Jalsaghar

Lightning’s hooves chased clouds, missed, and free-fell to the ground….

Or so it seemed to all who looked at Tufan galloping, the zamindar’s horse.

A chandelier swinging, its glass bulbs glowing like a lighthouse–the only beacon in a sea of darkness. Much like what the room seemed to signify. Somewhere Atlas shrugs, throw pillows stuffed with feathers strewn around. Drowned ghosts come back to haunt the decanters of wines and vinegar. All the world’s misery would prove too much for that well-carpeted space, but the gaps between the royal portraits could surely fit its desires.

The music ebbed and flowed, different artists leading the revelry each evening. Patrons and the affluent flocked to each gathering. Only while serving their masters would the servants catch snippets of the high arts. The world’s desires, indeed. Even our cave painting ancestors had a flair for the arts. Comfortable wealth, the pinnacle of civilization reached. Where else to go but down?

On most days, it did seem like you could fit the world’s greatest desires into those four walls. But the truth is Begum Akhtar’s voice and Kathak are better appreciated by leisurely minds, when the muchukundas are in bloom and life’s worries are, well, a few steps away--on the shoulders of servants and other unfortunate souls. 

Amidst different seasons, the room seemed to grow in magnificence despite the zamindar’s declining wealth. It had become a symbol of the prestige he held onto even as independence had ushered in a new era in the country. An era in which his lands and wealth decreased and even simpletons could gain respect and riches. Pride made him spend all that he had on the room’s grandeur. His unsuspecting guests never could have guessed how empty his family coffers had become.

Wealth, indulgence–too much of anything can turn into a vice. Arrogance and debauchery seemed to be his. “Each man according to his station” is what he believed, and it seemed true when it came to desires too. Anantha, his lifelong servant, couldn’t possibly have dreamt the same things as him, and yet the zamindar fancied that there was no greater envy than his Jalsaghar, his music room. 

THE MODERN MUSIC ROOM

With our modern music rooms fingertips away from us, we’re patrons of a new age. Most influences are created and attention spans depreciated. In an age where we’re bombarded with information and choices, it’s easy to get lost in rabbit holes. 

With apps and brands becoming a lifestyle rather than a utility; overstimulated senses and dopamine-addicted neurons make us the perfect residents of a consumerist society. And while the music room serves as a symbol of luxury, it also highlights how excess can cloud our perception of the world.

The zamindar tried to pull from resources that were finite without a care for the consequences just to sustain his enjoyment and vanity, and while those two words have come to mean different things over time–the situation is eerily similar to the collective problem of today.

While the story of the zamindar may serve as a cautionary tale against arrogance and getting lost in hedonism, it is at its heart a story of the human spirit. Brought low by a natural calamity rather than any monetary deprivation, the zamindar lost more than just his arrogance in an attempt to have his last hurrah. 

The modern user of the music room must not forget the adage, “Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it burned in one.” While the zamindar went out with a bang–atop Tufan, his prized mare, the path leading him to it was filled with its fair share of thunderous warnings.

Lightning’s hooves chase clouds—this time when they miss, the fall may be too steep.

This article is inspired by the movie Jalsaghar (1958)directed by Satyajit Ray.