A Rajasthani folk song turns into Nimbooda, Nimbooda. Sufi music finds its way into Ishq Bina Kya Jina. Alaaps are fused with Deep Purple's Child In Time. Sanskrit shlokas merge with a techno beat. Everyone, it seems, is doing it with a feeling of gay abandon. From Sanjay Leela Bhansali and his music director Ismail Darbar who, together, toured the whole of Rajasthan before choosing the songs of the Langas and the Manganiyars for the Nimbooda number to Shubha Mudgal with her Ab Ke Sawan tribute to rain.

What's the chant? Have we tired of percussion and the American influence? Has the synthesizer stopped making sense? Are we going back to our truly Indian roots to search among the vaults of classical and folk music in the hope of discovering pure music? If we are, how is it that the results show a lot of financial hieroglyphics but no new musical notations? It is a phase. And like any other, it will pass. But not without diluting the hitherto strong base of our folk and classical music.

Adaptations are fine. But not gimmicks. Earlier too, improvisations on folk strains have been carried out by the likes of Salil Chowdhury, Naushad and S D Burman, producing soul-stirring songs in films like Mughal-E-Azam, Mere Mehboob, Baiju Bawra, Mili, Aradhana and Guide among others. Comparatively, Nimbooda at least remains close to the original sound even if Bhansali uses this folk song (sung in Thakur havelis on the occasions of weddings and births) to linger a bit too long on Aishwarya Rai's belly button. But how can one pardon Subhash Ghai who shot the highly suggestive Choli Ke Peechey Kya Hai using Ila Arun's adaptation of a Rajasthani folk song?

The point is, why mess around with an original track unless there is a guarantee of improving upon it? What is the Delhi-based band Parikrama trying to prove by re-setting numbers of such rock and heavy metal groups as Rolling Stone, Led Zeppelin or Guns & Roses with snatches of Carnatic violin, tabla, sitar and the bamboo flute? Fusion cannot just be about mixing two genres of music to produce a third one. Music is about emotions. A Bhojpuri folk song has a story behind it. A Marathi tamasha is a form of social commentary. Adaptations can only give way to a song like Khaike Paan Banaraswala (from Don) or a supposed-to-be tamasha rendition as in Tezaab. When a form like khayal bandesh or sufiyana is by itself so very beautiful, where lies the sense in corrupting it under the guise of taking our country's rich resource of music to the common masses, which is what most of the singers and music directors claim to be doing?

Basically, the exercise is nothing more than using it as an excuse for self-promotion in this day and age of one-night celebrities. No wonder then that Shubha Mudgal, despite the popularity of her Ab Ke Sawan album, has found new enemies among the classicists and purists. If done well, fusion can definitely help create a new sound. As was done by ShivHari for the Rang Barse number in the film Silsila, derived from the Purabiya tradition. The attempt has to be sincere. And the sound pure. Which is what the band Indian Ocean has been trying to produce, using an entire shloka from the Upanishads for their number Ruins, which speaks about our cultural ruin, or producing sarod-like songs from guitar. The different elements have to so blend that there springs up a new emotion, not just a new style. Or else, we'll end up losing what we have left of our musical heritage.

(First published on Sulekha.com, the leading online Indian community showcasing articles, stories, opinion, poetry, humour and more from thousands of Indians from over 50 countries. Sulekha welcomes your contributions at editor@sulekha.com)