For the longest time I have been waiting for someone to write a deeply researched history (or a good historical novel based ) on Wajid Ali Shah[1], the final Nawab of Oudh (or Awadh), and a degenerate[2] patron and practioner of the arts - this man did it all, singing, dancing, composing, and writing. Further, if there is a Hollywood-ish Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in Indian classical music, in my book, Wajid would be right up there with Tansen, just for writing and composing that exquisitely beautiful thumri Babul mora naihar.

I came back to this thumri after not having heard it in years this morning (in the voice of Bhimsen Joshi), and even though it is an intensely sad thumri, it has made my day. Here is my rough translation of the lyric that Wajid wrote when he was exiled from his beloved Lucknow to Calcutta:

Father! I depart, against my will, from your home. Four men have gathered to lift my palnquin away. Those who were mine will soon become strangers, And these courtyards of my life will become desolate, When I leave your house, father, for the husband's distant land.

[1] Should we page Willy D, now that his book on Zafar Shah is out, to get on this pronto?