O

N A COLD DECEMBER afternoon, my friend Lal and I walked through Laitumkhrah, a busy locality of Shillong, the hill-station capital of Meghalaya in Northeast India. In less than an hour, darkness would fall. In about two, the streets would be empty. I was back in my hometown (if that's what they're still called in these rootless times) after many years

in Delhi and elsewhere. A variety of things intrigued me-the number of mobile phone shops that lined the street, the loss of dusty old establishments to brand stores, the striking trendiness of local fashion. I noticed posters on the wall. Some faded and torn, others hidden under newer ones. They announced, in bold letters, the arrival of many international musicians. The lead singer of Mr Big had been in town again in October 2008. White Lion was here in December of the same year, and so was Firehouse (also on their second trip), The Scorpions were here in December 2007.

"Rock Capital," Lal said, with sarcasm. On a much smaller, less flamboyant poster, hidden between 'Rock 4 Life' and 'The Beatles & Elvis Show,' was an announcement for a traditional Khasi music concert organised by the Hynniew Trep Cultural and Welfare Organisation. We concluded our stroll at a small roadside teashop crammed with afterwork visitors. I introspected over my tea, wrapping my fingers around the cup for warmth. Having grown up in a household of George Harrison LPs and David Bowie tapes, and listening to everything from The Who to Led Zeppelin through college and beyond, I suddenly felt a yawning absence I'd never been aware of before. I must guiltily admit I had never really been interested in anything other than rock music. "What exactly," I asked Lal hesitantly, "is traditional Khasi music?" He told me to finish my tea. "I know someone you should speak to."

"Who?" I joked, as we headed out into a bitterly cold evening, "the Oracle?" "Something like that," he said.

The cab we took from Fire Brigade dropped us at Nongrim Hills. We walked down a narrow, sloping, non-motorable road to an old but freshly painted house with a wroughtiron gate. "Is Mup home?" Lal asked the woman who opened the door. I stood aside, admiring the rows of lady slipper orchids blossoming on the veranda. 'Mup' turned out to be Sanjarawaiñ Risaw, a thirty-seven-year-old man in a heavy jacket with a pleasant smile. He is the son of the late Bah Brek Wanswett, Lal told me as we walked indoors, a noted composer and musician who wrote the lyrics for Khynriam u Pnar, U Bhoi, U War, something of an anthem for the Khasis.

"The origins of traditional Khasi music is in storytelling," Mup began, offering me a shang kwai (a basket of betel leaves and betel-nut). "I remember, as a child, when we'd go to the village for winter holidays, my grandfather would sit us kids around the hearth in the evening and sing us stories as he played a duitara (a two-string instrument)." The stories were mainly retellings of Khasi folktales mixed with fables from the village and the surrounding area. "The words were all impromptu," he continued, "and one story would flow seamlessly into another."

The idea behind setting up Snap Paka in 2006 was to preserve Khasi music. The school now has 30 students. The girls want to start a band, while boys already compose their own music.

I remembered these words as we drove to Mawngap a few days later in search of Bah H Kerious Wahlang, probably the most well known folk singer in the Khasi Hills (although repeated Google searches didn't bring up a single result). He has performed in Shillong and across the country at various folk and tribal festivals and done recordings at All India Radio and Doordarshan. Looking at each passing roadside village, I wondered how many of these 'storytellers' still lived in them, if at all. Before long, we drove into Mawngap, a bustling little town with a gigantic market complex. A local guide helped us find Bah H Kerious' house, a traditional two-storied building with cheerful green walls and a white staircase. He was sitting outside, wrapped in a tapmohkhlieh (thick woollen shawl), basking in the brief winter sunshine. H Kerious was a small man, diminished by age, with peppergrey hair and a wrinkle-lined face. We were ushered into the sitting room with photographs of him on the walls. The most striking one had him performing on an ancient maw kynthei or table-stone-a monolithic slab erected by Khasis in commemoration of people and events.