12-28-2004, 04:57 AM
On MS Subbalakshmi in Outlook
Song On The Breeze
Trained in the devadasi's shringara bhava, MS became the epitome of the bhakti
bhava
SADANAND MENON
"Kaatriniley varum geetam..." And, having come on the crest of a breeze redolent
with an erotic charge and having touched us all with the colour and romance of
spring, the moisture of electric monsoons and the shiver of a naughty winter
chill, the song has now coasted back, as tenderly, to the unknown forests of
magic and surges of the ocean from where it originally stirred awake.
And as the dulcet voice of Madurai Shanmukhavadivu Subbulaksmi returned to
'samam', short of midnight on Saturday, December 11, rare would be those
familiar with her oeuvre who did not feel a personal sense of loss.
Rare would be those in hundreds of thousands of homes, across South India at
least, who did not, on Sunday morning, get a lump in their throats playing her
eponymous Venkateshwara Suprabhatam or the equally rich Meenakshi, Kamakshi and
Vishwanatha suprabhatams. Or the Annamacharya kritis in Bhowli or Ragamalika. Or
the deeply devotional Vishnu Sahasranamam.
Those familiar with the hedonistic chemistry of her throaty alaps, embellished
by an easy abundance of bhrigas (range and resonance created in the voice box)
and gamakas (oscillations, glides and other decorative embellishments) flanking
the sonorousness of her nasal twang and the crystal clarity of her swara
prastharas (permutation/combination of musical notes) would have reconciled
themselves to the inevitability of a long winter for melody with the passing
away of this most visible and accessible face of classical Carnatic music after
having succumbed, the past few years, to the ravages of age.
MS was the product of a heady ex-pression of freedom for the female voice while
remaining steeped in convention. MS, as she was fondly addressed, departed at 88
leaving behind a good seven decades of sustained service to the cause of
Carnatic music in general and to devotional music in particular. And this, in
itself, constitutes one of the abiding ironies of our times.
Born in an indigent devadasi family with a marked musical lineage, MS belonged
to that club of 'singing women' of the South whose parallel in the North are the
'bais'.
If, by the early decades of the 20th century, the musical platforms of North
India were being invaded by the Kesarbais, Mogubais, Rasoolanbais, Hirabais and
Askaribais, the South witnessed a parallel phenomenon in the rise of Mysore
Nagaratnamma, Madras Lalithangi, Kanchi Jayammal, Coimbatore Tayi and Salem
Godavari. This, in turn, spawned a second generation that witnessed the growth
to fame of K.B. Sundarambal, S.D. Subbulakshmi, M.S. Subbulakshmi and M.L.
Vasanthakumari. One could also safely include the Bharatanatyam diva T.
Balasaraswati to this list, as she too happened to be a consummate singer.
Like the 'Bais of Benares', these astonishingly talented and supremely
self-confident women stormed the public and platform spaces, which were largely
a male preserve and virtually redefined the concert paradigm of free India.
Interestingly, every one of them belonged to the traditionally disadvantaged
community of devadasis for whom, as in classical anthropology, "motherhood is a
fact but fatherhood mere speculation". In the Tamil provinces then, the only two
female geniuses who bucked this and rose from the Brahmin community were the
impossibly sweet N.C. Vasanthakokilam (who died, tragically premature, in her
20s) and the venerable D.K. Pattammal, who is a few years younger to MS.
The artistic lineage of the devadasis is one of shringara or the unabashed and
hedonistic celebration of body, sensual pleasures, the erotic. As such, the
theme of love, worldly or divine, suffuses their renditions and, arguably,
constitutes its true aesthetic energy. This is accompanied by a genetic genius
for catching the shruti and an effortless ability to round off all rough edges
with a mastery of laya. All these are more or less common traits amongst each
one of them.
Yet, coming from these ranks, the way MS ended up being the iconic metaphor of
the nation's devotional voice and the untrammelled face of bhakti is, by itself,
an extraordinary story of fairytale proportions. Her marriage in 1940 to freedom
fighter and Congressman T. Sadasivam realigned the early coordinates of MS and
set them on a new path of unrestrained 'Sanskritisation'.
Through a series of fund-raisers and charity concerts across North India for the
Kasturba Memorial Trustâconcerts patronised by Mahatma Gandhi, Jawaharlal Nehru,
Sarojini Naidu, Rajendra Prasad, Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, et alâMS became
familiar to North Indian audiences as well as to the lobbies of power at the
Centre. She also underwent special tutelage under Siddheswari Devi learning
thumris and khayals, even as her guru Vidwan Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer chipped
and honed her talent. She learnt from other singer-teachers too like Papanasam
Sivan, Musiri Subramania Iyer and G.N. Balasubramaniam.
After a series of forays in Tamil films like Sevasadanam, Savitri and
Shakuntalai, the troika of friends comprising C. Rajagopalachari, 'Kalki'
Krishnamurthy and Sadasivam hit upon the brilliant idea of launching MS on a
national scale. The launch vehicle was to be the film Meera, on the 16th-century
bhakti poet of the same name, even as it facilitated their strategy of
compacting music with devotion on to the persona of MS. This highly popular 1945
musical was remade in Hindi in 1947 and overnight converted MS into a household
name across the country. In fact, the Meera bhajan Hari tum haro har ki peed, a
favourite of Mahatma Gandhi's, was chosen for being broadcast by All India Radio
on January 30, 1948, after Bapu was assassinated.
Sadasivam had achieved the impossible. He had systematically transformed a
devadasi into a role-model 'Iyer' wife; a musician trained in shringara bhava
into a musician who became the epitome of bhakti bhava; and a provincial
Tamil-speaking girl into a national icon. There is some sublimating hypocrisy
though, in the hype around her being the "twentieth century apostle of bhakti".
Her rendition of bhajans and keertans flowed, no doubt, from the very core of
her being. But she needs to be interpreted as an artist who epitomised the
freedom and dignity of women.
While some of the best known names of Carnatic music like Mudicondan Venkatarama
Iyer, Maharajapuram Vishwanatha Iyer, M.D. Ramanathan, Madurai Mani Iyer, Musiri
and Semmangudi himself were destined to remain artistes with limited regional
impact, MS went on to assume a towering presence on the national psyche.
A few select appearances, in the 1960s, at international venues like the
Edinburgh Festival, the United Nations General Assembly and, later, in some of
the Festivals of India and other events abroad, helped consolidate her image as
the true ambassador of Carnatic music and its reigning queen. Without a doubt,
other female vocalists like T. Brinda and T. Mukta, of the Veena Dhanam line,
had conspicuously more musical depth and density. However, they had not been
favoured with the 'Sanskritisation' route and remained largely invisible except
to the cognoscenti.
The flood of 'letters-to-the-editor' in the Chennai dailies in the days
following MS's demise are a window to the manner in which this god's own good
woman was able to connect with king and commoner alikeâboth through her music as
well as through her transparent personality. It is clear that MS will be
remembered as much for the ringing quality of her Saroja-dala-netri in Raga
Shankarabharanam or Srirangapura Vihara in Brindavana Saranga or Bhavayami
Raghuramam in Ragamalika, as much for having lived the role of
artiste-as-graciousness.
MS was the product of a heady ex-pression of freedom for the female voice while
remaining steeped in convention and orthodoxy.The quality of 'accessibility' in
her voice is precisely reflective of this tension, so much a part of a new
nation struggling to tide over its own growth pangs and adolescence. For
centuries to come, people will wonder that such a voice with its amalgam of
uninhibited sexuality, palpable innocence, abundant spirituality, distilled
sweetness and unrestrained compassion blessed this land. For an answer as to how
this phenomenon happened, one can only revert to the composition by 'Kalki'
Krishnamurthy for the film Meera, sung so memorably by MS in a raga something
akin to a Hindustani Jaunpuri: "Kaatriniley varum geetham..." The song just
wafts in on the breeze.
Outlook, December 27,2004.
Song On The Breeze
Trained in the devadasi's shringara bhava, MS became the epitome of the bhakti
bhava
SADANAND MENON
"Kaatriniley varum geetam..." And, having come on the crest of a breeze redolent
with an erotic charge and having touched us all with the colour and romance of
spring, the moisture of electric monsoons and the shiver of a naughty winter
chill, the song has now coasted back, as tenderly, to the unknown forests of
magic and surges of the ocean from where it originally stirred awake.
And as the dulcet voice of Madurai Shanmukhavadivu Subbulaksmi returned to
'samam', short of midnight on Saturday, December 11, rare would be those
familiar with her oeuvre who did not feel a personal sense of loss.
Rare would be those in hundreds of thousands of homes, across South India at
least, who did not, on Sunday morning, get a lump in their throats playing her
eponymous Venkateshwara Suprabhatam or the equally rich Meenakshi, Kamakshi and
Vishwanatha suprabhatams. Or the Annamacharya kritis in Bhowli or Ragamalika. Or
the deeply devotional Vishnu Sahasranamam.
Those familiar with the hedonistic chemistry of her throaty alaps, embellished
by an easy abundance of bhrigas (range and resonance created in the voice box)
and gamakas (oscillations, glides and other decorative embellishments) flanking
the sonorousness of her nasal twang and the crystal clarity of her swara
prastharas (permutation/combination of musical notes) would have reconciled
themselves to the inevitability of a long winter for melody with the passing
away of this most visible and accessible face of classical Carnatic music after
having succumbed, the past few years, to the ravages of age.
MS was the product of a heady ex-pression of freedom for the female voice while
remaining steeped in convention. MS, as she was fondly addressed, departed at 88
leaving behind a good seven decades of sustained service to the cause of
Carnatic music in general and to devotional music in particular. And this, in
itself, constitutes one of the abiding ironies of our times.
Born in an indigent devadasi family with a marked musical lineage, MS belonged
to that club of 'singing women' of the South whose parallel in the North are the
'bais'.
If, by the early decades of the 20th century, the musical platforms of North
India were being invaded by the Kesarbais, Mogubais, Rasoolanbais, Hirabais and
Askaribais, the South witnessed a parallel phenomenon in the rise of Mysore
Nagaratnamma, Madras Lalithangi, Kanchi Jayammal, Coimbatore Tayi and Salem
Godavari. This, in turn, spawned a second generation that witnessed the growth
to fame of K.B. Sundarambal, S.D. Subbulakshmi, M.S. Subbulakshmi and M.L.
Vasanthakumari. One could also safely include the Bharatanatyam diva T.
Balasaraswati to this list, as she too happened to be a consummate singer.
Like the 'Bais of Benares', these astonishingly talented and supremely
self-confident women stormed the public and platform spaces, which were largely
a male preserve and virtually redefined the concert paradigm of free India.
Interestingly, every one of them belonged to the traditionally disadvantaged
community of devadasis for whom, as in classical anthropology, "motherhood is a
fact but fatherhood mere speculation". In the Tamil provinces then, the only two
female geniuses who bucked this and rose from the Brahmin community were the
impossibly sweet N.C. Vasanthakokilam (who died, tragically premature, in her
20s) and the venerable D.K. Pattammal, who is a few years younger to MS.
The artistic lineage of the devadasis is one of shringara or the unabashed and
hedonistic celebration of body, sensual pleasures, the erotic. As such, the
theme of love, worldly or divine, suffuses their renditions and, arguably,
constitutes its true aesthetic energy. This is accompanied by a genetic genius
for catching the shruti and an effortless ability to round off all rough edges
with a mastery of laya. All these are more or less common traits amongst each
one of them.
Yet, coming from these ranks, the way MS ended up being the iconic metaphor of
the nation's devotional voice and the untrammelled face of bhakti is, by itself,
an extraordinary story of fairytale proportions. Her marriage in 1940 to freedom
fighter and Congressman T. Sadasivam realigned the early coordinates of MS and
set them on a new path of unrestrained 'Sanskritisation'.
Through a series of fund-raisers and charity concerts across North India for the
Kasturba Memorial Trustâconcerts patronised by Mahatma Gandhi, Jawaharlal Nehru,
Sarojini Naidu, Rajendra Prasad, Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, et alâMS became
familiar to North Indian audiences as well as to the lobbies of power at the
Centre. She also underwent special tutelage under Siddheswari Devi learning
thumris and khayals, even as her guru Vidwan Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer chipped
and honed her talent. She learnt from other singer-teachers too like Papanasam
Sivan, Musiri Subramania Iyer and G.N. Balasubramaniam.
After a series of forays in Tamil films like Sevasadanam, Savitri and
Shakuntalai, the troika of friends comprising C. Rajagopalachari, 'Kalki'
Krishnamurthy and Sadasivam hit upon the brilliant idea of launching MS on a
national scale. The launch vehicle was to be the film Meera, on the 16th-century
bhakti poet of the same name, even as it facilitated their strategy of
compacting music with devotion on to the persona of MS. This highly popular 1945
musical was remade in Hindi in 1947 and overnight converted MS into a household
name across the country. In fact, the Meera bhajan Hari tum haro har ki peed, a
favourite of Mahatma Gandhi's, was chosen for being broadcast by All India Radio
on January 30, 1948, after Bapu was assassinated.
Sadasivam had achieved the impossible. He had systematically transformed a
devadasi into a role-model 'Iyer' wife; a musician trained in shringara bhava
into a musician who became the epitome of bhakti bhava; and a provincial
Tamil-speaking girl into a national icon. There is some sublimating hypocrisy
though, in the hype around her being the "twentieth century apostle of bhakti".
Her rendition of bhajans and keertans flowed, no doubt, from the very core of
her being. But she needs to be interpreted as an artist who epitomised the
freedom and dignity of women.
While some of the best known names of Carnatic music like Mudicondan Venkatarama
Iyer, Maharajapuram Vishwanatha Iyer, M.D. Ramanathan, Madurai Mani Iyer, Musiri
and Semmangudi himself were destined to remain artistes with limited regional
impact, MS went on to assume a towering presence on the national psyche.
A few select appearances, in the 1960s, at international venues like the
Edinburgh Festival, the United Nations General Assembly and, later, in some of
the Festivals of India and other events abroad, helped consolidate her image as
the true ambassador of Carnatic music and its reigning queen. Without a doubt,
other female vocalists like T. Brinda and T. Mukta, of the Veena Dhanam line,
had conspicuously more musical depth and density. However, they had not been
favoured with the 'Sanskritisation' route and remained largely invisible except
to the cognoscenti.
The flood of 'letters-to-the-editor' in the Chennai dailies in the days
following MS's demise are a window to the manner in which this god's own good
woman was able to connect with king and commoner alikeâboth through her music as
well as through her transparent personality. It is clear that MS will be
remembered as much for the ringing quality of her Saroja-dala-netri in Raga
Shankarabharanam or Srirangapura Vihara in Brindavana Saranga or Bhavayami
Raghuramam in Ragamalika, as much for having lived the role of
artiste-as-graciousness.
MS was the product of a heady ex-pression of freedom for the female voice while
remaining steeped in convention and orthodoxy.The quality of 'accessibility' in
her voice is precisely reflective of this tension, so much a part of a new
nation struggling to tide over its own growth pangs and adolescence. For
centuries to come, people will wonder that such a voice with its amalgam of
uninhibited sexuality, palpable innocence, abundant spirituality, distilled
sweetness and unrestrained compassion blessed this land. For an answer as to how
this phenomenon happened, one can only revert to the composition by 'Kalki'
Krishnamurthy for the film Meera, sung so memorably by MS in a raga something
akin to a Hindustani Jaunpuri: "Kaatriniley varum geetham..." The song just
wafts in on the breeze.
Outlook, December 27,2004.