I have vivid memories of my first encounter with Carnatic vocal maestro T.M. Krishna, much before he attained nationwide fame, when I was a young, rookie Spic Macay volunteer. I don’t remember what he sang but something he said that day stayed with me and made me confront what was perhaps a systemic malaise which we were unknowingly perpetrating.
After reaching the hotel, he asked me where his coartists were. I said they had been put up in the guest house. He was visibly uncomfortable hearing that and told me in no uncertain terms that if the guest house was good enough for his co-artists, he could have stayed there too. Before I could do anything, he was on the phone enquiring about their comfort and apologising for this arrangement which had been unknown to him.
I realised how we had normalised a form of deep-seated disparity and were safeguarding a kind of hierarchy between the ‘main artist’ and ‘coartists’.
The world of Indian classical music is in a sense apotheosised as holy and as a vehicle of sanctity, which also aids the way we think about the music and the musicians. It is popularly believed that such music demands unquestioning devotion to a guru, who is the seat of knowledge. I am speculating whether these are the reasons which prohibit our musicians from speaking as much as they should. Does Indian classical music training breed subservience? Why are voices from the realm of Indian classical music and dance often missing from important discourses in the nation? Musicians don’t live in a political vacuum, after all. Many of us also feel a growing disconnect with the Indian classical music that is regularly presented on stage, which sometimes doesn’t seem to be conversant with the realities of our time and space. Can art be so bereft of contemporary concerns?
In the era before Independence and soon after, the idea of nation-building inspired many artists. Vishnu Digambar Paluskar embarked upon a mission to teach music and create content that he felt would be appropriate for the audience. Though Kumar Gandharva did not directly engage with mainstream political issues, the selection of his repertoire was no less than a statement. Today, several musicians are busy composing and performing songs to eulogise many government schemes like the Swachh Bharat Abhiyan and Beti Padhao Beti Bachao. This amounts to sheer opportunism to appease a political regime.
Some years ago, at a literary festival in Mumbai, Shubha Mudgal composed and sang Dushyant Kumar’s Kaha Toh Tai Tha and I witnessed an artist expressing her anguish through music. While we could avoid reducing music to political sloganeering, it can be used and heard for more than raag, sur and taal . Perhaps that’s the kind of music many of us are seeking today.
The writer teaches literary & cultural studies at FLAME University, Pune
