#dhrupad

[lutes-of-the-world]

Rudra vina (also spelled veena). I'm not sure how old it is, though it's first mentioned in a text from the 15th century and is said to have been invented by Lord Shiva himself. Its repertoire, dhrupad, is ancient.

The vina is technically more of a stick zither than a lute, but players the vina and lute play the same game.

The shaft of the vina represents the cosmic axis and human spine, and the fretted portion is traditionally the length of the navel to the top of the skull.

[mysticalblizzardcolor]

Listen/purchase: Hamsadhwani on Chandraveena and Saraswati Veena by S Balachander

Hamsadhwani on Chandraveena and Saraswati Veena ~by S Balachander

[unsungtunes]

Meditative rendition of a dhrupad in Rag Jaunpuri by Uday Bhawalkar

[sonic-vacation]

Zia Mohiuddin Dagar - Dhrupad - Raga Yaman

[dustedmagazine]

Dagar Brothers — Berlin 1964 (Black Truffle)

Oren Ambarchi’s Black Truffle label has long been a source for challenging, rewarding music across genres from contemporary composition and free jazz to Thai mouth organ and wah-wah’d out solo bass recordings. Now it is becoming a great resource for Dhrupad music as well. Following up archival recordings of the recently departed Amelia Cuni and rudra veena virtuoso Ustad Zia Mohiuddin Dagar is a revelatory set of lost recordings from the Dagar Brothers, two of the most important figures in establishing the documentation and preservation of this important vocal art form.

Dhrupad is the oldest form of Hindustani classical music, characterized by extensive, drawn-out improvisations. Within this lineage, the Dagar family, which includes the Dagar Brothers, their younger siblings and fellow vocal duo Zahiruddin Dagar and Faiyazuddin Dagar, the aforementioned Z.M. Dagar and his son Bahauddin Dagar,  is not just a family, but an  institution. Historically, the Dagars were court musicians, and to give a sense of how important the Dagar family is to Dhrupad, there are four styles of court (or darbārī) Dhrupad, and one of them is known simply as the Dāgar vānī. Ustad Nasir Moinuddin (1919-1966) and Ustad Nasir Aminuddin Khan (1923-2000) were born into this lineage at a critical period, coming of age as India broke free from centuries of British colonial rule. British colonialism had upended Indian court music and, starting in the 19th century, Dhrupad had begun to decline in favor of different styles of Hindustani classical music such as Khyal and Thumri. The development of recording technology further displaced the music from its regal context, as the music was now being presented to a much larger audience than the courts would have allowed. Indian classical music was extensively recorded on 78 rpm records from the very beginning, but the limited timeframe that the records allowed made documenting the lengthy Dhrupad music practically impossible. In the aftermath of decolonization, Dhrupad was in danger of disappearing entirely, and it was in this context that the Dagar Brothers took initiative to preserve their family tradition.

Crucial to this mission was the rise of long-playing records in the 1950s and 1960s, which provided much more space for the expansive improvisations of the Dagar Dhrupad. There were also a number of record labels emerging around this time, such as Ocora and Lyrichord, which were dedicated to producing ethnographic recordings without consideration for commercial appeal. In the mid-1960s the Dagar Brothers made the very first Dhrupad record for the EMI-Odeon label, and went on a tour of Europe organized by the eccentric French historian Alain Daniélou. Daniélou recorded the Dagar Brothers in Berlin during this tour, which remained unreleased until now due to the tape abruptly cutting out just before the brothers finished their performance of Raga Jaijavanti. Fifty years later that recording, along with a live recording made in Berlin around the same time, is now being released by Black Truffle.

The Dagar Brothers participated in these recordings with the intention of documenting and preserving a musical tradition in danger of disappearing (and promoting it to a new audience), but this doesn’t make them any less singular as artists. Perhaps the most striking thing about these releases is the intensity of the brothers’ performances, which ought to single handedly dispel any preconceptions of Indian Classical music as new-agey “chill-out” music. On the performance of Rāga Miyān kī Todī from the live recording, that intensity is present from the very beginning and doesn’t let up during the nearly 40 minute run time. The Dagar Brothers sing in beautiful droning overtones, but when the energy hits peak levels their vocal ornamentations sound like deep, commanding shouts, all perfectly on rhythm. The court music context may make one expect otherwise, but this is deeply powerful, trance-inducing music.

In the present day, Dhrupad is often associated with what is now known as drone music. La Monte Young, who is perhaps more associated with drone than any other composer, famously studied under Pandit Pran Nath, as did Terry Riley, and those two composers helped set the stage for future works exploring long tones. But what makes Dhrupad music so important in understanding the “Western” experimental music it paved the way for isn’t just the drone, but the way in which its practitioners showed the endless sonic possibilities of such seemingly “static” music. There are even some moments of vocal overlap between the two brothers that are somewhat reminiscent of the phasing techniques utilized by Phill Niblock.  But even beyond its importance to experimental music, these recordings are a testament to the living, breathing power of this ancient vocal art form, and the power of music in moving both the mind and the body. The voice, after all, is the original instrument.

by Levi Dayan

[zindagi-se-darte-ho]

Interesting Topics to Research On for Bored AF People (desi version)

The Bengal Sultanate

Dominance of taka in Silk Route Trade

Tibetan Buddhism

Chamba Rumal

Pashupati Seal

Zeb-un-nissa Begum

Rasa theory of Natyashastra

Gargi-Yajnavalkya Dialogue

Saraswati (River and Goddess)

Rudraveena

Atman-Brahman Relation and Mahavakyas

70's Bollywood fashion

Paintings of Raja Ravi Varma

Dhrupad

History of Chai/Cha

Mother Goddess Mohenjo Daro

Chanakya

Prakrit Language

Baro-Bhuiyan

Chicankari

Brajabuli

Tantra

Shipton–Tilman Nanda Devi expeditions

Banaras

Annamalaiyar Temple

Chola Dynasty

Pala Empire

Terracotta Temples of Bengal

[artcinemas]

only ensemble ever this is not a joke

[bollywoodirect]

Remembering Ustad #BadeGhulamAliKhan Saab on his 56th death anniversary (25/04/1958). Bade Ghulam amalgamated the best of three traditions into his own Patiala-Kasur style: the Behram Khani elements of Dhrupad, the gyrations of Jaipur, and the behalves (embellishments) of Gwalior. Here is a rare photograph of Mohammed Rafi with Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan. What are your favourite Bade Ghulam Ali Khan songs?

[pearlgisa]

qala and the style over substance argument

so, i watched qala (dir. by anvita dutt) immediately when it came out - a story that exposed the music industry and the position of women in it, especially focusing on the toxic nature of indian classical music? it was like they made the film for me (someone who's spent a good chunk of their life trained in hindustani classical music). however, i was sorely disappointed.

in essence, qala, along with other films that did commercially well that came out in bollywood last year, solidified my understanding that the audience of today's generation of movie-watchers genuinely puts style over substance and in fact, uses it as a way to defend their favourite movies from criticism. the recent resurgence of praise for om shanti om of all films, only strengthened this opinion.

my criticisms for qala are in plenty, yet i will choose to expand on the ones that strike out the most to me, all of which range from the lightest to the harshest criticism:

the choice of music

the acting

the direction + writing

the handling of the serious issues that are the main theme of the film

before you read ahead, please know that there are spoilers.

in indian classical music, there are two distinct forms: hindustani (or, north indian) and carnatic (or south indian) music. each have their differences and similarities and even someone who hasn't trained can tell them apart upon listening. within hindustani music - which is the genre of music that qala learns from her mother - you have many different styles of singing, ranging from shastriya sangeet (classical form of singing) to laghu sangeet (semi-classical and sometimes, light music). of course, this categorization also has its roots in religion and caste. shastriya sangeet has forms of singing like dhrupad (the oldest form and a strictly devotional medium), khyal (the most common one, telling tales or speaking of human emotions), bhajan (also a devotional medium), etc.

laghu sangeet has forms of classical music like the thumri, a form of singing popularized and invented by courtesans. the lyrics were sensual, romantic and more explicit. of course, owing to these, they were looked down upon. even the british had a huge role in diminishing the status of indian women performers. the "other woman" concept was specifically one that they propagated and the rise of the "perfect housewife" phenomena began since the seventeenth century. the extreme effect of that? the courtesans lost out on their patrons and were forced into prostitution.

hence, that was the primary history behind qala's mother, urmila, shaming her into never being a performer, i.e, in a more derogatory term, a "singing girl". a courtesan, essentially. which is accurate, considering the film is set in the 1940s. if a girl was too "out there in the world", i.e, her achievements being publicised in newspapers or her getting recognition for her academics, her future marital prospects were ruined. and the "shame" that befell the family if she was learning music or dance was worse. a significant number of the prominent female musicians that emerged from this era of pre-independence to post-independence were unmarried. or they had many patrons and salacious rumours regarding their love life were in plenty. the film pakeezah (1972) explores such themes quite well. and the many renditions and retellings of devdas also serve as a good example of the stature of performing women.

however, it's the music itself where it goes wrong for me. the choice of songs as well as qala's singing (of course, all of qala's songs are sung by the amazing sireesha bhagavatula), is in a style all too similar to laghu singing. the years of egregious training, no matter how much her mother dismissed her, would've developed a voice which would've sounded a lot more like what a lot of classical singers would sound like, unless they were singing a lighter form of singing. and it isn't a matter of pitch or using falsetto. qala's mom is referred to as a master of qawallis, which is a sufi form of devotional singing (and comes well under hindustani music too). even the lyrics of qala's songs, while full of very obvious foreshadowing, do not match the overall orthodox classical upbringing that the film portrays.

while bhagavatula has an amazing voice well versed in classical music (especially since she sings bhajans so often), considering the time that qala was set in, you would've expected a sound similar to something along the lines of noor jehan or even roshan ara begum. instead, it sounds a lot like a mix of semi-classical instrumental with a more pop-based voice. which is easier for our generation to digest and consume, however, it comes at the cost of a sound which is very typical of the 50s-70s era of bollywood.

one that qala does right are the costumes. they do their job well. not the sets as much, which i will get into later. at some points, they are well in line with the rest of the era of the film, other times it just sticks out like a sore thumb. here's where the "symbolism" comes in.

one of the most jarring examples is the song qala sings at the first performance, a very light classical song just by the sound of the vocals. even the song jagan sings is very contemporary at its core. despite the characters having an allegedly strict, traditional schooling of music (jagan's voice is devoid of the typical heavy accent or dialects that those who are from underprivileged backgrounds tends to have), the songs at hand present a very modern take on qawallis, despite bollywood being a flourishing ground for many iconic qawallis. therefore, the compositions sometimes falter at some points specifically because of the vocal choices. choosing to do away with alaaps, especially in qala's part, less aakar and more bariki, are all signficant details that feel jarring to someone who's lived in the world of classical music as long as qala. otherwise, there are some signature sounds retained from the era that the film is set in.

and while still on the topic of singing, a very important issue that i find least addressed is the acting of it. despite there being little vocal variations in the compositions, the actors don't show that they are singing. and in the film specifically revolving around music, that's an extremely important detail that i find amiss. hardly opening the mouth, the movement of the lips, the posture as well as the hand gestures (yes, a very important detail!), are all obvious flaws. a recent film that does that does those details well is the disciple (2020). the first scene of urmila teaching qala singing displays urmila wearing an elaborate piece of nose jewellery that covers half of her mouth, and that's when they're doing rehyaas (practice), not a performance. it's huge details like these that don't sell the film to me.

the acting is quite underwhelming and here is where disagreements with my opinions might enter. i find trupti dimri's rendition of qala extremely, for lack of politer words, exasperating. she tends to show the same expressions for all of her problems, i.e., there is no great difference between her feeling anger or feeling despair or feeling depressed or feeling cheated or just plain exhaustion. qala's character is a complex one and difficult to act, which is a concession i will give, however, the hype around her is a little unnerving when the audience is given such an unremarkable delivery of dialogues and emotion. it comes off as school-play acting at times. swastika mukherjee, who plays urmila, is quite two-note with her acting, which sometimes suits her character and sometimes just feels very low-effort. babil khan has his moments, yet there is such less versatility. you'd think the babil of qala's hallucinations and the one who existed in real life would have some distinct characteristics (which they do), but they never come off as that. it feels so half-hearted at times.

the whole point of symbolism is that it's subtle at heart and not on the face. qala has on-the-face symbolism, which is an irony in itself. the black swan scene, the frosty room in the beginning, the ghostly jagan, etc. almost made me bump my nose into a wall. it comes off as pretentious at best, as if the viewer is stupid. it is also very off-putting in some scenes. for example, the black swan scene - there is very little buildup and it feels very predictable in the sense that "it all goes downhill from here". however, there is one scene which i like, which is the gargoyle one (a very traumatic scene, for those who recall, it is the one right before ghodey pe sawaar gets recorded for the final time). i think that is the most effective filmmaking in the entire film. the best thing about symbolism is always the subtlety. it makes the viewer keep coming back to pick up on something they might have missed in the first watch, it helps them pick up the pieces along the way instead of being able to tell the twists thirty minutes before they are revealed.

and one of the most egregious crimes of the entire film is the direction. here is where we get a little more technical (but just briefly, do not worry). the way it cuts from one scene to the next is like watching a poorly edited reel put out by the team of an out-of-touch marketing firm. the editing could have been better at many places. the writing falls flat specifically when it comes to the characters. i'm pretty sure on paper, the script must've been a delight to read. the story has so much potential - considering that it's based on two books, where there might've been even more depth given to the characters - it isn't new in any way but it offers a different, feminist perspective of the indian music industry. yet, the characters are paper thin on screen - in their ambitions, psychology and sociology. hence, urmila suddenly turning a new leaf in the last ten minutes of the film is something that feels wrong, because all along, she has been portrayed as a heartless mother. qala's actions make sense because her character has nearly always been rooted in self pity and rage. jagan is nothing without music. there is very little dimension to them apart from me summarizing their characters in one sentence with less than thirty words each.

that is why, the film feels even more half-hearted when it speaks of the issues that it centers around. all of these elements add up and make for a tiring watch. i gave qala a second chance, to be fair and omitted some of my pettier criticisms, yet the more serious ones remain. to a certain extent, it does aestheticize depression, which i have a huge issue with. however, baby steps as always with bollywood. it's no dear zindagi considering it is set in a different period with a different ending. however, the writing of the characters could've been so much better. a little more exploration of urmila's intentions would've given her so much depth. a few more interactions between qala and jagan might've given qala the chance to befriend him and not just see him a rival, thus intensifying the decision she took. the characters do not feel human, they are strictly white or black and qala being the anti-hero feels very off since it requires better writing and a stronger plot. and of course, much better acting.

however, qala re-opened up discussion of a nearly-always forgotten discourse - that of the position of women in music. and for achieving that bare minimum, i give it full credit. however, when there have been films with much better writing, characterization and cinematography in bollywood itself, with a similar theme, qala needs to be seen for what it contains than what it displays. just because it glitters, doesn't mean it's gold.

[earthkeyper]

Ambient Soundscape and Ancient Dhrupad Singing

A ethereal, dreamy, mystical journey that is sure to take you to somewhere magical. I have done spiritual energy work for many years and this transcendental piece has performed better than almost any other. This is very lucid invoking piece of music that can be a catalyst to an altar state of being, transcending time and space. Monsoon Point refers to the exact point of awakening .

[wishesofeternity]

Zeb-un-Nisa, Aurangzeb’s eldest daughter, is born in Daulatabad in 1638 when Aurangzeb is governor of the Deccan. While Daulatabad fort dominates the horizon from a hilltop, Aurangzeb is building a new capital at Khadki town, stronghold of Jahangir’s old nemesis, Malik Ambar the ‘rebel of black fortune’. Malik Ambar is now long dead, having never allowed the Mughals to claim the Deccan while he lived. Zeb-un-Nisa, daughter of the Persian noblewoman Dilras Banu Begum, grows up in this provincial capital, far from the intrigues of the Mughal court. In the Deccan, the supremacy of her father is unchallenged and Zeb-un-Nisa is given a rigorous education under the supervision of Hafiza Mariam, a scholar from a Khurasani family. Zeb-un-Nisa is an excellent student and excels in the Arabic and Persian languages. Her father is so delighted when she recites the entire Quran from memory as a child that he gifts her 30,000 gold mohurs. In her erudition and her quick wit she is very like her aunt, Shahzaadi Jahanara, whom her father respects above all the other women of the court. When she is fifteen years old, she visits Shahjahanabad with Aurangzeb’s zenana as they return from the doomed Kandahar campaign. She is enchanted with the sparkling new city, the elegant women with their refined tehzeeb, their every gesture studied and full of grace. In the travelling court of her father, in these wildering years, it is a more pragmatic and pared down zenana but in 1658, when Zeb-un-Nisa is twenty years old, Aurangzeb deposes Shah Jahan and his household moves to Shahjahanabad.

Dilras Banu Begum, the somewhat haughty senior wife of Aurangzeb, is now dead. Even Aurangzeb, when giving marital advice to a grandson, will later admit that ‘in the season of youth’, he ‘too had this relation with a wife who had extreme imperiousness’. Since the other wives of Aurangzeb have less illustrious backgrounds, the senior women of the royal zenana are Roshanara and her eldest niece, Zeb-un-Nisa.

For twenty years Zeb-un-Nisa will be one of the most influential women of the zenana at Shahjahanabad. Her particular area of interest is poetry and literature. She collects valuable manuscripts and books and her library is one of the most extensive in the country. When Aurangzeb begins to retrench imperial patronage towards music and poetry, it is the royal women, the shahzaadas, the noblemen and then, later still, the wealthy middle class of Shahjahanabad who will continue the patronage of the arts. The governor of Shahjahanabad, Aqil Khan, is himself a poet and writes under the pen name Razi. Indeed, despite Aurangzeb’s later disfavour, Shahjahanabad fairly pulses with music. It tumbles from the kothis of the courtesans, the women thoroughly trained singers themselves, who bring Delhi Qawwali singing to mainstream attention. It vaults out of the large mansions of the newly wealthy, who prefer the lighter Khayaal and Thumri styles. In the gloaming of a tropical evening, it throbs out of the immense havelis of the princes and the noblemen, in the tenuous hold that Dhrupad still has amongst the elite of the Mughal court. And the poets keep gathering at Shahjahanabad, despite Aurangzeb’s dismissal of them as ‘idle flatterers’. They come from very far, like Abd-al-Qader Bidel, whose family is Chagatai Turkic but whose poetry so defines a phase of Shahjahanabadi poetry that he becomes Abd-al-Qader Dehlvi. Some will come from the Deccan, like Wali Dakhni, and some are born in the narrow, winding galis (lanes) of Shahjahanabad itself. They will write in Persian, in Urdu, in Braj and later in Rekhti. They will write in obscure philosophical quatrains, in flamboyant ghazals or in erotic riti styles but many will glow with the high-voltage mysticism of Sufi thought, for the ghosts of Shahjahanabad’s Sufi saints will enchant all the poets of the city.

Zeb-un-Nisa, like Jahanara who returns to court as padshah begum in 1666, is instrumental in supporting the work of writers and poets through her patronage. She supports the scholar Mulla Safiuddin Adbeli when he translates the Arabic Tafsir-i-Kabir (Great Commentary) into Persian and he dedicates the book to the shahzaadi—Zeb-ut-Tafasir. She also sponsors the Hajj pilgrimage of Muhammad Safi Qazwini. Qazwini will write an extraordinary account of his voyage, the Pilgrims’ Confidant, unique in its genre and magnificently illustrated and will dedicate it to Zeb-un-Nisa. For a few years, the courts of Jahanara and Zeb-un-Nisa will nurture this eclectic maelstrom of a culture, which has much more in common with Babur and Humayun’s camaraderie of artists than it has with Aurangzeb’s increasingly austere one. When Aurangzeb bans opium and alcohol, the easy complicity that the noblemen and padshahs shared in the ghusal khaana or the Deewan-e-khaas while drinking wine, is now forbidden. The imperial women, however, continue to drink wine, often made from grapes in their own gardens, flavoured with spices.

In 1669, Zeb-un-Nisa attends the lavish marriage ceremony of her cousin, Jaani Begum, to her brother, Muhammad Azam, at the haveli of Jahanara. There will be other weddings too: her sister Zubdat-un-Nisa will marry Dara Shikoh’s youngest son Siphir Shikoh and Mehr-un-Nisa will marry Murad Baksh’s son Izad Baksh. But for Aurangzeb’s oldest daughters, there are no more cousins to marry. There is an understanding, also, that these oldest daughters, like their aunts, possess a powerful charisma as Timurid shahzaadis and must be kept within the controlling orbit of the imperial zenana. The decades pass and still Aurangzeb rules, as resolute and restless as a young man. His sons, meanwhile, are growing old and impatient. Muhammad Akbar is Zeb-un-Nisa’s youngest brother and she is particularly close to him, as their mother Dilras Banu died soon after giving birth to him, when Zeb-un-Nisa was nineteen. The other sons are middle-aged men, and there have been skirmishes, the shahzaadas jostling for power, always subdued immediately by their unforgiving father. In 1681, when Muhammad Akbar decides to challenge his father, with the support of a Rajput alliance including the Rathors of Jodhpur, Zeb-un-Nisa is in a particularly vulnerable position.

In 1681, Jahanara dies. The imperial zenana has glowed with her ambition and talent for more than half a century. If the shahzaadas are uncertain about the future leadership of the Mughal empire, then the stakes are almost as high in the imperial zenana. Zeb-un-Nisa believes she may become the next padshah begum. She is a woman of letters, like Jahanara, with the same Sufi inclinations too. She is the eldest of the Timurid shahzaadis and presides over an astonishingly talented salon. It is time, surely, for a shahzaada to ascend the Peacock Throne as Aurangzeb is already an old man, sixty-three years old. So Zeb-un-Nisa sides with the young prince Muhammad Akbar, hoping to ensure her legacy in the next court.

But Aurangzeb is able to defeat Muhammad Akbar, using a mixture of duplicity and treachery. In the process, he discovers letters which incriminate Zeb-un-Nisa, demonstrating her ardent support for her brother. ‘What belongs to you is as good as mine,’ Muhammad Akbar writes in a letter to Zeb-un-Nisa, ‘and whatever I own is at your disposal.’ And in another letter he writes: ‘The dismissal or appointment of the sons-in-law of Daulat and Sagar Mal is at your discretion. I have dismissed them at your bidding. I consider your orders in all affairs as sacred like the Quran and Traditions of the Prophet, and obedience to them is proper.’ Muhammad Akbar is exiled to Persia, and Zeb-un-Nisa is imprisoned at the Salimgarh fort in Delhi. Her pension of four lakhs rupees a year is discontinued and her property is seized.

Very soon after this rebellion, Aurangzeb leaves Shahjahanabad for the Deccan with an entourage of tens of thousands, all of his sons and his zenana. He will never return to Shahjahanabad, which will slowly be leached of all of its nobility, craftsmen, soldiers and traders. Zeb-un-Nisa will live more than twenty years imprisoned in Salimgarh fort. She will grow old here as Shahjahanabad empties of its people and becomes a shadow of its former self. But the poets and the singers do not desert Shahjahanabad, their fortunes and their hearts are too inextricably linked to the great city, to this paradise on earth. Other patrons take over the role of the nobility, humbler people, so that a critical poet will later write:

Those who once rode elephants now go barefooted; (while) those who longed for parched grains once are today owners of property mansions, elephants and banners, (and now) the rank of the lions has gone to the jackals.

Not only do the poets remain but their poetry becomes saturated with the haunted longing and nostalgia which becomes the calling card of all the great poets of Delhi. This city of beauty and splendour, abandoned and then desecrated, and then bloodied, will inspire reams of poetry on the twin themes of grief and remembrance. In the future, one of these poets will court eternity when he writes:

Dil ki basti bhi Sheher Dilli hai;

Jo bhi guzra usi ne loota

As for Zeb-un-Nisa, she waits for Muhammad Akbar to claim the Peacock Throne but he dies, in 1703, outlived by his father. From her lonely prison on the Yamuna, the shahzaadi can see Shah Jahan’s magnificent fort. The Qila-e-Mubaarak remains locked up for decades and the dust and ghosts move in. The bats make their home in the crenelated awnings and sleep as the relentless sun arcs through the lattice windows. Bees cluster drunkenly around the fruit trees in the Hayat Baksh, the overripe fruit crushed on the marble walkways like blood. Moss skims over the canals and the pools, though the waterfall still whispers its secrets to itself in the teh khana (underground chamber) as Zeb-un-Nisa waits. Zeb-un-Nisa writes poetry while she waits for a deliverance that will never come. She is a poet of some repute, and writes under the pseudonym Makhvi, the Concealed One. This is a popular pseudonym, however, and it is difficult to establish which lines are truly written by the shahzaadi but it is likely that the following wistful and delicate lines are hers, written in the grim solitude of Salimgarh fort:

Were an artist to choose me for his model—

How could he draw the form of a sigh?

She dies in 1702, unforgiven by Aurangzeb, and is buried in the Tees Hazari Garden, gifted to her by Jahanara.

- Ira Mukhoty, “Daughters of the Sun: Empresses, Queens and Begums of the Mughal Empire”

[solis-angelus]

make love all day long

make love singing songs

my heart dances with the tabla taal. Alaap notes of the Raga laughing in the fresh morning air. feet subconsciously springing into practiced action of the Kathak routine. eyes closed, shoulders moving on beat, eyebrows with their bold expressions, wrists twirling in mudras, the echoes of ghungoor jingles drift by as if in a dream.

Dhrupad takes me by storm. A kurti clad Cinderella with her musical prince, dancing endlessly in the empty courtroom, high on the essence of freedom and self-expression, remembered.

The sitar strings with the Jhala approach, their beats picking up, the time is precious, pure and revered. my heart and body's rhythm is one with it's eager spirits.

I laugh in delirium. 2:58. And it plays again.

I could listen to the song all day long. It's a love letter addressed to all the Indian classical music souls, a much needed embrace of reminders, assurances, and forgotten lovers.

[theinfinitedivides]

16 for the Spotify Wrapped game pls!

Veera Raja Veera by A.R. Rahman, from the Ponniyin Selvan OST.

(ask me about my Spotify Wrapped!)

[blessed1neha]

Why did lord Krishna eat peanuts for 18days of Mahabharata?

So let's start the whole story and see why it happened.

Before sharing the story behind the eating of peanuts, I would like to share the background of Mahabharata. If you don’t want to read, skip this part and go down to know the reason of eating peanuts.

It was a battle of Dharma and everyone was present on the battlefield to fight except the two characters i.e.

Balram

Rukmani amba

It is the story of one family, on one side there were 5 sons of Pandu known as Pandavas and on the other side, there were 100 sons of Dhritarashtra known as Kauravas. The names of 5 Pandava were Yudhishthir, Bhimsen, Arjun, Nakul, and Sehdev. Among the 100 sons of Dhritarashtra, Duryodhan was the eldest son.

Apart from Pandava and Kauravas, the other important characters in this fight were

Pitamah Bhishma,

Guru Dronacharya,

Guru Kripacharya,

Madar Naresh Shalva (Mama of Nakul and Sehdev),

Sindhu Naresh Jaydrath (Husband of Duryodhana's sister Dushala),

Danveer Karna (eldest kunti son),

Raja dhrupad and his sons Dhrishtadyumna and Shikandi,

Shakuni (Maternal Uncle of Duryodhan),

Matysa Naresh Virat and his sons Utara,

the most important Lord Krishna (Incarnation of Lord Vishnu).

Who was fighting to whom’s side

On the side of Pandava: Apart from Pandava, Lord Krishna, Dhrupad Naresh and his sons, Matysa Naresh and his son, Yuyutsu (Brother of Duryodhan).

On the Side of Kauravas: Duryodhan and his brothers, Pitamah Bhishma, Guru Dronacharya, Guru Kripacharya, Karna, Madar Naresh Shalva, Sidhu Naresh Jaydrath, Narayani Sena (Lord Krishna Soldiers).

If we read/see Mahabharat and try to find out the reasons behind Mahayudh, then we could find several reasons. Everyone was fighting either to take revenge or due to their prana (pledge).

Some of the major reasons were as follows.

Duryodhana and his brothers were fighting as Duryodhan wanted to become king followed by his father Dhritarashtra and wanted to take Pandava out of Hastinapur.

Pandava was fighting for their rights and to take revenge of bad things happened to them due to Duryodhana especially the insult of Drapaudi.

Pitamah Bhishma, Guru Dronacharya and guru Kripacharya were fighting due to pratigya.

Karna wanted to prove that he was the best Archer in the universe.

Sindu Naresh Jarasandh wanted to take revenge from Pandava.

Madra Naresh got the support from Pandava in their earlier battle, so he wanted to support Pandava.

Drupad Naresh and his sons wanted to take revenge from guru Dronacharya.

Why did Shri Lord Krishna eat peanuts for 18 days in the war of Mahabharata?

The actual story began when the king of Udupi came to know about the battle and he came to kurukshetra with his troops. He met with Lord Krishna and said I came here to fight but my heart/mind was not allowing me to take part and I did not want to favour any side. Still, I have one proposal and I request you to accept my proposal and blessed me.

Here is the conversation that took place between lord Krishna and king of Udupi

Lord Krishna asked : what is your proposal??

King of Udupi said : I want to prepare foods for all the veer and mahaveer participating in the battle.

Lord Krishna accepted his proposal and allowed him for the arrangement of food.

King of Udupi started making foods and everyday when all the Yodha took their food, whatever he cooked, that food finished completely at the end of day. It means there was no wastage of food, and also it was available in plenty for everyone.

The war ended in 18 days and Pandava won the war. Everyone became surprised when they came to know about a proper food planning.

Post the possession of crown, one day Hastinapur Naresh maharaj Yudhishthira asked to the king of Udupi about the logic behind this.

The king of Udupi asked: Hey maharaj, could you please tell me to whom you would give credit to your win.

Maharaj Yudhishthir replied : Lord Krishna

Then king of Udupi replied: Lord Krishna is also responsible for my karma as well. Everyday he ate peanuts in the night and on the next day when we entered inside his tent, we collected all the lamella (peanuts chilka) and counted. We multiply the counted lamella with 1000 and we would come to know the number of deaths going to happen on that day and we prepared our foods accordingly.

As we know, Lord Krishna knew everything and he knew the result of Mahabharata as well. He was eating peanuts to help the Udupi Naresh in his food making.

This is the story which explain why did lord Krishna eat peanuts everyday.

[of-chitin-wrought-peering]

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