I went last week to watch Bal Gandharva, the film, with my daughter. As we waited for the theatre doors to open, there was a swarm of people waiting as well. Surely for some Bollywood hit, we thought. To our utmost surprise, the crowd walked right in with us to watch the same film!

I was truly surprised that the many different movies running in the multiplex took a beating that evening and that a film on a singer, a theatre artiste should draw such an audience. Although monotonous in parts and lacking, at times, the sensitivity that the treatment of such a subject demanded, the Marathi film took us through the life of this prodigious artiste. Bal Gandharva, rechristened thus by Lokmanya Tilak for his immense virtuosity even as a child, shone in his musicals. He impersonated feminine roles impeccably in nineteenth and early twentieth century India, when women did not yet have the freedom to work in theatre. He embodied his female roles in a fascinating way, blending himself in perfect oneness with the character portrayed. He put cause before self and simultaneously constructed his performing glory and his personal ruin. There were many old-timers who had come to watch the film, amongst them sat many youngsters as well. One mother confided in me that for her teenage daughters who had never heard of Bal Gandharva, this was a wonderful window. The delightful tradition of sangeet natya or musicals came to life. There was drama, showmanship, visual effect and music in one cohesive structure that combined to take classical- based music to the masses, endearing them to this genre.
I have been listening to nostalgic memories of old-timers and reading about Tamil musical plays, especially of Nawab Rajamanickam Pillai. Comprising a huge troupe, often more than 60 members, the mythological plays in Tamil would hold audiences riveted with their exotic stage settings, dialogues and songs based on Carnatic music, taking it closer to the common listener and, more importantly, keeping classical music in contact with the common man. In the pre-cinema days, the actor-singer couple S.G. Kittappa and K.B. Sundarambal mesmerised audiences with their musical acumen. Their music lives on, thanks to old gramophone recordings and newer digitised versions. Their songs are still a listener’s delight for their rich classical flavour. The advent of cinema slowly marginalised musical theatre. But even then, classical music enjoyed a firm place for many years in cinema before becoming apologetic and near defunct. Currently, Harikatha keeps the theatrical music tradition going in a modest way. Such professions are not easy, demanding multidimensional skills from the performer. Those were times of sheer talent, neither masked nor reworked by technology. They impacted a people’s collective imagination, their cultural identity and played on the euphoria that comes from treading the thin line between the divine and the human.
I came away from Bal Gandharva with mixed feelings. My artistic sensibilities made me think at different levels — about the technical handling of the film’s content, the grandeur and fall of a thespian, and also about all the young people in the audience for whom it was an introduction of sorts to musicals and a music legend. We can constantly bemoan the loss of tradition, the infringement on heritage that endangers our cultural framework. We need to seek alternative means of taking tradition to the palates of the young. The big screen is just such a powerful medium whether you like it or not. After Bal Gandharva, I saw satisfaction on the faces of many parents. Whether the film was a masterpiece or not, was the least of their concerns. It had, above all, served as a bridge between today and yesterday in a way that was easily acceptable to today’s youth. Many met their friends and felt as happy as they would be seeing each other at a cricket match. Importantly, it relieved them of the peer pressure syndrome.
Perhaps natya sangeet would be a topic of discussion in their next round of debates on reviving art forms? Watching Bal Gandharva could even become fashionable! I remember Satyajit Ray’s work Bala on the legendary Balasaraswati immortalising her Krishna Nee Begane standing amidst the waves. Such works are not easy to come by. I have seen some academic and often boring documentaries of musicians, often with poor quality sound and image. One simple thought keeps whirring in my mind. Why are we not seeing more films on performing artistes in theatres? Haven’t filmmakers been captivated enough or do the wicked ways of the money market unfortunately work their tentacles in?

Dr Vasumathi Badrinathan is an eminent Carnatic vocalist based in Mumbai. She can be contacted on vasu@vasumathi.net