Na dhin dhin na, Na dhin dhin na , na tin tin na, na dhin dhin na.

"Alla Rakha is the Einstein, the Picasso; he is the highest form of rhythmic development on this planet" - Mickey Hart

The Google  featured  Ustad Allah Rakha Khan, the renowned tabla player,  on 29th April, 2014 in its Doodle .  I have not seen  him perform,  but once had the fortune of watching his son Ustad Zakir Hussain play  along  Pandit Shiv Sharma during my college days. I was mesmerized . Zakir is  a recipient of Padma Bhushan and many other awards. He has expanded the scope of tabla by taking it out of the Indian classical world and collaborating with jazz, rock, and other world artists  - the only dissonant rhythm that came out from him  was  in his endorsing ,what I   consider, is an ordinary  grade of  CTC tea, the Taj Mahal , with the ridiculous tagline 'Wah Taj Boliye'. This tea is just not in sync with the persona of the greatest living exponent of tabla or the breathtaking majesty of India's most famous  and photographed monument.   But that is another story.  We are here to celebrate the magic of the percussion instruments in general , and the tabla in particular which has emerged as one of the truly great Indian instruments.

The  complex interplay of the fingers, palms and wrists on a  playing surface which is so variegated - the syahi, the maidan, the chat and the gajra-  produces such a profusion and range of sound which   is probably unmatched by any instrument. The tabalia also possesses the most amazing movement of fingers , sometimes like a hooded cobra striking its prey. It is said about Radhakanto Nandi that more than his frame, it were his fingers which could be visible.  I am not sure whether he could do it or not- but it is  claimed about  Gudai Maharaj that he could imitate the sound of a crow from his tabla.

The tabla has become  an integral  part of   Hindustani Classical music - played solo as well as an accompaniment.  It has spawned six different classical gharanas - and like so many things Indian  has  a strong oral tradition of instruction in the typical guru- shishya mould.  It has also powered many of the great songs of the Bombay film industry, mostly sung on the Bambaiyya thheka , a variation of the keherawa  taal. My favourite  is  this song from Guide "Piya tose nayna laage  re"  in which the legendary santoor player Pandit Shiv Sharma played the tabla  -  though it wrenches my heart to concede  that "Na toh  karwan ki talash hai"  or "Laga chunari mei daag " would be any less.  

Most musicians use  parts of their body to accompany and express their work - purists even disapprovingly call it mudra dosh.  The guitarist rotates  his hips, stomps his feet, contorts his face, shakes his head, pirouettes and rocks his frame.The  vocalist, being hands free, is a  bundle of  energy-Bharat Ratna Bhimsen Joshi had the  trademark facial contortions and exaggerated hand movements combined with bending of the whole torso  - like a  whirling dervish possessed . 

The tabalia is comparatively  disadvantaged because he can't move his lower body - sitting cross legged and having to use both his hands . So he bobs his spine like a jockey during trot, flourishes his hands on and off the puddi  like a magician, quivers his neck like a puppet and, when he has long hair like Zakir Husain or Bickram Ghosh, lets his  hair fly! He communicates best with the accompanying artist by the forward thrust of his neck and the language of the eyes - one of the most expressive being that of Abbaji!

But forget all these celebrities I have talked about. I am perfectly comfortable with and have been comforted by the ordinariness of my existence and  that of my acquaintances. I have derived great pleasure in  being around  with people not so well known. To my untrained and besotted ears, there was no violinist  greater than Neeraj Puri, a year senior to me in school,  when he played the Ik Pyar ka naghma hai, maujon ki rawaani hai,  no guitarist better than Abhijit Dasgupta when he strummed Phoolon ke Dhere Hain from Zameer. The percussionist who has given me the maximum joy is Bhaiyya, my cousin - my regard not diminished by  his barbs at golfers and wine drinkers.

Bhaiyya  is no magician like the great percussionists  who could reproduce the sound of bubbles, a crowded city, the jungle, the raindrops, the thunderclap, the coming, going and changing of tracks of trains or rubber balls falling down the stairs. Infact, he doesn't  even have either the tabla or the bongo or the congo or the drum. He just plays on a table  from the many  put up for him at the evening gatherings.   His tuning drill is fabulously uncomplicated. Not for him the hammering on the gajras or the tightening of the gattas  - he just sprinkles  on the playing surface  few drops of whichever Single Malt  he is drinking and  gets going! 

His  energised fingers then  weave a  magic as they perfectly support the accomplished singers, calm, assure  and encourage  the lesser  accomplished,    and compel  the most leaden of the feet to dance. His twinkling  eyes and percussive talent  quickly  erase the  LOC type of  the gender divide  so common in most Indian evening parties. It breaks up talks on lingerie and embroidery and bosses. Soon everyone is jamming as the air resonates with conviviality  and a kinetic energy grips all  - to remind one of another song in which the tabla dominates-  Bhor Aaye Gaye Andhiara from Bawarchi. 

Dhagi nati naka dhina !