Raags Performed:
- Raag Abhut Kalyan
- Raag Desh in Dhamar
- Raag Sohini in Sool

Musicians :
- Nirmalya Dey (dhrupad vocal)
- Sukhad Munde (pakhawaj)
- Priya Sharma (tanpura)
- Veronique Depont (tanpura)

Ancient voices, modern ears: Nirmalya Dey brings Dhrupad tradition to Darbar Festival

The veteran musician's 2013 performance offered a rare glimpse into India's oldest classical form – but did it connect with contemporary audiences?
At a time when world music festivals often prioritise spectacle over substance, the 2013 Darbar Festival's programming of Pandit Nirmalya Dey represented something of a gamble. Dhrupad, after all, is not an easy sell. This 500-year-old tradition demands patience from its listeners, offering none of the virtuosic fireworks that typically electrify concert halls.
Yet Dey's performance that evening proved why some musical traditions endure while others fade into obscurity. A practitioner of the rigorous Dagarvani school, the veteran musician approached the stage with the unhurried confidence of someone who has spent decades perfecting an art form that predates the Mughal empire.
The sound of slowness
Opening with Raag Abhogi Kalyan, Dey immediately established the evening's meditative pace. Where contemporary Indian classical music often rushes toward climactic moments, Dhrupad insists on the journey itself. Each note emerged with deliberate care, supported by the hypnotic drone of the tambura – a sound that seemed to suspend time rather than mark it.
The raag's gentle contours allowed Dey to demonstrate the sophisticated microtonal inflections that distinguish Dhrupad from its younger sibling, khayal. His voice, weathered but remarkably controlled, navigated the subtle pitch variations with the precision of a master craftsman. For the uninitiated, it might have seemed static; for those attuned to the form's inner logic, it was riveting.
Rhythmic complexities
If the opening was contemplative, Dey's treatment of Raag Desh in the complex 14-beat Dhamar cycle revealed Dhrupad's more dynamic possibilities. This was where percussionist Sukhad Munde's contribution became essential. His pakhawaj – a double-headed drum that produces both the deep bass and crisp treble sounds – didn't merely accompany Dey's vocals but engaged in genuine musical conversation.
The interplay between voice and percussion highlighted one of Dhrupad's most distinctive features: its integration of rhythm and melody into a unified whole. Unlike the more common tabla, which often provides rhythmic punctuation, Munde's pakhawaj seemed to emerge from the same ancient soil as Dey's voice, creating a sound world that felt both archaic and immediate.

Questions of accessibility

The evening's final piece, Raag Sohini in the 10-beat Sool taal, raised inevitable questions about tradition versus accessibility. Dey's exploration of this night-time raag was undeniably masterful, his voice floating through the upper register with an almost ethereal quality. Yet watching sections of the audience – particularly younger listeners – struggle with the performance's extended duration highlighted the challenges facing traditional forms in contemporary contexts.
This isn't to suggest that Dhrupad should compromise its essential nature. Rather, it points to the broader question of how ancient art forms maintain relevance without sacrificing authenticity. Dey's approach – uncompromising in its traditionalism yet deeply expressive – suggested one possible answer.
Cultural preservation or museum piece?
The Darbar Festival's commitment to programming artists like Nirmalya Dey deserves recognition. In an increasingly homogenised musical landscape, such platforms provide crucial space for traditions that might otherwise survive only in academic settings. Yet the evening also raised uncomfortable questions about the sustainability of forms that demand so much from their audiences.
Dey's performance was undoubtedly accomplished – a master class in an ancient tradition. Whether it succeeded in creating new advocates for Dhrupad among the uninitiated remains less certain. The reverent attention of the audience suggested respect, but respect and engagement aren't necessarily the same thing.
Perhaps that's missing the point. Some musical traditions exist not to entertain but to preserve something essential about human artistic expression. In a world increasingly dominated by the immediate and the ephemeral, Nirmalya Dey's patient exploration of centuries-old ragas offered something rarer: an invitation to slow down, listen deeply, and remember what music can be when freed from the tyranny of the moment.