Facepalm!

“Shobha”, I said, introducing myself as I held out my hand to take his.

He smiled, a smile reaching his eyes. “Nishad”, he responded.

I returned his smile and then blurted: “komal or shuddh?”.

I don’t know why on Earth I assumed he would know music but I felt idiotic almost immediately!

“Komal”, he responded, (deliberately?) in the same manner as the connotation of the note. 

I was surprised by his response and continued, “Ah, into music?”

“My mom is a trained vocalist…Gwalior Gharana…I’ve learnt some from her”.

“I should have guessed…the Goa-Konkani background”, I continued quickly apologising for being presumptuous. After the initial embarrassment that I had caused, we struck a wonderful conversation on music and what it meant to the both of us. 

There are just some communities that you would associate with Classical music, simply because they provide that milieu. There is a saying in Kannada that if one threw a pebble into the air in Dharwad, it would fall on the roof of the house of an artiste. The Hubli-Dharwad-Belgaum area of Karnataka has contributed such stalwarts to the field of Hindustani Classical music that one might almost believe the saying! Likewise with the Konkan region. So, I might not have committed the biggest faux pas in assuming Nishad’s training in music, though, of course, it was no business of mine to know. 

The komal nishad brought to mind one of my favourite ragas, Madhamad Sarang, the komal nishad being its differentiator from Brindavani Sarang. There’s something about the rishab in the Sarang family - the ‘sthirta’ that it brings along - contemplative and calm. 

Raga Madhamaad Sarang, rendered by one of my favourites - the (Late) Gana Saraswati Kishori Amonkar of the Atrauli-Jaipur Gharana: