Ghungroo The Institute of Sur and Taal
SUPERTECH ECO VILLAGE-1, F5/104, Sector 1, Bisrakh Jalalpur, Greater Noida, Uttar Pradesh 201306, India
http://ghungroomusic.in/?utm_source=gmb&utm_medium=referral
Ghungroo – The Institute of Sur and Taal rises inconspicuously on the second and third floors of an old four-storey corner building on Thakur Das Road, opposite the lane of brassware shops that have made Moradabad famous. A sun-faded blue awning and a single brass ghungroo wind-chime hanging above the doorway are the only hints that the building houses anything musical. Inside, the lift creaks to the second floor and opens directly onto a small foyer whose walls are lined with sepia images of Patiala, Rampur, Jaipur and Lucknow gharanas: Abdul Karim Khan seated beside Alladiya Khan, Ravi Shankar coaching George Harrison, and Savita Devi in concert were all taken in this very hall over the last four decades. The air is faintly redolent of masala chai and rose agarbatti.
The main academy space is an L-shaped hall, 70 ft long and 22 ft wide, divided by thin oak-and-teak partitions into four sound-treated chambers. Each chamber – Anahat, Geetayan, Laya Griha and Raag Rasa – is insulated with cork underlay and double gypsum so that three tanpuras in D sharp do not spill into the next room’s morning riyaaz of teen taal at 180 bpm. A small mezzanine, reached by a wrought-iron spiral staircase, hosts the archive and listening library: 70 years of ¼-inch magnetic tapes of Ustad Nazeer Khan (sarod) and Vidushi Banerjee (vocal), rows of cassette recordings of dogri folk rescued from Kashmir after the early-’90s migrations, 2,427 vinyl LPs, and a cabinet of original shruti box reeds donated by Pt. Ravi Shankar himself.
Instruction at Ghungroo follows the guru-shishya spirit rather than a semester calendar. New entrants spend one month simply sitting next to the senior disciples, clapping laya cycles and tracing taanpura strings before they are allowed to produce a single note. Weekday evening classes run from 5:30 p.m. to 9:15 p.m.; Saturdays host the Baithaki, when the partitions are folded back, diwans are unrolled, and up to 120 invitees – mill workers’ children, city doctors, retired English teachers – listen to a jugalbandi or a thumri recital by faculty or visiting maestros such as Pt. Ulhas Bapat or Vidushi Arati Ankalikar. Betel-leaf tea is served in pre-Partition white china; no microphones ever disturb the 27-ft-tall cedar ceiling designed as an inverted tabla.
Fees operate on a sliding scale: zero for street children whom the institute buses in, ₹700 a month for city middle-class students, and voluntary contributions from NRIs who return every winter carrying rosewood sitar bridges and requests to record their parents’ ageing voices. A tree-lined, terrace balcony on the third floor provides open-air alaap sessions at dawn; pigeons often settle on the stone jalau khana, mesmerised by the brindabani sarang. At night, coloured glass lantern shades cast chequered shadows that look momentarily like dancing jhumkas.
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- Published: July 27, 2025
