Through spectacular music and backdrop, some power-packed performances and a stunning narrative, Bandish Bandits turns out to be yet another finely-crafted and a brilliant Indian web series on the internet, says Chahak Mittal
Not often the first 15 minutes into an episode of a series do the magic. I usually settle a little later on whether to continue or drop it mid-way or sometimes, right away. Well, maybe it’s the particular series that makes one decide that and not a pre-determined time frame.
A few minutes into the first episode of Amazon Prime Video’s Bandish Bandits, and it already starts to perk up my spirits. First things first. Being locked down at home and in a year where travelling has become dream-like, the series’ shooting location — Rajasthan — makes a ten on ten first impression. Set in Jodhpur, the city’s royalty, fabled grandeur, ornate temples, palaces, traditions and blue rooftops make for a visual treat.
The beginning serves as an exposition and offers a peek inside the life of one of the two protagonists, Radhe (Ritwik Bhowmik), an aspiring Indian classical musician, who strives hard to reach perfection. A student and an avid follower of his grandfather or Pandit Radhe Mohan Rathod aka Pandit ji (Naseeruddin Shah), patriarch of the most respected musician families (Rathod gharana) of Jodhpur, Radhe is the ideal sanskaari guy and son-in-law material. Then, we meet Tamanna (Shreya Chaudhary), a rising YouTube sensation, desperate to become an international pop star. The two opposites, amid family circumstances and everyday challenges, find their way to self-discovery, music and love.
Second, the series boldly taps into the details of a music genre not many dare to experiment with — the Hindustani classical, making sure to stick to it and showcase it deeply. Radhe and Tamanna first cross paths at Tamanna’s concert in Jodhpur, which Radhe reluctantly attends and ends up being mesmerised by her beauty and stage confidence. They meet backstage, a meeting arranged by the organiser and Radhe’s friend Kabir (Rahul Kumar), where Tamanna and her friends laugh at Radhe by insulting his art of classical music. Radhe, for his counter, takes off his shoes, and without uttering a word, starts singing a high-pitched raag, which leaves the pop star amazed. I applaud this very sequence the most in the whole series for the way it conveys how there can’t be any hierarchy in music, classical or modern. Ultimately, both of them end up admiring each other’s craft, irrespective of their huge variance.
I feel, intellectually, there’s a lot to take home from Bandish Bandits — from vernacular, music terminology to the ideals and traditions musical gharanas have been following over the years. For instance, Pandit ji kicks out a student from his class, who unknowingly starts singing in a high-pitched falsetto, a voice production method abolished in Indian classical music. Later, Radhe is also slammed by Pandit ji or the crowned ‘Sangeet Samrat’ of Rajasthan, for accidentally shifting to falsetto during a performance. The scenes very well establish how the method over the years has been looked at, by males, as an escape into a rather ‘feminine’ approach of singing than making one’s own voice strong enough. Yes, the note was once called as “when men sing like women.” For Pandit ji, a singer like Ed Sheeran would just ‘sound like girls.’ Another score added for the script writers — a great point of research and its right depiction!
Not just that, the strict principles, which the millennials would never approve of, have been given a lot of importance. For instance, Pandit ji, following his parampara, has tied a sacred thread to only his seven best students and Radhe has been announced as the eighth one. However, he reaches minutes late for the knot-tying ceremony and loses the chance. To get it back, he has to now go through a “shuddhikaran,” in the “kaal kothri” or better, live a mendicant life in the city’s outskirts and practise his discipline over music for a month. If he successfully establishes control, he can get back into business. Here, one would wonder, ‘Who does that in today’s age?’ Well, even though this particular sequence gets a little stretched out, yet, I’d say, the series manages to safeguard itself by not seeming ancient. In today’s time when punctuality has been taken for granted, this practice in a small town teaches a millennial, and in turn, the audience, the value of time and one’s craft.
The third credit goes to a befitting storyline with appropriate twists and turns. The extensively narrated plot constantly aims for the crescendo, reaches it and makes sure not to fall back, rather comes down slowly and when required. Radhe, who earlier rejects Tamanna’s offer of collaborating with him for a new song, gets to know about his father’s financial problems and decides to pitch in with Tamanna. The collaboration turns out as a huge twist to the otherwise focussed-on-Radhe’s quest plot — the two fall in love, Radhe is being compelled into an arranged marriage, which later gets called off, and Pandit ji finally decides to pass on his gharana legacy to Radhe as the heir. It’s now when the two set off to create a fusion of their classical and Western artforms, and the band, ‘Bandish Bandits,’ giving the audience some really spectacular music to groove on... “Sajan Bin Aaye Na Mohe Nindiya...” After all, it’s Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy music!
Not to forget that not even once did I feel that the artistes lip-syncing such complicated lyrics and raags were only acting!
Fourth, the characters are well-etched and emerge as per the need, refining the narrative, one episode at a time. And mind you, each supporting character makes his/her presence felt — from Radhe’s fiancee, Sandhya (short appearance by Tridha Choudhary), Tamanna’s manager and friend, chiliastic city folk Arghya (Siddharth Roy Kapur), to Pandit ji’s son from his first marriage, Digvijay (Atul Kulkarni), and Radhe’s father, Rajendra (Rajesh Tailang). But the two characters, which stand out for me, are Radhe’s mother, Mohini (Sheeba Chaddha) and his paternal uncle, Devendra (Amit Mistry). The two prove to be the saviours of both the ever-twisting plot and the failing pursuits of Radhe. Initially, looking like the silent onlookers in the story, the two take the limelight when required with their traumatic and well-narrated pasts.
While Devendra, through his hard-hitting sarcasm, explains his struggle of not being able to meet his father-teacher’s expectations as an artiste, Mohini’s silence but everlasting facial expressions explain how, as a woman musician, she fell prey at the hands of a man (Pandit ji) who just wanted to maintain his crown. She later takes the gharana in her hands and teaches Radhe the right way to learn music. Even though I liked the flashback into her story that came later, director Anand Tiwari made sure to give his audience subtle hints of her being a talented musician through her clever, in-between tips given to Radhe.
I admire Mohini’s teaching approach more than Pandit ji because she explains how, as a woman, even though she was asked to abandon music after her marriage, she has stuck to it all her life through the everyday chores that she is engaged in. She successfully establishes the idea that the way a woman can run and understand a household, no man can. A woman was and has always been an epitome of love and compassion. She fiercely takes the threshold of her gharana in her hands and leads it.
Fifth, the idea of acceptance and self-discovery has been well laid. While today’s generation might not accept their flaws over self-esteem, Tamanna’s constant failure of singing with her dream international pop star makes her look into the mirror after a snappy but short blame-game. She eventually recognises why there’s more she needs to conquer and work hard to be the ideal musician.
Well, above all, the winners of the series are its treasured characters and the brilliant music!
