Notes on a sarangi

Numerous sarangis—some with tags that proudly proclaim “Made in Nepal” still on them, others noticeably worn though years of playing—are methodically arranged along the walls of Bukun Gandarva’s office. In a corner, framed certificates, articles about him, and memorabilia from the various countries he has visited lie in a cluttered state. On a small writing table, miniature versions of the sarangi are carefully placed. A young boy, sarangi in hand, comes into the room and asks Bukun the profit margins he has set on an instrument. “You can sell this one for up to Rs. 2,000,” Bukun tells him, pointing at the sarangi in his hand.
When the boy leaves the room, Bukun says, “Sanu Kancha and I are the boy’s uncles. He came to Kathmandu on a break after his grade 12 exams and is helping us sell sarangis. He doesn’t really play much himself but is helping us around, hoping to earn a little extra cash.”
Sanu Kancha Gandarva and Bukun Gandarva are brothers-in-law. The two hail from Tanahun, both born and raised into families in which the sarangi is not a mere instrument but a way of life. The Gandarvas, or Gaines as they are colloquially referred to, are traditionally the only caste with the knowledge and skill of making and playing the sarangi, Nepal’s national instrument.
Sanu Kancha is a founding member of the Gandarva Culture and Art Organization and has even held its presidential chair in the past. “I was 12 when I first came to Kathmandu. That was more than 30 years ago,” he says. “In those days, life was relatively easy. Foreigners would willingly pay double or even quadruple the amount a sarangi cost and there weren’t as many people selling them on the streets as there are today.” He reminisces for a while, recalling the clamour and excitement of playing his sarangi in his village in the “good old days”. “I came here and the colours of the city simply took hold of me. Everything seemed brighter here, there was easy money to make and I never took that bus back home,” he says.
Bukun came to Kathmandu around 15 years ago and started working with his brother-in-law. He now performs nightly shows at the Bhojan Griha restaurant and gives sarangi lessons at his office in Thamel during the day. He has successfully recorded a couple of albums with various other folk artists of the country and toured many parts of Asia and Europe. Recalling his first trip abroad, he says, “Not knowing how to communicate in the language of the country (Ireland), the experience was an extremely difficult one for me initially. My friend, though, was always there for me.” Laughing, Bukun says his Irish friend’s name was Hari (Harry?), “just like a Nepali’s”. Enthusiastically he adds, “Hari is a musician as well, a violinist, and we remain in touch to this day.”
“Music is all I know and all I possess,” Bukun says. He is very proud of the fact that his craft has taken him to places he had never even heard of as a child. He takes out a German music book from his drawer and shows me pictures of various violinists, pianists, saxophonists and other musicians and tells me that they are his “musician friends.” “Although we do not understand each other’s language, we understand the language of each other’s music.”
Bukun believes that the sarangi translates the inner recesses of his soul into music. “Often, when I am playing in solitude, the emotions get so strong that it is hard for me to hold myself together and continue playing.” He is worried about the fate of his beloved sarangi and Sanu Kancha shares this concern. “The younger generation is no longer interested in learning their ancestral craft,” says Sanu Kancha. “I wanted to teach my two sons what has been in our family for generations but not one of them showed any interest in learning. It’s difficult to imagine how many will play this instrument 50 years from now. We, the older generation, will be dead and I wonder how many Gandarvas who actually play the sarangi will be around.”
The two men have come a long way since they first left their villages but they still roam the streets of Thamel, a couple of sarangis in their hands, hoping to do their business by selling a sarangi or two to a couple of tourists or Nepalis who appreciate this symbol of the country’s folk culture. Bukun says, “The sarangi is in our blood; its music runs in our veins. Our fathers and forefathers lived and died with the notes of the sarangi and I ask for nothing more than to be able to do the same.”

Sarangi Day was celebrated on Friday, with the Gandharva brothers collaborating with other musicians to highlight Nepali folk music cultures.