The girl from Madurai - March 1, 1998
Number 11, Kotturpuram, is like any other middle class home in Chennai. But if someone had told you that the old lady relaxing in one of those cane chairs — her bare feet on a footstool — had just been awarded the country’s highest honour, you would have laughed. With her homespun cotton sari and turmeric scrubbed face, she could have easily passed off as the woman next door. A pair of old spectacles lay on a table beside her. Ramaswamy, seated next to her, picked them up and examined them. The rims were stained yellow. When he questioned her about this, Kunjamma laughed and explained, “I smear turmeric paste on my face every day, you see. Some of it rubs off on my spectacles as well.” This is what makes M. S. Subbulakshmi unique.
Sangeetha Kalanidhi, Padma Vibhushan, Ramon Magsaysay — they never seemed to excite her as much as they did those around her. And now, the Bharat Ratna. That morning, the newspapers sung her praises and splashed her pictures on their front pages. Congratulatory messages were pouring in. The world of Carnatic music was jubilant. Anybody else would have exulted at this crowning reward for a lifetime achievement. But not this artist. She merely shrugged off the tributes with a characteristic, “Why all this for me?” This sentence holds the key to the charisma of M.S. She never realised the spell she cast on her audiences. On the other hand, she was full of apprehension before every performance. “I lack confidence in myself,” she once stated in an interview to a newspaper.
As a musician, she can move her audiences to tears. As a human being, she can touch a deep chord. No wonder, the crowds swell when she appears in public. Her fans wait outside her concert venue just to catch a glimpse of her. M.S. is an icon who cannot be easily replaced. But, what does Bharat Ratna actually mean to someone who never bothered about titles or other worldly possessions? Who has donated a lifetime’s earnings to charities while retaining the barest material comforts for herself? An artist who does not demand five-star luxuries. Nor expect VIP preferences.
When M.S. attended the Rajaji Commemoration Lecture at the Gokhale Institute of Public Affairs in Bangalore, I remember how she took her place on a steel chair in the packed auditorium . And, when someone asked her for an invocatory piece, she rose unhesitatingly and sang two numbers with no fuss or accompaniment. Her son’s friend and classmate, Acharya, once narrated a similar story to me. When he got married, the young man decided to send an invitation to M.S. Of course, he never thought she would acknowledge it. Imagine his delight when she landed at the wedding venue in Bangalore. She even sang ‘Sita Kalyaana Vaibhogame’. Acharya recalled how the nagaswaram players, suddenly realising what was happening, stopped playing. And there was total silence in the wedding hall until she finished singing. These and more such instances reveal the real M.S. The woman behind the celebrity. A woman who can carry herself with élan in palaces and viceregal homes and, with the same ease, offer you a tumbler of chukku kaapi while teaching you how to brew it. So much has been written about her high connections, her meeting with heads of State, her dazzling appearances at the UN Assembly and other prestigious venues. We talk about her honorary degrees, her titles and her awards. But, how many of us recall the arduous journey made by a girl called Kunjamma, from her hapless childhood in Madurai to her present state of eminence? When social prejudices and gender discrimination were insurmountable obstacles, a 16-year-old exploded on the music circuit in Madras with her incredible voice. - VATSALA VEDANTAM
That gentle smile - December 17, 2004
There are some events that etch themselves in one’s memory and are perennial source of joy and fulfilment. The morning of February 20, 2002, is one such for me. On this day, I met M.S. Subbulakshmi at her residence in Kotturpuram, Chennai. The 45 minutes spent with her were precious.
My first initiation into Carnatic music was through an audio-cassette of ‘Silapadikaram’ of M.S. in 1971 when I was posted as Assistant Collector of Customs at Nagapattinam. The cassette was lying with me for some time, and I played it casually one evening after I had returned from a strenuous coastal patrolling. The piece cast a spell on me. This was later followed by her Meera bhajans, Vishnu Sahasranamam and so on. They opened up a whole new world of music for me, exposed as I was till then, only to Hindustani music. Since then I have listened to some of her pieces hundreds of times and desired to meet her in person.
I had some official work in Chennai, in February 2002. I reached the city on February 19. A couple of days earlier, I had asked a colleague in Chennai to request M.S. for a brief meeting. I was somewhat sceptical about her response, as I was told that since the demise of her husband, Sri Sadasivam, she had become more or less a recluse and made very few public appearances.
On landing in Chennai, to my delight and surprise, I was informed that she had consented to meet me at 10.30 a.m. the next day at her residence. This was despite the fact that she had been indisposed for the past three days.
My colleague, J. Sridharan, and I reached the house at 10.30 a.m. sharp. Atmanathan, her secretary, was waiting to receive us at the gate. Her house was a simple structure of modest size. The gate had two pillars, with two doors of iron grills. On top of the pillar on the left, the word ‘Sivam’ was engraved on a marble plaque, and on the right pillar, ‘Subham’, the abbreviated first names of Subbulakshmi and her husband. While walking in, I noticed the still undisturbed kolam near the gate. The house was spotlessly clean. The drawing room had a three-piece cane sofa set with a middle table.
In the rack were images of Ganesha and a couple of other gods. On the walls were photographs of great people like Mahatma Gandhi, U. Thant, Chakravarti Rajagopalachary, T.T. Krishnamachari and many others, whom M.S. had met during her illustrious career. T.T. Vasu, a prominent figure in the cultural field of the city, and a close family friend was seated on the sofa. M.S., who was a picture of grace and simplicity, greeted me with a gentle smile. I kept on marvelling as to how a lilting voice, which had found its way into millions of hearts, falling softer than petals from blown roses on the grass, and then lingering on and echoing endlessly, emanates from the frail frame of hers. She mostly spoke in Tamil. She, however, followed everything that I said in English. While we were conversing, some hot South Indian snacks were served in stainless steel plates. This was followed by coffee. M.S. watched as my cup was filled and sugar added to it, which was then passed on to me without stirring. She pointed out this lapse to the person, who was serving the coffee.
During the conversation I mentioned to her how I began listening to her songs. I also told her I liked ‘Hari Tum Haro Jana Ki Peer’ the most. Her face lit up at the mention of this bhajan. And then she narrated, what turned out to be a gem of an anecdote from her life. In the 1940s, she had been invited to a function which the Mahatma was to attend, and his favourite bhajan, ‘Hari Tum Haro Janan Ki Peer’ was to be sung there. She was asked to sing it. However, she was diffident as she had not sung in Hindi till then, and thought that someone else could do it better. Gandhiji, however, insisted, saying that even if she read it out, it would be better than anyone else’s singing. She was overwhelmed by the words of the great man and sang the bhajan. The rest is history.
M.S. had been endowed with one of the greatest gifts from God. She nurtured it with care and used it not as something which was hers but His. And whatever she achieved through it, she placed it back at His feet. - ANUP KUMARPANDE
A true bhaktha - September 10, 2004
On September16, 1916, a star was born in the temple town of Madurai, a star that enveloped the spectrum of Carnatic music with a dazzling incandescence, a star that touched the lives of so many, and one that brought joy, tranquillity, and an all-pervading sense of well-being to all those who were privileged to experience the sublime, serene quality of its song.
The life and achievements of the singer have been well-documented and spoken of in innumerable fora. Yet, the compelling, spontaneous urge to express one’s gratitude and wish a doyenne on her 89th birthday is too strong to set aside.
The very core of Carnatic music is devotion, which is the easiest path to lead a life of ‘Sreyas’ — without becoming servile to material needs. M.S. has indeed led a life of Sreyas. Her motto was to earn, only to give. She is a true bhakta in every sense of the term. She enjoys a state of fulfilment that very few do. - SULOCHANA PATTABHIRAMAN
Spiritual quest - December 17, 2004
The beauty of music is beyond logical comprehension. So was the charm of her sangita. To her, expression was the periphery, contemplative experience the core of Carnatic music. It echoed the spirituality that vaggeyakaras implanted in their songs. She was one who realised that music was much more than an intellectual exercise. This saranagati to sangita’s spirituality led M.S. to the summit of the meditative potential of Carnatic music. - SVK
