At the Rang Bhavan on Thursday I heard something I've never heard before - Pandimelam. This was the second performance in Keli's Classical Rhythm Festival 99. It began with half a dozen or so musicians playing kombus, elegant pipes that curve up from the mouth all the way over the head. Then a single shehnai-type instrument (Kuzhal) was played to the accompaniment of a single chenda, a huge upturned drum that's struck with sticks. As this jugalbandi ended, dozens of chenda players were suddenly walking on to the stage, along with more kuzhal and kombu players and a host of elathlam (cymbal) players. Soon there were something like 60 or more of them deployed in a deep semi-circle, the melody instruments on one side, the percussionists on the other. What followed was a spectacular display or percussive skills and clockwork coordination. Over five dozen players played as one, creating constantly changing sound patterns that rose up to greet the gods themselves. For me, the performance was like a rolling ocean of rhythmic sound, but for many it was clearly a reverberating call from home. As the two-hour recital drew to its end, heads were nodding and swaying in time, hands were dancing frenziedly on knees and fingers were jabbing the air excitedly to punctuate every change in rhythmic pattern.

Up on the stage, the cymbals clashed, the pipes added tonal colour and the chenda players, their heavy instruments slung from their shoulders, looked as calm and fresh as when they had begun two hours before. How?