It cannot really be called the Great Divide between the Hindustani classical music world and the Carnatic music universe of listeners. It is not a matter of being divided as much as a question of having, so far, only a few bridges between the one and the other.
Both music systems are massive, bountiful rivers with tributaries and distributaries of their own, and if someone is fortunate enough to have had exposure to both, they are that much wealthier, enriched. And yet, many of us have grown up, curiously, quite hermetically sealed from one or the other of these musical flows. Worse, some people have grown up with a rather silly bunch of misconceptions and prejudices, including ludicrous ‘mimicry’ by both ‘sides’.
I grew up in Chembur, Bombay 71, a place quite immersed in both music traditions — teachers, learners, performers, programmes. My family and friends were patrons and followers and learners of Hindustani. I had school friends who learnt Carnatic, but none of it really seeped through to me, except when something sounded ‘familiar’ — and one could relate to a Hindola-Malkauns, Mohana-Bhoop kind of ID-ing, but that was about it. It remained as superficial as one of those, “Oh, you call it vendakkai , we call it bhindi ,” variety of random passing-curiosity exchanges!
Cultural osmosis
However, the osmosis had begun, perhaps even in this cursory way, for some of us. And in the last few decades, some wonderful bridges have been built.
For me, the first Carnatic connection was perhaps M.S. Subbulakshmi’s Suprabhatam played softly during opening time in Mumbai’s Handloom House and a few other establishments. Another door was opened when an older brother who went to IIT Bombay brought in whiffs of the world beyond the small circle of light we knew. For instance, the name of Pandit Vijay Raghav Rao, who played Hindustani but was something of an import from the ‘other side’. My brother would suavely introduce us to magical-sounding words like Salag Varali. Then came Hindi film songs that used originally Carnatic ragas like Shivaranjani.
The next bridge came in the form of a record that became hugely popular at the time, Prabha Atre’s Kalavati, in which her inflections in one particular taan gave you just a whiff of Carnatic music, and people around you who had had little or no exposure to it were suddenly rendered more receptive!
Perfect crossover
Around this time, Bhimsen Joshi would introduce a Kannada bhajan in some of his Hindustani classical renditions, and we were again nudged towards Carnatic ragas. Then there was that perfect crossover vehicle, Hamsadhvani, the Carnatic raga popularised first by Amir Khan, and later by many musicians and Hindi film music composers, in the Hindustani mode. Pandit Ravi Shankar brought us several Carnatic ragas, Janasammohini being one of them; Hindi film music composers lent to this growing fluidity and mixing of the great rivers.
Some of the other stepping stones came with A.R. Rahman’s music and singers like Bombay Jayashree. At some stage, fairly recently, people like me stopped listening only to the ‘familiar’ and took that important free-fall into Carnatic music territory as listeners. In the days of World Space Radio, one night, Maharajapuram Santhanam’s ‘Shanmukham, Bhaja Shanmukham’ woke me up from my slumber – real and metaphorical. I had not heard of him or the piece, but that night, thanks to YouTube, could listen to it again and again.
Soon after, T.M. Krishna hypnotised the predominantly Hindustani listeners of Pune (who were prone to go out for chai if a Carnatic musician was on during a music festival) with his very first line.
Some of us are no longer satisfied with chance encounters, and are all set to attend introductory sessions on Carnatic music.
The bridges are getting stronger.
The writer is a novelist, counsellor and music lover who takes readers on a ramble through the Aladdin’s cave of Indian music.
