The bhopa and the microphone

The Pabuji ki phad is sung before a painted scroll seven metres long. The bhopa lights a lamp, points to a frame, and the verse begins.

In the courtyards of Shekhawati this winter, we will sing with microphones. I am told this is a compromise. I would say it is a translation.

What is lost is the cold air on the unamplified note. What is gained is a child in the last row, hearing the verse clearly for the first time.