The sound of an ektara wafts through the mountain air at Vidya Vanam. I follow the music and find myself before a remarkable looking woman in saffron robes, with long braided hair touching her ankles and a magnetic smile. She swirls and her hair swirls with her. Her full-throated voice breaks the stillness of the afternoon with songs of love and divinity; the same songs that ancient wandering minstrels of Bengal once sang. She is Parvathy Baul who has come to perform at Vidya Vanam as part of a two-day festival for school students, Svanubhava that is here for the first time. But she sings as if no one is watching her, immersed in a world of her own.
The children, like me, are spellbound. None of us here knows a word of Bengali. Yet, we are moved; especially, when Parvathy sings about the saint wishing to cross the river to meet his God. There is joy in it. She also sings funny songs such as the one her 96-year-old guru taught her to sing. She mimics her guru, occasionally jumping on stage and thumping her duggi, a small drum attached to her waist.
Parvathy instantly strikes a chord with the children when she says, “I do not now Tamil. But we can share our thoughts and feeling with the language of love, right?”
During the interaction session, hands shoot up in the air. “How do you dance, sing and play ektara all at the same time?” asks one. Parvathy responds, “We learn it all one by one. And, then we learn to coordinate.”
“How do you sing so easily?” asks a small one in the front. “I do not use my vocal chords at all. It all comes from the belly,” smiles Parvathy. “The voice reflects your heart and inner being. If your being is transparent, your voice will be too.”
She assures the children that there is no place at all for stage fright. “All you need is to listen to your self and the music will flow.”
“I am inspired by her,” says Ashwath, a student from GRD Matriculation School. “Maybe I will also grow hair like her!”
The fest also features Hindusthani vocalist, Ranjani Ramachandran. Ranjani explains about the raga before launching into a raagmalika. “It features 18 ragas. If you listen carefully, you will be able to identify each raga because each line has the raga’s name in it,” she tells them. Student Divyashree S is enchanted by Ranjani’s voice. “I wish I too had that voice,” she sighs. It is her first experience of listening to a Hindusthani concert, says her friend Gayathri T. “Usually, we hear Carnatic music. This sounds new and fresh.”
One of the children asks Ranjani how many years it took her to learn music. “I have taken formal training for 12 years. But, all musicians are students. We are always learning,” answers the artist, who is the disciple of Ulhas Kashalkar.
In between the performances, the children visit the visual arts exhibition stalls that feature Kota pottery and Kurumba paintings. There is a huddle around the Kurumba painter Balasubramanyam, who is doing a landscape drawing. “Anna, how do you create the paints?”, asks someone. “It is made from the milk of the veppu tree and the green colour is made from grinding the leaves of a plant,” says Balasubramanyam.
The children rush back to the shamiana to watch a Kattaikuttu performance. The actors in shimmering costumers, wearing colourful masks and gaudy make-up dance, sing and act on stage. They use humour and music to keep the children hooked. There is even a clown who narrates the events. The hall bursts into laughter, when the clown obligingly falls down! “Why does one of the actors in your troop have red and white moustache?” asks a student. “It is just for laughs. A Kattaikuttu performance can go on for six to seven hours. Usually we perform it in temple fairs in our home town. Humour is to keep the audience awake,” smiles M. Shanmukha, one of the actors.
The air fills up with sound of ghoongroos as the Kathak dancers of the Narthan Academy for Dance and Music troop on to the stage. They wear ghaghras and also enact episodes from the Ramayana. In the last piece, they re-enter the stage wearing anarkalis. “Kathak is influenced by two styles– the Hindu and the Mughal. This is the Mughal costume,” explains one of the performers. The children request the leader of the troupe, Nandini Mehta to perform Bharatanatyam and the danseuse obliges to their delight.
Says Prema Rangachari, the principal of Vidya Vanam, “This is a great exposure for the children. How else will they see rare art forms such as Kattaikuttu and hear classical art forms such as Hindusthani music? Around 26 schools have taken part in the festival. We want the children to know the richness of our culture. And, moreover it will boost the confidence of our own children if they meet their peers from other schools.”
The presence of children is very special to an artist, says Parvathy. “They are not judging you. Their energy is pure and innocent. These events should happen more often in schools. Children should be exposed to great artists and art forms.” She still recalls the first time she met her first guru. “I realised I was in the presence of an aura.” And that is why initiatives such as Svanubhava are important. “The artists themselves cannot do anything. They need the society’s help. Such efforts play a role in keeping us more culturally-oriented.”
Svanubhava
Started in 2008, Svanubhava is a cultural movement by young practitioners of classical arts. “Our aim is to offer something new to the younger generation apart from the usual fare of Bollywood and masala music so that they can enjoy Indian classical and folk arts in its purest form,” says Sukanya Kumar, a volunteer and a Bharatanatyam student.
Says Chandrasekara Sharma, a ghatam player and member of the core team of Svanubhava, “When we began, the festival catered to college students. But now we are taking it to schools as well and incorporating more of folk arts.”
Svanubhava differs from other young art movements. “It is very flexible. People in any part of the world can organise this so long as they are promoting Indian traditional and folk arts for youngsters. ” For details, mail svanubhava@gmail.com.
