Bol Paran Periods

“LOOK,” says tabla virtuoso Pandit Tanmoy Bose, slowly moving his index finger along the rim of a half-filled glass of water, “listen to what happens”.

- Rush Mukherjee

I prick up my ears, and a piercing, whistling sound rings out. I’m flabbergasted—it seems almost magical, and when I try my fingers at it, I fail miserably. Pandit Bose bursts out laughing. “You need to practise a bit!” he says, adding, “Do it at the right frequency, and that glass will shatter.”

The exchange sums up the experience of spending time with Bose, one of India’s foremost percussionists. Warm and brimming with knowledge, the maestro guides me through the routine of a day in his life as through the story of his life.

Bose’s home is near the noisy Gariahat area of Calcutta. One cuts through the noise Puja shoppers, past expansive hawkers, and enters, through wrought-iron gates, a quiet, bluish-grey building complex. It was built on the same patch of land where the garden of Bose’s old family home, and seems to radiate the air of verdant tranquillity the garden must have had.

Bose welcomes me on the top floor with Bonnya, his wife, and their golden retriever, Pogo, by his side. The spacious room is adorned with colourful patachitra motifs on a pillar and bright lotus flowers painted on the walls, where hang myriad instruments from around the world. “This is the paglamo (madness) of my wife and I,” he laughs.

When he is not on tour, Bose’s day begins by watering the plants on his terrace, with Pogo by his side. Hibiscus, butterfly peas, bougainvillea and jasmine, including the Bengali festive favourite, shiuli, stand in rows against the parapet. He is an early riser, preferring to be out of bed by 6; he has to have either a cup of tea or a special blend of coffee brewed by Bonnya first thing in the morning. Then, it’s time for riyaaz.