At Saugal Tole near Patan Durbar Square, there are three such instrument makers who come from a single family lineage, but use different surnames – Kul, Kulu, and Nepali – but they have been contributing their parts to keep the family business alive, and along with it, the culture.[break]
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Hari Lal Kul, 47, runs the Nepalese Traditional Music Center, stocked with an impressive collection of some 70 types of traditional and modern musical instruments and gadgets. According to Kul, their family line came from a place called Kullu in India.
“It’s believed that Kullu was the place where drums originated and has a history dating back to pre-Mahabharat era,” says Kul. “We were brought to Kathmandu by the Malla kings to craft percussion instruments for royal ceremonies and religious hymns.”
Kul, who says he always loved to “create,” opened his store after he retired from the Nepal Army. However, for him, the store hasn’t only been a place where he manufactures, sells and repairs musical instruments but is also his musical workshop and studio.
Besides making the traditional madal, dhimeh and tabala, he has also worked to create some musical instruments from his own concept.
One of the instruments he conceptualized looks like a hollow shell made of polished bamboo or animal horn, beautifully painted with colorful patterns but in fact is made of gourd, a vegetable. With a metal spring hanging down from the outer shell, the instrument creates the sound of wind.
Another octagonal instrument he calls Chhaal looks like a daphali. This, too, is painted on the outside with patterns resembling the mandalas by Kul himself and produces the sound of ocean waves.
There are snake-shaped narsinghas, fusion of tungna and guitar, fusion of sitar and guitar, one-stringed bamboo instruments and much more. An entire day could be spent musing over these instruments, some of which Kul keeps for his exclusive collection.
His drum set, called Haami Ek Haun (We are One), sits like a centerpiece in his store. With 65 different traditional musical instruments played over the whole of Nepal – from madal to dhimeh to cymbals. Fitted on the three-walled stand, Kul plays this instrument on rare occasions.
“Sounds and music are fascinating. The more you learn, the more insatiable it is for you, and your entire life could pass by in pursuit of new sounds,” says Kul and adds “I’d actually be happy to do that.”
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A few houses down the main road is Lisor Kulu’s store – Badya Badan Kalina – which is estimated to be more than a century old.
“I know my father and my grandfather both ran the store on the ground floor of this house, but I think it goes back even before that,” he says. “Back then, this work used to be a seasonal job. They would make and repair instruments on barter for crops. Now, I continue it as a fulltime profession.”
Kulu says he got into the family business for two reasons – one, for his love of traditional music; and the other, for the love of the handicraft that preserved this music.
“I learnt this craft by watching my father. By the time when I was 15, I was making dhimehs myself,” he shares. “However, to learn to make a musical instrument, you need to know music first, and be able to distinguish the notes and melodies.”
Music was already inherent in him, he says, like it ran in their family blood. Kulu often played in bands and has developed a strong liking for fusion music.
He incorporates that into his store where he also displays a collection of modern instruments like guitars and trumpets. With an open space, the store often has neighborhood kids trying their hands at the percussions, some almost as big as them.
“It’s proving really hard to get young people interested in traditional music,” he says. “So I don’t rebuff these kids who come here and learn, unless they’re disturbing my work.”
According to Kulu, some guthis of different toles have been trying to teach the younger generation to play the instruments. But out of probably 50, only a handful of them learn to play.
“I understand that things have to move on with time but we also shouldn’t leave our tradition behind,” he says. “At least, I won’t.”
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Shyam Nepali, 65, is the oldest living member in the community of Kulus in Patan, continuing the handicraft, and his workplace strictly appears to be a workshop.
“I’ve been doing this work since my childhood but it was never a fulltime job.”
Nepali says as he coats the surface of a tabla with the black soot or khari. “I worked at the Home Ministry. Now, I’ve retired and I’m back to doing this.”
Unlike his younger counterparts, Nepali doesn’t play much music. “My knowledge of music is limited but enough to make a perfectly tuned instrument,” he says tapping the tabla to check the sound.
From the Malla times till date, Nepali shares that there’s been a lot of changes in the trend of making the instruments. Once locally available raw materials, like animal hides, bamboo, canes and seasoned woods, aren’t easily accessible nowadays. And now, Indian–manufactured instruments have replaced locally-made instruments.
Rubbing the soot on the tabla with a smooth stone, he continues, “Our community thrived here because there was a huge demand for the musical instruments, essential for every festival, ceremony and celebration.”
He believes that the craft will survive as long as there is demand. “Even if the Kulu people don’t continue it, there are people from other ethnic communities who have learnt to make these instruments over time; many have even set up their own stores,” he says.
“The important thing is to keep the culture alive,” he concludes, tapping the tabla again, as it resounds in the busy street of the modernizing Saugal Tole.
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If you’ve grown up in one of the interlocked Newar toles in Patan or lived here long enough, celebrating, enjoying or simply observing many of its festivities, you probably already know the importance of these cultural sounds and music. And you also know that without it, the festivities would lose its vitality.
Craftsmen like Kul, Kulu and Nepali have been doing their part; and luckily, our generation has had the chance to savor the cultural tunes.
The hope is that the encroaching modernization doesn’t muffle these sounds to the extent that future generation can hear them no more.
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