COME TO THINK OF IT, ours must be one of the most musical countries in the world. By mu sical is meant, in today’s context, not “organized” or “formal” music, that which is rehearsed, recorded, or performed. Almost every culture in the world is, of course, rich in this kind of music, for after all, the desire for song and dance is strong in humankind. Men and women celebrate, worship and mourn through music in most parts of the world, whether singly or in groups.

The topic under discussion today is different. It deals with “informal” music, the kind that people make as they go about their daily life. It could be the housewife humming along to the songs coming over the radio. Or it could be the student singing lustily along with a well loved band that has appeared on TV. Or it could just be the executive unwinding after a stress-filled day at work by singing under a hot shower in the bathroom. Besides, there are also people who make music while actually working. Mostly, they do this in order to alleviate the boredom that arises from repetitive chores, the kind that dulls the mind and sears the soul. And indeed, music of this kind is a beautiful thing, benefiting both the listener and the singer, and making life a little better, for the moment, for both.

Actually, we take the fact of singing in these “informal” ways so much in our stride that we tend to forget that in many cultures, this kind of music is not heard. In Britain, for instance, one would hardly find people singing as they go about their work. In our lives, the song of a rickshaw puller as he pedals himself home at night from work is a common thing. The melody floats over the quiet neighbourhood like a benediction, and remains in the air for quite a while after the rickshaw puller has long gone. It is unimaginable that a London cabbie would do the same. At most, he might put the radio on, but that would be it.

Of course certain European countries, especially the Southern races such as Italians and Spanish, do have this culture of singing while at work. A Roman stonecutter singing a few of the latest Italian hits adds to the auditory beauty of the place in no uncertain manner. But it does seem that the colder the country, the less inclined the people are for singing informally at work. The Nordic races may have produced much brilliant music, but it is unlikely to be sung by the man in the street as he goes about his work. Similarly, one doubts if Alaskans (even Sarah Palin!) sing much as they sit fishing amidst the ice floes, waiting for their daily catch. In these places, perhaps passersby would look worriedly at any person singing lustily on the streets, wondering if there was something wrong with him. On the other hand, Trinidad or Brazil, for instance, is full of music created just like that, informally, by blue collar workmen as they go about their work.

Making this kind of music is the prerogative, one must add, of the working class. The IT type at her computer may have her favourite music coming out softly from the speakers, but it is unlikely that she will sing while actually at work. What would her colleagues think? Not to mention the boss, hah? And the doctor, for instance. His patients would run from him if he were to sing the latest Zubeen Garg hit as he poked and prodded at a painful abdomen. It’s a different matter, though, that both of them are quite likely to sing soulfully when away from their work, in most melodious tones.

One of the joys of our culture is the way we accept in a most matter-of-fact manner the songs of the workmen and women in our streets, as well as our homes. Because of this insouciant attitude on the part of the bystanders, we are treated to snatches of song in the most unanticipated ways as we go about our work. These songs are often unexpectedly tuneful, and fall like a blessing on our ears. For most Indians can carry a tune, no doubt about that. And working class people often have robust voices that are just perfect for singing outdoors. Their voices rise above the roar of machinery and the screech of tool and equipment, adding a touch of pure poetry to the aural surroundings.

One of the best places to listen to this kind of music is a construction site. With so much building activity happening all around us these days, it is a given that the songs of the labourers float around in every neighbourhood in ways that bring joy to the people. Their beautiful voices, raised in song, mitigate to a large extent the irritation that the sounds of machinery spread all around.

Many of the construction workers are from neighbouring Bangladesh. Whether they are illegal immigrants or not is a different matter, and a topic for another column. The fact remains, though, that these hardworking men and women remain indomitably cheerful, even as they carry heavy headloads precariously up and down many floors under construction. They lighten the drudgery by lifting their voices in song. They bring the flavour of a riverine land, where the songs that are prevalent are boatmen’s melodies. Often, they start a chorus, the sound of which floats musically over the locality. O Bondhu Re, they sing, bringing back race memories of a pre-migration time when boatmen poled past picturesque little villages, and a fresh breeze filled the sails as they moved towards the vast sea shimmering in the distance.

Those people who work for us in our homes also remain musically active. The cook who hums to herself while preparing the fish tenga is no doubt adding an invisible ingredient that will enhance the taste of her cooking. For it is well known that food prepared with good cheer, tastes much better. Besides, there is the chauffeur, perhaps, who quite unselfconsciously sings the latest Hindi film hit songs as he washes down the car. Or it could be the window cleaner from Nalbari, who makes us stop in our tracks as he lifts his voice in a beautiful Kamrupiya folk song, a blend of earthy melody and Vaishnavite devotion. Or the gardener, who sings a Bhojpuri ditty while weeding and hoeing the front lawn. No wonder flowers bloom so lavishly for him. For his voice brings to mind an agrarian land, far removed from this urban jungle, where vast gold fields of mustard lie under an azure sky, waiting for just such a voice to bring it to life, aurally.

All Things Considered, many of our folk songs have origins in the worksongs of those who till the land, or fish in the waters of the immense rivers that flow through it. Each one of our many communities has harvest songs, sowing songs, fishing songs. Barpeta, one is proud to say, even has Moh Kheda or “Mosquito Chasing” songs. Now where else would you find a community that makes a musical virtue out of a pestilential necessity?

MITRA PHUKAN