Editorial»
Nati Kaji: ‘Ramro! Ramro!’
NOV 05 - Mister Amrit Lal Shrestha, popularly known as “Nati Kaji”, passed away on Sunday November 2 at the age of 78. He was suffering from Parkinson’s disease. When I greeted him four years ago after 1975, on the occasion of the Amber Gurung Pratisthan felicitating him, there was a surprised glint of recognition in his eyes and a shock of smile on his lips. But that was all; he was unable to speak. That was the last I saw of Nati Kaji Dai.
It was perhaps in the autumn of 1962 in Darjeeling that I saw Nati Kaji for the first time. An entourage from Kathmandu led by Janardan Sama appeared in town without notice. With him were Nati Kaji, Shiva Shanker, Tara Devi, Ram Sharan Darnal and others.
It was a promotional tour from Nepal. The airwaves of Radio Nepal were awash in hits from Nepal. Tara Devi’s Jiwanko sahara tyo, Janardan’s Ek phera hansi deu, Prem Dhoj’s Goreto tyo gaunko, Narayan Gopal’s E Kanchha, thattaima and Swargaki rani and Pushpa Nepali’s Pharka he pharka Nepali and Nati’s own compositions were sweeping the Nepali world in Darjeeling.
We the members of Amber Gurung’s Art Academy were summoned hastily to the hall of the Gorkha Dukha Niwarak Sammelan (GDNS) for our own side of a programme hastily arranged for the very evening.
When I reached the entrance of the hall, I found Dilip Bose of The Statesman asking somebody who turned out to be Janardan Sama.
“Sir, why did you come here?” Dilip’s questions in Nepali were straightforward.
But Janardan’s answers had flair: “We came here because of Maya! We’re here because of Sneha!”
Dilip noted, flabbergasted, lingered for a while and then disappeared quietly. I don’t know if his despatch was ever published in his paper.
In one sweep of an evening, I saw many of the biggest names in Nepal’s musical firmament. The combined programme was a success. Janardan had to oblige to the encores of his “Ek phera hansi deu”. Tara Devi sang her hit whose line “Nepalinai aipugena ajha Nepalama” received a roaring standing ovation and moistened many a handkerchief.
Back at the Central Hotel, where the Nepali delegation was lodged, we had another late-night session. It was then we heard Nati Kaji’s enthusiastic “Ramro! Ramro!” at the admirable exchange of songs between Amber Gurung and Janardan Sama. This Kathmandu expression was novel to us in Darjeeling. We had our own “Tatka!” exclamations for things good.
Fast forward to early 1967 in Kathmandu. Ranjit Gazmer took me to Radio Nepal and its dismal recording studios. We became studio musicians. During those years, I played for all of them: Nati Kaji, Janadarn, Koili Devi, Narayan Gopal, Manik Ratna, Prem Dhoj, Gopal Yonzon, Amber Gurung, Mira Rana, Gyanu Rana, Deep Shrestha, Phatteman, Pushpa Nepali, Tara Devi et al. I left Radio Nepal in 1975 when Udit Narayan Jha was hanging around the corridors for a “break”. It was Nati Kaji who gave Udit his first break at Radio Nepal.
Nati Kaji joined Radio Nepal in the early 50s as a singer and musician. From the makeshift and impromptu “live” studio broadcast of those days, he saw it to what it has become now. He supervised the studio of the monopolist radio station that was the mouthpiece of every power player. Nati lived and worked during the reign and rule of four kings. Thus he saw the temperaments of the palace, its governments, ministers and their minions and the diktats of the palace secretaries.
Individual feudal also dominated him. A Ranaji directed him to compose a tune to his lyric in triple quick time. Nati did, Phatteman sang it, and was broadcast in the evening’s programme.
His own Newar friends and associates treated him no better than a head clerk. These diverse Newar “nationalists” nurturing communal camp and divisive feelings made Nati guilty of association, a co-conspirator. They even isolated and alienated their own fellow Newar Narayan Gopal because he belonged to the “other side”.
Prakash Sayami was doing a series of articles on the Nepali music schools of Darjeeling and Kathmandu through a radio station and a Nepali newspaper. These Newars pestered him to put more emphasis on Nati Dai. They even mounted a signature campaign to the paper to suspend Sayami, a fellow Newar, and his forthcoming pieces because they labelled him discriminatory to the Kathmandu school of Nepali music that, to them, was totally represented by Nati Kaji and no one else.
Always cool, calm and collected, Nati Kaji was also quiet, composed and contemplative. But he had to survive in the corner of Singha Durbar that was infested with vested vermin who misused and abused Radio Nepal.
Such unsavoury happenings perhaps perplexed and disillusioned Nati Dai. One day, we came out of the airless studio for a much needed smoke in the garden of Radio Nepal.
“Peter bhai, Mahendra Raja died, you know?” He repeated, “You do realise, don’t you, that even Mahendra Raja died?!” The country had just returned to normalcy after the long national mourning period following the royal demise. Ditto for the studio which was recording songs after a long hiatus.
Twenty years younger to Nati Dai, I nonetheless lectured him on the impermanence of things and persons, drawing from my MA course in English literature. I reminded him the British adage of “The King is dead, Long live the King!” Therefore, we too had a new king, and we had to prod along with our jobs. I told him that perpetuity and permanence, though we cherish them dearly, were wishful thinking and a mirage.
But somehow, Nati Dai could not reconcile with the departure of King Mahendra. Perhaps he was reared and nurtured during the reign and rule of Mahendra that symbolised the seemingly unending continuity of the Panchayat Raj promulgated by the poet and lyricist king. “Even a king like Mahendra died, Peter bhai!” Nati Dai was inconsolable.
To me, Nati Dai is the epitome of three-chords songs. His melodies rarely allow relative chords, much less fifths and ninths. Most of his creations are based on suddha or major tones; minor or komal strains are only accidental. His songs are not based on Ragas or Raginis, nor do his melodies have complicated talas or beats. He excelled at three-minutes songs and stayed away from lengthy, symbiotic or syncretic operas, cantatas and choral works. He derived from his surrounding hills, valleys and mountains. I suspect the Charya School of ancient Newar music influenced him.
Yet, out of his simple format, and within negligible octaves, he produced many of the most memorable tunes on this side of Nepali music, meting out poetic justice to the lyric. These nuggets are found in his one song, written by Ishwar Ballabh and sung by Tara Devi:
Phulai phoola phulana dharti
Akash warli aula;
Mohani laula Himalile
Panchhile geeta gaula!
It is Nati Kaji’s masterpiece, having everything a musical piece must possess. This is Nati Kaji Shrestha’s anthem.Posted on: 2003-11-04 10:04
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