Musicians from North Ireland in Bengal: An Enriching Experience

by Soham Mukherjee

As a music practitioner, I have always felt strongly about the importance of collaborative practices and its importance in the process of growth of music. The borderlessness of art practices, if brought into mainstream activities can open up genres to limitless possibilities of exploration through the exchange. Traditional forms often offer age-old knowledge of verbal transfers as well as are open to the dynamism of constant inclusive alterations. Collaborations act as catalysts to this transfer of methodology and create possibilities of the emergence of the third dimension of practice. The confluence of multiple forms of expression opens up avenues through which practitioners can reach out to a bigger arena of possibilities through their own practiced art forms.

I, Soham Mukherjee a musician and passionate photographer working at MusiCal, a wing of banglanatak dot com, a social enterprise based in Kolkata. At MusiCal, I engage with traditional rural and urban musicians of Bengal. This includes coordinating workshops, undertaking field recording of songs and musical instruments, and coordinating the collaboration projects that MusiCal initiates with the musicians and their counterparts from around India and the rest of the world.

Recently, Madagan, a music band of North Ireland, visited West Bengal as part of a residency program hosted by MusiCal. These residency programs, anchored in Kolkata, offer musicians from other lands to tour rural culture and heritage hubs across West Bengal, stay in villages, interact with traditional art and craft communities, and collaborate with local musicians. The experiences create an enriching, and often amazing, soundtracks. The visiting musicians also perform at village festivals and music events in cities.

Madagan, a four-member team, collaborated with some traditional artists of West Bengal. Among them were Pradyut Roy, a singer of Bhawaiya folk music genre of north Bengal; Subhankar Das, a traditional singer of Baul folk music genre of south Bengal; and Deepmay Das, a Kolkata-based folk musician.

My assignment during Madagan’s visit included quite a few things. The first of them was to listen to their music and identify a common ground and the missing links before the initiation of the collaborative process. To do this, I needed to explain to the visitors the different Indian scales used by Baul and Bhawaiya musicians and their different rhythm cycles. Through this process, their understanding of rhythm structures, scales and chords came forward to us.  The harmonics and chords they used with our traditional music, opened up dimensions. It was interesting to observe the seamless amalgamation of instruments like the Concertina and the Bagpipes with  Bengal’s traditional music. These instruments, that are unknown to this part of the world traditionally, complemented with ease the sound and notes of Bengal’s folk songs.

Madagan spent nearly 4 days at Tepantar, a theater village set in a beautiful rural landscape, a 3.5-hour drive from Kolkata. The tranquil ambiance of this green hinterland is perfect for art and music collaborations. We then headed for Muragacha, a village of West Bengal’s traditional puppetry artists. Here, Madagan presented its collaborative music for the first time during their visit. The rural audience enjoyed the new music. Madagan also performed at a music event in Kolkata where they were a completely refreshing experience for the city’s music lovers.

The time I spent together with the four members of Madagan and the creative exchanges we had were educative and enriching, and also humbling. After all, the belief that music transcends all barriers and binds people in bonds of eternal friendship had just got strengthened by the experiences I earned during the course of this visit. I earnestly hope to see more and more such cultural exchanges in the future.

My Grandmother’s life, stories, and things are the Archive of My Heritage

By Erum Hadi

When I was sixteen years old, my family and I immigrated to the United States from Pakistan. Prior to our move to the US, I was very close with my maternal grandmother Amna Bai Bumbia (or Nani, as I called her). Nani, herself was a migrant from India after the Partition, and our time together left an indelible mark of her Memon culture on me. Nani’s stately presence, her stories and personal effects from her previous life in India and even the traditional cuisine   provided me with a rich cultural experience of her Memon heritage.  During my Museum Studies course last year, I had the opportunity to revisit and document our family’s South Asian cultural heritage.

I conducted a project on the material culture of refugees of the India/Pakistan Partition to explore my Nani’s past, and to use her stories and things to piece together and preserve our family heritage. My Nani was a great storyteller who shared many accounts of life in her native Jetpur, a town in Gujarat, India, where she lived with her community of Memons. Memons are an ethnicity closely related to Guajarati and Sindhi people, who occupy a region from Gujarat, India to Sindh, Pakistan. Even the Memon language is a derivative of and borrows heavily from both Gujarati and Sindhi parent tongues.

Amna Bai Bumbia in her white Chikankari dress and scarf, 1989. Photo by author.

One of my favorite stories of Nani’s life in Jetpur is the romantic tale of the day she met my grandfather Bashir Ahmed Bumbia or Nana, at their neighborhood well. That day at the well, young Amna Bai was having difficulty loading the pail of water, when Nana approached to offer his help. She became self-conscious at the realization that this man may have been watching her fumble with the pulley. Embarrassed and following custom which prohibited her to speak to another man, she ignored the gentleman’s query and rushed to hide behind a tree. Nana reciprocated her decorum, filled the pail of water and walked away. Only when he was out of sight did Amna Bai fetch the bucket of water and hurried home. Nana did not wait for another meeting to express his feelings; he was smitten with Amna Bai’s dignified beauty, and soon sent for Amna Bai’s hand in marriage.

Jetpur was and is still known for its textile industry, and my Memon ancestors were prominent members of this business enterprise. With an established life in their Memon community, my grandparents were in no rush to leave their beloved Jetpur; a place where their families had lived for generations in harmony with their Hindu neighbors. Despite religious differences, people of Jetpur shared similar ethnicity, culture, food, and language. Life in Jetpur continued relatively undisturbed even after the Partition in 1947 and the ensuing upheavals.

My grandparents delayed migration to Pakistan as long as they possibly could until, in 1955, the threat literally reached their doorstep, and rioters came knocking down doors in search of Muslims to kill. Then in the dark of the night and only with the kindness of their Hindu neighbors who dressed them in Hindu garb, my grandparents escaped and reached Bombay to board a steamship to Karachi.

My grandparents left their Haveli (traditional mansion) in Jetpur, with the clothes on their backs, their jewels sewn in their pants, and some houseware. These possessions from pre-Partition India became my childhood toys in Pakistan; her paan dan betel box, areca nut cracker, weighing scale, and gold jewelry are some that come to mind. In my research on the origins of these objects and traditions of our Memon family, I discovered that many of these were shared among both Muslims and Hindus of Gujarat. In fact, Muslim Memons were originally from the Hindu trading castes, who converted to Islam in the 1400s.

Nadia Potter and Erum Hadi on Erum’s Wedding Day, Highland, New York, wearing gold jewelry that was gifted to us by Amna Bai Bumbia, 2003. Photo by author.

Gold adornments, an essential heirloom for our family, are also a ubiquitous Indic cultural item that symbolizes life itself. To be without ornamentation is to indicate death and defeat, and the reason Hindu widows renounce their jewels and colorful clothing as an expression of their loss. Despite being a Muslim, my grandmother stayed true to this Indic tradition too and renounced her jewels, and only wore white dresses after Nana’s death.

A short time after settling in Karachi, Nana revisited Jetpur to settle his business affairs, but unfortunately became victim to throat cancer, and never returned to be with his family in their new nation of Pakistan. Nani was devastated and vowed never to marry again.

Memons who migrated to Karachi formed communal enclaves like the ones in their ancestral India. Although a young widow with five children, and alone in a foreign country, Nani had the support of her Memon family members and community. Still, as the main person responsible for feeding her family, she relied on her Memon commercial acumen, and managed a small lending business. On occasion, I was able to watch my grandmother conduct her business transactions with other Memon women.

At Nani’s house, we enjoyed many delicious Jetpur Memon delicacies. Some examples of Memon Northwest Indian cuisine include, Karhi a yogurt based curry, Akni rice and meat curry mixed dish, and Mathar sweet flour based halwa with gum and nuts. Nani’s recipes help me carry on our Memon traditions in New York, and cherish her memory. I can still see her braiding our hair with coconut oil, and feed us tasty dishes.

A research project that began as an exploration of my beloved Nani’s culture, enlightened me of the wonders of India – a place where communal living and shared traditions helped people of different religions live in harmony for a millennia. With further research, I hope to promote a deeper understanding of these shared cultures of India and their potential as examples for an ever-divisive world.

Foodjam: The Culinary Arm of Cultural Exchange

By Violeta Palchik

Foodjam; I’ve officially decided it’s a word, because it should be. Foodjams have in some way been a part of my life for a long time, but in Tepantar the idea became solidified. What exactly am I referring to when I say foodjam? Think of it as a jam session, an informal gathering of musicians improvising together, for food. A foodjam is an informal gathering of cooks improvising together.

Manas Acharya and Violeta Palchik work together to cook a delicious meal at Tepantar Village. Photo by Betty Belanus, courtesy Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage.

The inspiration to start a foodjam with our Bengali hosts began at the Sur Jahan Festival. I was very enamored with the workshops Contact Base created on the smaller music stage for a daytime crowd to enjoy. Each day, a set of musicians from different sides of the globe were paired together for a jam session. One day it was Muzykanci, a Polish Folk Electropop group, playing with Baul musicians, Bengali mystics, under the trees, encircled by the audience. Sometimes the crowd would start a conga line, sometimes they would just sit and listen, or they would try to capture the moment on their phones, but most often they would clap to the rhythm and join in with instruments.

The jamming musicians sang and played with one other, engaged in a literal and metaphorical dance, speaking to one another through music. It was a more intimate setting than the larger stage and was especially memorable because of the ephemeral quality of the performance. When would you ever get another chance to see this merging of musical styles combined in such a way? If you work at any of the large folk festivals we hold here in the United States, you’ve probably experienced such a phenomenon. The musicians who come to play at the Richmond Folk Festival or Smithsonian Folklife Festival usually spend the evenings meeting and jamming with musicians from all over the world in the hallways and rooms of their hotel. It’s one of the best parts of the festival, and an aspect I always wished the public was privy to.

One of the cooks at Tepantar rolls roti (flat bread) dough, to be grilled on the pan on the left.  Photo by Violeta Palchik.

Approximately halfway into our program in West Bengal, we arrived in the theater village of Tepantar. Arpan explained one of the reasons he loves this village so much is because in Tepantar, everyone is an artist or performer. The cooks, farmers, drivers, are all actors in the productions they put on. They all live and work together to maintain this unique community. During our stay there, I stepped into the kitchen (as it is my natural habitat) to learn from the actor/cooks how to make Bengali food. I would wake up in the morning and drink my dud cha (milk tea) while I watched the breakfast rotis get rolled and griddled in stacks over hot stones. I learned to season in the Bengali way, with lots of mustard oil, turmeric, garlic, ginger, and cumin. Saucy potato curries with puffed up fried pooris became a regular staple in my diet, as well as aloo gobi (potatoes with cauliflower), dal (lentils), and mach bhat (fish with rice) eaten with a side of green chilis.

 

Pooris, a delicious fried and puffed bread often served at breakfast in West Bengal.  Photo courtesy of Violeta Palchik.

When Manas joined us in Tepantar, I was told he would be taking a turn in the kitchen. Manas, my Gemini Twin, also has a passion for food, art, and music so I knew we would make great foodjam partners. Manas is the father of an adorable little girl named Miti, so he gets a lot of practice cooking for her at home. For our dinner, he chose to make a staple Bengali dish, chicken curry. Curry is kind of a generic term for most foods cooked in a sauce. I helped to peel and cut potatoes into large hunks. Manas took pieces of bone-in chicken and added them to the large sizzling wok-like pot we cooked everything in. Our kitchen was outside, covered by a roof so we could be protected from the elements while enjoying the warm night air. The cooking was all done over large propane burners and we sat on little chairs close to the ground while we cooked. There was a large basket full of spices and fragrant dried leaves sitting next to the burner so we wouldn’t have to get up from our cozy seats by the fire as we got inspired to add new flavors to the pot.

Manas begins cooking chicken curry while Violeta watches and learns. Photo by Betty Belanus, courtesy of the Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage.

Manas keeps the ingredients of chicken curry at hand to add as he cooks the dish over the propane fire in the Tepantar kitchen. Photo by Betty Belanus, courtesy of the Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage.

Manas started out with a healthy pool of mustard oil at the base of the pan. I came to realize mustard oil is one of the common threads in Bengali cooking and the flavor note that really seemed to distinguish the cuisine. We were visiting during mustard season and would often drive by large fields of mustard plants with bright yellow flowers poking out from the tips and blanketing the landscape with their vibrant sunshiny color. I had some vegetable curries in Kolkata, pungent with the flavor of the mustard plants, giving everything that spicy kick. Manas cooked the chicken with a lot of turmeric, onions, garlic, and ginger and we took turns stirring the ingredients as he added tomatoes and potatoes and some dried leaves I did not recognize. We stirred with a large metal paddle that reminded me a bit of making Brunswick Stew or cooking large batches of macaroni and cheese in a tilt skillet for catering events, although not nearly as large.

 

Violeta cuts vegetables for the chicken curry. Photo by Betty Belanus, courtesy of the Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage.

Tomatoes, chilis, and spices frying in fragrant mustard oil as the base of the curry. Photo by Betty Belanus, courtesy of the Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage.

Once the chicken was ready, it was my turn to come up with a vegetable side dish to accompany it. All the produce was spread out over a large cloth inside the house/kitchen where the products are held. It’s a much better visual system than a fridge, where you have to move everything around to get an idea of what’s in there, instead you just glance over the spread and see what stands out. I’m a huge fan of eggplant so I knew I had to grab a few of those, and cauliflower is always so comforting. I decided to create a Bengali-inspired dish with those two ingredients as the base. I fried the eggplant and cauliflower in mustard in oil until they were tender and crispy while Manas chopped up some garlic and ginger. All the cooks started gathering around and asked what I was making. I told them the truth, which was that I had no idea and was making it up as I went along in proper jam session style.

 

Violeta frying cauliflower. Photo by Betty Belanus, courtesy of the Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage.

After I finished frying the vegetables in batches I started with a fresh pot and some hot oil to copy Manas’s technique by adding a healthy amount of garlic, onions, ginger, and turmeric to the oil. I threw in some finely chopped tomatoes and created a light saucy base. My methods were not totally un-Bengali, but I think the process was a little different from the norm and got everyone’s curiosity piqued. Once the tomatoes were nicely cooked down I threw in the vegetables and mixed them just enough to get coated before pulling the pot off the fire. I garnished it with fresh cilantro and a squeeze of lime juice.

By the time we finished cooking, everyone was famished, and we devoured the food. I was asked to name the vegetable dish, so I called it Tepantar Brinjal Gobi (Tepantar Eggplant Cauliflower) because it’s a dish that came to life in that fleeting moment when we were all together at Tepantar, jamming and improvising, cultures colliding or exchanging and it may never exist again in exactly that way. When Manas comes to the States, we’re going to host Part Two of the foodjam after he gets plenty of inspiration and examples from our local cuisine. I know it will be delicious.

The finished meal! Photo by Betty Belanus, courtesy of the Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage.

Audio Recording with Folk Artists of Bengal

Since 2004, we have been working with traditional musicians as part of our flagship initiative Art for Life (AFL). Three major Bengal’s traditional music genres where we have done recording are Baul, Bhawaiya and Bhatiyali. Here is a brief introduction of these three traditional music genres.

Baul

There are about 2500 Baul singers, whose music carries a philosophy of self searching. Simple words, hearts touching tunes with traditional string instruments like Ektara, Dotara, percussion like Dhol, Khanjani, Dubki, Bamboo flute etc. have enchanted the audience, the world over. In 2008, Baul music is recognized by UNESCO and it is inscribed on the Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity.

Bhawaiya

Bhawaiya is a traditional lifestyle music form which is practiced in northern part of West Bengal. Elements of daily life and livelihood are intrinsic to the lyrics of Bhawaiya songs. Over 3000 traditional artists are currently practicing Bhawaiya songs. Traditional string instruments Sarinda, Harmonium, Bamboo flute etc. are played with the songs.

Bhatiyali

Bhatiyali is a folk music form, known for its long-drawn notes, and is traditionally sung by boatmen. Bhatiyali songs are integrally related to the rivers. Around 50 folk artists from delta region of West Bengal known as Sundarbans are still continuing this traditional music.

Our Journey

In 2009-10 we have recorded 750 Baul songs. In 2013 – 15, total 700 songs were recorded covering all 3 genres mentioned above. While working with the folk artists and musicians we have worked in recording studio as well as on field. Sometimes, in the artists’ villages, we also made temporary recording space to record songs. We found that rather than a studio, artists are more comfortable in working at open space, in their own environment. Keeping that in mind, in 2014 we went for field recording. In between 2015 – 17 we recorded more than 1000 Baul, Bhawaiya and Bhatiyali songs. We also published CDs and distributed among the artists.

Our Experience

During our recording on field, managing external noise like chirping of birds, sound of vehicles etc. have been vital to the quality of recording. In case of indoor field recording, we always check the room reverb before recording. Placement of microphones and musical instruments according to their loudness and frequency are also critical. Like the percussion instrument Dhol produce loud sound and we keep this instrument at a distance from microphone on field and in a separate room in case of studio recording. As recording studio is an unknown space for most of the rural traditional artists, we have to familiarize them with the environment before recording successfully.

Few Learning Points on Field Audio Recording

1. Space selection: Silent and non windy space
2. Room reverb check: In case of indoor field recording need to check the room reverb before recording. In case of outdoor, not needed.
3. Placement of microphones and musical instruments according to their loudness and frequency
4. Managing environmental noise
5. Using environmental sound: Birds chirping or other natural sound

Live Recording in Studio

1. Artist orientation: As studio is an unknown space for rural traditional artists, first we have to familiarize them with the environment. Use of headphones.
2. Placement of the musicians: Strings, percussion, vocal in different cubicles to keep tracks as clean as possible.

Recording on Field with a Mini Studio Setup

1. Using of microphone
2. Managing noise

Dokra: The Metal Craft of Bengal

The Dokra art, an ancient process of producing metal ware by the ‘lost wax casting’ (cire perdue), is all about artistic adroitness and ingrained with long traditional nuances.  Known as one of the earliest methods of non-ferrous metal casting known to human civilization, the indigenous art of Dokra, started as a local production for making of measuring bowls for the villagers. With time the process got improvised by the craftspeople and gradually evolved as a fine form of designer art. This long tradition coupled with the intrinsic starkness and vitality makes Dokra a coveted collector’s item. The Dokra statues are revered all over the world for its primeval simplicity, charming folk motifs, rustic beauty and imaginative designs and patterns. These figures have a rustic and antique finish which adds to its appeal. Today the rural artisans make jewellery with dokra craft which effectively woo the urban populace.

Bikna in Bankura, a hamlet of 60 families making Dokra, the craft of metal casting, has transformed in the last two years from an unknown village of migrants to a craft destination hub. Change is not only in enhanced income of the artists but also in their lifestyle. Shanties have been repaired, water scarcity reduced, sanitation & drainage improved — changing life in the process. The Rural Craft Hub (RCH) Project, supported by Department of MSME&T, has not only enhanced them with skills but given them the confidence to move outside their hamlet and refurbished their identity as artists. The artists’ society at Bikna is working as the fulcrum of this change. The society lends money to the artists, organises festivals and caters to individual and bulk orders. The folk art centre at Bikna with workshed, boarding & lodging facility for tourists, an energy efficient furnace and a Folk Art Centre bears testimony to the story of change celebrating cultural heritage.

To know more about Dokra traditions, crafts persons and their village

1. Dokra village as Cultural destination 
2. Cultural enterprise, artists etc.
3. Dokra Process.

Patachitra: A traditional way of storytelling in Bengal

“…it is language that speaks. Man first speaks when, and only when, he responds to language by listening to its appeal.”

-Martin Heidegger

(Poetry, Language, Thought in relation to Architectural Language and Thought)

Learning, therefore, begins with response which does not always mean verbal responses, but gestures too. Nature speaks through the language of silence, of gestures and sounds. Man starts responding to it accordingly. Thus, comes the poetry, the folktales, the art, the music and dance.

The Patuas, or the Chitrakars, of Bengal are the practitioners of an performing  art which is passed on from one generation to the other through oral transmission. These traditional performers mostly reside in tight knitted communities in Purba Medinipur and Paschim Medinipur districts of West Bengal. Though they all belong to same art tradition, their personal and collective memories, understanding of the surrounding reality and personal experiences deeply reflect in their artistic expression.

While paintings capture a segment of the stories through visual depiction, the songs elaborates on the  the same.  The word ‘Pata’ etymologically indicates to the Sanskrit and Pali word ‘Patta’ that means piece of cloth. Patachitra, therefore, means the painting on cloths. And the Patachitra songs are the lyrical accompaniments that unfold the layered narratives of the stories painted on the Pata.

Traditionally, the Patuas have depicted the painted stories based on the religious, mythological and historical themes. Also, they have drawn the stories from Bengali narrative poetry tradition, the Mangal Kavyas. Dharma and Manasa, the two most important deities of rural Bengal are widely worshipped in the neighbouring  districts of the aforementioned states of India. Hence, tales from the two MangalKavyas DharmaMangal and ManasaMangal are hugely incorporated into this performing tradition.  Mythological characters from the epics, folk narratives like Macher Biye or the marriage of the fishes are portrayed too.

The brilliance of folk tradition is that they are often re-contextualised, as  with time the contexts too keep changing. As a result new themes like save the tree, 9/11 attack, tsunami, Gujarat riots, Kargil war and so on keep emerging along with the biographical portraiture of eminent personalities like Tagore, Gandhi and Vivekananda. There are partition stories and migration stories as well that speak of the modern day anxiety, rootlessness, loss of language and other intangible cultural heritages. These Patas are the painted archives of the stories waiting to be heard. This re-contextualisation and re-textualisation of the age old tradition help in the transformation of the Patachitra, which has long been regarded as a mere descriptive form of art, to cater to the present day audiences both nationally and internationally.

1. To know more about Patachitra tradition – http://folklibrary.com/index.php/folkform/?id=131&catid=96&parent=Painting&child=Patachitra&color=green
2. Patachitra storytelling – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Xmc_bGw3HA
3. Process – http://ruralcrafthub.com/handicrafts/10name-of-craft-name-of-hub/

Bauls of Bengal

“The self is an oral society in which the present is constantly running a dialogue with the past and the future inside of one skin.”   – David Antin

Knowledge is thus disseminated through ‘the dialogue- the words, the music and the art. Orality, therefore, marks the journey of the speech through memories of generations, changing shapes, colours and even contexts and creates a nexus that becomes a tradition. Through the stories, the ever living memories, the past lives on taking a new course, very much like what Fakir Lalon had said: “to be born in a cosmic rhapsody”.

The word Baul appeared for the first time in the Bengali narrative poetry tradition through the works of 15th-16th century poets Maladhar Basu and Krishnadas Kaviraj. The Baul songs are not lyrics meant to be read or written, these were conceived and transmitted orally to pass on the spiritual messages of the ‘Sahajiya sadhana’ that dates back to the Tantric Buddhist tradition (Vajrayana). The tradition is linked to the Sufi mysticism as well. As Deben Bhattacharya opines, “The Mevlevi Dervish movement, which sprang from Sufism and developed in Turkey under the Persian Sufi poet Jalaluddin Rumi toward the second half of the thirteenth century, was possible the closest to the ways of the Baul in employing poetry, music, and dance as mediums for prayer.” It is, therefore, quite natural for the Hindu Bauls to sing Fakiri or Darveshi songs and the Muslim Bauls to sing songs on hindu themes or Bhakti tradition. The Baul does not subscribe to any particular  institutional religion. They reside in the twilight zone of the two major religions of India, incorporating the features of both in one residue.

The “God’s vagabonds”, as they are fondly called, believes that the human body is like a birdcage that imprisons the self from uniting with the divine. Only through the knowledge of the body, the self can break free from the imprisonment and embrace the beloved Alekh Snai or Sohoj manush , The Divine. But the path to reach the divine is perilous, as the five senses are treacherous, luring the soul to earthly pleasures, devoid of spirituality:

Losing my senses, I plunged into bodily pleasure

Failed to get rid of the old habits,

Remained entrapped in a world of material charm,

There’s no way out now without the Master’s guidance…

Only the worthy with the help from his Guru  could find the Adhar Manush (The Unattainable).

For the Guru is the helm who  guides his disciple through the hitherto unknown ocean to the divine shore:

Love is a deep blue sea and few

can swim and come ashore,

but that won’t deter real lovers to

set sail on a boat with a broken oar

But it’s wise to keep in mind, as Jalal says, that

you can open a lovelock only in the Guru’s way!

Listen to this song – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UQ3FV0_F7gs

 

Click the following links to know more about Baul tradition –

Baul music – http://bncmusical.co.in/artist-baul.php

banglanatak initiative to safeguard Baul tradition – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_MqMMDz1I9Y