In the wake of the recent disturbing incidents in Mumbai, the media has been relentlessly analysing the city. One reputed journalist spoke about two cities co-existing in one — the brighter and the darker, the transparent and the feared.
From the perspective of music too, I have been increasingly noticing two cities — one that understands music and one that doesn’t. I am not talking particularly about classical forms. Though undoubtedly, as a musician, my predilections certainly go in that direction. So when I casually mention carnatic or Dhrupad or M.S. Subbulakshmi, questioning glances and a blank look take me by surprise. I have met classical music haters and it took me time to come to terms with the existence of this tribe. To each his own. However, the lack of common knowledge does honestly baffle me. You don’t need to know music to know your heritage. When you talk to a European about Beethoven or Mozart, no one blinks, but Indians take pride in professing ignorance about classical art forms. My latest experience, while referring to a Tyagaraja composition left me speechless when I heard “Where does he live?” I am convinced my interlocutor momentarily thought that Tyagaraja was Ilayaraja’s brother.
For a giant saint-composer whose memory and genius is celebrated for over more than a century in international proportions, to be treated thus amounts to pitiful mindlessness. Tyagaraja is not just the sole property of Tamil Nadu and the carnatic music clan. Can this be corrected at some point? Can our educationists and syllabus makers think of introducing culture meaningfully in formal learning? Despite my inherent optimism, I sometimes feel that I am screaming against a wall. Till the day our official machinery employs people on merit and decision-making is given to those with foresight and vision, we can only bemoan our condition.
The singing nun from Nepal has set new standards for religion, spirituality and music. In a contemporary world more divisive than ever before, Ani Choying Drolma’s bold inroads into music make her an iconoclast amongst Buddhist nuns but also a peaceful change maker. If music can be linked to chants, to the inner soul, how does it matter whether man sings, or woman, whether a nun or an atheist? It will take time to find answers and we probably never will, but Ani Choying continues on her tranquil musical march.
While Mumbai is under the scanner now, I wish to add to the opinion bank. I would vote it as being noisiest city in the world. We are great festival enthusiasts. We need to show our religious vehemence in the most non-religious ways —deafening loudspeakers being topmost. Hence, Krishna’s birth and Ganpati’s arrival are feted with raunchy Bollywood numbers that thunder through my closed windowpanes. The metaphoric human pyramid of the child Krishna to procure some butter and curd has assumed larger-than-life proportions in this city of revelry and often comes crashing down after the painful understanding that pots no more carry either curd or butter.
On a serene note, Krishna songs never go out of favour nor do classical dance numbers based on the Blue God. To me, it is the multidimensional perspective that Krishna offers which other gods do not that make him evergreen and an eternal inspiration for musicians and dancers. One of my personal favourite Krishna songs is the Marathi song Ghanashyama Sundara. I grew up listening to its enchanting poetic imagery of the sunrays beckoning baby Krishna to awaken, while his mother waits for him with curd rice. At another level, Krishna is the wayward one, who is shunned at the doorstep by his beloved who is both indignant and sad at his behaviour. This is the ever-beautiful Telugu love song, Intendu Vachitivira. And finally, Dikshitar’s Balagopalam. The moving Sanskrit lyrics, the majestic metre and the enchanting tune are all immortalised in my mind, in my mother’s undying voice that resonates in my ears even thirty years later.

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