Music
Of art and vulgarity
I was following a rather interesting discussion yesterday on television. It concerned two groups of people, one contending that the traditional arts were vulgar and the other contending that vulgarity, or the lack of it depended on one’s perspective.
The one thing I noticed about people who protested vehemently against vulgarity in art, was that there is too much of skin show, too much eroticism and too much sensuality in the traditional art forms. Fair enough, I would say. Except that one of the special guests on the programme was an office-bearer of the BJP. She started by saying that music and dance in temple festivals were ok, as long as the organizers invited classical musicians and Bharatanatyam dancers to it. She went on to state that only these art forms were the truly representative of Indian culture. According to her, the folk arts and other traditional forms were lesser art forms, and did not reflect true Indian culture.
This statement is not only infuriating, but also blatantly and completely false. These self-appointed custodians of Indian culture have no real idea of what Indian culture implies. Some facts need to be clarified at this point.
Myth: The classical arts are the purest form of Indian performing arts.
Reality: The classical arts are heavily influenced by other cultures, and are by no means the purest form of art expression. In fact, both Carnatic Music and Bharatanatyam evolved and crystallized in the late 18th Century, with the musical trinity, Muthuswamy Dikshithar, Shyama Shastri and Thyagaraja. Hindustani classical music draws heavily from Mughal influences, from the 12th Century onwards. (Source)Myth: Indian culture condemns sex and sensuality. It must stay within the confines of the bedroom, and has no place in art.
Reality: Check out the statues at Khajuraho. Or even in the Kapaleeswarar Temple in Mylapore, Chennai. Many of them portray sexual positions. They celebrate sex as sacred and essential. Much of our reluctance to accept the portrayal of sexuality in public stems from Victorian, and essentially non-Indian influences. In fact the Shiva Linga in itself is a symbol of fertility, along with the feminine Yoni. A refusal to recognize it is simply a refusal to see our religion for what it really is.Myth: Theru-koothu, karagam, mayilaattam etc. are lower art forms.
Reality: Nothing could be farther from the truth. These folk art forms are the most basic dance forms and are no less than the classical arts. In fact, they form the basis of our performing arts.Myth: Bharatanatyam is the highest dance form.
Reality: Bharatanatyam was condemned and shunned by the Hindu mainstream until the time of Rukmini Devi Arundale, founder of Kalakshetra. Until her time, the dance form was confined to the Devadasis (courtesans) and no upper caste, Brahmin woman was allowed to dance. Same goes for Carnatic Music. M S Subbalakshmi and D K Pattammal were among the first to venture out of their homes and perform in public.On the whole, Indian culture is a much-misunderstood thing. Nobody knows what it really stands for, but everyone does their bit to try and preserve the little bit they consider representative of culture. Why can’t we understand the simple truth that Indian culture was way more progressive and tolerant than most other cultures? Why can’t we learn to respect art for what it is? I wonder if we will ever get answers to these questions.
Edit: On a related note, read this article by Sriram. He has a different perspective on the issue.
Music?? Really?
One day, a few weeks ago, my zealous neighbours decided that their children must learn Carnatic music. A commendable desire I must say. So, they set out to find someone who would teach the kids Carnatic music. True to form, they found someone to teach the said kids, how to sing. Or, so they said. When I first heard Mrs. Paattu Teacher, I assumed she was just having a bad day that stopped her from singing well. I decided I should give her the benefit of doubt.
It has been 3 weeks since that fateful day. She somehow always turned up for classes when I was out doing something else. Call it her luck or mine, the fact remained that I never got to hear her sing since Day 1. Then suddenly, all that changed drastically last evening. I was at home, trying to watch TV, but without much success. I kept getting distracted by mum’s talking. Suddenly, I heard someone shout. Startled out of my wits, I decided to investigate. I stepped out of my cosy flat no. 24, only to realise that the noise was coming from No. 27. I stepped closer cautiously, not wanting to interrupt some kind of fight. I had a rather nasty surprise when I realised that the shouts I had heard were actually Mrs. Paattu Teacher’s feeble attempts at teaching the poor kids music.
Imagine my consternation when I figured out that the said Pattu Teacher could not hold a tune for the life of her. My neighbours, in their enthusiasm to teach their kids music, forgot to verify if the Paattu Teacher actually knew any paattu at all. My attempts at convincing them of the futility of teaching the kids music by appointing someone who barely knows the difference between noise and music have, by far been entirely in vain. I am hoping that they see sense and get the woman to actually teach music and not some vague song she likes to label as keerthanai. Heaven help anyone who actually tries learning anything from her!
PS: For my non Tamil-speaking readers: Paattu means song and keerthanai is a musical composition. Please leave a comment for any further clarifications, or contact your nearest Carnatic music teacher, who will probably explain better than me. 🙂
The Sound of Music and the Power of Language
I was listening to A R Rahman’s song “New York Nagaram Urangum Neram” from Sillunu Oru Kaadal this afternoon. Seeing as I was slightly free and wanted to relax, this seemed a good choice. Now, this is not the first time I am hearing this song, nor is it the first time I actually paid attention to the lyrics. But, today was different. Feeling slightly depressed as I was, thanks to the rain in Paris, the lyrics got an entirely new feel. I had never before noticed the astounding complexity of sounds in the song. Rahman is known for using many layers of sound to create his truly unique music, but this one takes the cake. The song, about a young husband spending time away from his wife in faraway New York, touched a chord. The sheer pain of separation and the desire to get back as soon as possible came through every word of the song. How did I miss this one? Given that it is the ringtone of my phone, I get to hear it quite often. But it never touched my heart the way it did today.
That set me thinking. How many songs have I heard that makes me want to cry, laugh, feel nostalgic or express some emotion in some way? Well, the answer is clear. Not too many. The ones that do are few and far between. One song that never fails to elicit some kind of reaction from me is the song Mettuppodu from the movie Duet. It really is beautiful. I reacted with confusion when I first heard it. I was quite young, still a teen. I had no idea language could mean so much to someone. And I frankly could not understand why someone would want to sing about the Tamil language of all things. Today, I have come a long way. And I do agree that the language has a beauty that none other can really match. I am not an expert in Tamil. Indeed, my first attempt at reading anything more than road signs in the language came when I was 17. But, as I discovered the world of Tamil literature, I realised that it is a language that was more beautiful than Milton’s English or Racine’s French. However, my primary languages remain English and French. I would not want to torture my poor readers by writing anything in Tamil. Today, I hear the same song, and I feel a sense of nostalgia. I wish I could abandon clumsy attempts at explaining Indian cuisine in French and English and just revert to Tamil. With the nostalgia comes a sense of shame. Shame that I know English, French or even Tamil better than my own mother tongue, Kannada. Hell, I can even speak, read and write Hindi. But I cannot distinguish between Kannada and Telugu. Some Kannadiga I am!
Anyway, with that observation, I go back to listening to music. And yes, much as many find it difficult to believe, I prefer Indian music any day to anything western. Maybe it is just me, but I need to feel the words, understand them with my heart and not my brain, and above all, relate to it. Indian music lets me do that. Pop, rock or jazz do not. It is as simple as that. I prefer the beautiful and melodious voice of Nithyashree Mahadevan supported by only a tambura, or the Instrumental theme music of the film Bombay to Britney Spears singing in an accent that is as alien to me as Swedish is to the average Indian. Music, poetry, literature and language can all heal the soul and make one happy.
On a totally unrelated note, I just wish people would stop associating Tamil with the LTTE. I speak Tamil, live in Tamil Nadu, and love the sound of the language. It doesn’t make me a terrorist!! Argh! I just wish they would stop.