Eminent classical singer Malti Gilani founded the Bade Ghulam Ali Khan Yadgaar Sabha after the demise of her guru, the great vocalist of the Patiala gharana Bade Ghulam Ali Khan, but on the advice of her father, she decided to make it more than an organisation that staged programmes of classical music. What about the other needs of the artist, her father reminded her? What about when they get sick, when they are unable to sing or play their instrument, and find their earnings at a standstill? So Vidushi Malti has been over the decades, quietly offering financial aid to musicians who fall on bad days.
She has a panel of doctors as well as donors who step in whenever required. But Malti Gilani’s initiative remains a rare one. In Delhi, where today insurance companies vie for customers, and offices offer group insurance, it is a pity that there has been hardly any movement towards offering pension schemes or any kind of health or finance-related security net for practising artists. We often hear snide remarks about dancers who “refuse to retire” or musicians who keep singing despite flagging strength. But few do consider that as a society we have not created spaces where they can retire in security, with the feeling of a job well done.
Many do manage, since the family concept in India does provide a security net for many, as former journalist, noted writer and cultural commentator Shanta Serbjeet Singh points out. But she feels society and the government have a far greater responsibility. Quoting a professor of neurology at Cornell University in the U.S. who said that the brain of the artist is fundamentally different from other human beings, she says, “The heart of this problem is linked with the nature of the artist. Professor Ramachandran of Cornell said the artist and madmen are truly alike. Their brain circuitry is different, hence they view the world differently, and their output is different. And that is something civilised societies value. “
If artists had the “mental wherewithal” to see the practical side of life, they would be planning for their future, checking out interest rates, investing in plots and lining their nests to cushion themselves for a time when their body is no longer able to hold them up.
“I lived with a maverick for 50 years,” she says, referring to her late husband, the eminent painter Serbjeet Singh. His utter impatience with ideas of saving for the future was summed up in his statement, “I was the owner of 22 bungalows and lost every single one at Partition.” His wife says, “That is typical of the artist, when that moment (of creation) is more important than anything else.”
Singh, whose term as Vice Chairperson of the Sangeet Natak Akademi came to an end in July, says she is happy that the SNA has schemes for pensions and medical aid to artists, though these do have limited reach.
As for that, Helen Acharya, SNA Secretary, notes with dismay that the amounts would not even be enough to take them to hospital. “There is no policy to safeguard the wellbeing of stakeholders of culture,” she says. By stakeholders, she means folk artists, craftspersons, classical performers…the whole range of artists India produces and who work in every corner of the country.
The bodies working directly with artists, like the SNA, the Lalit Kala Akademi, the Sahitya Akademi and various zonal centres as well as their branch institutions, need to be tapped, emphasises the Secretary, to get proper data about the artists and their needs.
“It is not a very complicated issue,” she says. “It is very clear and transparent.” “With seven-eight zonal centres across the country, is it difficult to identify the areas of concern?”
Taking the example of SNA’s obligation to give medical support to all its Award recipients and Fellows, she explains, “There is no separate budgetary allocation.” The Akademi is expected to find the funds from its own annual budget. But even if SNA were to give an amount equivalent to its entire budget towards required medical expenses, the costs would not be covered.
Summing up the situation, Helen states, “Funding has to be enhanced and the hands who are working for culture have to be strengthened. With this kind of money, what are we going to do?”
The issue of financial support to aging artists cannot be separated from sustainability as a whole, she points out. The intangible cultural heritage is being eroded and we are gradually losing art forms because the new generations cannot afford to continue them. “The weaver becomes a rickshaw puller, the Chhau dancer becomes a carpenter or a paanwallah.”
The problem is greater in rural areas. “Artists who shift to the city as it is become second-handers.” Some eight to ten years ago it was reported that several puppeteers in Andhra Pradesh and Orissa “tied up their puppets and threw them into the garbage.”
Artists in the city still manage to survive because the have access to agencies and information. Others don’t even manage to apply for help. Helen however recalls the close case of Qasim Khan Niyazi, the tabla maker who was forced to ply a vegetable cart in Delhi to feed his family. He was seen by late Durga Lal, the eminent Kathak dancer, who helped him get back on his feet. Niyazi, who had supplied tablas to the likes of Zakir Hussain and Alla Rakha, got back into business and today is doing well, but not everyone is as luck.y What about the old gurus in remote corners of the country, the puppeteers, the Purulia Chhau gurus, asks Helen.
Singh feels, “The government can create a single window where they (artists) can come for their genuine needs.”
Public-private partnership and the increase in corporate social responsibility are hopeful developments, says Helen.
The question is whether we think we need artists as much as doctors, engineers and entrepreneurs. It was back in 1821 that Percy Shelley wrote “A Defence of Poetry”. Will a 21st Century, increasingly consumerist India, a country that has historically excelled in blurring the lines between art and functionality, between art and spirituality, now ask its artists to justify their existence?
