Rajlakshmi Sengupta sings for Jalsaghar
+1 Rajlakshmi Sengupta sings for Jalsaghar
Rajlakshmi Sengupta sings for Jalsaghar
Rajlakshmi Sengupta sings for Jalsaghar
Through the trials of loss and rediscovery, Rajlakshmi, mentored by the esteemed Krishna Dasgupta, transforms her grief into a passionate pursuit of music. We share her song ‘HAAN MAINE CHUKAR DEKHA HAI‘ for the YouTube channel ‘Jalsaghar‘.
In our world today hatred prevails everywhere. But I believe for every seed of hatred, a song will quietly weep into the very roots of humanity. A tiny leaf unfurls each time, defying the wreckage and malice. Peace. Love. Togetherness. Compassion. Empathy. That’s the essence of music. No matter how much you destroy, that little seedling will sprout once more, blossoming into a song. Keeping that in mind I share this story of Rajlakshmi, Rajlakshmi Sengupta who recently sang for Jalshaghar a YouTube channel.
As the first summer rain graced the parched earth, providing a yearning respite from the blistering sun, a little girl, barely four years old, decided to venture outside for a frolic. She was known by many names; some called her ‘Boogi,’ others ‘little one,’ and some used her given name, ‘Rajlakshmi.’ However, her favourite moniker was always ‘Bhunu,’ bestowed upon her by her beloved Putun, though the world knew her as the illustrious Rabindra Sangeet singer Krishna Dasgupta her Granny.
What started as a drizzle soon transformed into a heavy downpour and Putun had to employ her finest grandmaternal skills to keep Bhunu inside.
“Putun, can we go outside? Pleeeease?” Rajlakshmi’s wide eyes pleaded as she pressed her nose against the window, fogging it up with each breath.
“Now, now, Bhunu,” Putun chuckled, a twinkle in her eye, “Let’s play a game instead.”
“What game?” asked an intrigued Rajlakshmi.
“Why don’t I sing a song and you sing along with me?” Putun, never one to be outdone, decided to weave some magic of her own.
Rajlakshmi’s pout turned into a curious gaze as her Putun began to sing. Her voice, rich and melodic, filled the room with the sweet strains of Rabindra Sangeet. The rain continued its symphony outside, but inside, a new chapter was beginning.
Thus, what started as a rainy day distraction turned into the genesis of a fascinating musical journey. Over the years, Krishna Dasgupta meticulously trained Rajlakshmi, her little songbird, in the art of music. Rajlakshmi, became not just a granddaughter but a protege to the renowned Krishna Dasgupta.
But then in the year 2009, a pall of sadness descended upon the household, a sorrow so profound that it felt as if the very essence of joy had been plucked from Rajlakshmi’s life. Krishna Dasgupta, known to the world as the distinguished Rabindra Sangeet singer and to her beloved granddaughter Rajlakshmi as Putun, had passed away.
Rajlakshmi, felt as though the ground had been swept from beneath her feet. The loss of Putun left a void so vast, it was as if the music itself had stopped. The house that once echoed with the harmonious strains of their shared melodies now stood silent, mourning the absence of its heart and soul.
In the time that followed, Rajlakshmi found herself listless, her spirit dulled by grief. She couldn’t bear the sound of music, let alone singing. The mere thought of music brought tears to her eyes, a stark reminder of the bond she had shared with Putun. A wave of despair washed over her. “How can I ever sing again without you, Putun?” she whispered, her voice breaking. The grief was all-consuming, an ever-present ache that gnawed at her heart.
Her family tried to comfort her, urging her to continue the legacy that Putun had so lovingly cultivated. But the music that once brought her so much joy now felt like a cruel echo of the past. The melodies were tainted with loss, and each note struck a painful chord within her.
When Rajlakshmi was in the 10th grade, she found herself roped into an unexpected adventure with her Chandra Chachu, Chandrsekhar Bose who was the senior most student of Krishna Dasgupta. Mr. Bose, always the lively sort, was off to see the illustrious classical singer and guru, Tripti Das, to discuss getting his daughter admitted to her tutelage. He asked Rajlakshmi to tag along, which she did blissfully unaware that this little outing would be a turning point in her life.
Upon arriving, the grandeur of Tripti Das’s music class was enough to make anyone’s jaw drop. Chandrsekhar exchanged pleasantries, and before Rajlakshmi could blink, she found herself being introduced.
“Why don’t you sing something for me, my dear?” Tripti Das asked, her tone casual but her eyes keen.
Rajlakshmi’s heart skipped a beat. Sing? Here? Now? She was tempted to run for the hills, but seeing the encouraging nod from her Chandra Chachu, she reluctantly agreed. Taking a deep breath, she began to sing a bandish in Raag Kafi, a cherished piece her Putun had taught her.
As her voice filled the room, a hush fell over the gathering. Even the walls seemed to lean in to catch every note. The initial tremor in her voice steadied as the familiar melody took hold, transporting her back to the times with Putun. She sang with a depth of emotion that left everyone spellbound.
Tears welled up in Rajlakshmi’s eyes, spilling over as she closed them, lost in the music. By the time she finished, the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
Tripti Das, clearly moved, broke the silence. “My dear, that was simply marvellous. You have a gift. I want you to join my classes.”
Rajlakshmi blushed, feeling a mix of embarrassment and pride. She hadn’t expected this reaction, least of all from Tripti Das.
From that day forward, Rajlakshmi’s life took a new turn. She began training under Tripti Das, rediscovering the joy of music she thought she had lost forever. The visit, which she had thought would be just another mundane outing, had become a pivotal moment, rekindling the musical flame within her. Over the years she went on to complete her visharad in 2015 alongside lessons in Western music from Siddharth Das her music teacher in school. Later she also took up a course from Berklee Music School on voice techniques.
Rajlakshmi has received invaluable guidance from her Putun’s senior students, Chandrashekhar Bose, Sumana Banerjee, and Prabhanjan Roy Chowdhury, whom she fondly calls her Chachus and Pishi. They’ve always been the wind beneath her wings, encouraging her and pushing her to become better. She continues to sing with them at Jharnadhara, Krishna Sen Gupta’s choir, which they all take immense pride in carrying forward even today. Jharnadhara celebrates its 55th anniversary this year.
Rajlakshmi, a lawyer by profession, is finally taking the plunge into her musical journey, all thanks to her incredibly supportive parents and family. With their backing, she is now looking forward to sharing her voice with the world.
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During the throes of the Covid-19 pandemic, Prateek Chatterjee, a sprightly lad with a penchant for the dramatic, found himself pacing the length of his living room, pondering how to wile away the interminable hours of lockdown. Speaking to Madhuvanti Chowdhury, his wife, their minds drifted to his uncle, Mr. Sibasish Mukherjee, a revered Rabindra Sangeet singer whose melodious voice had long enchanted the family gatherings. With a lightbulb moment brighter than a summer’s day, they decided to approach Sibasish Mama with an idea that was, quite frankly, a corker.
“Mama,” Prateek began one evening, “why don’t we start a YouTube channel? We could call it Jalshaghar, and you can sing Rabindra Sangeet. The world needs a bit of your magic right now.”
Sibasish Mama, initially taken aback, soon warmed to the idea. “Well, Prateek, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give it a whirl. Lord knows, I’ve got plenty of time on my hands these days.”
So, with a pinch of enthusiasm and a dash of technical wizardry, by Prateek and Madhuvanti, Jalshaghar was born. At first, it was just Sibasish Mama crooning into a camera in his living room, his rich voice resonating through the internet like a comforting hug. To their delight, the channel started to gain traction. Subscribers trickled in, comments poured forth, and soon enough, it was raining cats and dogs with views.
As the channel blossomed, Prateek and Madhuvanti decided to expand their horizons. They began casting young talents who had, until then, remained largely in the shadows. These budding artists brought their own flair, breathing new life into the timeless compositions.
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It was June this year when the ‘City of Djinns’ found itself in the throes of a weather spectacle that made headlines. The newspapers were abuzz: “Record Rain, Endless Pain: First Day, First Show-ers a Deluge, ‘Orange’ Alert for the Next Two Days in Delhi.” Another paper exclaimed, “Delhi’s 88-Year-Old Record Broken as City Sees 228.1 mm Rain in 24 Hours.” It was as if the heavens had opened up and decided to have a right old laugh at our expense!
One such stormy evening, when the skies engaged in a dramatic tug-of-war between the sun and rainclouds, Rajlakshmi found herself in the cosy confines of Prateek and Madhuvanti’s home. They were sipping tea and discussing the latest plans for their YouTube channel, Jalshaghar.
The weather outside was a perfect metaphor for the change afoot. The winds, as if given a leave of absence from their usual duties, were free-flowing, whistling past the windows and rattling the old, creaky shutters. It was on such a capricious evening that Rajlakshmi, feeling an odd sort of inspiration, began to hum a tune.
Her voice, delicate yet powerful, began to fill the room with the opening lines of her favourite song, “Haan Maine Chukar Dekha Hai,” sung by Gayatri Iyer for the movie ‘Black.’ The lyrics, penned by Prasoon Joshi and set to music by Monty Sharma, seemed almost tailor-made for the tempestuous mood of the evening.
Prateek and Madhuvanti exchanged glances, their tea momentarily forgotten. Rajlakshmi’s voice had a mesmerizing quality, the kind that could make one forget their troubles and lose themselves in the music. It was a voice that demanded attention and, more importantly, deserved a wider audience.
As the last note faded away, Prateek leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Rajlakshmi, that was absolutely splendid! We have to feature this on Jalshaghar. What say, Madhu?”
Madhuvanti nodded vigorously, her own excitement mirroring Prateek’s. “Absolutely, Raj! You must do this for Jalshaghar. Your voice is just what we need for our channel.”
Rajlakshmi, feeling a warm flush of pride and a bit of the tempestuous spirit from outside, readily agreed. “Alright, let’s do it!” When shall we record?”
The recording session was a whirlwind, much like the weather outside, and before they knew it, Rajlakshmi’s rendition of “Haan Maine Chukar Dekha Hai” was ready for the world. The song was released on Jalshaghar on the 3rd of August, and I share it with you, my dear readers.
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