ABSTRACT
Many tourists traveling to West Bengal take the opportunity to visit Jay Deb, a festival unfolding every year in Kenduli during the winter season. I was no exception. But my trajectory was perhaps unusual, for the very first time I heard Bauls sing was at a festival of poetry in Oslo. One performing Baul, who made his living as a tea merchant, invited me to visit him in Burdwan town to stay with his extended family. A lover of Baul songs, the patriarch (my friend’s father) would bring his family to the mela every year. Come mid-January, the old man closed his two adjacent shops of kitchenware and tea. His son, the singer I met in Oslo, would put on ochre clothes and wrap a turban round his head before he sang, while his friend (another tea merchant) accompanied him on the tabla. Then, when he was through, his father sent a grandchild up on to the stage to pin a rupee note upon his son’s chest to honor his performance. Only later did I learn that other singers called my friend a “business Baul.” A shopkeeper and part-time Baul, he did not sing for alms. He only sang at festivals and functions.
