If dhrupad is not for mere entertainment of mortals but for the delight of the gods, then a proper ambience needs to be created for a satisfactory singing and listening experience. A much-delayed start (owing to power-cut) scuttled whatever hopes there were of creating that ambience at Kalamandir on June 30, where Roma Ramyo-Bina and Utsaha presented Uday Bhawalkar in dhrupad and Rahul Mitra in dhrupad-anga Rabindrasangeet.

One would have thought that Bhawalkar, being the exponent of classical dhrupad, would perform first, so that the listeners would have a point of reference when Mitra sang Tagore’s dhrupad-style creations. But no, Mitra sang first, and no less than 15 songs, trying too hard to follow their notations. While frowning into the notations mounted on twin stands and keeping track of Biplab Mandal’s pakhawaj, one can understand how difficult it must have been for him to surrender himself to the divine being. Mitra is afflicted with a few common maladies ailing Rabindrasangeet singers, such as lack of control over his breathing (particularly notable in “Shunyo haate phiri”). Given his experience, Mitra should also have been careful not to split words like “jibanbondhure” (“Aji mama mono chahe”), and “jochhonaraate” (“Jaage nath”). The three esraj players, Buddhadeb Das and his disciples, Subhayu Sen Majumdar and Surajit Roy, did more than make up for Mitra’s shortcomings.

When Bhawalkar took the stage, it was past 8:05 pm, and the largely ‘Rabindrasangeet’ audience was finding it difficult to conceal their restlessness. But the inward-looking, austere spirit that had gone missing in the first half of the evening was finally invoked by Bhawalkar, who sang a one-hour alaap and two short bandishes in raga Rageshri. Using di-ri-re-re-tana syllables, the singer charted the depths of the mandra saptak, with restrained layakari and bol-baant. There were striking bits of brilliance in the elaboration of the phrase dha-ni-sa, and in the measured use of the gamak. The two famous bandishes, “Prathama sura sadhe”, in jhaptaal and “Rajan ke raja”, in the 10-matra shul-taal, sounded somewhat rushed, but one could guess why. Tapas Das provided able accompaniment on the pakhawaj, but one of the accompanists on the tanpura was both distracted and distracting.