It’s only 5 a.m. and I can barely see the rays of the sun peeking through my bay window, yet the day has already begun. Not with a cup of coffee or the morning paper, but, as usual, with a Skype call. As the all-too-familiar ring tone blares through my headphones, my phone flashing furiously to tell me that someone is eagerly waiting to get started, I barely have time to grasp hold of my sruthi . What is it again?
Oh yes, G#, that happy medium for teachers in India who complain that I sing too high and my first guru in the U.S. who likes to push my voice to a squeaky yet joyous B, as if my voice could go that high even at its peak. Half asleep and with my voice cracking no matter how many cups of hot water I drink, I hit the green ‘accept’ button, knowing that for the next hour, I will be embroiled in a maze of gamakams and complex korvais in every possible talam combination, letting the lilting alapanas sung by my guru serve as my harmonious alarm clock for the day. This, ladies and gentleman, is the tale of a music student living abroad.
It seems rigorous and difficult as you lose out on sleep and, at times, your peace of mind as your guru complains that 8 p.m. is simply too late to have a class.
Yet, you know that this is your only link to something you have worked so hard at for such a long time. In a way, it’s your only way to progress, especially when sitting in a college hostel two hours away from your hometown, the closest you get to anything remotely Carnatic, let alone Indian, is the bank of songs you have saved to your iTunes. As much as M.S. Subbulakshmi’s ‘Kurai Onrum Illai’ and Lalgudi’s many thillanas can inspire you and guide you along the way, there is nothing like a guru’s watchful eye and exemplary voice, playing jugalbandi with you in the form of neraval . Though you can’t have a face-to-face interaction, this is something at least, a link to the art that makes your heart sing at even your lowest moments.
But is it really worth it? That seems to be the question on everyone’s mind, from teachers who get irritated every time the connection becomes faulty, making it unable for students to understand what their gurus are saying, to parents who are putting in their money and, at times, their technical skills to make their children even more traditional in the eyes of society than even the local youth, who are so busy in tuitions that the mention of the word Carnatic has them either running for the hills or bursting out in peals of laughter. While it’s true that nothing can measure up to the gurukulam-like experience of learning a krithi at the feet of your guru, watching him improvise at alarmingly fast rates and hitting nuances of the ragam that you didn’t know existed, Skype offers a slightly commercialised yet completely worthwhile alternative. Feeling like you haven’t had time to practise and are slowly losing touch of your vocal or instrumental capabilities? Schedule a Skype lesson, commit to it, and all of a sudden, you’re back in the game. And this isn’t just a one-time thing, oh no. Individuals abroad spend years learning on Skype, approaching one teacher for laya training and another for manodharmam advancement, making themselves as marketable as possible as the next generation of artistes, for nowadays each concert comes with a Skype session beforehand, going over the line-up and perfecting every note in preparation.
Is it good or bad, beneficial or simply a status symbol? No one can say. Having learnt Carnatic music for the last 16 years, six of which have been spent in Skype training, phone calls, and Google Hangouts of various types, from collaborative conference calls to one-on-one alapana -only sessions I can say this: the standard of concert performance that I hold myself to today along with the interest that remains in the various expressions of Carnatic music are both testaments to the fact that these sessions have served to keep me engaged and informed, eager to improve both my performance abilities and my repertoire as an artiste and a student even if not able to receive the full, gurukulam experience.
Would I change it, given my circumstances? Not at all, because really — oh, wait!! You’ll have to excuse me, I’m getting a Skype call.
