṛā khayāl—a tension that
conditions other experiential aspects of the music, including pedagogyand aesthetics.
Evidence tells us that in the late nineteenth and earlier twentieth centuries, vocalists
such as Amir Khan(1912–74), influenced by Abdul Wahid Khan(1871–1949) of the Kirānā
gharānā, began to perform ever slower and more spacious baṛā khayāls in a quest to
broaden expressive horizons (Clayton 2000: 50–1; Deshpande 1987: 64–5; Van der Meer
1980: 61–2). And while artists such as Veena Sahasrabuddhe(1948–2016) counsel that ‘one
hears much slower vilambit tempi today than our tradition recommends’ (Clayton and
Sahasrabuddhe 1998: 15), it is not uncommon to find ati vilambit(very slow) khayāls being
adopted almost as a norm in present-day practice.
Sahasrabuddhe also reminds us that the appropriate tempo is a question of both the
temperament of the singer and the character of a bandiś. Some, more lilting baṛā khayāl
compositions are best sung in madhya lay spread out over two āvartans. However, in an
ati vilambit khayāl(like the one discussed here), the tempo is slowenough to accommodate
188 Rāgs Around the Clock

the bandiś within a single capacious āvartan, and this duration then becomes the basic
yardstick for improvisation. The latter vein tends to be the one favoured by many
contemporary artists, especially those, such as VR, who belong to the Kirānā gharānā—a
stylistic school known for its inclination towards purity of svar rather than its cultivation
of lay (see Deshpande 1987: 41–5). It is this baṛā khayāl idiom that I principally discuss
here.
Although a baṛā khayāl does not feature in every rāg performance, when it does, it
supplies the expressive centre of gravity, being flanked by a short introductory ālāp and
one or more succeeding, brisker choṭā khayāls. Figure 4.3.1 illustrates how VR models
his Yaman performance in just this fashion. This graphic (drawn approximately to scale)
reveals his baṛā khayāl to be about six times the length of his prefatory ālāp and about
twice as long as his final choṭā khayāl.

Fig. 4.3.1 Elements of a typical full-length khayāl performance, with durations from VR’s Yaman recording
(TR, Tracks 4–6). Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

In fact, at just over three minutes, the ālāp here is of relatively generous length. Not
uncommonly, ālāps prefacing a baṛā khayālmight not last much more than a minute or two
(indeed, the most succinct form of introduction, known as aucār, lasts just a few phrases).
The reason for such curtailment is that in the first stage of a baṛā khayāl, the vocalist
tends to continue in the unmetred style of an ālāp; hence there is no need to over-extend
the ālāp proper, since this would steal the thunder of what follows. Nonetheless, what
crucially distinguishes a baṛā khayāl from an actual ālāp is that the former additionally
incorporates a slow tāl cycle supplied by the tabla. At the heart of a baṛā khayāl, then, is the
simultaneous presence of the non-metrical (anibaddh) principle of ālāp and the metrical
(nibaddh) principle of tāl.
Clayton(2000: 51) remarks on how the historical ‘deceleration of the tāl [in a baṛā khayāl],
coupled with the expressive and melismatic singing style, broke down the conventional
model of rhythmic organization. Indeed the changes brought about were so radical that it
is remarkable that this type of music is still performed in tāl’. But another way to consider
the situation is to note the scope for creative play that lies in the confluence of anibaddh
and nibaddhprinciples. For much of the time, the vocalist avoids locking on to the mātrās
(beats) of the tāl while all the while remaining consciousof it, moving fluidly into and out of
metricalsynchronisation. In an ati vilambit khayāleach radically expanded mātrā—what
I here term a macro-beat—is divided into four sub-beats, made audible by the tabla; so, in
vilambit ektāl,used in both baṛā khayāls on our Twilight Rāgs album, the slow twelve-beat
cycle can also be heard as a faster-moving forty-eight-beat one. The point is to feel these
two metrical levels simultaneously; their co-presence creates depth of field and further
space for creative exploration.
 4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 189

Like much else in Hindustani classical music, a baṛā khayāl is largely improvised,
albeit with reference to well-established conventions. Its typical sequence of events is
mapped out in Figure 4.3.2 (the graphic again cross-references these to their realisation
in VR’s performance, using track time codes). Even so, it does not feel quite appropriate
to consider a baṛā khayāl as a ‘form’ and its different stages or phases as ‘sections’—as in,
say, western classical sonataform. For those terms carry static, architectural connotations
that would belie the felt flowthat is of a baṛā khayāl’s essence. To be sure, flowis an aspect
of western music (and many other musics) too. But perhaps what makes this Hindustani
version of the big musical utterance distinctive has something to do with its non- (or very
limited) investment in musical notation. A practitioner of western classical music wanting
to perform a sonata, for example, would learn ‘the piece’ from a fully notated score; indeed
in western music, pieces of such substance could not have been generated without the
technology of writing. Conversely, a practitioner of Hindustani classical music wanting to
perform a baṛā khayāl would have nothing more in their mind—rather than on the page—
than a version of the event sequencesketched in Figure 4.3.2; a knowledge of stylistic and
improvisation conventions based on rāg and tāl; plus a short bandiś(composition) lasting
no more than a couple of minutes in a chosen rāg, around which to improvise at length.
Here, substance is generated in a different way.

Fig. 4.3.2 Typical event sequence of a baṛā khayāl, with time codes of their occurrence in VR’s Yaman recording
(TR, Track 5). Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

In the ensuing commentary, then, I seek not only to illustrate what happens and in what
order (which is certainly important for students and listenersto know), but also to convey
the various ways in which a baṛā khayāl’s ambiguous temporality and related interplay
between the fixed and the free, the formal and the informal, permeate the performance
ethos and contribute to the experience of musical depth. This also relates to the question
190 Rāgs Around the Clock

of how a baṛā khayāl gets taught; as elsewhere in Rāgs Around the Clock, my account here
includes insights gleaned directly from learning with my own guruji, VR.

Bandiś: ‘Kahe sakhī kaise ke karīe’

It will repay us to begin our exploration by examining the bandiś VR sings on this recording—
‘Kahe sakhī kaise ke karīe’—since this encapsulates many of the essential, ultimately
temporal, properties of the entire performance. I will focus on two such properties:
1. Resistance to notation as resistance to metre: as the only (relatively) fixed or
composed aspect of the musical material, the bandiś is the feature that most
invites being set down in musical notation—not least when being transmitted
from teacher to student. Yet at the same time (and even more than is the case
in a choṭā khayāl), a baṛā khayāl composition will want not to be bound by any
notational straitjacket—in the same way that its anibaddhspirit will seek to elude
capture by the nibaddhessence of tāl.
2. Eventfulness: another characteristic of the bandiśis that its two components, sthāī
and antarā, are experienced not just as musical content but as musical events;
and this eventfulness is a further dimension of a baṛa khayāl’s temporality,
complementing its flux.

Let us now explore each of these properties in turn.

Resisting Notation

Conventionally, the bandiś of a baṛā khayāl is transmitted orally, directly from guru to
śiṣyāin the real time of learning, being imitated over and over again by the student until
committed to memory. In modern-day practice, however, the process may be a little more
complicated, with notation playing at least some kind of role. Even so, the reifying effect
of writing—its tendency to turn evanescent invention into a fixed thing—continues to be
resisted.
For example, the learning process I have evolved with VR entails writing down only
the text of a bandiś, adopting the above-described repetitive procedure for acquiring its
melody, and also recording my teacher’s rendition of the compositionon my smartphone.
I refer to this recording after the lesson in order to consolidate my learning; it provides a
virtual version of my guruji continuing the living work of oral transmission. In the spirit
of this approach, I supply the text of the Yamanbandiś ‘Kahe sakhī kaise ke karie’ below—
in Romanised transliteration, in English translation (by my fellow student, Sudipta Roy),
and in Devanāgarī script (as supplied by VR). In the poem, the lyricist speaks to their
most intimate confidant (‘sakhī’) of the pain of separation from their lover—a classic
trope of khayāl poems (see Section 2.2). The text can be read in conjunction with Audio
Examples 4.3.1 and 4.3.2, which extract the sthāī and antarā portions of the bandiś from
VR’s performance.
 4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 191

Rāg Yaman—baṛā khayāl

Sthāī
Kahe sakhī kaise ke karīe Dearest friend, what should one do with
oneself
bharīe dina aiso lālana ke saṅga. The whole while, when one has such a
lover?
Antarā
Suna rī sakhī mẽ kā kahu to se Listen, dearest friend, what more can I
say?
una hī ke jānata dhaṅga. Only he would know this longing.

रााग यमन—बड़ाा ख़यााल

स्थााई
कहेे सखीी कैैसेे केे करीीए
भरीीए दि�न ऐसोो लाालन केे संं ग ।
अंं तराा
सुुन रीी सखीी मेंं काा कहु तोो सेे
उन हीी केे जाानत ढंं ग ॥
Audio Example 4.3.1 Rāg Yaman: baṛā khayāl, sthāī (TR, Track 5,
00:00–01:24)
[Link]

Audio Example 4.3.2 Rāg Yaman: baṛā khayāl, antarā (TR, Track 5,
10:04–11:20)
[Link]

Musical notation might be incorporated into the learning process. Some teachers, adapting
Vishnu Narayan Bhatkhande’s(1860–1936) system, lay out the song in sargam notationon
a spatial grid representing the tāl. (In the present volume, I have used this kind of notation
for the choṭā khayāls of the Rāg samay cakra album.) However, since a baṛā khayāltends to
avoid any systematic attachment to the tāl, the student would eventually need to unlearn
this metricised version of the composition, unlocking it from the beats and relaxing it into
something more fluid. A more congenial approach—again one which I have evolved in my
lessons with VR—is to notate a sketch of the bandiśusing a kind of proportional notation
to represent note lengths, in order better to capture the anibaddh feel of the delivery.
This is illustrated in Figure 4.3.3, which in parts (a) and (b) presents the sthāī and antarā
respectively of this Yamanbandiś in simplified form.
192 Rāgs Around the Clock

(a) Sthāī

mukhṛā
12 1 (2)
Ṇ R G S Ṇ Ḍ Ṇ Ḍ S
Kahe sa-khī kai - se ke ka - - - - - rī - e,

(4)
Ṇ R G R Ṇ R S S
bha - rī - e di - - - - na
(9)
Ṇ R G G G R
ai - so lā - la - na

(10) (11)
ṆRGḾ
P Ḿ G R R G RS S
ke saṅ - - ga.

(b) Antarā

mukhṛā
12 1 (2)
Ḿ G Ḿ D Ṡ Ṡ
Su - na rī sa - khī mẽ

(3)
N N
DN ND
N P
D
\ḾG
kā ka- hu to se

(6)
Ḿ G Ḿ D P
u- na hī ke

(9) (10) (11)

ṆRGḾPḾ
P Ḿ G R P \R S
jā - - na - - ta dhaṅ - - - - ga.
Fig. 4.3.3 Heuristic notation of bandiś: (a) sthāī; (b) antarā. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
 4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 193

In this style of notation there is only minimal reference to the metrical framework of the
tāl (the exception being the mukhṛā, to be discussed shortly). The compositionand its text
are laid out phrase by phrase, showing the approximate relative duration of each pitch in
sargam notation. Only when I have learnt this basic shape of the composition will I then
seek to sing it accompanied by the tabla ṭhekā(which these days can be supplied digitally
on an app for practise purposes), taking care to avoid too closely adhering to the individual
mātrās. In learning how to fit the material into a single āvartan of the tāl, I have to listen
out for salient points in the ṭhekāas approximate cues for where to begin or end a phrase.
Such cues are indicated with parenthetical beat numbers in Figure 4.3.3. For example,
beginning the second phrase around beat 4 of the sthāī (having taken a break after beat 2)
avoids having to rush later on. And in an ektālcompositionsuch as this, it helps to keep an
ear open for beat 9—where the larger drum of the tablareturns to prominence—and beat
10—where the tabla plays the salient tirakaṭa pattern—in order to coordinate the later
phrases around these points.
The most important point of interlock between bandiśand tāl—and the only significant
point of departure from the anibaddh feel—is the mukhṛā. This is the head motif of the
bandiś, which, unlike the rest of the composition, maps relatively directly onto the metrical
underlay of the tāl. In an ati vilambit khayāl, it usually begins on or around the last macro-
beat, and fairly explicitly marks out the sub-beats, creating a strong macro-up-beat to sam,
after which it continues for another macro-beator two, gradually relaxing the attachment
to the metre. The mukhṛās for both sthāī and antarā are indicated in Figure 4.3.3(a) and (b),
at which moments (and only these moments) a metrical grid is included for the approach
to sam. It is important for the performer to have completed the sthāī (or, later on, whatever
material they are inventing in any given āvartan) in time to sing the mukhṛā in its correct
place in the lead-up to sam. Here this means completing the prior material by (or during)
beat 11, so that the mukhṛācan re-emerge at beat 12.
This form of notation, then, is not intended as a literal transcriptionof what VR sings in
the performance. Rather, it represents the general shape of the composition: the musical
knowledge that a performer holds in their memory and which they will subtly differently
realise on each occasion of performance. We might say that, commensurably with the
fluid and ambiguous quality of time and form in a baṛā khayāl, the identity of the bandiśis
essentially fuzzy: there is no definitive version, and it is likely to morph over time. Hence
the ambivalent nature of musical notation, which runs counter to this spirit, but which
can nonetheless be helpful provided one sees it for no more or less than what it is.
And ‘what it is’, in this context, might be something like Seeger’s(1958) conception of
‘prescriptivemusic writing’: a set of instructions for the performer. However, it would
be more accurate to describe this as a heuristic version of the composition (cf. Section
2.3): it provides a pragmatic approximation—the gist of a structure—from which a
student can get started with learning. But on any actual occasion of performance, the
material will be decorated with ornaments (alaṅkār); and phrases might be elongated
or contracted, or change their melodic contour. Even in this heuristic version, a few
indications of ornamentation are warranted when, paradoxically, these are felt as
integral to a musical gesture.
194 Rāgs Around the Clock

It is instructive to compare this heuristic version with Figure 4.3.4, a transcription of

VR’s actual rendering as heard in Audio Example 4.3.1. This transcription would conform to
Seeger’scategory of ‘descriptive music writing’ (ibid.)—an as accurate as possible record of
what is actually heard on a particular occasion. It includes the complete metrical framework
of the tāl, which only makes more explicit how VR generally fashions his material so as
not to coincide with individual mātrās (except for the mukhṛā). Also evident are the many
decorations of the melody, generally shown as superscripted additions to the original outline
(for more on ornamentation, see Section 1.8). These include kaṇ (a lightly touched grace
note), and kaṭkhā or murkī (a rapid cluster of notes leading to a main note); oblique lines
indicate mīṇḍ, an upward or downward glide. Perhaps most striking of all is the injection of
significant additional material in the antarā after beat 6—a point to which I will return later.
(a) Sthāī
mukhṛā

12
ṆR\
Ṇ R G G
S Ṇ Ḍ
Kahe sa-khī kai - se ke

x o
1 2 3 4
RS
Ṇ ṆṆḌ
S Ṇ
ḌS /RS
Ṇ R
Ṇ/G
G
ka - - - - - rī - e, bha - - - rī - - e

2 o
5 6 7 8
R ṆRS
ṆRSṆR S S ṆRS
Ṇ Ṇ/
R
G
G G
di - - - - na ai - so lā -

3 4 mukhṛā
9 10 11 12
ṆRGḾPḾ
G R R DPP
Ḿ G R R GR
G S
R
S Ṇ R G [etc.]
- la - - na ke saṅ - - ga. kahe sa-khī [etc.]

(b) Antarā
mukhṛā
12
Ḿ Ḿ
G Ḿ D ḾD
Su - na rī sa -

x o
1 2 3 4
ND
Ṡ Ṡ
N
N
NN N
D N NDPD
N D
P ḾG Ḿ G Ḿ D PP ḾPḾ
khī mẽ kā ka- hu to se u - na hī ke
N
Ṡ
2 o
5 6 7 8
PḾDPḾP
Ḿ G R RGG
Ḿ ḾḾD
N ṠN\ N
D P Ḿ G
R GR
G RGḾG ḾDPḾ
P
jā - - na - - ta dhaṅ - (a) - dhaṅ - - - - - (a) -

3 4 mukhṛā
9 10 11 12
Ḿ G R G R Ṇ Ḍ ṆR S S Ṇ R G G [etc.]
- - - - (a) - (a) - - ga. ka-he sa-khī [etc.]

Fig. 4.3.4 Transcriptionof bandiś: (a) sthāī; (b) antarā. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
 4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 195

In both versions of its notation, we can discern how the bandiś typically embodies the
salient features of its rāg. The mukhṛā of the sthāī, for example, begins on Ṇi and rises
to Ga (on the word ‘sakhī’), which are Yaman’s most prominent notes—saṃvādī and vādī
respectively. And the melodic elaborations around these pitches (Ṇ– RG, S– ṆḌ Ṇ—) are
likewise characteristic of the rāg. The sthāī as a whole also conforms to convention by
occupying the lower–middle range. After the initial focus on lower Ni, it sustains the vādī
tone Ga for much of its duration, rising briefly to Pa in its final phrase before returning
to the mukhṛā (incidentally, VR foreshadows this overall melodic ambit in the preceding
ālāp, as heard on Track 4 of the album). Complementing this, the antarā foregrounds the
upper vocal register, initially focusing on tār Sā.
To summarise our account so far: by resisting notation, the bandiś asserts itself as a
subjectively felt flowin which its identity can morph; and this is of a piece with the braided
interplay of nibaddh and anibaddh temporalities of a baṛā khayāl more generally. To this
we now need to add a further temporalnotion: a baṛā khayāl punctuates this flow with a
series of artfully timed events that shape its larger structure. Let us consider this evental
property in more detail.

Sthāī and Antarā as Event

In a different context, Mark Doffman (2019) invokes the Greek rhetorical terms chronos
and kairosto characterise a distinction between temporalprocess and event respectively.
As Doffman puts it, chronos ‘considers time as durational and cyclical’, while kairos
‘invokes the singularity and heterogeneity of temporal experience’. Chronos is ‘processual’:
it ‘relates to the sense of a sequentially structured flow’. Kairos is ‘eventful’: it ‘projects the
idea of a timely or singular moment’ (2019: 171). Doffmanis writing with jazzin mind, but
it would not take a great stretch of the imagination to apply these notions to the Hindustani
context. Having already considered a baṛā khayāl as ‘a sequentially structured flow’ (its
chronic aspect), what can we say of its ‘eventfulness’ (its kairic aspect)? Again, the bandiś
contains the essence, since the statements of its two discrete components, sthāī and antarā,
clinch decisive structural events.
The very first event of a baṛā khayāl is a complete statement of the sthāī. Its mukhṛā
feels especially portentous, marking simultaneously the onset of the sthāī, the bandiś and
the baṛā khayāl itself. Furthermore, this moment of inception is dramatised by the entry
of the hitherto silent tabla. The tabla player takes his cue from the vocalist, who uses the
mukhṛā—the only part of the composition that is sung metrically—to indicate the tempo.
Following this lead, the tabla player enters on sam. Or, indeed, just a moment before: in
Audio Example 4.3.3 we hear how, in VR’s Yaman performance, Shahbaz Hussain enters
with his own, rhythmic mukhṛā halfway through the last sub-beat of the vocal mukhṛā—a
stylistically typical rhetorical flourish that galvanises time, intensifies the lead-in to sam,
and signals that the baṛā khayāl is now underway.

Audio Example 4.3.3 Mukhṛā of the sthāī, with tabla entry (TR, Track 5,
00:00–00:08)
[Link]
196 Rāgs Around the Clock

Two further ways in which the bandiśis delivered suggest time in the aspect of kairos. First
the antarā is delayed until around halfway through the performance (see Figure 4.3.2); the
timing of its arrival becomes an issue for the performer: it is dramatised, and in this way
becomes a major structural event (I shall elaborate further on this below—significantly,
when the time comes). Secondly, both sthāī and antarā are usually heard only once in
their entirety. After the sthāī has been sung in the first āvartan we can expect never to
hear it sung complete again; and after the antarā has been sung complete (much further
down the line) we reach another turning point in the performance. Each of these factors
defines these moments as unique, and hence as events. Meanwhile, the component that
assuredly is reiterated is the mukhṛā of the sthāī, which is sung at the end of practically
every successive āvartan as a bridge to the next. Acting as a refrain, the mukhṛā causes
just about every arrival on samto feel like an event (kairos) on a localised level; while on
the bigger canvas its appearances act as a temporalyardstick with which to calibrate the
long-term temporal flux (chronos) of the performance.
Given that the composed material of the bandiś lasts little more than a couple of minutes,
the big question for the vocalist, as ever in this classical tradition, is how to generate the
rest of the performance. After the sthāī, what next? How does one get to the antarā? And
then what? As Figure 4.3.2 indicated, there is a cognitive road map available to help the
performer navigate this journey. However, the travelling still has to be done in real time; so
in the remainder of this essay I will consider how this is managed, looking at the processes
and events of the two main stages in turn.

Baṛhat: Analysis of a Process

Following the opening statement of the sthāī comes a staged series of improvised
elaborations of the rāg—a process often termed baṛhat, derived from the Hindi verb
baṛhānā, ‘to increase’ (Magrieland du Perron 2013, I: 409; Ranade2006: 195–6). Some (for
example, Ruckert2004: 58–9) also use the word vistār (‘expansion’) to describe this process,
though in this book I tend to reserve that term for more episodic appearances of bol ālāp
in a choṭā khayāl. Regardless, this stage of the performance is a process of development—
but of what: the bandiś or the rāg itself? The answer is characteristically ambiguous.
Already we have alluded to the fuzzy form of the bandiś—due to a combination of its
one-off appearance and its mutable, notation-eluding identity. Going further, we might
claim that the bandiś and rāg represent far less distinct categories of musical material in a
baṛā khayālthan they do in a choṭā khayāl. If the rāg is embedded in the DNA of the bandiś
(I have already described how the bandiś projects the structure of the rāg), the genome
of the bandiś is in turn detectable throughout the baṛhat. Hence, to the extent that the
bandiś and the rāg are of a piece, this slowly expanding exposition of the rāg also implies
a development of the composition. And although the sthāī does not re-emerge complete
after its initial exposition, its presence in the baṛhat phase is upheld in two ways: first via
the refrain function of the mukhṛā, in which the part stands for the whole (indeed, there
are anecdotal accounts of listenersmistaking a mukhṛā for a composition); and second via
the continuing presence of the text, which the soloist freely incorporates into his or her
 4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 197

extemporisations—though rarely in its entirety, and not necessarily at every point, since
sometimes sargam syllablesor ākārmight be employed.
Audio Example 4.3.4 illustrates these various points. This picks up the performance at
the close of first āvartan, where VR concludes the sthāī, sings the mukhṛā, and begins the
second āvartan. At this early stage in the proceedings, he still models his material quite
closely on the sthāī, but now repeats the words ‘karīe’ and ‘bharīe’, dwells on lower Ni
and middle Sā, then moves via Re to Ga as he sings ‘aiso lālana’, and finally presents an
elaborated version of the mukhṛā as he approaches and begins the next āvartan.

Audio Example 4.3.4 Baṛhat: development of sthāī from end of āvartan 1

to beginning of āvartan 3 (TR, Track 5, 00:55–02:31)
[Link]

Performers sometimes describe what they do in the baṛhatas simply ‘ālāp’, or bol ālāp (given
that the text is present for much of the time)—which points to the prevailing anibaddhfeel.
But a larger-scale process is also going on: one of subtle long-term intensification, through
increasing rhythmic activity, increasingly ornate elaborations, and a gradual rise in vocal
register (in Sections 3.3 and 4.2, I referred to this with the shorthand ‘AI’—accumulation
of intensity). This last aspect, registral ascent, is charted for VR’s performance in Figure
4.3.5 (by way of comparison, see Nicolas Magriel’shighly systematic analysis of the baṛhat
of a 1981 performance by khayāl singer Ustād Niaz Ahmed Khan (Magriel 1997)). In my
analysis, successive āvartans are numbered in the leftmost column, and are correlated in
the next column (2) with the time code of their onset (sam). Column 3 indicates the final
pitch of the mukhṛā, which straddles sam and closes around beat 2, and, like everything
else, is subject to variation. Hence, although Figure 4.3.3(a) and Figure 4.3.4(a) show how,
in the sthāī, the mukhṛā closes on Sā, once the baṛhat is under way, this terminus may
change to mirror the overall ascending trajectory (for example, Ga in āvartans 4–6). But
the main, and most systematic, traces of this long-term ascent are found in the main body
of the improvised material, whose pitch content is abstracted in columns 4 and 5 of Figure
4.3.5. Column 4 pinpoints the ‘standing note’ or nyāssvar which VR makes his focal point
in each āvartan—a way of providing structure to his improvisation. Reading down the
column, we see how these successive standing notes manifest a gradual ascent through the
scale of the rāg, āvartan by āvartan—from middle Sā in āvartan 2 to upper Sā in āvartan
9, coterminous with the beginning of the antarā.
198 Rāgs Around the Clock

1 2 3 4 5
Āvartan Onset End Standing Content / elaboration of standing note(s)
no. time note(s) note (and
(sam) of neighbour)
mukhṛā
0:00 Sthāī begins (mukhṛā) ...
1 0:05 S S Sthāī concludes (see Fig. 4.3.4 (a)).
2 1:12 S S (Ṇ) -S-----; --Ṇ--, -Ṇ--, ṆS---; ---G-R---S.
3 2:17 GRS G (Ḿ) --G--, -G----, G----, -Ḿ--G, Ḿ---G, ḾG---RS-.
4 3:24 G G (Ḿ) -G--; -Ḿ----G; GḾ-G----Ḿ, -ḾG, -GP--------ḾG; GRS-.
5 4:31 G P (Ḿ) --P---------Ḿ, -P------Ḿ-G; GḾGPḾG, -PR-S---.
6 5:37 G P -P----------; -P-------; --DP--------RS-.
7 6:44 S P (D) -P--, -P-------G; -D----P-------; -DPR, -PR-S-.
8 7:53 Ṇ N (à Ṡ) ---N------, -N----DP-; -N-, -N---Ṡ---------.
At beat 12: antarā begins (mukhṛā)
9 9:01 Ṡ Ṡ (N) - Ṡ --N, - Ṡ------N-; -- Ṡ--------Ṙ--Ṡ----.
10 10:09 Ṡ Ṡ (à S) Antarā concludes (see Fig. 4.3.4 (b)).
At beat 12: return to mukhṛā of sthāī.

Fig. 4.3.5 Baṛā khayāl in Rāg Yaman: stages of baṛhat. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

Not every note of every rāg can be sustained in this way—this will depend on the individual
rāg grammar. In Yaman, the available nyāssvars are Sā, Ga, Pa and Ni; nonetheless, Re, Ḿa
and Dha are also permitted some prominence as salient neighbours to the standing notes,
to which they will eventually fall or rise. Such examples of ‘helping notes’ are shown in
parenthesis in column 4 next to their respective nyās svar. This shows, for example, how VR
subtly gives prominence to Ḿa in three successive āvartans: as a yearning upper neighbour
to Ga in āvartans 3 and 4; and as a lower-neighbour elaboration of Pa in āvartan 5. This
judicious handling of Ḿa helps effect a transition from Ga to Pa, blending the colours of
these three different tones.
Even allowing for the inclusion of such adjunct svars, the contents of column 4 remain
highly abstract. They model the kind of schema a soloist will likely have in their mind to
help them pace their progress through an extended performance. Nevertheless, there is
the question of how to put flesh on these bare bones. Column 5 of Figure 4.3.5 shows the
traces of such a process. For each āvartan, it indicates how the focal nyāssvar is elaborated
between the opening and closing statements of the mukhṛā. For example, in āvartan 4—
Audio Example 4.3.5—Ga and its supporting neighbour, Ḿa, are presented in the following
sequence of phrases (other, decorative notes are not shown):

[mukhṛā] -G--; -Ḿ----G; GḾ-G----Ḿ, -ḾG, -GP--------ḾG; GRS-. [mukhṛā]

Audio Example 4.3.5 Āvartan 4 (with opening and closing mukhṛās):

elaboration of Ga and Ḿa (TR, Track 5, 03:19–04:33)
[Link]
 4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 199

I am using the term ‘phrase’ here in quite a loose sense, the minimum criterion for which
is a brief break in the musical flow. This means that some of the elements in this analysis—
those followed by a comma—might more correctly be termed sub-phrases. Others have
relatively greater closure, and are shown with semi-colons. The last phrase falls to Sā,
before the onset of the mukhṛā, and is shown with a full stop. The punctuation marks here
are in one sense metaphorical: VR sometimes uses this idea with me to think about how
to build successive phrases of an ālāp into a larger one, to create a coherent ‘sentence’
rather than formless noodling. This is a heuristicpedagogical strategy; but it also reflects
the theoretical point that the melodic structure of a rāg performance, and indeed the
principles of rāg itself, can be construed syntactically (see Clarke2017).
The dashes featured in the notation of column 5 also contain coded information. They
indicate the relative prolongation of the svar with which they are associated—one dash
represents approximately one sub-beat’s duration. ‘Prolongation’ can mean that the svar in
question is itself sustained, or it can mean that it is decorated by other notes and figuration
during this time span (either before or after the nyās svar). It would, in principle, be
possible to illustrate these manifold decorations through the kind of detailed transcription
shown in Figure 4.3.4 for the bandiś. But my purpose here is different. The information
shown in column 5 of Figure 4.3.5 is intended as a reductive ‘gist’ of how each nyās svar in
column 4 is elaborated—revealing the structure behind the elaboration. It stops short of
notating the decorative minutiae, which are audible enough in the recording and can be
savoured against this middle ground.
For most of the duration of an āvartan the standing note shown in column 4 is also the
highest note. It acts as a kind of limiter on the pitch bandwidth, which helps the soloist pace
their progressionthrough the baṛā khayāl. (This principle derives from the extemporisation
of an ālāp—see my discussion of ‘svar space’ in Section 3.2, Exploration 1.) It is, however,
permitted to relax this constraint towards the end of an āvartan, in order briefly to suggest
the (higher) main note of the next—a kind of sneak preview. Column 5 shows how this
happens at the end of āvartan 2, which, focusing on Sā neighboured by lower Ni for most
of its duration, rises to Ga in the concluding phrase, before descending via Re back to Sā.
This foreshadowing is sometimes also echoed at the close of the succeeding mukhṛā. For
example, at the beginning of āvartan 3, the mukhṛā also ends Ga–Re–Sā (see column 3),
rather than closing directly on Sā as originally heard in the sthāī.
In its slow and gradual working through the background grammar and foreground
subtleties of the rāg, the baṛhat phase takes the form of a ‘sequentially structured flow’.
Here, then, we experience time in the guise of chronos. The overall trajectory of this
process—as shown in Figure 4.3.5, column 4—is towards tār Sā and the onset of the antarā.
This is a key event in the larger-scale structure; hence time at that moment is experienced
as kairos. Typically, chronos and kairosbecome blended in the approach to this structural
moment, as the soloist teases the listenerregarding the actual time of arrival of tār Sā. In
Audio Example 4.3.6, we can hear how VR does this in āvartan 8 (cf. Figure 4.3.5, column
5) through an extensive and intense prolongation on Ni. Repeated iterations of this pitch
push all the while towards upper Sā which is eventually attained and sustained in the final
phrase. And this moment triggers the onset of the antarā, whose own mukhṛā, sung to the
200 Rāgs Around the Clock

words ‘Suna rī sakhī mẽ’, is heard on beat 12 of the slow ektāl cycle (see Figure 4.3.4(b)),
and leads us into āvartan 9.

Audio Example 4.3.6 Āvartan 8: prolongation of Ni, leading to tār Sā (TR,

Track 5, 7:52–09:10)
[Link]

At this point, there is a further delaying tactic. Rather than launch into the complete antarā,
VR follows the baṛā khayāl convention of presenting at least one further āvartan of bol ālāp
before the antarā begins. In principle it is possible to extend this process for two or more
āvartans, moving further into the upper octave; but commonly, as in VR’s performance
here, just one proleptic bol ālāp is enough. This can be heard in Audio Example 4.3.7; the
pitch content is again outlined in Figure 4.3.5, column 5, āvartan 9. VR makes an extended
extemporisation around tār Sā to the word ‘sakhī’, after which the antarā is then heard
complete in āvartan 10. Hence, while the main part of the baṛhatprocess follows the sthāī,
the baṛhat associated with the antarā is anticipatory—it is filled with expectancy. The
antarā functions as the climax of the baṛhat process—its outcome, even.

Audio Example 4.3.7 Āvartans 9 and 10: prolongation of tār Sā leading to

antarā sung complete (TR, Track 5, 08:51–11:22)
[Link]

Across the course of a single āvartan, the antarā typically follows a descending path from
tār Sā to mahdyā Sā. This is discernible in the heuristic notation of Figure 4.3.3(b) which
also shows the stopping-off points in this process. The first phrase (‘Suna rī sakhī mẽ’)
intensely voices tār Sā; the second (‘kā kahu to se’) emphasises Ni before falling to Pa; the
third (‘una hī ke) also winds around Pa and rests there; the fourth (‘jānata’) falls from Pa
to Re; and the final phrase (‘dhaṅga’) echoes this shape but continues to the concluding
madhya Sā, deploying a characteristic Yamancadential figure, P–R–S.
This, at least, is the notional outline. The contingencies of live performance, however,
might take the vocalist along other byways—as can be seen by comparing Figure 4.3.3(b)
with Figure 4.3.4(b), the transcription of what VR actually sings. This most obviously
shows how he weaves various beautiful decorations into the heuristic form; but another
difference also transpires: he concludes the penultimate phrase (‘jānata’) early in the
cycle, at beat 6. Its pregnant final Re strongly implies the ultimate descent to Sā—but there
are still five long beats to go before the mukhṛā. In the hands of an experienced performer,
such contingencies can be readily absorbed within the elasticity of the form. On ‘dhaṅga’,
VR recoups the upper register, rising from Ḿa to Ni; restates the first syllable as he slowly
re-treads his steps down to Ga across beats 7 and 8; then with a flamboyant kaṭhkāregains
Pa at the end of beat 8 and gradually descends once again, reaching mahdya Sā at beat 11
via an elliptical movement to mandra Ni and Dha in beat 10. This spontaneous moment of
invention is as good an illustration as any of the blurred boundary between bandiś and bol
ālāp in a baṛā khayāl.
The antarā’s descending trajectory is a mirror image of the baṛhat as a whole, which
in essence rises from Madhya Sā to tār Sā. Over the course of just one āvartan, the antarā
captures and then releases the intensity of that process. But given that the preceding
 4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 201

baṛhat has taken so much longer, it would feel premature to end the baṛā khayāl here.
And indeed, this moment, followed by a return to the mukhṛā of the sthāī, heralds the
beginning of a new phase.

Laykārī
The emphasis now turns towards various forms of rhythmic variation, or laykārī (for a
detailed discussion of this notion, see Clayton 2000: chapter 10). Henceforward we hear
VR making a more explicit engagement with the pulse and metre of the tāl, changing
the feel from anibaddh to nibaddh, and from introversion to extraversion. It is common,
though not compulsory, for the tempo now to move up a gear: in the baṛā khayāl in Rāg
Bhairav on the Twilight Rāgs album, VR indeed increases the lay(Track 2, 12:15); whereas
at the equivalent point in the Yaman baṛā khayāl (Track 5, 11:23) he maintains the same
pulse. Despite the change of delivery style, the muhkṛā of the sthāī remains a presence,
articulating sam, marking out the āvartans and maintaining continuity and unity.

Āvartan no. Onset time Content

(sam)
ͳͳ ͳͳǣͳ͹ Laykārī ȋsargamȌ
ͳʹ ͳʹǣʹͳ Sargam tān•
ͳ͵ ͳ͵ǣʹʹ Gamak tān•
ͳͶ ͳͶǣʹͶ Ākār tān•
ͳͷ ͳͷǣʹ͹ Bol ālāpǡākār tān•
ͳ͸ ͳ͸ǣ͵ʹ Ākār tān• ȋ‹—’’‡”‘ –ƒ˜‡Ȍ
ͳ͹ ͳ͹ǣ͵͸ Ākār tān•
ͳͺ ͳͺǣ͵͹ Ākār tān•
(19…) ͳͻǣ͵ͺ †•ȋͳͻǣͶͲȌ

Fig. 4.3.6 Second part of baṛā khayāl: laykārī etc. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.

As in the baṛhat phase, the aim is now carefully to build the intensity over the course of
several āvartans. The soloist has a variety of techniques at his disposal, and Figure 4.3.6
details how VR deploys them in this performance. One common device is bol bāṇṭ, in which
the song text is manipulated and treated syllabically, creating syncopation and/or cross-
accentuation. VR uses this technique in his Bhairav baṛā khayāl (Track 2, 12:22–12:55) but
not in its Yaman counterpart. Instead, in āvartan 11, he creates a similar laykārī effect
using sargam—as captured in Audio Example 4.3.8.

Audio Example 4.3.8 Āvartan 11: laykārī (TR, Track 5, 11:20–12:04)

[Link]

The momentum engendered by this laykārītreatment continues in āvartan 12, where VR

launches an array of sargam tāns—melodic runs sung to sargam syllables (Audio Example
202 Rāgs Around the Clock

4.3.9). The switch to this technique helps the baṛā khayāl progress incrementally, retaining
the previous use of sargam syllablesbut now eliciting these in a steady rhythmic stream,
four syllables to a sub-beat (sixteen to a macro-beat). Throughout, VR injects various
twists and turns into the melodic flow, and further resists uniformity by briefly teasing
the metrical constraints (at 00:37 of the audio example), and by momentarily morphing
sargam into ākār/ekār/ikār tāns—‘ga-a-a, re-e-e, ni-i’ (at 00:43).

Audio Example 4.3.9 Āvartan 12: sargam tāns (TR, Track 5, 12:26–13:24)
[Link]

In āvartan 13, VR presents several strings of gamak tāns, illustrated in Audio Example
4.3.10. With this change of technique he again creates a sense of progression: he continues
the preceding tāns at the same speed, but now transforms the style of delivery; gamak tāns
involve making a wide oscillation around each note (a technique key to the dhrupadvocal
style). Then, in āvartan 14, these become pure ākār tāns (i.e. sung to the vowel ‘ā’), as VR
moves into the higher register(Audio Example 4.3.11). In the third and fourth of five runs
he uses a head voice as he ascends to tār Ga and tār Ḿa respectively. What also compounds
the intensity here is a ratcheting up of rhythmic complexity. Listeners with sharp ears (or
access to appropriate software) will spot that VR rolls out his tāns at a rate of five notes
per sub-beat (or twenty notes per macro-beat), and that their melodic grouping does not
coincide with the beats but rather cuts unpredictably and ambiguously across them. This
is a characteristic laykārī technique (Clayton 2000: 159–66), and points forward to a tour
de force of tān work with which VR ends this baṛā khayāl.

Audio Example 4.3.10 Āvartan 13: gamak tāns (TR, Track 5, 13:25–13:47)
[Link]

Audio Example 4.3.11 Āvartan 14: ākār tāns (TR, Track 5, 14:23–15:28)
[Link]

But we are not at this point yet, and, as if to remind us of the fact, VR begins the next
āvartan (15) with an extended passage of bol ālāp, focusing on the word ‘sakhī’ and the
note tār Sā (rising to tār Re at 00:37 of Audio Example 4.3.12). In doing so, he creates
contrast with the prevailing singing style while maintaining intensity. This also enhances
the unity of the performance by recalling the baṛhat phase of the baṛā khayāl. However,
the reversion to bol ālāp is only temporary, and shortly before the ninth macro-beat (at
0:46 of the audio example) VR resumes singing ākār tāns, deferring the mukhṛā until the
last two sub-beats, where it is sung at double speed (dugun).

Audio Example 4.3.12 Āvartan 15: return to bol ālāp singing style (TR,
Track 5, 15:23–16:35)
[Link]
 4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 203

Having re-entered ākār tān mode (his self-confessed specialism), VR stays there, sustaining
a plateau of intensity for the final three āvartans with a dazzling display of invention and
virtuosity. Typically, he makes no single consummating final gesture, since the baṛā khayāl
is by no means the end of the performance. Instead, after the final mukhṛā, he segues into
the up-tempo choṭā khayāl, ‘Śyām bejāi’.

Conclusion
Through the preceding account we have journeyed with VR through the course of a baṛā
khayāl performance. We have considered how the conventions of Hindustani classical
music in general—the grammarof rāg, the ordering framework of tāl—and those of a baṛā
khayāl in particular—its ground plan of events, its dialectic between the metrical and non-
metrical—come together to make this a quintessential form of extended rāg performance.
Practised and internalised over many years, these conventions become absorbed in a
musician’s consciousnessuntil they become second nature: not merely theoretical but also
experiential knowledge, absorbed into his or her mind and body over many performances,
developing as an ever-more refined ability to fashion the temporal unfolding of a baṛā
khayāl’stwo large-scale waves of mounting intensity.
It is probably not coincidental that the evolution of a baṛā khayāl over the course of the
twentieth century into its now-archetypal guise is coeval with India’s own negotiation with
modernity. As Hindustani classical music increasingly became a secularconcert practice, its
leading musicians sought to develop its forms and conventions to allow more aesthetically
substantial statements which, intentionally or otherwise, compare in magnitude to
those of western classical traditions. As ever, this process has been conducted on the
subcontinent’s own terms, leading to a canon not of great works and great composers,
but of great exponents and pedagogical lineages (gharānās), and legendary performances.
Many of these have been captured by contemporary recording technology and globally
disseminated, including, in the present day, over the internet.
This is paramparā: the weight of tradition, of long lines of illustrious forebears, of
conventions and codes of performance. This is what bears on every musician as they sit
down alongside their fellows and before often highly knowledgeable audiences—as they
centre themselves within the resonance of the tānpurās and begin to sing or play. This is
what is reborn in every moment of a performance. And, on a personal note, this is what
was tangible on the day in 2006 when VR, Shahbaz Hussain and Fida Hussain sat down
in a recording studio at Newcastle University to record Twilight Rāgs from North India.
Each track was captured in a single take with only minimal post-production editing (and
with impeccable sound engineering by John Ayers). The album stands as a record of this
event and as a document of VR’s role as a bearer of the legacy of his several teachers, most
notably Pandit Bhimsen Joshi, and the Kirānā gharānā.
204 Rāgs Around the Clock

Epilogue: Laya/Pralaya
On a chilly October morning, I’m sitting in a café in a leafy suburb of Newcastle upon
Tynewith my fellow khayāl student SudiptaRoy. In her day job, Sudipta is a professor of
electrochemical engineering, but like me (David Clarke), she is also a śiṣyāof Vijayji; in the
guru-śiṣyā scheme of things, that makes her my guru-bahan(guru-sister) and me her guru-
bhāī (guru-brother). We sometimes take our vocal class together, and have on numerous
occasions shared a stage as performers. Over the years, Sudipta and I have spent many
hours in our favourite coffee shops and eateries sharing our thoughts on academic life,
Indian music, and the experience of learning from our guruji. If learning khayāl over
some two decades has inadvertently become an extended piece of fieldwork for me,
Sudipta, as well as being a good friend and ally, has been a key cultural interpreter on this
ethnographic journey, sharing with me insights into Indian culture that have enriched and
complemented Vijay’s musical tutelage.
On this occasion, I’m updating her on how things are going with Rāgs Around the Clock.
I’ve just completed a draft of the chapter on baṛā khayāl, and over brunch we compare
notes on what it feels like to actually sing one—on how you fit the loose and shifting
rhythmic profiles of the sthāī and antarā into a tāl cycle.
‘I don’t really think of this like a bandiś in the normal sense’, Sudipta says. ‘It’s not
rhythmically tied down like in a choṭā khayāl—it’s more like an ālāp. But in any case,
we Bengalis, we don’t really use the term ālāp, even for an actual ālāp—we’d just say
anibaddh, you know, “unmeasured”. And for a “normal” bandiś, like in a choṭā khayāl,
we’d say nibaddh, “measured”. Bandiś means to bind, right? In a choṭā khayāl the song’s
bound to the lay, the rhythm, but in a baṛā khayālit isn’t like that, really’.
I nod. That’s my experience too, I say: the composition in a baṛā khayāl does similar
work to the bandiś of a choṭā khayāl, but it just doesn’t feel the same on account of its
ambiguous relationship with metre. And now that I think about it, I’ve sometimes felt
myself equivocating around the word bandiś when talking about baṛā khayāls (oddly, the
English word ‘composition’, which doesn’t have the connotation of ‘binding’, feels OK).
And then, almost in passing, Sudipta goes on to mention something that opens up our
dialogue onto something altogether more fundamental.
‘This is just a personal thing’, she says, ‘I’ve never heard anyone else put it like this—but
in my mind, the whole question of layis different. For me lay isn’t just a case of rhythm: the
way I make sense of it is in relation to its opposite in Sanskrit, and that’s pralaya—which
kind of means “chaos”. So, when you’re creating laya, you’re creating order, something
that opposes pralaya’.
I’ve never heard lay (Sanskrit, laya) described quite like this—musicians usually talk
about it purely in musical terms, to mean tempo or rhythm. But Sudipta seems to be
pointing to something in her cultural memory of that word that looks more philosophical,
even metaphysical. Her description of singing a baṛā khayāl as being like walking a
tightrope between order and chaos rings true. It’s a dramatic image that captures what it
can actually feel like when you’re improvising.
This is all part of what musicians do in their conversations: tell stories, come up with
images and ideas that help them make sense of their practice—khayāl: imagination. But
 4. Explorations And Analyses (ii): Twilight Rāgs From North India 205

the scholar in me wants to know chapter and verse. So we finish our coffees, pay the bill,
and drive back to Sudipta’s house. There, she takes down her copy of Bandopadhyay’s
Sanskrit–Bengali dictionary from the shelf, I take out my laptop, and we sit down at the
kitchen table.
Sudiptafinds the page. ‘Here, it is; look. Under layathey give related words like gīt and
tāl; and as the antonym they give pralaya’. Now she looks up that entry: ‘Aha: “pralaya,
destruction, end of time”!’
Next, I log on to the Cologne Digital Sanskrit Dictionaries website (n.d.), which gives
ready access to Monier-Williams’ Sanskrit–English dictionary in its second, 1899
edition—a monumental work of scholarship. Under laya (लय), Monier-Williams gives a
wealth of meanings extracted from a wide historical corpus of texts. Among these, I find
the definition that musicians are familiar with: ‘time (regarded as of 3 kinds, viz. druta,
“quick”, madhya, “mean or moderate”, and vilambita, “slow”)’. (Following this up later,
I confirm a similar definition of laya by Bharata Muni (2006/1989), in chapter 31 of his
Nāṭyaśāstra, from the early centuries CE, even though this isn’t listed among Monier-
Williams’ sources.) But it’s the non-musical meanings in Monier-Williams’ definition of
layathat are so intriguing—including: ‘the act of sticking or clinging to’; also ‘rest, repose’
and ‘melting, dissolution, disappearance or absorption in’; shading further into ‘extinction,
destruction, death’. And the entry for pralaya (प्रलय) goes further along the same semantic
axis, to include ‘dissolution, reabsorption, destruction, annihilation’ and, most finally, ‘the
destruction of the whole world, at the end of a Kalpa’.
I look up at Sudipta: ‘Amazing. We started out chatting about what it’s like to sing a baṛā
khayāl, and here we are looking at laya on the most cosmic timescale!’ What this foray has
also shown is that laya and pralaya aren’t necessarily opposites: in Monier-Williams’ entry,
the eschatological meaning of pralayais already implicit in laya, in its sense of ‘dissolution,
disappearance or absorption’.
Stand back a little, and you can see that there are in fact many ways of thinking and
talking at work in this narrative. There’s the free-ranging chat of musicians in coffee shops
(or at roadside chāī stalls, or on car journeys, or in the green room). There’s the discourse
of ethnographers, who would want not just to recount such conversations but also to read
them for their wider cultural significance; and, for that matter, of autoethnographers,
who would want to pull out the bigger cultural meanings of their own experiences (as, of
course, I’m attempting to do here). There’s the discourse of music theory, which wants to
describe with some rigour what it is that musicians do in idioms such as a baṛā khayāl (as
I have sought to do in the later stages of Rāgs Around the Clock). There’s the discourse of
scholarship more widely, including the achievements of Monier-Williams, whose dictionary
stands on the shoulders of its even more monumental forebear, the Petersburg Sanskrit–
German dictionary of 1855–75 by Otto Böhtlingkand Rudolph Roth—in complicated ways
(see Steiner 2020). Then there are the kinds of discourse referenced in those dictionaries
themselves—musical, literary, theological, mythological and so on. And waiting in the
wings are the discourses of cultural historians and socio-political commentators, who
would urge us to stay awake to the colonial dimensions of those nineteenth-century
scholars’ work, and to appropriations of Sanskritas a part of a nationalist cause in India’s
present-day polity (which doesn’t mean there can’t be more salutary applications, as here).
206 Rāgs Around the Clock

Under the weight of so many discourses, one might begin to crumple. But I enumerate
them partly to indicate, in this book’s final paragraphs, the range of ways of thinking that
have given the work its general complexion; and partly to regulate what can be claimed
with this particular closing tale. For the imaginative re-thinking of musical lay in light
of the wider range of meanings of the Sanskrit term laya and its relative, pralaya is
probably not something you would encounter in any wider theoretical corpus. And yet,
there remains something powerfully suggestive in the laya/pralayaidea, on hermeneutic,
i.e. interpretive, grounds: that to improvise a baṛā khayāl is to tap into lay in the sense
both of the metrically organised unfolding of musical time (nibaddh) and of its dissolution
(anibaddh). We might read this as a metaphor that conveys something of the gravity that
an individual performer needs to summon up in the immensity of a slowly unfolding ati
vilambittālcycle—in order to draw out rāg-based material that reposes in layand yet tries
to dissolve previous musical ideas; to bring the ever-new into being, and let it fall away
again.
While a baṛā khayāl represents the epitome of this situation thus dramatised, it would
be plausible also to claim that the same process operates across khayāl as a whole (often
playfully so), and, even more widely, across Indian classical music in general. Moreover,
this productive tension between the rigour of a metric and the play of an individual
subject’s invention resonates with another notion that has become thematised in this book:
the interplay between theoryand practice; the way the culturally transmitted conventions
of the latter invite codification, rubric, terminology and taxonomy, yet ultimately go
beyond them. When all the thinking and writing is done, we come back to the creative
fashioning of sound, nurtured within relationships between people—between guru and
śiṣyā, between fellow students, between performers and audiences, between community
members, and down generations of practitioners. Sounds formed creatively out of living
human and cultural relationships, resonating in history: all in all, not a bad definition of
music.
Glossary of Terms Used in Hindustani
Classical Music

Ākār Singing to the vowel ‘ā’ (lit. ‘doing ā’).

Ākār tān Virtuosic melodic run sung to the vowel ‘ā’.
Alaṅkār (i) Ornament or decoration. (ii) Exercise based on
ascending and descending sequential repetition of a short
phrase; cf. palṭā.
Ālāp Unmetred, quasi-meditative opening section of a classical
Indian music performance, used to establish the rāg.
Ālapti The expression or elaboration of rāg.
Āndolan Slow, microtonal oscillation around a note.
Aṅg (i) A group of rāgs. (ii) A characteristic phrase of a single
rāg within a hybrid rāg (lit. ‘limb’).
Anibaddh Unmetred (as in an ālāp); cf. nibaddh.
Antarā Second part of a composition (bandiś or gat), usually in
middle-to-upper register; cf. sthāī.
Āroh Ascending form of a scale; cf. avroh.
Aucār Very short unmetred introduction to a rāg performance,
lasting just two or three phrases (like a short ālāp).
Auḍav Five-note (pentatonic); see jāti; cf. ṣāḍav, sampūrṇ.
Āvartan Cycle of a tāl.
Avroh Descending form of a scale; cf. āroh.
Bandiś Vocal or song composition (lit. ‘bound’); cf. gat.
Baṛā khayāl Lit. ‘large khayāl’: slow opening metred section of an
extended khayāl; also known as vilambit (‘slow’) khayāl.
Baṛhat Lit. ‘increase’: staged, ālāp-style development of a rāg, in
presence of tāl; see also bol ālāp, vistār.
Bāyā̃ ̃ (Larger) left-hand drum of the tablā; cf. dāyā̃.̃
Behlāvā Technique of melismatic melodic development associated
with the Gwalior gharānā.
Birādarī Wider family group of musicians connected by marriage
ties; cf. khāndān.
208 Rāgs Around the Clock

Bol Name given to a tablā stroke (lit. ‘word’).

Bol ālāp Ālāp-style passage (in presence of tāl) using words of the
bandiś; cf. baṛhat, vistār.
Bol bāṇṭ Improvised rhythmic play with the words of a composition
(bandiś)—a technique of musical development; cf. lay bāṇṭ.
Bol tān Melodic run using the words of a composition (bandiś).
Calan Lit. ‘movement’, ‘conduct’: series of phrases illustrating the
pathway through a rāg; cf. pakaḍ.
Cancal rāg Rāg of light, flowing character; cf. gambhīr rāg.
Chāp Pen name, pseudonym; see also takhallus.
Choṭā khayāl Lit. ‘small khayāl’: medium or fast-tempo section of a
khayāl; also known as drut (‘fast’) khayāl.
Dāyā̃ ̃ (Smaller) right-hand drum of the tablā; cf. bāyā̃.̃
Dhrupad Oldest Hindustani classical genre in the present-day
repertory, pre-dating khayāl and typically more serious in
style and mood; cf. ṭhumrī.
Drut Fast (tempo); cf. madhya lay, vilambit.
Drut khayāl Fast-tempo choṭā khayāl.
Dugun At double speed; cf. ekgun.
Ekgun At single speed; cf. dugun.
Gamak Vocal technique involving a heavy shake on each note.
Gamak tān Melodic run deploying gamak.
Gambhīr rāg Rāg of heavy, serious character; cf. cancal rāg.
Gat Instrumental composition; cf. bandiś.
Gāyakī Stylistic characteristics of a vocal genre, gharānā or
individual artist.
Gharānā Stylistic school of musicians.
Grah svar Note that can be used to initiate a phrase; cf. nyās svar.
Guru Teacher, spiritual guide (in Hindu tradition and parlance);
see also ustād.
Jāti Class (of rāg)—defined by ascending and descending scale
types; see also auḍav, ṣāḍav, sampūrṇ.
Javārī (i) Cotton thread applied between the bridge and strings
of a tānpurā. (ii) Overtone-filled sound resulting from this
physical arrangement.
Jhālā Final section of an instrumental or dhrupad ālāp, in which
the performer plays or sings in two registers, with melodic
expansion in the higher register over a reiterated tone
(usually Sā) in the lower; cf. joṛ.
 Glossary of Terms Used in Hindustani Classical Music 209

Joṛ Second section of an instrumental or dhrupad ālāp, in

which melodic invention is pulsed; cf. jhālā.
Kampit Short ornamental shake or vibrato at the end (or
beginning) of a sustained note.
Kaṇ Grace note; short decorative note preceding a longer note.
Khālī Unweighted beat or portion of a tāl (lit. ‘empty’), indicated
with a wave; cf. sam, tālī.
Khāndān Hereditary line of musicians; cf. birādarī.
Kaṭhkā Rapid melodic embellishment around the beginning of a
note, usually involving a degree of force; cf. murkī.
Khayāl (i) Genre of Hindustani classical vocal music, partly
serious, partly romantic in style. (ii) A performance in this
genre. Cf. dhrupad, ṭhumrī.
Komal Flat (scale degree); cf. śuddh, tivra.
Lay Tempo, speed.
Lay bāṇṭ Delivery of bandiś at double-tempo (dugun) or faster while
tāl remains unchanged; cf. bol bāṇṭ.
Laykārī (i) Syncopated (off-beat) rhythmic play. (ii) Any technique
used to develop rhythm.
Madhya Middle, medium—applied to, for example, speed, note
register, octave; cf. mandra, tār.
Madhya lay Medium-tempo; cf. drut, vilambit.
Mandra Lower (for example, note register, octave); cf. madhya, tār.
Mātrā Beat, count.
Mehfil Courtly gathering.
Merukhaṇḍ Exercise involving strict permutation of a set of notes.
Mīṇḍ Gliding motion (glissando) between notes.
Mukhṛā Opening phrase (or first line) of a composition (bandiś),
functioning as a refrain, and, notably in a baṛā khayāl,
anticipating and leading to sam.
Murkī Fast, delicate melodic embellishment at the start of a note;
cf. kaṭhkā.
Nibaddh Metred—as in a tāl (lit. ‘bound’, ‘tied’); cf. anibaddh.
Nyās svar (i) Note of longer duration (standing note, goal tone); able
to be sustained under the conventions of a rāg. (ii) Final
note. Cf. grah svar.
Pakaḍ Quintessential phrase of a rāg, capturing its key features
and grammar; cf. calan.
210 Rāgs Around the Clock

Pakhāvaj Double-headed barrel drum related to tablā—used in

dhrupad.
Palṭā (i) Practise exercise based on a small number of notes and
their variation; cf. alaṅkār. (ii) More extended melodic
phrase for practise, encapsulating key features of a rāg.
(iii) In tablā playing, variation on a qāydā (theme for
extemporisation).
Paramparā Tradition, lineage, succession.
Prahar Phase of the day or night; lit. ‘watch’.
Pūrvaṅg Lower tetrachord; cf. uttaraṅg.
Pūrvaṅg pradhan Rāg with melodic focus in lower tetrachord; cf. uttaraṅg
rāg pradhan rāg.
Rāg (i) Principle of melodic organisation based on mode
and evoking emotional mood (see ras). (ii) A particular
exemplar of this principle—for example, Rāg Bhairav.
Ras Aesthetic flavour (lit. ‘juice’, ‘essence’) instilling emotion.
Rasika Aficionado; lover of the arts; informed listener.
Ṣāḍav Six-note (hexatonic); see also jāti; cf. auḍav, sampūrṇ.
Śāgird Student, disciple (in Muslim nomenclature); see also śiṣyā.
Sam Initial beat of a tāl, usually the focal point; cf. khālī; tālī.
Sampūrṇ Seven-note (heptatonic; lit. ‘complete’); see also jāti; cf.
auḍav, ṣāḍav.
Saṃvādī Second most important or prominent (‘con-sonant’) note of
a rāg, complementing vādī; cf. vivādī.
Sandhi prakāś rāg Rāg performed at twilight.
Sāraṅgī Bowed string instrument with many sympathetic strings.
Sargam System of note names based on scale degrees, similar to
western solfège.
Sargam tān Melodic run using sargam syllables.
Śiṣyā Student, disciple (in Hindu nomenclature); see also śāgird.
Sitār Plucked, fretted string instrument with additional
sympathetic strings.
Śrutī Microtonal division of octave; lit. ‘that which is heard’.
Śruti box Instrument used to provide drone, either manually with
bellowed instrument or electronically.
Sthāī First part of a composition (bandiś or gat), usually in
lower-to-middle register; cf. antarā.
Śuddh Natural (scale degree); cf. komal, tivra.
Svar Note, tone, pitch.
 Glossary of Terms Used in Hindustani Classical Music 211

Tablā Paired set of hand drums, commonly used as

accompanying instrument in Hindustani music.
Takhallus Pen name, pseudonym; see also chāp.
Tāl (i) Cyclic, metrically structured principle of rhythmic
organisation. (ii) A particular exemplar of this principle—
for example, tīntāl.
Tālī Relatively prominent beat or portion of a tāl cycle,
indicated with a clap; cf. khālī, sam.
Tālīm Instruction, tuition (taken from a guru or ustād).
Tān Melodic run or flourish.
Tānpurā Long necked lute used to provide background drone.
Tār Upper (note, register, octave); cf. madhya, mandra.
Tarānā (i) Genre or style of singing based on non-semantic
syllables, for example, tā, nā, dhim. (ii) Final section of a
khayāl performance in this style.
Ṭhāṭ Group of rāgs defined by a parent scale (under system
devised by V. N. Bhatkhande).
Ṭhekā Sequence of drum strokes (bols) defining the flow and
shape of a tāl.
Ṭhumrī Light-classical vocal genre, romantic in character; cf.
dhrupad, khayāl.
Tihāī Phrase repeated three times.
Tivra Sharp (scale degree); cf. komal, suddh.
Ustād Teacher, master (in Muslim tradition and parlance); see
also guru.
Uttaraṅg Upper tetrachord; cf. pūrvaṅg.
Uttaraṅg pradhan Rāg with melodic focus in upper tetrachord; cf. pūrvaṅg
rāg pradhan rāg.
Vādī Principal (‘sonant’) or most prominent note of a rāg; cf.
saṃvādī, vivādī.
Vibhāg Metrical subgroup within a tāl.
Vilambit Slow (tempo); cf. drut, madhya lay.
Vilambit khayāl Slow, initial stage of a khayāl performance; also known as
baṛā (‘large’) khayāl.
Vistār Freely improvised passage over a tāl; see also baṛhat; cf.
bol ālāp.
Vivādī Note foreign to a rāg; may be discreetly used in correct
context by a knowledgeable performer for expressive
purposes; cf. vādī, saṃvādī.
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Discography
Gandharva, Kumar (1993). Baithak, Raga Malkauns, Vol. 4 (Living Media).
Hangal, Gangubai (1994). Dr. Smt. Gangubai Hangal: Raga Bhairav and Miyan Ki Malhar, Classic Raaga
Collection (Venus, VCDSP 186).
Joshi, Bhimsen (2016). Bhimsen Joshi—The Versatile: Khayal, Vol. 3 (Sony, DADC S5500001041/Music Today,
CD-A 01041).
Rajput, Vijay (2006). Twilight Raags from North India (CD. CETL U4NE-1. UK).
Rajput, Vijay (2024). Rāg samay cakra (digital release), [Link]
 List of Audio Examples

RSC = Rāg samay cakra

TR = Twilight Rāgs from North India

All time codes approximate

1.8.1 Kaṇ: Rāg Bhūpālī (RSC, Track 9, 00:56–01:17) p. 19

1.8.2 Kampit/‘after-kaṇ’: p. 20
(a) Rāg Kedār (RSC, Track 10, 00:52–00:58)
(b) Rāg Kedār (ibid., 01:01–01:07)
1.8.3 Miṇḍ: p. 21
(a) Rāg Mālkauns (RSC, Track 12, 00:47–00:53)
(b) Rāg Mālkauns (ibid., 01:52–02:04)
(c) Rāg Megh (RSC, Track 13, 00:40–01:02)
1.8.4 Āndolan: p. 22
(a) Rāg Bhairav (RSC, Track 1, 00:13–00:26)
(b) Rāg Bhairav (ibid., 01:33–01:40)
(c) Rāg Mālkauns (RSC, Track 12, 02:56–03:02)
1.8.5 Gamak: p. 23
(a) Rāg Bhairav (RSC, Track 1, 00:26–00:30)
(b) Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī (RSC, Track 7, 02:46–02:53)
(c) Rāg Yaman (RSC, Track 9, 05:24–05:32)
1.8.6 Kaṭhkā/murkī: p. 24
(a) Rāg Kedār (RSC, Track 10, 00:17–00:26)
(b) Rāg Kedār (ibid., 01:07–01:14)
(c) Rāg Bhīmpalāsī (RSC, Track 5, 01:29–01:37)
2.5.1 Rāg samay cakra, Track 1 p. 54
2.5.2 Rāg samay cakra, Track 2 p. 57
2.5.3 Rāg samay cakra, Track 3 p. 60
2.5.4 Rāg samay cakra, Track 4 p. 63
220 Rāgs Around the Clock

2.5.5 Rāg samay cakra, Track 5 p. 66

2.5.6 Rāg samay cakra, Track 6 p. 69
2.5.7 Rāg samay cakra, Track 7 p. 72
2.5.8 Rāg samay cakra, Track 8 p. 75
2.5.9 Rāg samay cakra, Track 9 p. 78
2.5.10 Rāg samay cakra, Track 10 p. 81
2.5.11 Rāg samay cakra, Track 11 p. 84
2.5.12 Rāg samay cakra, Track 12 p. 87
2.5.13 Rāg samay cakra, Track 13 p. 90
2.5.14 Rāg samay cakra, Track 14 p. 93
3.2.1 Rāg Bhairav, ālāp (RSC, Track 1, 00:00–02:01) p. 99
3.2.2 Rāg Bhairav, ālāp: opening (establishing phase) (RSC, Track 1, p. 101
00:00–00:37)
3.2.3 Rāg Bhairav, ālāp: intermediate ascending phase (RSC, Track 1, p. 103
00:38–01:01)
3.2.4 Rāg Bhairav, ālāp: concluding phase of ascent to tār Sā (RSC, p. 104
Track 1, 01:02–01:32)
3.2.5 Rāg Bhairav, ālāp: descending phase (return to mahdya Sā) (RSC, p. 104
Track 1, 01:32–02:01)
3.2.6 Rāg Toḍī, ālāp: establishing phase (RSC, Track 2, 00:00–01:13) p. 106
3.2.7 Rāg Mālkauns, ālāp: establishing phase (RSC, Track 12, p. 106
00:18–01:37)
3.2.8 Ascents beyond tār Sā: p. 107
(a) in Multānī (RSC, Track 6, 00:59–01:14)
(b) in Toḍī (RSC, Track 2, 01:57–02:18)
(c) in Pūriyā Dhanāśrī (RSC, Track 7, 01:19–01:59)
3.2.9 Rāg Śuddh Sāraṅg, ālāp (RSC, Track 3, 00:00–01:35) p. 108
3.2.10 Rāg Basant, ālāp: first descending phase (RSC, Track 14, p. 109
00:00–00:29)
3.2.11 Rāg Basant, ālāp: second descending phase, leading to opening p. 109
of bandiś (RSC, Track 14, 00:29–01:06)
3.2.12 Rāg Yaman, ālāp: turn from ascending to descending phase p. 110
(RSC, Track 9, 02:19–02:56)
3.2.13 Rāg Bhīmpalāsī, ālāp (RSC, Track 5, 00:35–02:26) p. 110
3.2.14 Rāg Bihāg, ālāp (RSC, Track 11, 00:00–01:34) p. 110
3.2.15 Rāg Bhūpālī, ālāp: ascending and descending phases (RSC, Track p. 111
8, 00:34–01:30)
3.2.16 Rāg Toḍī, ālāp (RSC, Track 2, 00:00–02:42) p. 121
 List of Audio Examples 221

3.3.1 Rāg Bhairav, choṭā khayāl (RSC, Track 1, 02:00–05:06) p. 127

3.3.2 Rāg Bhairav, sthāī (RSC, Track 1, 02:00–02:45) p. 127
3.3.3 Rāg Bhairav, antarā (with lead in) and return to sthāī (RSC, p. 128
Track 1, 02:43–03:30)
3.3.4 Rāg Bhairav: gamak inflections (RSC, Track 1): p. 128
(a) 02:28–02:36
(b) 03:11–03:20
(c) 03:02–03:12
3.3.5 Rāg Bhairav: sargam tāns (RSC, Track 1, 03:20–03:59) p. 128
3.3.6 Rāg Bhairav, choṭā khayāl: concluding tihāī (RSC, Track 1, p. 129
04:32–05:06)
3.3.7 Rāg Brindābanī Sāraṅg, sthāī and antarā (RSC, Track 4, p. 130
02:09–03:25)
3.3.8 Rāg Bhīmpalāsī, choṭā khayāl (RSC, Track 5, 02:26–05:20) p. 130
3.3.9 Rāg Yaman, sthāī: first-line accumulation (RSC, Track 9, p. 132
03:10–04:01)
3.3.10 Rāg Toḍī: first-line accumulation: p. 134
(a) sthāī (RSC, Track 2, 02:41–03:50)
(b) antarā (ibid., 04:14–04:46)
3.3.11 Rāg Basant: repetition–accumulation: p. 134
(a) sthāī opening line (RSC, Track 14, 00:57–01:25)
(b) antarā opening line (ibid., 02:03–02:28)
(c) antarā, third line (ibid., 02:29–02:46)
3.3.12 Rāg Multānī: bol ālāp (RSC, Track 6, 01:45–02:22) p. 135
3.3.13 Rāg Megh: bol ālāp/vistār (RSC, Track 13, 2:15–03:09) p. 137
3.3.14 Rāg Yaman: antarā and bol ālāp, with lead-in (RSC, Track 9, p. 140
04:32–05:45)
3.3.15 Rāg Bihāg: sargam tāns (RSC, Track 11, 03:47–04:46) p. 140
3.3.16 Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī: sargam tāns in a developmental context p. 143
(RSC, Track 7, 05:03–06:03)
3.3.17 Ākār tāns in a developmental context: p. 143
(a) in Rāg Yaman (RSC, Track 7, 05:03–06:03)
(b) in Rāg Basant (RSC, Track 14, 03:40–04:08)
3.3.18 Four-note-per-mātrā ākār tāns: p. 143
(a) in Rāg Śuddh Sāraṅg (RSC, Track 3, 04:15–04:37)
(b) in Rāg Bhūpālī (RSC, Track 8, 04:08–04:26)
222 Rāgs Around the Clock

3.3.19 Bol tāns: p. 144

(a) in Rāg Multānī (RSC, Track 6, 03:41–03:50)
(b) in Rāg Bhūpālī (RSC, Track 8, 02:11–02:19)
3.3.20 Rāg Mālkauns: gamak tāns (RSC, Track 12, 04:47–05:15) p. 144
3.3.21 Rāg Multānī: behlāvā (RSC, Track 6, 02:34–03:20) p. 145
3.3.22 Rāg Kedār: lay bāṇṭ and laykārī (RSC, Track 10, 02:30–03:12) p. 145
3.3.23 Lay increase: p. 147
(a) Rāg Yaman (RSC, Track 9, 06:20–06:49)
(b) Rāg Mālkauns (RSC, Track 12, 05:48–06:14)
(c) Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī (RSC, Track 7, 04:41–05:11)
(d) Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī (ibid., 05:54–06:32)
3.3.24 Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī: opening phase (sthāī in extended mode) p. 160
(RSC, Track 7, 02:20–03:43)
3.3.25 Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī: beginning of elaboration phase (antarā in p. 160
extended mode) (RSC, Track 7, 03:43–04:49)
4.2.1 Rāg Bhairav: baṛā khayāl, sthāī (TR, Track 2, 00:00–01:09) p. 166
4.2.2 Rāg Bhairav: baṛā khayāl, antarā (TR, Track 2, 11:20–12:20) p. 166
4.2.3 Rāg Bhairav: drut khayāl, sthāī (TR, Track 3, 00:41–01:09) p. 171
4.2.4 Rāg Bhairav: drut khayāl, antarā (TR, Track 3, 04:26–05:03) p. 171
4.3.1 Rāg Yaman: baṛā khayāl, sthāī (TR, Track 5, 00:00–01:24) p. 191
4.3.2 Rāg Yaman: baṛā khayāl, antarā (TR, Track 5, 10:04–11:20) p. 191
4.3.3 Mukhṛā of the sthāī, with tabla entry (TR, Track 5, 00:00–00:08) p. 195
4.3.4 Baṛhat: development of sthāī from end of āvartan 1 to beginning p. 197
of āvartan 3 (TR, Track 5, 00:55–02:31)
4.3.5 Āvartan 4 (with opening and closing mukhṛās): elaboration of p. 198
Ga and Ḿa (TR, Track 5, 03:19–04:33)
4.3.6 Āvartan 8: prolongation of Ni, leading to tār Sā (TR, Track 5, p. 200
7:52–09:10)
4.3.7 Āvartans 9 and 10: prolongation of tār Sā leading to antarā sung p. 200
complete (TR, Track 5, 08:51–11:22)
4.3.8 Āvartan 11: laykārī (TR, Track 5, 11:20–12:04) p. 201
4.3.9 Āvartan 12: sargam tāns (TR, Track 5, 12:26–13:24) p. 202
4.3.10 Āvartan 13: gamak tāns (TR, Track 5, 13:25–13:47) p. 202
4.3.11 Āvartan 14: ākār tāns (TR, Track 5, 14:23–15:28) p. 202
4.3.12 Āvartan 15: return to bol ālāp singing style (TR, Track 5, p. 202
15:23–16:35)
 List of Figures

1.2.1 Scale degrees/note names in sargam notation. Created by author p. 3

(2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
1.3.1 Bhatkhande’s ṭhāṭs and their scale types (after Powers 1992: 13). p. 6
Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
1.4.1 Tīntāl: metrical structure and clap pattern. Created by author p. 8
(2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
1.4.2 Ektāl: metrical structure and clap pattern. Created by author p. 10
(2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
1.6.1. Samay Rāga—based on twelve time periods (after website of p. 13
ITC Sangeet Research Academy). Created by author (2024), CC
BY-NC-SA.
1.6.2 Rāg samay cakra—based on eight time periods. Created by p. 14
author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
1.8.1 Kaṇ: notation of Audio Example 1.8.1. Created by author (2024), p. 19
CC BY-NC-SA.
1.8.2 Kampit/‘after-kaṇ’: notation of Audio Example 1.8.2. Created by p. 20
author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
1.8.3 Miṇḍ: notation of Audio Example 1.8.3. Created by author (2024), p. 21
CC BY-NC-SA.
1.8.4 Āndolan: notation of Audio Example 1.8.4. Created by author p. 22
(2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
1.8.5 Gamak: notation of Audio Example 1.8.5. Created by author p. 23
(2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
1.8.6 Kaṭhkā/murkī: notation of Audio Example 1.8.6. Created by p. 25
author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
2.3.1 Bandiś in Rāg Toḍī: notation of antarā. Created by author (2024), p. 50
CC BY-NC-SA.
2.3.2 Bandiś in Rāg Mālkauns: notation of sthāī. Created by author p. 51
(2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
3.2.1 Ālāp in Rāg Bhairav: opening (establishing phase), transcription. p. 101
Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
3.2.2 Ālāp in Rāg Bhairav: intermediate ascending phase, p. 103
transcription. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
224 Rāgs Around the Clock

3.2.3 Ālāp in Rāg Bhairav: concluding ascending phase, transcription. p. 104

Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
3.2.4 Ālāp in Rāg Bhairav: descending phase, transcription. Created p. 105
by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
3.2.5 Ālāp in Rāg Bhūpālī: ascending and descending phase, p. 112
transcription. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
3.2.6 Relative duration of ālāp and composition stages in Hindustani p. 114
classical genres. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
3.2.7 Rāg samay cakra: track durations. Created by author (2024), CC p. 115
BY-NC-SA.
3.2.8 Rāg samay cakra: ālāp and choṭā khayāl durations. Created by p. 116
author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
3.2.9 Rāg samay cakra: ālāp durations as percentage of track p. 117
durations. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
3.2.10 Rāg samay cakra: durations before and after reaching tār Sā p. 117
within ālāp. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
3.2.11 Rāg Bhairav, ālāp: syllable sequence. Created by author (2024), p. 120
CC BY-NC-SA.
3.2.12 Rāg Toḍī, ālāp: syllable sequence. Created by author (2024), CC p. 121
BY-NC-SA.
3.3.1 Rāg Bhairav: sargam tāns, notated. Created by author (2024), CC p. 128
BY-NC-SA.
3.3.2 Rāg Bhīmpalāsī, choṭā khayāl: repetition structure. Created by p. 131
author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
3.3.3 Rāg Yaman, sthāī: first-line accumulation. Created by author p. 133
(2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
3.3.4 Rāg Multānī: bol ālāp, transcription. Created by author (2024), p. 136
CC BY-NC-SA.
3.3.5 Models for timing of bol ālāp/vistār within a choṭā khayāl (not p. 138
drawn to scale). Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
3.3.6 Rāg Bihāg: sargam tāns, notation. Created by author (2024), CC p. 141
BY-NC-SA.
3.3.7 Rāg Kedār: lay bāṇṭ and laykārī, notation. Created by author p. 146
(2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
3.3.8 Rāg Bhairav, choṭā khayāl: (a) event synopsis; (b) event string. p. 157
Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
3.3.9 Rāg Pūriyā Dhanāśrī, choṭā khayāl: (a) event synopsis; (b) event p. 159
string. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
4.2.1 Notation of baṛā khayāl, ‘Bālamavā more saīyā̃’̃ : (a) sthāī; (b) p. 167
antarā. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
 List of Figures 225

4.2.2 Opening of ‘Bālamavā more saīyā̃’̃ , as performed by Gangubai p. 168

Hangal (1994: Track 1). Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
4.2.3 Notation of drut khayāl, ‘Suno to sakhī batiyā’: (a) sthāī; (b) p. 171
antarā. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
4.2.4 ‘Suno to’: musical and textual rhyme patterns. Created by p. 173
author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
4.2.5 ‘Suno to’: metrical play. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA. p. 174
4.2.6 ‘Suno to’: event sequence shown in graphical form. Created by p. 175
author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
4.2.7 ‘Suno to’: event synopsis. Created by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA. p. 181
4.2.8 ‘Suno to’: (a) event string; (b) event substrings. Created by p. 183
author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
4.2.9 ‘Suno to’: event substrings/salient moments. Created by author p. 184
(2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
4.3.1 Elements of a typical full-length khayāl performance, with p. 188
durations from VR’s Yaman recording (TR, Tracks 4–6). Created
by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
4.3.2 Typical event sequence of a baṛā khayāl, with time codes of p. 189
their occurrence in VR’s Yaman recording (TR, Track 5). Created
by author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
4.3.3 Heuristic notation of bandiś: (a) sthāī; (b) antarā. Created by p. 192
author (2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
4.3.4 Transcription of bandiś: (a) sthāī; (b) antarā. Created by author p. 194
(2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
4.3.5 Baṛā khayāl in Rāg Yaman: stages of baṛhat. Created by author p. 198
(2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
4.3.6 Second part of baṛā khayāl: laykārī etc. Created by author p. 201
(2024), CC BY-NC-SA.
 Index

Indexing Policy
Certain terms, conceptually crucial to the content of this book, and hence prevalent within
it, potentially yield an unwieldy number of index entries. When these cannot be wholly
managed by creating subentries, they have been omitted or selectively treated—other,
more fruitful ways to interrogate them are through chapter subheadings, as listed in the
Table of Contents; or (when reading the e-book) through an electronic search of the text;
or by consulting the Glossary.
However, so that their significance does not go unrecognised, I list such terms in the
following ‘anti-index’, which falls into several groups—viz.:
(i) Wholly omitted terms:
antarā; āvartan; bol ālāp; expansion [musical] (but see baṛhat; development
[musical]); Hindustani classical music; khayāl; performance conventions (but
see performance grammar); phrase; scale (but see āroh; avroh); vistār (but see
baṛhat); sthāī.
(ii) Terms indexed only by their subentries:
ālāp; baṛā khayāl; dhrupad; guru; rāg; Rajput, Vijay (VR); svar; tāns.
(iii) Terms indexed only when used outside the rāg specifications of Section 2.5:
āroh; auḍav; avroh; jāti; pakaḍ; performing time; prahar; ṣāḍav; sampūrṇ; ṭhāṭ.

Other important, frequently used terms are indexed selectively. The titles of the book’s
two accompanying albums, Rāg samay cakra and Twilight Rāgs from North India, are not
indexed. Square brackets are used to indicate a particular usage of a term.
228 Rāgs Around the Clock

accumulation of intensity 9, 17, 107, 152, 154, 155, and ālāp 17, 106, 108, 115, 188
197, 201, 203. See also first-line accumulation; See and baṛhat 17, 106, 138, 196–202
also intensification and laykārī 18, 201–202
Adāraṅg. See Firoz Khan (Adāraṅg) and tāl 188, 191, 193–194, 204
ākār 119–120, 197 bandiś of 17, 165, 167–168, 179, 190–191, 195–196,
Akbar, Emperor 28, 36, 122 200, 204
alaṅkār 19, 42, 101, 113, 193. See also ornamentation duration of 188
ālāp. See also anibaddh event sequence of 17, 148, 189
ascending phase of 103–105, 107–111, 113, 117, 120 inception of 17, 195
descending phase of 103–105, 108–110, 112–113, notation of 190–191, 195
120, 139 speed of 187, 201
duration and proportion of 100, 104–105, 114–117 temporality of 187, 189–190, 193, 195–196, 203, 206
establishing phase of 102–103, 105–106, 108, baṛhat 138, 139, 197. See also baṛā khayāl: and baṛhat
110–111, 113, 120 Barnawi, Shaikh Bahauddin 27
phase schema of 102, 106–107, 109–110, 112–113, Beck, Guy L. 11
117, 149
behlāvā 129, 139, 144–145
ālāp syllables 119–124, 137
beloved [in song texts] 61, 67, 73, 165. See also loved
ālapti 99–100, 107, 137 one, lover [in song texts]
algebra [in musical analysis] 148, 160 bhajan 8, 76, 126, 164
Ali, Daud 26 bhakti tradition 27, 38
All-India Music Conferences 30 Bharata-bhāṣya (Nānyadeva) 15
Alter, Andrew 38–39 Bhatkhande, Vishnu Narayan 6, 30–31, 87
āndolan/āndolit 5, 21, 24, 54, 90, 101–103 and modernisation 4, 30
anibaddh xxiii, 44, 99, 115, 126, 136–137, 187–188, and rāg descriptions 30, 53, 57, 60, 63, 72, 78, 84,
190–191, 193, 195, 197, 201, 204, 206 90, 108
āroh 5, 63, 75, 105. See also āroh–avroh and time theory 15, 30, 69, 72
āroh–avroh 53, 78, 103, 139, 141–142
critiques of 30–31
ati vilambit khayāl 187, 188, 193. See also baṛā khayāl
notation system of 3, 30, 49–50, 191
aucār 108, 188
ṭhāṭ system of 6–7, 15, 53
auḍav 5, 53, 78
Bhogal, Gurminder Kaur 4
audience 8, 9, 10, 42, 98, 114, 124, 142, 184, 185, 186,
bimusicality xix
187, 203, 206. See also listeners; See also rasika
bīn 28. See also vīṇā
Aurangzeb, Emperor 28
birādarī 36. See also khāndān, khāndānī; See
autoethnography xi, xii, 205. See also ethnography;
also hereditary musicians
See also ethnomusicology, ethnomusicologists
Bohlman, Philip V. xvii, xviii
Avadhī [language] 76
Böhtlingk, Otto 205
avroh 5, 63, 66, 75, 84, 105. See also āroh–avroh
bol bāṇṭ 18, 145–146, 184, 201
Ayers, John xii, 164, 203
Bor, Joep xxii, 6, 15, 24, 28, 63, 93
Bagchee, Sandeep 145 Bose, Manali 169
Bakhle, Janaki 30–33, 37 Brahaspati, Sulochana 28, 31
Bali, Rai Umanath 30 Brahman musicians 32, 36
bandiś 18, 44, 52, 126, 127, 130, 189. See also cīz Braj Bhāṣā [language and poetry] xiv, xv, 46, 48, 73,
and ālāp 99, 105, 108, 114, 119 88, 172
and lay 145–147, 187, 204 Br̥̥had-deśī (Mataṅga) 15
and rāg 73, 129, 195 British [in India] 28, 30
and tāl 51, 127, 193 Brown, Katherine Butler 27, 28. See also Schofield,
hierarchy of components within 151, 155 Katherine Butler (née Brown)
identity of 134, 168–169, 193, 196 cakradār 154
notation of 45, 49, 61, 165, 190–191, 195 calan 60
performance of 50–51, 126, 149, 174 Chakrabarty, Ajit Kumar 41
repetition within 127, 130, 131, 144. See also first- Chakrabarty, Ajoy 41–42
line accumulation chāp. See pen name
text of 17, 46, 88, 137, 165, 172, 190 Chaurasia, Hariprasad xvii, 38
bandiś. See also composition choṭā khayāl 17, 44, 88, 126, 127, 128, 129, 138, 167,
Bandopadhyay [Banerjee], Ashok Kumar 205 179, 204. See also drut khayāl
Bandyopadhyaya, Shripada 15, 31 and ālāp 105, 115
Banerjee, Jayasri 39 closing phase of 150, 182
Bangha, Imre xii, xiv, xxii, 47 duration of 44, 52, 116, 130, 147, 188
baṛā khayāl. See also vilambit khayāl
 Index 229

elaboration phase of 149–150, 154, 156, 160, ālāp of 99–100, 114, 122–123
182–183 and khayāl 17, 22, 28, 115, 122, 124, 154
event sequence of 51, 148–149, 156, 159, 174, 179 features of 19, 24, 46, 126, 140, 144–145, 154, 202
grammar of 127, 138, 156, 161, 180 syllabary of 122–123
musical elements of 151 VR's relationship to 123–124
opening phase of 149, 182 diacritics xv, 47
Choudhury, Monojit xvi divine, the 17, 28, 39, 46, 55, 124, 165, 172. See
chronos 195–196, 199 also ineffable, the
cīz 126. See also bandiś; See also composition; See Doffman, Mark 195
also gat drone 2, 8, 11–12, 101
clap pattern [of a tāl] 8–10, 50, 173 drut khayāl 70, 144, 164, 169, 174, 183. See also choṭā
Clarke, David (DC) xi, xiii, xviii, xix, xxi, xxiii, 16, 46, khayāl
104, 113, 164–165, 199 du Perron, Lalita xxiii, 46, 58, 88, 172
Clayton, Martin xxiv, 8, 10–12, 138, 145, 147, 153,
187–188, 201–202 dugun 145–146, 202
communalism 31 ekgun 145–146
complexity [musical] 81, 99, 129, 130, 142, 148, 155, elaboration, musical 99, 111, 137, 138, 145, 152, 198.
159, 160, 202. See also simplicity [musical] See also baṛhat; See also choṭā khayāl: elaboration
composition 18, 61, 124, 126, 129, 141, 142, 167, phase of; See also development [musical]; See
190, 193, 195, 204. See also bandiś; See also cīz; See also extemporisation; See also improvisation
also gat embodiment xxi, 4, 42
notation of 190, 193 empirical analysis, data, experience, reality 11, 15,
consciousness xiii, 11, 16, 20, 108, 118, 124, 137, 148, 100, 109, 117–118, 126, 179–180, 183–184
161, 185, 188, 203. See also unconsciousness, pre- ethnography 205. See also autoethnography; See
consciousness, non-consciousness also ethnomusicology, ethnomusicologists
multiple drafts model of xxiii, 185 ethnomusicology, ethnomusicologists xvii, xix, 33,
cross-rhythm 61, 64, 122, 130, 146, 154, 173. See 49. See also ethnography
also laykārī eventfulness [musical] 190, 195. See also kairos
cutkulā 27 event string 157, 160, 182–183
event synopsis 156, 159–160, 180
Ḍāgar bānī 12 extemporisation 17, 44, 99, 114, 126, 127, 144, 174,
Dagar [Ḍāgar], Wasifuddin 123 180, 197, 199. See also improvisation
Daniélou, Alain 14
Dartington Hall xviii Farrell, Gerry 41–42
Das Sharma [Dasasarma], Amal 34 female musicians 37
Datta, Asoke Kumar 11 feudalism 37–38
Debnath, Arun xviii fieldwork 33, 204
de le Haye, David xii, 44 film song/filmi 19, 78, 126, 164
Delhi 27, 28, 35. See also gharānā: Delhi; See also New Firoz Khan (Adāraṅg) 28
Delhi first encounter [as ethnomusicological concept] xvii,
xviii
Qavvāls of 27
first-line accumulation 132, 134, 139, 144, 150–152,
Sultanate 33, 36
154, 159–160, 179, 183
Delvoye, Françoise ‘Nalini’ 4
flow [musical] 108, 109, 115, 127, 137, 143, 183, 189,
Dennett, Daniel xxiii, 185–186
195, 199, 202. See also rāg: cancal
descriptive music writing 49, 167, 194.
of a tāl 8–9
See also prescriptive music writing; See
folk music 28, 75, 164
also transcription [musical]
Deshpande, M. G. xiii, 72, 76, 84 Gadre, Sudhir V. xxiii
Deshpande, Vamanrao H. 36, 187–188 gamak 19, 22, 23, 24, 91, 101, 128, 144. See also tāns:
deśī [tradition] 28 gamak
deśī-rāgā system 7 gaṇḍā bandhan ceremony 35
Deva, B. Chaitanya 12, 15–16 Gandharva, Kumar 108
devadāsī 37 Gandharva Mahavidyalaya xvii, 30, 37, 67, 76, 169
Devanāgarī [script] xv, xvi, 3, 45–47, 190 Gandharva, Sawai xi, xiii, 36, 168
development [musical] 52, 114, 126, 130, 135, Gaṇeś (Ganesh) 76
139, 143, 147, 150, 151, 152, 153, 156, 196. See gat 115, 126. See also composition
also elaboration, musical gāyakī xviii. See also Rajput, Vijay (VR): gāyakī of
dhamār 75 gharānā 19, 34, 36–37, 99–100, 117, 124, 140
Dholpuri, Mahmood xii, xiii, 101, 131, 143 Agra 61
Dhore, Manikrao L. xvi Ajrara xiii
dhrupad
230 Rāgs Around the Clock

Delhi xiii, xiv, 36 IAST (International Alphabet of Sanskrit

Gwalior 144 Transliteration) xv, 47
Imdad Khan 36 ideology xxii, 4
Kirānā xi, 12, 22, 44, 124, 129, 154, 165, 168–169, illiteracy 30. See also literacy; See also orality
187–188, 203 Imām, Hakim Karam 122
ghazal 126 improvisation 32, 52. See also extemporisation
goal pitch 110, 111, 113. See also organising pitch; See and ālāp 17, 99–100, 124, 135
also svar: nyās and bandiś 126, 129, 131
Gonda, Jan 26, 38 and tāl 9, 188, 206
grah svar. See svar: grah in a baṛā khayāl 17, 189, 196
grāma-jāti system 7 in a choṭā khayāl 18
grāmarāga system 7 processes and techniques of 2, 17–18, 42, 126, 129,
grammar [linguistic] 37, 46, 161 142, 174, 197, 204
grammar [musical] 113. See also choṭā khayāl: vs composition 4, 129
grammar of; See also performance grammar; See ineffable, the xi, 122, 148. See also divine, the
also rāg: grammar of intensification 11, 121, 130, 134, 141, 146, 147, 153,
Gundecha brothers 12, 38 195. See also accumulation of intensity
Gupta era 26 interlude [musical] 131, 139, 143, 149–150, 154, 156
guru. See also guru-śiṣyā paramparā; See also ustād internalisation [of musical material] xix, 41–42, 99,
attributes of xvii, 32, 35, 39–40 118, 126, 161, 184, 203
authority of 37, 42 ITC Sangeet Research Academy 13, 38–39
history of 33–34, 37
Jahandar Shah, Emperor 29
idealisation of 37–39, 41
Jairazbhoy, Nazir A. 7, 15, 31, 69
payment of. See guru dakśinā
Jani, Kalpesh 102
problematics of 39
jāti 53, 54, 63, 78. See also grāma-jāti system
guru dakśinā 35
Jaunpur 27
guru-bahan 35, 204
javārī 11
guru-bhāī 35, 204
jazz 195
gurukul xvii, xviii, 34, 37–38
jhālā 99, 114–115
guru-śiṣyā paramparā xviii, xxi, 32–33, 37, 39
joṛ 99, 114–115
and modernity 32, 38–39
Joshi, Bhimsen xi, xvii, 34, 78–79, 168
history of 33, 35
and dhrupad 123
problematics of 33, 39
and gharānās 36, 203
scholarly accounts of 33–34
singing style of 22, 36, 129, 140, 164, 168–169
tropes of 33–35, 41
kairos 195, 196, 199. See also eventfulness [musical]
Hangal, Gangubai 54, 108, 168
kalāvant 122
Haridas, Swami 36
kampan/kampit 20, 101
harmonium xii, xiii, xiv, 2, 101, 131, 139, 143, 174,
kaṇ 19–20, 51, 54, 66, 69, 81, 90, 101, 194
185
Karnatak tradition xvi, 8, 14, 19, 31, 39, 102
hereditary musicians 4, 30, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37. See
also birādarī; See also khāndān, khāndānī Kashalkar, Sanyukta 38–40
female. See female musicians kaṭhkā 24, 25, 103, 200. See also murkī
heuristic [approach to notation] 49, 58, 193–194, 200 Katz, Jonathan xii, xiv, xxii, 47
heuristic [approach to theory] xxiii, 98, 105, 124, Katz, Max 30
138, 148, 199 Kaufmann, Walter 90
Hindavi [language] xv, 47 khālī 9–10, 50–51, 127, 137, 141, 146, 156, 173
Hindi [language] xv, 30, 46–47, 52–53, 76, 119, 196. Khan, Abdul Karim xi, 36
See also Hindavi [language] Khan, Abdul Wahid 187
Hindu culture, religion 5, 27, 30, 32, 34–36, 38, 76, Khan, Ali Akbar xxiv, 24
122 Khan, Amir 91, 187
Hindustānī-saṅgīta-paddhati (Bhatkhande) 31 Khan, Athar Hussain xii, xiii, 127, 131
Hood, Mantle xix Khan, Bade Ghulam Ali (Sabaraṅg) 55
Husain Shah Sharqi, Sultan 27 Khan, Fayaz (Prem Pīyā) 61
Hussain, Afaq 33–34 Khan, Karamutallah 30
Hussain, Fida xii, xiv, 203 Khan, Mahawat (Manaraṅg) 79
Hussain Khan, Sakhawat 31 Khan, Nasir 35
Hussain, Shahbaz xii, xiv, xxi, 203 Khan, Niaz Ahmed 197
Hussain, Zakir xvii Khan, Sabri 33–35
hypotaxis 161, 179, 182, 184. See also parataxis
 Index 231

khāndān, khāndānī 30, 36. See also birādarī; See Mittal, Anjali 22, 153
also hereditary musicians Mlecko, Joel 32, 37–39
Khusrau, Amir 27, 36 modality xxi, 2, 5. See also rāg
Kiparsky, Paul 161 modernisation, modernity 4, 6, 30, 32, 33, 38, 39, 203.
Kippen, James 32–34, 39 See also guru-śiṣyā paramparā: and modernity
Kirānā gharānā. See gharānā: Kirānā Modgal, Vinaychandra 67
kirtan 126 Monier-Williams, Monier 13, 205
Kramik pustak mālikā (Bhatkhande) 30, 50, 53, 90 Moutal, Patrick xxiii, 90
Krishna. See Kr̥̥ṣṇa (Krishna) Mudgal, Madhup xiii, 169
Krishna, T. M. 39–40 Mughal era, empire, culture 26–28, 33
Kr̥̥ṣṇa (Krishna) 46, 55, 63, 79, 82, 88, 94, 129 Muhammad Shah, Emperor 28
and Rādhā 28, 58, 172 mukhṛā 199
Kuḍumiyāmalai Inscription 4 in baṛā khayāl 17–18, 167–169, 193–197, 199, 202
in choṭā khayāl 18, 149, 151, 153, 155, 159
Lal Kunwar 29
multiple drafts model of consciousness. See
Lallie, Harjinder Singh 4 consciousness, multiple drafts model of
Lath, Mukund 15 murkī 22, 24, 25, 101, 103, 111. See also kaṭhkā
lay 145, 188, 204, 206. See also bandiś: and lay; Music in Motion [transcription project] xxii, 108
See also lay density; See also laya [Sanskr.]; See Muslim culture, musicians, scholars 4, 27, 30–32,
also gharānā: Kirānā 34–36, 87
and Kirānā gharānā 36
myth xxii, 27, 33, 41, 114, 122, 205
ati drut 147
ati vilambit 187, 206 nād 11–12
categories of 10 Nādir Shah, Emperor 28
drut 10, 94, 147 Napier, John James 126
madhya 10, 58, 64, 94, 115, 147, 187 Narayan, Ram xxiv
vilambit 10, 187 Nāṭyaśāstra (Bharata Muni) 4–5, 26, 31
lay bāṇṭ 145–147 Nayar, Sobhana 31
lay density 155. See also rhythmic density Neuman, Daniel 32–37, 41, 87
lay increase 18, 147, 149–150, 152, 154, 160, 183, 201 Neuman, Dard 4, 42
laya [Sanskr.] 204–206 Newcastle University xiii, xviii, xix, xxi, 44, 164, 203
laykārī 52, 142, 145, 146, 150, 151, 153, 154, Newcastle upon Tyne xiii, xvii, xviii, 204
156. See also baṛā khayāl: and laykārī; See New Delhi xiii, xvii, 44, 67, 76, 169. See also Delhi
also cross-rhythm nibaddh xxiii, 44, 99, 126, 136, 187, 188, 190, 195, 201,
liberal-democratic relationships, values 38–39 204. See also metre; See also tāl
light classical music 8, 75, 78 Nijenhuis, Emmie te 4
listeners xxiii, 9, 17, 23, 98, 132, 144, 148, 183, 187, Ni‘mat Khan (Sadāraṅg) 28, 91
189, 196, 199. See also audience nom tom. See dhrupad: ālāp of; See dhrupad:
literacy 4, 39. See also illiteracy syllabary of
love 17, 35, 46 Nooshin, Laudan 126
loved one, lover [in song texts] 27, 46, 61, 67, 70, 73, notation. See bandiś: notation of; See descriptive
85, 172, 190, 191. See also beloved [in song texts] music writing; See sargam notation; See staff
notation; See transcription [musical]
Ma’adan ul-musīqī (Hakim Karam Imām) 122 nyās svar. See svar: nyās
macro-beat [in a baṛā khayāl] 188, 193, 202
Magriel, Nicolas xxiii, 19–20, 23–25, 33–34, 49–50, orality 4, 37
144, 196–197 oral pedagogy, tradition, transmission 3, 4, 30, 32, 46,
Manaraṅg. See Khan, Mahawat (Manaraṅg) 47, 49, 190. See also orality
Marathi [language] 30, 53 organising pitch 102, 103, 106, 111, 112, 113. See
mārga [tradition] 28 also goal pitch; See also svar: nyās
Marris College 30–31 ornamentation 5, 19, 20, 24, 25, 26, 49, 50, 102, 104,
mātrā 8, 50, 141, 143, 147, 155, 167, 188, 193. See 136, 193. See also alaṅkār
also macro-beat [in a baṛā khayāl] pakaḍ 42, 53, 60, 78
mehfil 28, 38
pakhāvaj 2, 8, 99, 114
melismatic [singing] 123, 136–137, 143, 188
palṭā 42, 142
merukhaṇḍ 42
Paluskar, Vishnu Digambar 30, 37
MeToo 39
Pāṇini 161
metre xvi, 9, 44, 99, 126, 173, 188, 190, 193, 204. See
parataxis 161, 179, 184. See also hypotaxis
also nibaddh; See also tāl
patriarchy 33, 37
mīṇḍ 20–22, 66, 87, 90, 194
Miner, Allyn 28
232 Rāgs Around the Clock

pedagogy xxiii, 33, 36, 37, 38, 100, 187. See also oral Bilāval 84
pedagogy, tradition, transmission Brindābanī Sāraṅg 60, 63–64, 130
pen name 28, 61, 91 Darbārī Kānaḍā 109
performance grammar xxiii, 156, 160, 161, 179. See Deś 63
also choṭā khayāl: grammar of; See also grammar Deśkār 75, 109
[musical]; See also rāg: grammar of Dhanāśrī 66
performing time. See samay principle; See time Dhānī 66
theory [of rāg]
Hamīr 81, 84
Persian [language] 17, 27, 31, 41, 47, 122
Hansadhvanī 76
Phansalkar, Janhavi 42
Kalyāṇ 6
phenomenology
Kamod 81
of performance xxiii, 118, 186
Kedār 6, 20, 25, 81, 84, 130, 145, 149
of sound 10–11. See nād
Lalit 93, 109
play, playfulness 18, 64, 79, 122, 124, 152, 173, 188,
Madhmād Sāraṅg 90
189, 195, 206. See also laykārī
Pohar, Hanuman Prasad 76 Malhār 90
Post, Jennifer C. 37 Mālkauns 14, 16, 21, 51, 87, 106, 108, 116, 147, 149,
153
Powers, Harold S. 5–7, 15, 31, 161
Māru Bihāg 84
prahar 13, 72
Mārvā 57, 76
prakriti 87
pralaya 204, 205, 206. See also laya [Sanskr.] Megh xxi, 14, 21, 44, 63, 90, 137, 139
praṇām xix, 35 Megh Malhār 90
Prem Pīyā. See Khan, Fayaz (Prem Pīyā) Multānī 5, 57, 69, 107, 135, 137–139, 144
prescriptive music writing 49, 51, 167, 193. See Paraj 93
also descriptive music writing Patdīp 66
prolongation [of svar]. See svar: prolongation of Pūriyā Dhanāśrī 22, 69–70, 72, 143, 147, 149, 159
pronunciation xvi, 37, 44–45, 47–48 Pūrvī 72
pūrvaṅg 15. See also rāg: pūrvaṅg pradhan Śuddh Sāraṅg 60, 108, 117, 131–132, 143, 149
Śyām Kalyāṇ 60
qaul 27 Toḍī 5, 50, 57, 69, 106, 121, 133, 144, 149
qavvāl 122. See also Delhi, Qavvāls of Yaman xviii, xxii, xxiii, 6, 16, 22, 78, 110, 132, 134,
Qureshi, Regula Burkhardt 5–6, 33–37, 122 139, 143, 147, 164, 188, 190–191, 195, 198, 200–201
Rādhā 28, 46, 58, 94, 172 Rajput, Vijay (VR)
rāg. See also modality; See also rāgs referred to and Kirānā gharānā 36, 169
and ras 5, 57, 66, 75, 81, 87, 90, 107, 121, 124, 169 as guru of DC xi, xviii, xix, xxiii, 100, 123, 190, 199,
204
cancal 90, 93
biography of xiii, xvii, xviii
definition of 5–7
gāyakī of 22, 60–61, 84, 115–116, 119–121, 131, 137,
gambhīr 21, 87, 90, 93, 147
142, 144–146, 165, 169, 200, 203
grammar of 5, 53–54, 69, 93, 102–103, 105–107,
teachers of xi, 22, 34, 36, 55, 61, 67, 72, 76, 79, 82,
109, 129, 198–199, 203
84, 91, 164, 169
monsoon xxi, 14, 21, 44, 90, 137
thoughts of 24–25, 90, 102, 109, 114, 118, 123–124,
parmel-praveśak 69
129, 137, 199
pūrvaṅg pradhan 109
Rakha, Alla xiv, xvii
sandhi prakāś 15–16, 107 Rampur 28, 31
specification of 30, 45, 53, 90, 164 Ranade, Ashok 24, 52, 99, 102, 126, 196
springtime xxi, 14, 44, 93–94, 147 Rao, Suvarnalata xxii, 108
taxonomy of 6 ras 5, 22, 32, 124. See also rāg: and ras
uttaraṅg pradhan 93, 117 karuṇ 6, 57, 66–67, 107, 121, 169
Rāg Darpan (Faqīrullāh) 28 śānt 6, 75, 87
rāga–rāgini system 6 śr̥̥ṅgār 5, 81, 169
rāgs referred to vīr 6, 87, 90
Aḍānā 109 rasika xi, 98
Bāgeśrī 66 recordings, historic 36, 49, 100, 168–169
Basant xxi, 14, 44, 93, 116–117, 134, 143–144 register [musical] 3, 17, 99, 142, 151, 152, 155, 184,
Bhairav 5, 21, 44, 54, 99, 101–104, 108, 127, 129, 195, 197, 202. See also pūrvaṅg; See also uttaraṅg
145, 156, 164–165, 167, 169 and syllable choice 123
Bhīmpalāsī 25, 66, 69, 110, 130, 142, 149 repetition
Bhūpālī 6, 19, 75, 111–112, 143 in riyāz 41–42, 126, 129
Bihāg 5, 81, 84, 110, 130, 140, 142
 Index 233

musical 91, 128, 129, 130, 131, 134, 151, 159, 179. Snell, Rupert 46–48
See also bandiś: repetition within; See also first-line sonata 189
accumulation song. See bandiś
rhythmic density 147, 153. See also lay density Sooklal, Anil 38
Ringe, Prakash Vishwanath and Vishwajeet Sorrell, Neil xxiv, 9–10, 42
Vishwanath xxiii, 72, 84, 90 śruti 4–5, 11, 32, 54
riyāz 34, 41, 42, 54. See also repetition: in riyāz śruti box 11
Roth, Rudolph 205 staff notation 49, 50. See also sargam notation
Rowell, Lewis 11–12 status [of musicians] 11, 35, 38, 40
Roy, Sudipta xii, xxiii, 190, 204–205 Steiner, Roland 205
Ruckert, George E. xxiv, 24, 129, 138, 196 Sufi culture, musicians 27, 36, 122
Sabaraṅg. See Khan, Bade Ghulam Ali (Sabaraṅg) svar. See also svar space
Sadāraṅg. See Ni‘mat Khan (Sadāraṅg) anugāmī 87
ṣāḍav 5, 53, 78 grah 106, 111
śāgird 32, 35, 37. See also śiṣyā nyās 87, 105, 111, 113, 197, 198, 199. See also goal
pitch; See also organising pitch
Sahasrabuddhe, Veena xiii, xxiv, 42, 187
sam 8–10, 17, 50, 129, 134, 141, 146, 154, 156, prolongation of 103, 137, 152, 168, 199
167–168, 196–197 samvad 87
samay principle 15, 44, 54, 69, 187. See also time vādī and saṃvādī 5, 21, 53–54, 72, 75, 90, 102,
theory [of rāg] 105–106, 113
history of 14 vivādī 81, 84
sampūrṇ 5, 53–54, 78 svar space 102, 106, 108, 110–113, 199
saṃvādī. See svar: vādī and saṃvādī syllables. See ālāp syllables; See dhrupad: syllabary
Saṅgīta-makaranda (Nārada) 14–15 of; See register [musical]: and syllable choice;
Saṅgīta-ratnākara (Śārṅgadeva) 15, 31, 99–100, 107
See sargam syllables; See tarānā; See vocables
syntax 41, 53, 122, 123, 137, 159, 179, 185, 186. See
Sankaran, Sajan 38
also choṭā khayāl: grammar of; See also grammar
Sanskrit [language] xv, 3, 5, 13, 26, 32, 41, 47–48, 99,
[musical]; See also performance grammar; See
161, 204–206
also rāg: grammar of
Sanyal, Ritwik xxiv, 2, 20, 24, 48, 100, 102, 107, 113,
122–123, 144 tabla xiii, 2, 8–9, 17, 33, 44, 99, 127, 129, 131, 134,
Sāraṅg aṅg 60, 63, 90 147, 150, 188, 193, 195
sāraṅgī xiii, xxiv, 2, 33, 35, 41 bols 3, 10
sargam notation 2–4, 45, 49–50, 191, 193 takhallus. See pen name
sargam syllables 18, 119, 128, 140, 142, 197, 202 tāl 2, 8, 9, 17, 32, 50, 99, 123, 126, 134, 137, 142, 145,
sarod xxiv, 24, 30–31, 41 156, 167, 205, 206. See also bandiś: and tāl; See
śāstras 4, 100, 102, 106, 124 also baṛā khayāl: and tāl; See also clap pattern [of
Scarimbolo, Justin 32 a tāl]; See also improvisation: and tāl; See also tāls
Schippers, Huib 38 referred to
Schofield, Katherine Butler (née Brown) 4, 27. See tālī 9–10, 50, 169
also Brown, Katherine Butler tālīm xi, xviii, 35
schwa xv, 48 tāls referred to
secularisation [of music] 28, 30, 203 dādrā 8
Seeger, Charles 49, 167, 193–194 drut ektāl 10, 109, 143, 169
Shah Jahan, Emperor 28 ektāl 8–10, 94, 173
Shankar, Ravi xvii jhaptāl 8
Sher Muhammed, Shaikh 27 keharvā 8
Shukla, Richa 169 madhya lay tīntāl 64, 127
Sikh scholars, musicians 4 rūpak 8–9
silsilā 32. See also guru-śiṣyā paramparā tīntāl 8–10, 50, 128, 136, 141–142, 145–146, 156
simplicity [musical] 19, 75, 99, 127, 128, 130, vilambit ektāl 165, 167–168, 188, 193, 200
140, 142, 148, 150, 151, 152, 154, 156, 157. See vilambit tīntāl 168
also complexity [musical] Talwalkar, Padma 108
Singh, Kirit 4 tānpurā 2, 11, 35, 101, 203
śiṣyā xi, xviii, xix, xxiii, 32, 34, 35, 38, 39, 40, 41, tāns
190, 204, 206. See also guru-śiṣyā paramparā; See ākār 18, 91, 140, 142–144, 147, 153, 156, 179, 182,
also śāgird 202
Śiva 54, 76, 122 bol 18, 134, 140, 142, 144, 153
Slawek, Stephen 2, 39 gamak 18, 22–23, 140, 144, 153, 202
smartphone 11, 38, 190 sargam 18, 128, 140, 142–143, 146–147, 153, 201
234 Rāgs Around the Clock

Tānsen, Miyā̃ ̃ 28, 36, 57 ustād 32, 33, 34, 36, 37, 39, 40, 41, 42, 49. See also guru
tantrism 38 uttaraṅg 15. See also rāg: uttaraṅg pradhan
tarānā 18, 27, 66, 122–124
vādī. See svar: vādī and saṃvādī
tawaīf 37
vakra motion 81, 104
Telang, Mangesh Rāmakrishana 15
Van der Meer, Wim xxii, 32, 34, 108, 187
temporality 190, 195. See also baṛā khayāl:
temporality of variants. See also variation [musical]
Thakur, Omkarnath 7, 15, 87 of a bandiś 46, 49, 58, 169
ṭhāṭ 6, 69, 84. See also Bhatkhande, Vishnu Narayan: of a rāg 54, 90
ṭhāṭ system of of a song text 55
ṭhekā 9–10, 193 of genres 27
theory 4, 6, 31, 100, 148, 205. See also heuristic of musical figures 2, 110, 120, 131
[approach to theory]; See also time theory [of rāg]; of performance principles 105, 114
See also western music: theory of variation [musical] 51, 115, 129, 134, 145, 146, 151,
and practice xii, xxi, 4, 25, 98, 124, 142, 206 154, 159, 168, 197, 201. See also variants
formal xxiii, 112, 127, 161 varṇam 126
limits of xi, xii, 186 Vedas, Vedic era 11, 30, 32, 33, 34, 37
of ālāp 124 Vedi, Dilip Chandra 34
of emotion 5 vibhāg 8, 9, 10, 50, 134, 137, 146, 169
withholding of 42 Vijay Lakshmi, M. 15
ṭhumrī 8, 17, 19, 46, 75, 126, 140, 164 vilambit khayāl 164, 187. See also ati vilambit khayāl;
tihāī 129, 131, 150, 154, 157 See also baṛā khayāl
time theory [of rāg] 15. See also Bhatkhande, vīṇā 31. See also bīn
Vishnu Narayan: and time theory; See also samay Vinay-Patrikā (Tulsidas) 76
principle vivādī. See svar: vivādī
transcription [musical] xxiii, 30, 50, 101, 103, 104, vocables 119, 120. See also ālāp syllables; See
105, 112, 119, 132, 134, 135, 146, 166, 193, 194, also dhrupad: syllabary of
199, 200. See also descriptive music writing; See
also heuristic [approach to notation] Wade, Bonnie C. 12, 13, 15, 28, 34, 36, 79
transliteration xv, 46, 47, 48, 119, 190 western music 8, 19, 20, 33, 44, 189. See also staff
notation
Trasoff, David 30
Trivedi, Madhu 28 theory of 100, 102, 113, 185
trope xxii, 46, 67, 172, 190. See also guru-śiṣyā western musicians, musicologists xxiv, 34
paramparā: tropes of Widdess, Richard xii, xxiv, 2, 4, 6, 7, 12, 15, 20, 23,
Tulsidas, Goswami 76 100, 102, 107, 113, 122, 123, 126, 144
Tyagi, Manjusree 61, 91 YouTube 169
unconsciousness, pre-consciousness, non- Zadeh, Chloe 2, 126
consciousness xxiii, 16, 100, 123, 134, 148, 161, zamīndār 38
179, 185. See also consciousness
Urdu [language] xiv, xv, 31, 32, 34, 41, 44, 47, 119. See
also Hindavi [language]
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