A chance to spend two weeks in India, working with some of the country's finest musicians, recording and performing in five major cities, doesn't present itself every day. So with excitement and a little trepidation, bassist Ronan Guilfoyle, drummer Conor Guilfoyle, guitarist Tommy Halferty, piper Martin Nolan, Peter Browne on accordion and myself playing flute - collectively known as Khanda - assemble on a damp January day in Dublin, bound for Bangalore where this adventure will begin. Khanda draws on the varied musical backgrounds of its members, from jazz (Ronan, Conor and Tommy), to traditional (Martin and Peter) to classical (myself) and explores ways of blending these influences to try to create an original sound. We are accompanied on the trip by sound engineer Paul Ashe-Browne and film-maker Cormac Larkin, who will make a documentary of the trip.
The genesis of this project happened almost a year ago, with the Cultural Relations Committee in Ireland seeking an appropriate artistic accompaniment to an official trade visit. Having worked with Indian musicians before, and with some experience of Indian music, Khanda seemed, thankfully, an obvious choice. The plan is to hook up with T.A.S. Mani, a percussionist and founder of the renowned Karnataka College of Percussion, his wife, the extraordinary singer Ramamani, and Ramesh Shotam, the Cologne-based percussionist, and regular visitor to Ireland.
We hope to find common musical ground, exchange ideas, and premier a large-scale work specially composed for the occasion by Ronan Guilfoyle.
Our first three days in Bangalore are spent rehearsing, and adapting to the Indian pace of life. The dominant topic of conversation is the traffic in all its chaotic frenzy. And it's a brave traveller who chances their arm in an auto-rickshaw, basically a scooter with a lid on. Inspired by their trajectory through the crowded streets, Tommy rechristens them auto-ricochets.
The rehearsals are a delight. The music is challenging and Ramesh and Mr and Mrs Mani (dubbed the O'Mahonys) are as charming, generous and skilled musicians as you could hope to work with. Much Indian music is built around "talas", rhythmic patterns, and "ragas", melodic patterns. Ronan's piece uses these, along with characteristic Irish elements, plus room for all of us to improvise. It's not long before we become familiar with the forms, and the sometimes very complex rhythms, and Mr Mani beams every time we get it right. We also work on some traditional Indian pieces, and some beautiful compositions by Ramamani. I return to the hotel the night before our first concert to find a wedding in full swing, the synth n' drums band playing Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree, and I think I'm in Crossmolina.
The first concert in Bangalore is a huge success, and bodes well for the rest of the tour. We move to Trivandrum, down south, where it's very hot and humid. This can cause problems with instruments and tuning, and we are extra vigilant. The venues in general are 1,000seater, 1960s concert halls, all vinyl and chrome seats, very retro, very Liberty Hall. Visually they are a treat, but acoustically tricky, especially with such an odd blend of instruments, not to mention ancient PA systems that have little eco-systems living happily in them since their last use 20 years ago.
Sund-Wallah extrordinaire, Paul, manages to coax fairy dust from these Heath Robinson systems, and Conor only half-bats an eye when the snare drum of his hired drum-kit performs a 360 degree spin each time it's hit.
On to Chennai, formerly Madras. This is to be the most successful of all the concerts. The music is happening, the vibe is right, simply that. At the performance is Ramesh's extended family, including his elderly aunt who had walked with Gandhi in 1945. She is very moved and grateful for our inclusion in our programme of Ramapakthi, a very well-known classical Indian piece. Her reactions speak so much about the bonds that exist between people whose common language is music, and her encouragement and gratitude is, for me, a most powerful benediction on this project.
Next, Hyderabad. I sign up for an Ayurvedic massage, deludedly thinking it would be a tranquil voyage to bliss. Instead I have the aches and pains frightened out of me by a tiny woman, who obviously loves her work. I stagger back to the hotel like a walking beanbag and fall asleep with the TV on broadcasting Teletubbies dubbed into Hindi.
Finally Delhi. After the heat and humidity of the southern cities, it's a pleasant change to have to wear jumpers and socks. It's cold and foggy here. On a trip into Old Delhi we find an amazing musical instrument shop, up a rickety stairs and into a dusty room stuffed with all kinds of tablas, sitars and other gorgeous looking intruments. I buy two wooden flutes, known as bansurai, for the princely sum of 150 rupees, about three quid. I have also been sari shopping with Mrs Mani, and decide that, since I'm hardly going to wear my Kanjiviram silk creation with gold thread embroidery on a night out in Leeson Street, it shall get an outing for our performance in the Irish Ambassador's residence. So that night, after some sad renditions of Who's Sari Now?, we play our final gig. The audience of diplomats, businessmen, artists and two Loreto nuns is ecstatic. One dilemma remains; if they ask for an encore what do we do? Easy, we give them the Londondelhi Air.
Khanda, T.A.S. and Ramamani Mani, and Ramesh Shotam are recording an album in Dublin and will perform at Vicar Street, Dublin on February 8th. "Khanda" is Sanscrit for "five" (although there are now six in the group).