When a young man recently selected for the Indian Administrative Services got married in the 1970s, his sister’s son was chosen, as per custom, to accompany him as the Shahbala – the traditional child counterpart of the bridegroom. Dressed identically, the two rode to the bride’s home in a palanquin, with the Shahbala sticking his tongue out at other children, who followed on foot while making faces at him.
The bride’s father, a senior police official, had organised an impressive welcome for the wedding party, with a police brass band in attendance. The band master, with his crimson and gold uniform, his twirling baton, and a tiger skin dramatically draped over his torso, had clearly made quite an impression on the young boy. This was evident when some silly adult, in a moment of levity, asked him the usual silly adult question about what he wished to be when he grew up. Pat came the reply, “A band master,” making the boy’s mother burst into tears. The glory of being greeted by a brass band in small town Kumaon was tempered by the rather inglorious choice of career.
Bumped by the British
In Kumaon, before the British arrived on the scene near the end of the 19th century, wedding processions were accompanied by the local triad of a kettle drum (nakkara), trumpet (tuturi) and bagpipes (mashak been). Rajput weddings added a posse of male Chholia dancers in colourful flowing costumes playing warriors. Brahmin weddings had a dancing girl or two with her Sarangiya, preceding the palanquin. The groom rode with his chest thrust out, even his dour-faced family elders cracked rare smiles – after all, the scion of their family was going to bring back the ultimate male trophy, another man’s daughter. It was only fitting, therefore, for the drummers to play on.
The British, as they raised native armies in India, frowned on the debatable native tradition of including courtesans and hermaphrodites in the army. As a result, local musicians and dancing girls had to exit. In post-1857 India, the British built churches, started schools and finally, having tamed the barbarians, introduced British brass bands and bagpipers in the area. Their bands played British martial tunes on all official ceremonial occasions and even hymns every now and then. The British masters figured that since the musically inclined locals already played native varieties of trombones, trumpets and bagpipes, they would learn fast. And they did.
By 1918, all units of the Indian Army, including the ones in Roorkee, Almora and Ranikhet cantonments in Kumaon, had acquired their own brass bands . Initially the components were imported from Britain, but the British soon discovered that it was possible to have them locally cast at a very low cost. And that’s how the original Make in India plan was born. The British regime not only dislodged the musicians, but also the makers of arms patronised for centuries by the native Muslim and Rajput rulers.
Weddings and funerals
Most of them sought refuge in areas in western Uttar Pradesh from Agra to Roorkee, which lay close to Delhi and the foothills of the Himalayan region. The Rohilla Pathans owned vast tracts of land here and helped the displaced artisans reinvent themselves by using their considerable metallurgical skills to manufacture finished goods of various kinds . These ranged from scissors and padlocks to brass band components. Since their militaristic displays became fewer and further between, the brass bands now offered their services to civilians for a price and thereafter for all joyous occasions like weddings and the birth of a son. Last but not least, the funerals of centenarians who had enjoyed a full life were not considered complete unless accompanied by a brass band in uniform playing hymns or local ditties.
Music being the acknowledged food of love, it did not take too long for musicians to begin marrying across caste and community lines. On the eve of India's independence, Sagir Ahmed of Nagla village in Bijnaur in the Terai region married a girl from the Pithoragarh district in the Kumaon hills. He was a trained clarinet player and a caring husband who had moved to Haldwani to enable his wife to visit her family more easily. In time, he went on to form the first brass band group in town and named it after their son, Altaf. And so the famous Altaf Band of Kumaon was born. Soon, no wedding procession was considered elitist enough without the Altaf Band playing merry tunes from hit Hindi films of the era.
Marching with wedding processions in the hills, the bands discovered soon enough, was much more stressful than marching in the plains with an army. The usual rates for the bands in the hills were Rs 2-25 per person. These were hiked considerably when bands from the flatlands of Haldwani were invited to play with wedding processions and had to negotiate many unpaved roads and steep hills on foot before they reached their destination.
The stress claimed lives and during one such wedding march, Altaf Master collapsed with a massive heart attack. After Altaf, his younger brother Talib Husein created the Azad Band. Old timers in Haldwani recall how school children hung about when members of this group met in the orchards facing the local Zenana hospital and practiced new ditties, mostly from Hindi films. The legacy continues. At the 2010 Haridwar Maha Kumbh fair, the Altaf Band played the tune, “Bedardi Balama Tujhko mera man yaad kerta hai..”
Government favourite
By the late 1960s, the police and army bands were much sought after by government officials to celebrate family weddings, where they became a symbol of the not inconsiderable clout of the family. The power pack in Kumaon was then headed by the Governor of Uttar Pradesh who stayed at Raj Bhavan in Nainital through the summer. On Independence Day, townsfolk were invited to high tea, a remnant of British rule, by His Excellency. A tall band master from the police lines twirled his baton on the Raj Bhawan premises, even as the then His Excellency chatted up prominent citizens and their wives.
By this time, Master Ram Singh from the Ranikhet platoon and his pet ram, which accompanied him to Nainital each summer to play before the tourists under a gazebo, was a household name. He had participated in the World Wars and had been a member of the Indian National Army. As this gifted soldier got his team to play popular songs along with age-old Kumaoni hits such as Bedu Pako Baraomasa Kaafal Pako Chaita meri Chhaila! His dancing ram kept perfect time and sent onlookers into raptures. The show always ended in dizzying rounds of applause.
It was Thakur Ram Singh, born of Nepali parents in Uttarakhand, who introduced the Kumaoni folk ditties in the permanent repertoire of India's army bands. Today, one can be moved to tears again and again on hearing Master Ram Singh's compositions at January’s Beating the Retreat Ceremony, when the lights come on one by one at the Presidential palace and the surrounding buildings and army bands retreat gently back to their barracks.
Going commercial
Brass bands have proliferated in Uttarakhand since the 1980s. Earlier, Muradabad was where all brass instruments were crafted for Uttarakhand. Today, Roorkee is the major supplier of trumpets, brass finger cymbals, saxophones, bugles (brass and copper), piccolo trumpets and even Tibetan Manjira.
Commercial bands are now contactable online and many have more than one branch. They seem to be winning friends and influencing people steadily as wedding planners and event managers for corporate events and conferences in Uttarakhand. Satisfied customers post comments online: “The finest band in the region”, says one Sid Kumar about the Mannat band of Haldwani. “Keep it up guys,” writes Sudhir Kumar awarding the Shyam Band of Dehradun five stars, “Keep rocking!”
What about the Bajis (drum players) of old, who played old beats for Pandav dance and those dark Jagar rituals? I asked my cousins, but drew a blank. I pushed on: do you at least remember Ramnath Baji, who being a Nath sect follower wore a horn ring on his left earlobe, and was always high on hashish or bhang? Is he still around ?
"Kashap" (who knows) was the laconic answer. One hasn’t heard those drums in the town for years. All the young now prefer to dance to DJs. Who remembers a petty drummer or old crones who sang ritual songs on a dholak?
Goodbye Ramnath Baji, lover of music and of booze. You who chanted while downing a grudgingly donated Addha quart alone behind the shrubs:
“At eventide let the gods forgive us,
The luhar (ironsmith), the khariyal (digger), and the dholiyar (drummer)
Must sit down and drink, Jai Ho!
If these three do not drink, who shall?”
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The bride’s father, a senior police official, had organised an impressive welcome for the wedding party, with a police brass band in attendance. The band master, with his crimson and gold uniform, his twirling baton, and a tiger skin dramatically draped over his torso, had clearly made quite an impression on the young boy. This was evident when some silly adult, in a moment of levity, asked him the usual silly adult question about what he wished to be when he grew up. Pat came the reply, “A band master,” making the boy’s mother burst into tears. The glory of being greeted by a brass band in small town Kumaon was tempered by the rather inglorious choice of career.
Bumped by the British
In Kumaon, before the British arrived on the scene near the end of the 19th century, wedding processions were accompanied by the local triad of a kettle drum (nakkara), trumpet (tuturi) and bagpipes (mashak been). Rajput weddings added a posse of male Chholia dancers in colourful flowing costumes playing warriors. Brahmin weddings had a dancing girl or two with her Sarangiya, preceding the palanquin. The groom rode with his chest thrust out, even his dour-faced family elders cracked rare smiles – after all, the scion of their family was going to bring back the ultimate male trophy, another man’s daughter. It was only fitting, therefore, for the drummers to play on.
The British, as they raised native armies in India, frowned on the debatable native tradition of including courtesans and hermaphrodites in the army. As a result, local musicians and dancing girls had to exit. In post-1857 India, the British built churches, started schools and finally, having tamed the barbarians, introduced British brass bands and bagpipers in the area. Their bands played British martial tunes on all official ceremonial occasions and even hymns every now and then. The British masters figured that since the musically inclined locals already played native varieties of trombones, trumpets and bagpipes, they would learn fast. And they did.
By 1918, all units of the Indian Army, including the ones in Roorkee, Almora and Ranikhet cantonments in Kumaon, had acquired their own brass bands . Initially the components were imported from Britain, but the British soon discovered that it was possible to have them locally cast at a very low cost. And that’s how the original Make in India plan was born. The British regime not only dislodged the musicians, but also the makers of arms patronised for centuries by the native Muslim and Rajput rulers.
Weddings and funerals
Most of them sought refuge in areas in western Uttar Pradesh from Agra to Roorkee, which lay close to Delhi and the foothills of the Himalayan region. The Rohilla Pathans owned vast tracts of land here and helped the displaced artisans reinvent themselves by using their considerable metallurgical skills to manufacture finished goods of various kinds . These ranged from scissors and padlocks to brass band components. Since their militaristic displays became fewer and further between, the brass bands now offered their services to civilians for a price and thereafter for all joyous occasions like weddings and the birth of a son. Last but not least, the funerals of centenarians who had enjoyed a full life were not considered complete unless accompanied by a brass band in uniform playing hymns or local ditties.
Music being the acknowledged food of love, it did not take too long for musicians to begin marrying across caste and community lines. On the eve of India's independence, Sagir Ahmed of Nagla village in Bijnaur in the Terai region married a girl from the Pithoragarh district in the Kumaon hills. He was a trained clarinet player and a caring husband who had moved to Haldwani to enable his wife to visit her family more easily. In time, he went on to form the first brass band group in town and named it after their son, Altaf. And so the famous Altaf Band of Kumaon was born. Soon, no wedding procession was considered elitist enough without the Altaf Band playing merry tunes from hit Hindi films of the era.
Marching with wedding processions in the hills, the bands discovered soon enough, was much more stressful than marching in the plains with an army. The usual rates for the bands in the hills were Rs 2-25 per person. These were hiked considerably when bands from the flatlands of Haldwani were invited to play with wedding processions and had to negotiate many unpaved roads and steep hills on foot before they reached their destination.
The stress claimed lives and during one such wedding march, Altaf Master collapsed with a massive heart attack. After Altaf, his younger brother Talib Husein created the Azad Band. Old timers in Haldwani recall how school children hung about when members of this group met in the orchards facing the local Zenana hospital and practiced new ditties, mostly from Hindi films. The legacy continues. At the 2010 Haridwar Maha Kumbh fair, the Altaf Band played the tune, “Bedardi Balama Tujhko mera man yaad kerta hai..”
Government favourite
By the late 1960s, the police and army bands were much sought after by government officials to celebrate family weddings, where they became a symbol of the not inconsiderable clout of the family. The power pack in Kumaon was then headed by the Governor of Uttar Pradesh who stayed at Raj Bhavan in Nainital through the summer. On Independence Day, townsfolk were invited to high tea, a remnant of British rule, by His Excellency. A tall band master from the police lines twirled his baton on the Raj Bhawan premises, even as the then His Excellency chatted up prominent citizens and their wives.
By this time, Master Ram Singh from the Ranikhet platoon and his pet ram, which accompanied him to Nainital each summer to play before the tourists under a gazebo, was a household name. He had participated in the World Wars and had been a member of the Indian National Army. As this gifted soldier got his team to play popular songs along with age-old Kumaoni hits such as Bedu Pako Baraomasa Kaafal Pako Chaita meri Chhaila! His dancing ram kept perfect time and sent onlookers into raptures. The show always ended in dizzying rounds of applause.
It was Thakur Ram Singh, born of Nepali parents in Uttarakhand, who introduced the Kumaoni folk ditties in the permanent repertoire of India's army bands. Today, one can be moved to tears again and again on hearing Master Ram Singh's compositions at January’s Beating the Retreat Ceremony, when the lights come on one by one at the Presidential palace and the surrounding buildings and army bands retreat gently back to their barracks.
Going commercial
Brass bands have proliferated in Uttarakhand since the 1980s. Earlier, Muradabad was where all brass instruments were crafted for Uttarakhand. Today, Roorkee is the major supplier of trumpets, brass finger cymbals, saxophones, bugles (brass and copper), piccolo trumpets and even Tibetan Manjira.
Commercial bands are now contactable online and many have more than one branch. They seem to be winning friends and influencing people steadily as wedding planners and event managers for corporate events and conferences in Uttarakhand. Satisfied customers post comments online: “The finest band in the region”, says one Sid Kumar about the Mannat band of Haldwani. “Keep it up guys,” writes Sudhir Kumar awarding the Shyam Band of Dehradun five stars, “Keep rocking!”
What about the Bajis (drum players) of old, who played old beats for Pandav dance and those dark Jagar rituals? I asked my cousins, but drew a blank. I pushed on: do you at least remember Ramnath Baji, who being a Nath sect follower wore a horn ring on his left earlobe, and was always high on hashish or bhang? Is he still around ?
"Kashap" (who knows) was the laconic answer. One hasn’t heard those drums in the town for years. All the young now prefer to dance to DJs. Who remembers a petty drummer or old crones who sang ritual songs on a dholak?
Goodbye Ramnath Baji, lover of music and of booze. You who chanted while downing a grudgingly donated Addha quart alone behind the shrubs:
“At eventide let the gods forgive us,
The luhar (ironsmith), the khariyal (digger), and the dholiyar (drummer)
Must sit down and drink, Jai Ho!
If these three do not drink, who shall?”
