English Literature – Memoir ☆ दस्तावेज़ # 27 – The Days That Sang Like Ragas ☆ Shri Jagat Singh Bisht ☆ 

Shri Jagat Singh Bisht

(Master Teacher: Happiness & Well-Being, Laughter Yoga Master Trainer, Author, Blogger, Educator, and Speaker.)

☆ दस्तावेज़ # 27 – The Days That Sang Like Ragas ☆ Shri Jagat Singh Bisht ☆

There was a time when life moved not by the clock, but by cadence. A time when days began like a gentle alap, slowly, soulfully, with no rush, no resistance—just a quiet invocation of the divine. Those were good times. Soothing. Relaxing. They came and went like an Indian classical recital, flowing gracefully from vilambit to drut, from stillness to spirited celebration.

In those golden mornings of yesteryears, I had the rare privilege of waking up to the serenity of Raga Ahir Bhairav and Nat Bhairav, rendered masterfully on the sarod by the legendary Ustad Ali Akbar Khan. His notes didn’t merely enter the ears; they seeped into the soul like the morning sun melting the mist.

As the day unfolded, so did my musical canvas. The sitar strings of Pandit Ravi Shankar would strike a soft yet intricate tapestry of Raga Mishra Pilu, weaving its magic across late morning hours. It was as if the day itself bowed in reverence, surrendering to the grace of the raga.

Come evening, it was the flute—bansuri—of Pannalal Ghosh that carried me into the dusk with Raga Darbari. Deep, solemn, and majestic, it spoke not just to the intellect, but to something primal and profound. And then, just when the world slept, Raga Sohini arrived on the santoor of Pandit Shivkumar Sharma, shimmering with mystery, like moonlight dancing on still water.

Ah, what a time it was—to choose your concert, your raga, your maestro, with just the turn of a gramophone dial. My world was a curated sabha, where Vilayat Khan’s sitar, Bismillah Khan’s shehnai, V G Jog’s violin, Imrat Hussain Khan’s surbahar, Abdul Halim Jaffar Khan’s mastery, Amjad Ali Khan’s youthful vigour, Hari Prasad Chaurasia’s flute, and Brijbhushan Kabra’s guitar performed tirelessly, endlessly, for me alone.

A Treasure Trove of Indian Classical Music – 1

My gramophone collection was no less than a temple. Each record was a relic. Running fingers through those cardboard jackets, selecting the evening’s invocation, watching the black disc spin its magic—this was not a task, it was a ritual. And in those moments, time itself bowed down to listen.

Yes, I still have that treasure trove with me, tucked safely in shelves and memory. But the times—they have changed. The world outside runs on speed. The world within craves for pause. I find myself dreaming, often, of turning back the pages of time.

How I long to hear again the thumris of Nirmala Devi, Hira Devi Mishra, Girija Devi, Parveen Sultana, Lakshmi Shanker and Shobha Gurtu—each voice a world of emotion, each phrase a stroke of delicate pain and beauty.

Evenings would bloom again if I could lose myself in the luminous voices of Pandit Jasraj, Pandit Bhimsen Joshi, Kishori Amonkar, Prabha Atre, and the deep, meditative dhrupad of Ustad Nasir Aminuddin Dagar.

A Treasure Trove of Indian Classical Music – 2

And then, the weekend mehfil—friends gathered, hearts opened, and the air filled with the velvet ghazals of Mehdi Hassan, Begum Akhtar, Ghulam Ali, Munni Begum, Bhupinder, Pankaj Udhas, Salma Agha, and the soul-touching duets of Jagjit and Chitra Singh.

Some memories sing of nirguna bhajans by Kumar Gandharva—ethereal, abstract, and eternal. Others echo Meera bhajans, sung with such innocence and longing by Vani Jairam, composed divinely by Pandit Ravi Shankar. And then, the trance-like spell of Damadam Mast Kalandar, as rendered by Noor Jehan, Runa Laila, Reshma, Ghulam Nabi, and Saeen Akhtar.

Where did it all go? The Drums of India by J P Ghosh, the Fantasy of Indian Drums by Pandit Vijay Raghav Rao, Nayyara Sings Faiz, Jaam o Meena by Iqbal Siddiqi and Vandana Bajpai—where do such treasures reside now, if not in fading memories?

I wish, once more, to hear Bachchan’s Madhushala sung by Manna De, Sunderkand from Tulsi Ramayan by Mukesh, Soor Padavali by Pandit Jasraj, the qawwali of Ghungroo Toot Gaye by Maqbool Ahmed Sabri, and even Fun Time Rhymes by Preeti Sagar, which I played joyfully for my little son.

And sometimes, when nostalgia wears the perfume of romance, the songs from Sangam and Umrao Jaan return to whisper of love and longing.

Two records have etched themselves on my soul—West Meets East by Yehudi Menuhin and Ravi Shankar, and South Meets North by Lalgudi G Jayaraman and Amjad Ali Khan. East and West, South and North—what sublime confluences they were!

Would it be too much to ask the cosmos to return Savan Bhadon – Melody of the Rains to me? To bring back Bade Ghulam Ali Khan’s aching thumri “Aaye Na Balam”, to let me sway again with Sitara Devi to Kathak Dance of India, or be mesmerised by Vyjayanthimala’s grace on Bharat Natya?

Is there, I ask, anything more structured, more rhythmic, more perfect, more healing than Indian classical music? Is there anything more divine?

The soul of this music still breathes—it is we who must pause, and listen. For somewhere, beneath the clutter of digital noise, it still waits. The sarod still sighs. The flute still yearns. The tabla still celebrates. The tanpura still hums the eternal Om.

Let us, once again, tune our lives like an old tanpura—soft, steady, sacred. Let us reclaim that raga of existence, where each note is a prayer, and each silence, a sanctuary.

And maybe then, the music shall return.

Laughter Yoga Master Trainer

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