Gazal maestro in Indore
He needs no introduction, no definition. He has redefined ‘Gazals’. He has made it the vogue of this generation. He is beyond adjectives. He is the king of Gazals, the maverick, virtuoso singer – Jagjit Singh Ji.
And when he inundated the city auditorium ‘Abhay Prashal’ with his mellifluous voice, two days back, in the evening of December 19th, the audience swam along. It was an epoch – that people of Indore would remember for long – that hit the city after almost four years.
The concert was organized in the memory of senior journalist and freedom fighter, Late Thakur Das ji Khujneri, by Mrs. Mona Khujneri in co-operation with Montana Events and Promotions.
The scoring barrage began with the melodious Sarfarosh number; “hosh walo ko khabar kya…” which only increased the voracity, like the scarce water which only multiplies the thirst in manifolds. But it was just a beginning; and the listeners knew it as they welcomed the sensation with a long ovation. It was an emblem of the greater bliss that followed afterwards with his second number from the album Sajda, “har jagah, har kahin, beshumar aadmi…” and then the flow never stopped. The crescendo sped up. The music winged everyone out of his brain. At one end, the audiences were drowning in the rapture, at another the singer went up, up and above the scale of measure. And the songs kept on melding with the evening. “kiska chehra aab main dekhun…”; then “ye daulat bhi le lo…ye shohrat bhi le lo…”, “hujur aapka bhi ahteram karta chalun…”. The ace singer was at his best.
Later, when he sung the request-numbers from audiences, it seemed as though the winter evening too had stopped to listen to his velvet articulation in “kal chaudahwi ki raat thi…”, “jhuki jhuki si nazar…”, “tumko dekha to ye khayal aaya…”, “tum itna jo muskura rahe ho…” It drew back the air of nostalgia of first love, of the first ever promise, of the first rose kept and forgotten in old books, of the age when nothing else mattered but love, and of nights spent with friends listening to Jagjit’s Gazals.
Soon, luminary Jagjit himself got lost in the miry days, when he went with his Punjabi numbers: “sawan da mahina yaron…”, “dhai din da jawani…”, “chulhe angana ghade de witch…”, “mati da baba…”. The evening worked equally for both: the singer and the listener.
And when he stopped; the desired was intensified; the evening waited for a while, as if it stood nonplused over the sudden blockage, and then tardily slipped towards night.
The concert will be in memory for many days to come. Only if the management were a little more managed, it would have been a greater delight.
Never mind! Roses come with spines. And this rose – the maven singer, Jagjit Singh Ji – was more prominent than the spine.