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By:

Divyaa Advaani 

2 November 2024 at 3:28:38 am

When agreement kills growth

In the early stages of building a business, growth is often driven by clarity, speed, and conviction. Founders make decisions quickly, rely on their instincts, and push forward with a strong sense of belief in their methods. This decisiveness is not only necessary, it is often the very reason the business begins to grow. However, as businesses cross certain thresholds, particularly beyond the Rs 5 crore mark, the nature of growth begins to change. What once created momentum can quietly begin...

When agreement kills growth

In the early stages of building a business, growth is often driven by clarity, speed, and conviction. Founders make decisions quickly, rely on their instincts, and push forward with a strong sense of belief in their methods. This decisiveness is not only necessary, it is often the very reason the business begins to grow. However, as businesses cross certain thresholds, particularly beyond the Rs 5 crore mark, the nature of growth begins to change. What once created momentum can quietly begin to create limitations. In many professional environments, it is not uncommon to encounter business owners who are deeply convinced of their approach. Their methods have delivered results, their experience reinforces their judgment, and their confidence becomes a defining trait. Yet, in this very confidence lies a subtle risk that is often overlooked. When conviction turns into certainty without space for dialogue, conversations begin to narrow. Suggestions are heard, but not always considered. Perspectives are offered, but not always encouraged. Decisions are made, but not always explained. From the outside, this may still appear as strong leadership. Internally, however, a different dynamic begins to take shape. People start to agree more than they contribute. This is where many businesses unknowingly enter a critical phase. When teams, partners, or stakeholders begin to hold back their perspective, the quality of thinking around the business reduces. What appears as alignment is often silent disengagement. What looks like efficiency is sometimes the absence of challenge. Over time, this directly affects the decisions being made. At a Rs 5 crore level, this may not be immediately visible. Operations continue, revenue flows, and the business appears stable. But as the organisation attempts to grow further, this lack of diverse thinking begins to surface as a constraint. Growth slows, not because of lack of effort, but because of limited perspective. On the other side of this equation are individuals who consistently find themselves accommodating such dynamics. They recognise when their voice is not being fully heard, yet choose not to assert it. The intention is often to preserve relationships, avoid friction, or maintain a sense of professional ease. Initially, this approach appears collaborative. Over time, however, it begins to shape perception. When individuals do not express their perspective, they are gradually seen as agreeable rather than essential. Their presence is valued, but their input is not actively sought. In many cases, they become part of the process, but not part of the decision. This is where personal branding begins to influence business outcomes in ways that are not immediately obvious. A personal brand is not built only through visibility or achievement. It is built through how consistently one demonstrates clarity, confidence, and openness in moments that require it. It is shaped by whether people feel encouraged to think around you, or restricted in your presence. At higher levels of business, this distinction becomes critical. If people agree with you more than they challenge you, it may not be a sign of strong leadership. It may be an indication that your environment is no longer enabling better thinking. Similarly, if you find yourself constantly adjusting to others without expressing your own perspective, your contribution may be diminishing in ways that affect both your influence and your growth. Both situations carry a cost. They affect decision quality, limit innovation, and over time, restrict the scalability of the business itself. What makes this particularly challenging is that these patterns develop gradually, often going unnoticed until the impact becomes difficult to ignore. The most effective leaders recognise this early. They create space for dialogue without losing direction. They express conviction without dismissing perspective. They build environments where contribution is expected, not avoided. In doing so, they strengthen not only their business, but also their personal brand. For entrepreneurs operating at a stage where growth is no longer just about execution but about expanding thinking, this becomes an important point of reflection. If there is even a possibility that your current interactions are limiting the quality of thinking around you, it is worth addressing before it begins to affect outcomes. I work with a select group of founders and professionals to help them refine how they are perceived, communicate with greater impact, and build personal brands that support sustained growth. You may explore this further here: https://sprect.com/pro/divyaaadvaani In the long run, it is not only the decisions you make, but the thinking you allow around those decisions, that determines how far your business can truly grow. (The author is a personal branding expert. She has clients from 14+ countries. Views personal.)

Five Generations, One Sacred Text: Inside the Manuscript Birju Maharaj Guarded Like the Gītā

Some books arrive with the weight of history on their pages. ‘Saṅgīta-darpaṇaḥ’ is one such work; a 200-year-old manuscript that has travelled through five or six generations of the legendary Kalka–Bindādin Gharānā before finding its way to print. Published just weeks after Paṇḍit Birju Mahārāj's passing in January 2022, this book feels less like an academic exercise and more like a parting gift from a maestro to the world of classical arts.


The story behind this publication is as compelling as its contents. Carefully preserved by Pt. Birju Mahārāj's ancestors, the manuscript was written in a difficult-to-decipher calligraphic script, with verses running continuously without spaces, a common practice in pre-modern texts but a nightmare for modern readers. Previous attempts to decode it had failed. It took a dedicated team led by Arjun Bharadwaj, with support and a foreword from the renowned scholar Śatāvadhānī Dr. R. Ganesh, to finally bring this work to light.


What makes this edition special is not just the translation but the transparent scholarly apparatus. Bharadwaj doesn't hide the manuscript's imperfections, the scribal errors, the missing verses, the regional dialect influences. Instead, he documents them meticulously, allowing future researchers to revisit his interpretations. In his moving acknowledgment, he describes how Pt. Birju Mahārāj would tap his walking stick to the rhythm of the druta-vilambita meter in which many verses are composed, treating the manuscript with the reverence one reserves for the Bhagavad-gītā.


Saṅgīta-darpaṇaḥ is structured as a conversation between Lord Śiva (called Gaurīśvara here) and Tomara, a gandharva-rāja (celestial musician). The text opens with a beautiful creation myth: how Brahmā seeks to see his father Mahāviṣṇu, performs intense tapas, and in the form of Hayagrīva (the horse-headed incarnation), Viṣṇu appears. Nārada impresses everyone not just with his devotion but with his artistic skills, he performs sāmagāna and tāṇḍava-nṛtya with gati-bhedas. This establishes a fundamental principle of the text: artistic excellence can be as powerful as spiritual practice in reaching the divine.


Disappointed at receiving fewer divine blessings than Nārada, Tomara, another son of Brahmā, embarks on a cosmic quest to understand why art pleases the divine. His journey takes him through the abodes of various deities until Śiva reveals the answer through the Nāda-vidyā, the knowledge of sound itself. From Śiva's ḍamaru emerge the fourteen and thirteen nādas that birth both Sanskrit grammar and this very treatise. Pārvatī creates rāgas and rāgiṇīs in anthropomorphic form, Viṣṇu blesses the musical knowledge, and finally Gaṇeśa narrates while Śāradā transcribes the entire Saṅgīta-darpaṇa at the dawn of Satya-yuga, making divine knowledge accessible to mortals.


A note of personal preference: Chapter 5 holds a special place for this reviewer. There is something deeply satisfying about this particular chapter, and it rewards patient readers who have followed Tomara's journey from his initial disappointment through his cosmic wandering to his ultimate enlightenment.


The treatise then moves into technical territory, covering 13 chapters on: The birth and classification of rāgas and rāgiṇīs, svaras, śrutis, and their mystical associations, tālas (36 types are described), mārga-bheda and musical ensembles, gaṇas, prabandhas, and letter classifications, musical instruments including the making of kiṅkiṇī-vīṇā, the emotions of nāyikās and principles of abhinaya, various dance forms and movements.


The final section, nine verses on Pt. Durga Prasad’s family lineage connects the divine knowledge transmitted through Tomara to the Mahārāj family, creating a direct link between celestial gandharvas and the earthly practitioners of Kathak.


One of the book’s many strengths is how Bharadwaj balances academic precision with accessibility. The critically edited Sanskrit text appears alongside English and Hindi translations, with extensive footnotes explaining technical terms. But what sets this edition apart is the additional material: new compositions by Pt. Birju Mahārāj inspired by the treatise, previously unknown works from Pt. Lachchū Mahārāj's diaries, fresh paintings of rāga–rāgiṇīs, and photographs showing practical applications of dance elements described in the text.


The Introduction is itself a valuable contribution. Bharadwaj carefully dates the work to somewhere between 1600–1780 CE, distinguishes it from other similarly named treatises attributed to Catura-dāmodara and Harivallabha, and provides a detailed comparative analysis. He lists 18 specific ways in which Gaurīśvara's work differs from Catura-dāmodara's Saṅgīta-darpaṇa, from unique terms like dvirukta to the presence of Gaṇeśa-kautha (found nowhere else).


In his Foreword, Dr. R. Ganesh raises an important point about the mindset needed to approach such texts. He warns against two extremes: scholars who can edit texts but lack understanding of practical performance, and performers who lack philosophical grounding. He praises this edition for bridging that gap as it is the work of someone who understands both śāstra (theory) and prayoga (practice).


The book is not without limitations, though. As Bharadwaj frankly acknowledges, medieval treatises like this one provide inadequate information for reconstructing rāga–rāgiṇīs in practice today. The text mentions that all rāgas should have the same aṃśa (predominant note), graha (starting note), and nyāsa (ending note), which is hard to imagine in actual performance. The descriptions of tālas, while detailed, are often so complex and unintuitive that few would be practical for contemporary use.


There are also segments that remain difficult to interpret, concepts like āvarta and svalpa-bhedas in Chapter 11, and the entire section on Nāyikā-bhāva-prakaraṇa in Chapter 13, contain material not found elsewhere and require further research. The book is a beginning, not a conclusion.


What makes this publication deeply moving is how it demonstrates the continuity of knowledge transmission in Indian classical arts. The manuscript was not locked away in some dusty archive, it was actively consulted by generations of Kathak maestros. Pt. Birju Mahārāj and his students could see parallels between the treatise’s descriptions and their own practice. Some ancestral compositions whose meanings had been forgotten suddenly made sense when read against this text.


The book includes comprehensive appendices: a glossary, indices of rāgas, technical terms, poetic meters, geographical locations, and profiles of scholars. There is even a transliteration guide for those unfamiliar with Devanāgarī script.


Saṅgīta-darpaṇaḥ is more than an academic publication; it is nothing short of a cultural event. It makes available a text that has remained within one family for two centuries, offers insights into the medieval understanding of music and dance, and provides a foundation for future research into the Lucknow–Ayodhyā school of classical arts.


Is it essential reading for every classical arts enthusiast? Perhaps not, its technical nature and the gaps in reconstructing practical applications make it primarily valuable for serious students, performers, and researchers. But for those interested in how our classical traditions have been theorized, preserved, and transmitted across generations, this book is a treasure.


The real achievement here is not just bringing an old manuscript to print, but doing so with integrity, transparency, and a deep respect for both the tradition it represents and the questions it leaves unanswered. In an age where we often see either uncritical glorification or dismissive rejection of traditional knowledge, Saṅgīta-darpaṇaḥ offers a model of ‘critical conservatism,’ honouring the past while engaging with it rigorously.


As Pt. Birju Mahārāj had hoped in his preface, this work is now available to “the entire Kathak world” and beyond. It deserves a place on the shelves of anyone seriously interested in understanding the theoretical foundations of North Indian classical arts.


(The author is a Natyashastra scholar, theatre director and producer whose work bridges traditional Indian performance theory with contemporary theatre economics. Views personal.)

 


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