Dr. T.S. Satyavathi – utter this name in the music and literary circles of Karnataka, and the response is more or less homogenous. “What a scholar, what oratory, and such an immaculate sense of music”. There’s more to add: Satyavathi is a warm host and modest in her demeanor. A Carnatic musician trained by the veteran R.K. Srikantan and her sister Vasanta Madhavi, a Sanskrit scholar, trained in musicology by the revered BVK Shastry, and a mridangam student under Bangalore Venkataram -- Satyavathi is all this and more. With all these multiple areas of specialisation, Satyavathi’s musical aspiration however, moves in a single direction -- which is aesthetic perfection.
In her long career of innumerable concerts, lectures, demonstrations, workshops etc. Satyavathi has earned an army of admirers. She is looked upon as a serious and committed scholar and has earned prestigious accolades across the country and globally as well. If Music Academy has conferred the Musicologist award for the year 2017-18 on Satyavathi, it is no surprise.
Excerpts from an interview with her:
You are a family of musicians. Your two sisters, your brother and you are musicians. Your mother seems to be the central figure in your lives.
Music came to us by birth. People would say even doors and windows of our house sang. So, it was like we almost had no choice but to learn music. My sisters were much older to me, and they had been receiving good training from the veteran, D. Subbaramaiah. My mother herself was trained in the Tyagaraja tradition. She was a hard taskmaster. As a child, I was listening to my sisters all the time, as a result of which I picked up music rather early.
Both me and my brother would be woken up by 5 a.m. and had to practice as long as my mother wanted us to. A practice list for each day would be ready. If we were obedient we even got incentives. Eight annas for an atta tala varna, four for vilambakala kriti , so on and so forth. We easily made ten to 12 rupees a month! But if we didn’t practice, we would get it from her. Her passion for music is extraordinary. Even at 90, she remembers every kriti and prompts us if we forget.
She took us to Ramanavami concerts in Fort High school premises: tickets were too expensive, so we sat outside. With groudnuts and raw mangoes in our hands, we sat close to the speakers and listened. From our childhood experience, I believe that casual listening is of immense value. If you force the child to recognize raga, identify the composer...etc. they may develop revulsion. Instead, if you get them to listen without any of these pressures, I am certain it is more beneficial. You listen and it automatically creates a samskara .
My mother studied only up to high school, but was a voracious reader. Triveni, Aryambha Pattambhi, all the Bengali translations… she is immensely well read. At five, I knew all the stories from Ramayana and Mahabharatha. I have gained much from this great combination of literature and music -- one illuminates the other, and the meanings that emerge are endless. Even when I taught Sanskrit later in my life, I used to feel that music and literature have an inseparable relationship.
Once I did my vidwat exams and was awarded the national scholarship, I decided to learn under the veteran R.K. Srikantan. I was so fascinated by his music that I listened to everything he composed and sang. With the scholarship I could afford to pay his fees. That is how it was possible to learn from him.
My older sister Vasanta Madhavi was very strong in theory. She was our guide and had answers to all our questions. Music was a huge part of our lives and my mother undoubtedly has a big role to play. However, I feel, we too on our part did everything she asked us to, without asking her too many questions.
Where did your father figure in all this?
My father was not much of a samsari . He had given all the responsibilities of the family to my mother. He was a Gandhian: very mild, benign, unambitious, unassuming, and a simple person. I don’t even have memories of him paying attention to our music until much later in life. It was only after I started performing he came to my concerts.
He used to walk a lot, nearly five kms a day. He washed his own clothes, and led a highly disciplined life. He never desired for anything. Neither did he question my mother’s decisions about us. So my mother chose our school, college, the subjects we should study… everything. We faithfully took her advice.
I did get a feeling that my father was not very much for educating girls. But he never interfered in my mother’s decisions; he was very liberal in his attitude. My parents were remarkable – they never tread each other’s toes, and had deep respect for each other’s personality.
My mother is very intelligent -- she was far ahead of her times. To marry off her daughters was never her priority. She had great awe for knowledge, and groomed her daughters as women of substance.
What kind of musical relationship did your siblings share?
Till a point, my sisters were my teachers. My second sister Vasundhara was a wonderful teacher. But surprisingly, she had no ambition. She wanted to quietly settle down as a house wife.
My older sister Vasanta Madhavi’s circumstances were different, though she was the first graduate from both sides of the family. She had to face many restrictions as she was the oldest among us. Of course, she did eventually take to teaching and performing. It was she who meticulously nurtured and honed my talent. None of us had ever imagined music as a profession.
Do you share common views with Vasanta Madhavi on music?
We both used to discuss a lot on music. Each time we returned from a concert, we spent hours discussing and dissecting all its aspects.
I think we do have minor differences, but these are things that I have gathered, and not something that has emerged from a discussion with her. For instance, I, like my guru Srikantan, believe that the composition is sacrosanct. I don’t accept any changes in the way it is rendered. But my sister, I think, feels that there should be a creative element in it. It need not be sung in the same way each time it is rendered.
You studied percussion under Bangalore K. Venkataram. How did you get there?
When I was 16, I sang Pallavi at Ganakala Parishath competition and won the first prize. Venkataram sir felt my sense of laya was good and asked me to be his student. I was excited because I was very interested in the intricacies of laya. He wanted me to become a mridangist since there was no other woman who had taken up this instrument. But my goal was set. I was interested in the study of laya, and not in the business of rhythm. I wanted to embed my musical practice into the philosophy of laya, so that it would enrich the experience of music. Also, I wanted to study Sanskrit. When he learnt this, he was indeed disappointed.
He was a gentleman, when women musicians were being fixed into their gender, he was modern in his thinking. He gave me an important role in Ganakala Parishat because of which I could interact with so many musicians. But the one thing he could not tolerate was indiscipline. He would leave for work by the 7.10 a.m. bus and expected me to reach his house by 6 a.m. Even if I was late by five minutes he would shout at me. I am so grateful for meeting such wonderful people who cared so genuinely for music…
What sort of a teacher was R.K. Srikantan?
He was wonderful. Clear in his ideas, and chiselled in his approach. The frame of the raga was like a piece of sculpture – no flaws, no excesses. He was always studying the scripts of vaggeyakaras. That is how he grasped the nuances of the ragas. He would say, ‘If you call, a raga it should come. No other raga should come.’ He was so sure of his musical vision.
His training has taken me a long way. If I just see a script, and it says raga Surutti, I can sing. How Surutti should be interpreted was perfectly taught in his lessons. Even the way in which he fixed speed, it was neither slow nor fast. In his musical vision was a Madhya vilamba laya… he believed that it took you close to the vision of the composer.
Your connection with literature is very intense.
I had a huge exposure to literature from childhood. After my master’s in Sanskrit, and subsequently becoming a lecturer, I attended huge international seminars in college. There was an art appreciation club to which all the great literatteurs were invited. Putina, Masti, Gorur Ramaswamy Iyengar, Bhyrappa, G.S. Shivarudrappa, Ramachandra Sharma, DVG and more. Putina was our neighbour and I spent a lot of time in his house. He would make me sing his Shri Haricharite , indicating exactly how the notes had to flow with the rise and fall of his hands. What a great poet!
There would be a programme called Jignaasa Goshti at our college for which scholars like S.K. Ramachandra Rao used to come. I too have done several lectures on Kalidasa and other Sanskrit poets.
Tradition has become a difficult word today. It is associated with a political ideology, it is regarded as obsolete, whereas visible innovation and experimentation is considered modern and progressive. How do you react to this? Tradition is such a dynamic space, isn’t it?
Culture is so rich. The more you learn the more there is. It is unfathomable. But if you are not loud, and do not wear modernity on your sleeve, you are doomed to be seen as an obsolete traditionalist. Most people in a round about way tell me, “For you, old is gold after all.” Our musicians are so alienated from their roots. Sadly, they have audience endorsement…, people like me are almost unheard.
When you discuss all this in small groups, musicians agree with you. But the circumstances are such that if you need to survive you will have to follow the trend. Most musicians have to go with the trend to make a livelihood. They understand the value of good music, but are helpless. They make a choice against their beliefs.
Tradition is a continuous flow, who ever knows how it was to begin with? Even though it is a flow, only when some things remain unchanged it can be called tradition. If the change is too drastic sudden and radical, then it cannot be called tradition. I always say that with respect to tradition, you can widen the frame but cannot change the frame. The changes are like the body, but what remains unchanged is the soul.
There must be a harmonious relationship between music and literature. You cannot bring all your musical ideas into sahitya. A sense of propriety and balance is very important. I cannot bear when people break down Tyagaraja and interpret him. That’s too much. Lyrics, emotion and music – they must never be severed from each other.
As someone who has studied musicology too, do you like the current trends in music?
For me, music is not an intellectual exercise, it is emotional. Music should not incite, but should be replete with insights. Now music is about technique, intellect, volume and loudness. It is display of voice. Why should you sing raga Athana for 20 minutes, if its inherent nature demands only a compact presentation?
Shastra should be implicit, emotion should be explicit. Your shastra should never be visible in your singing. This is something my guru R.K. Srikantan stood by all his life. You must absorb technique, craftsmanship and allow it to be processed through your bhaava …it will blossom into something beautiful.
Today, connoisseurship has acquired a new meaning. It is all about brain now. They love loudness and display. Such music doesn’t interest or inspire me.
Whether we like it or not, gender is a huge issue in music. Do you feel you would have done better if you belonged to the other gender?
I feel good in my own place. Not just that, I feel sorry for men who treat us as inferior only because of our gender. I laugh at them.
There is this violinist who I honed and encouraged. The last few times I invited him to accompany me, he always came up with excuses. One day, I asked him straight. “Yes, it is true I do not like to play for women,” he said, “but it is not true in the case of Sheela madam and you.” Wasting no time I told him: “But we are also women. Please do not sacrifice your principles for us. I will not trouble you anymore.”
Music will get better only when all kinds of egos are shattered. The good thing to do is draw a bigger circle next to you, you will realise how small you are.
What is your personal vision of music?
My vision of true good music constitutes an aesthetic approach, double underlined. Be good to others, and see the other person as your own self… this is what music has taught me.
When I go to a concert, I always praise their positives first, and then speak of the loopholes. If you cannot appreciate, be good, generous, your music will be a sad reflection of your miserliness.
T.S. Satyavathi gets the Musicologist award from Music Academy for the year 2017-18. She delivers a lecture at the Music Academy, Chennai, on December 26, “Play of time in Anibaddha Saṅgīta”, 8.05 a.m.
