Thumri is often described as the “song of the heart”.
She was five years old when her mother placed her and her older sister in the custody of a music teacher who, as expected, was a renowned musician. He soon had her sink deep into the art of classical music. She was from a singing family, and the women of the family were accustomed to singing in the baithaks of the rich. There she sang, was greatly appreciated, and established a unique position in the world of music.
This was the early twentieth century, when singing was done in baithaks and also in the kothas managed by the tawaif, where elite men came to listen to music but also to learn the etiquette of social gatherings—how to talk, how to greet, and also how to behave with one another.
In singing gatherings, a décor was maintained, and all knew the boundaries of appropriate behaviour. Yet the words of her songs were seductive while remaining within the strict bonds of classical singing. She was, after all, a classical singer and sang thumri, dadra, tappas, and also khayal. She believed that thumri could not be sung by anybody; it needed a deeper understanding of words that were sung with emotional depth.
She belonged to an ancient city next to a deeply flowing river. On this river, they would sit in boats and sing for the season of the year. In later life, when being interviewed, she remembered many a name. Yes, music also celebrated the seasons and was not confined to being heard in the homes of the rich. She belonged to the community of classical singers who were also courtesans, as they performed in the courts and also sang in the homes of the rich people. Her voice, like that of other singers of her calibre, flowed with an enviable ease. Herself a leading singer, she also sang with other leading singers.
Thumri is often described as the “song of the heart”. So she sang with her heart to a male audience that knew she was available if they went through the process of enlisting her relationship. These women probably knew sexuality better than most women, and it was their sexuality that was disliked by society, for women must not make their bodies available to those who could meet the standards they desired.
Her singing was linked with her native city, which sported many singers like her. But a time came when the city became conscious of itself and began to focus on what assailed its dignity, and singing by traditional singers like her was targeted. She left the city she loved.
She had a son, got married to a silk trader of Banarasi silk who had a wife and children. Her husband wanted her to accompany him to Pakistan. She refused, and he left her and got lost in the milieu of Pakistan. Her son was a good-for-nothing and dependent on her. He did not get along with his stepfather. She married him off, loved her daughter-in-law and was connected with her family. She also looked after her, but there is no record of her grandchildren looking after her in her old age.
Thumri evolved to focus on the rendering of the words being sung, and only a woman knew how to use the words to engage with the audience
She had decided to step down from the art of mujra (performing as a courtesan). She left the part of the city where she lived with other courtesans and moved to the neighbourhood where male musicians lived. She made a house for herself, as she did not want to live in the same home as her husband’s first wife.
New options were opening up. Songs were being recorded, and radio stations were being established. She travelled from one city to another and was well received at the radio stations. One radio station also accorded her the highest status of a singer. However, at some point, the radio stations also discriminated against male and female singers. Men could enter from the front door, and women were to use the back door. She was on the quiet side and took the back entrance, unlike some other singers who had a greater presence and beauty to defy the policy.
She sang thumris and was dubbed the queen of thumris, and sang with a soulful voice that surpassed others (so some felt). Her famous thumri was: laaga kalijwa main chot (it is said she also sang laaga jobanwa main chot. Somebody searched for the difference in meaning. A documentary traces this difference). She sang it with more pain than exhibited by any other woman singer.
Thus, her singing suggests that only women tawaifs could sing thumris, as they had a more earthy voice and could throw it at the audience, who also understood music. Thumri evolved to focus on the rendering of the words being sung, and only a woman knew how to use the words to engage with the audience. Her meends in singing carried a pathos that a man could not produce. The best male singers relied only on their classical skills, while women went beyond them.
A steady tide of social change was underway, and options for classical singers were limited. Records were being made, and many of her songs were recorded, for they provided an opportunity for ordinary people to listen to great singers. There was also the opportunity to sing on the radio, but a sneaky rule must have worried her. First, radio stations did not want tawaifs to sing on the radio; when this exclusion left them bereft of singers, radio stations required the singer to show a marriage certificate. (One wonders whether male singers were also asked to show a marriage certificate before being allowed to sing.)
The waves of change affected her life. She was recognised as a great singer within her own school of singing. But the puritanical wave had gripped the land, and people (probably men) burdened by the desire for self-respect worried about how the cities tarnished their dignity. Women singers were identified as the source of dishonour, as they also danced as courtesans and were seen as having a loose character by developing relations with men.
Her grave could not be found, though the city where she lived in poverty could be identified
In those days, there were rich patrons also, and she moved to live for some years under the patronage of a very rich man, but communal riots led to the burning down of her house. She then left for another city, where she lived with the support of one of her pupils. Later, she moved to another city, and her resources were limited. Stories abound about her last days. It is said she sold tea in a small shop near the radio station, which continued to play her song.
She died in poverty near the radio station where her picture had once been displayed. Another great singer of her time noted her poverty and said she was not being looked after. She was born in 1902 and died on 15 December 1974. Perhaps an unknown grave exists in a graveyard, and there is nobody to lay flowers on it. A drive has been undertaken to find her grave. If the condition of the grave is questionable, it will be restored. But patrons are needed to honour the graves of their great singers.
As thumri is part of classical music, it is being sung by music learners, but thumris as sung in the courts have disappeared (like her). Music salons have been replaced with places of worship. Tributes are now being paid to her first by the musical community, and later by all those who are not of the community but are lovers of music.
She would represent all those great beings very much in touch with music. Though male classical singers have also sung thumri with great ease, they cannot be compared to the women thumri singers, who were also viewed as available to those who could afford them. Singing on radio stations removed the stigma from women singers, and they reached out to a larger audience. As singers, they can then be seen as equal to male singers.
The milieu for music has changed from thriving in the courts of the higher-ups of society to the higher-ups having lost ground to other forms of entertainment. Today, the entire class of singers from singing families has been replaced by singers from families not of traditional musicians. Even if some such families exist, listeners do not treat them with suspicion of being wayward women. It is interesting to note that many classical singers of today acknowledge the contribution of women thumri singers.
Special mention is needed of those who became students of some great singers. The singer who started to learn from the age of five years also became an ustad of a great thumri singer, who also interviewed her and others, and this legacy prevails. So remembered, but the sad truth also exists that this same singer appears to be forgotten. Nobody can identify her grave, though the city where she died in poverty is alive and throbbing. In its radio station, once her picture adorned its corridor; now it is not clear if she is remembered.
Despite what has changed on the surface, deep down is the universal truth of music. It is a source of common identity of all South Asians, for the basic structure of music is to be found in all forms of singing. The surs are the same, no matter how the freedom and individuality of singers craft different modalities within the given structures of classical music.
Ultimately, it is the triumph of classical music as one set of thumri singers fade away to be replaced by other singers who are not courtesans, but the courtesans would remain the great singers who sang to a male audience and dealt with their gaze. Their guttural voices can perhaps be seen in the sounds of folk music, as its musicians know how to throw their voices to capture their audience. The microphone to expand the sounds came later and forced singers to sing softly. The tawaifs sang before this gadget and learnt to project their voices, and she did this with an awesome sensibility.
She, like many others like her, was a strong woman. No. She was a very, very strong woman. Her power came from her immersion in classical music to which she was exposed at an early age of five years. She learnt to dance, and her ability to do mujra came from her dance experience and the emotional requirements of singing thumris. She sang and danced to an elite male audience, while women could see them, but nobody could see the women of elite families.
The thumri singers sang because their mothers and grandmothers sang and prepared their daughters for the same profession. Some, of course, were from male musician families and had to argue for their love for music. The outcome was the same—great singers. This art also had a positive effect on their life, as they lived over seventy, while in the early 1920s, women’s average age was barely twenty-five years.
The power of these women could also be seen in their not seeing marriage as the purpose of life. As one laughed and said, we would be housewives then. However, even a great singer, once she got married officially (and not just in a relationship with a regular listener), could go into purdah, meaning no dancing and mujra, but singing continued. When so disconnected, they would dress modestly; otherwise, they would be dressed to the hilt—lots of jewellery and fine clothes.
Her grave could not be found, though the city where she lived in poverty could be identified. She sold tea near the radio station, which used to play her thumris. In her old age, she went there leaning on a stick. Perhaps she now resides in the records of those who die and must be recorded. This law was enacted in 1969, and she died in 1974. A lost soul, one could say, but a vibrant singer who must be remembered and honoured, as many singers of today strive to do so.