In the firmament of every art form, there are many little hidden and often overlooked stars. They are almost always upstaged by weightier or more popular and perhaps more dazzling or exotic candidates. Perhaps for this reason, they take on an unassuming quality. And yet they know how to hold their own, as well as be true to themselves.

In gardens it could be the periwinkle or the sada-phuli, needing no tending, growing brightly even out of the gap between paving tiles and compound wall. No one sets up night cameras to watch them blooming for one night of the year, like the Brahma-kamal, but there they appear, nodding, upright, perfect in form and colour. Amongst birds it could be the unobtrusive little jewels, like the tailor bird, the prinia, the sunbird — their sighting is not remarked upon, they’re often bustling about in your garden, but no one runs in to take out a pair of binoculars or reports a ‘sighting’. But were you to stand and look closely at any of them, they are utterly compelling, beautiful, and yes, with complex layered personalities too.

The examples from the world of painting, craft, science, cinema, literature, music are many — of people, forms, renditions, discoveries, that one can say have not got their due. And yet, to talk about ‘getting their due’ is to assume that they want more.

Being with the self

However, at the risk of anthropomorphising, they seem to be that quintessentially ‘at ease with oneself’ person. They do not need validation, popularity, a thousand likes and two thousand followers! They are, what is called ‘swa-chhandi’ entities — a difficult word to render into English. Loosely interpreted, it means, a person capable of being with the self, self-loving; not self-absorbed in a negative way, but complete within him/ herself, a free spirit.

In Hindustani Classical Music, there are three ragas that answer to this description. Three hidden jewels: Dhani, Gavti and Desi. Less performed, overlooked on the concert circuit, overshadowed or eclipsed by stellar ragas, these are ragas worth pursuing — down the rabbit hole of YouTube, in requests to musicians, and in learning and discovery mode, if you are a student. They are by no means ‘simple’ or ‘easy’ (which raga is, actually? — the teaching of Bhoop and Hindol and Durga to newbies does not stamp them as simple) to render.

Thunder in the monsoon

Take that sparkler, Dhani. Sitting in the shadow of big-brother Bhimpalasi, it has its own following of worshippers. While the Malhars take hold of our imagination and provide the thunder during the monsoons, listen to a varsha-rutu Dhani, even in the non-monsoon, and you can smell the earth responding to rain drops.

Kumar Gandharva’s robust ‘Aai ruta aii ruta aai’; Malini Rajurkar’s plaintive‘Auliya Nizamuddin…tumhare bina’; and the limpid bhajan from the film Hum Dono, ‘Prabhu Tero Naam’ are great ways to make our acquaintance with this raga and its hues. (Disclaimer: If you spend the rest of the day wrapped up in its sweetness and poise, rendered by maestros and unknown gifted musicians too, don’t blame me.)

In search of

Listen to what Gavti or Gavati has to say, in its quiet way. (I came to know only minutes ago that this raga is also called Bheem.) Again, a less-performed gem, it holds you transfixed within its mellow afternoon mood. Take a break from the exalted devotion of morning ragas, and the romance and strut of evening bigwigs, to listen to Veena Sahasrabuddhe’s rendition ‘Moray ghar’; Nazakat-Salamat’s 1960 recording ‘Dhana dhana bhaag’; Shaheed Parvez’s or Vilayat Khan’s Gavati; and perhaps a Marathi natyasangeet ‘Prem varadan’. (Disclaimer: if the afternoon simply slips away from you in the warm embrace of this raga, and leaves you with a kind of searching, longing, it’s not my fault.)

The third hidden beauty is Desi (no relative of the much more performed Desh). Like that sunbird in your garden, it loops and pirouettes gracefully in the rendition — hence counted amongst the vakkra ragas. Not easy, by a long chalk, and hence comes fully into its own in the hands of maestros.

If there’s only one (but luckily for us there isn’t only one) Desi to be heard, it surely is Nikhil Banerjee’s on the sitar, though the raga is even more difficult on an instrument. ‘Aaja gavat mana mero mann’ from Baiju Bawra is an easy identifier.

Omkarnath Thakur’s ‘Kadamb ki chhaiya’ seems to be a veritable sawaal-jawab with his maker, in the upper reaches. (Disclaimer: If this raga pulls you off the road, raises questions, gifts you with a feeling of disquiet, it’s not my problem; keep listening and the raga itself will show you the way to address or dissolve those very questions.)

Gouri Dange is a novelist, counsellor and music lover who will take readers on a ramble through the Alladin’s cave of Indian music.