Krishna consciousness

Chennai’s Carnatic music aficionados were in for a shock when the maverick musician, T.M. Krishna, decided to stay away from the December music season.His announcement in his social networking site went viral with shares and comments from fans and critics.

This most awaited annual event has global resonance, with people from all over the world converging to the sabhas (concert halls) to soak in the music and savour the sumptuous food dished out by the auditorium canteens!

But this year will be different.

Over the years, this art form with its exclusive caste and class patronage has been frustrating this controversial musician. He has been called “eccentric” by the patrons, who were essentially the educated elite Brahmins, for his on-stage “brusque” body language. 

His recent book, A Southern Music: The Karnatik Story, delves into his growing restlessness in wanting to change this caste and class dynamics. The book not only explores the historical evolution of this art form but also asks uncomfortable questions on the discordant notes of caste  hegemony over this art form.

A few years ago, he sang a different note during the December season to break the class jinx by making his performance a free-for-all. The sabha committees had no choice but to agree to the condition made by one of the biggest crowd-pullers. They decided to give him the morning slot as they could not afford to reserve the prime evening schedule, where the strains of music would ring in cash into their coffers.

Last year, Krishna organised an alternative December music season, roping in both classical and folk artists. The weeklong open air music concerts on the Chennai beachfront was a unique initiative to net the interests of fisherfolk and Dalits, and in the process break the concert walls that had been made sound-proof by the elite.

In a social networking site, Krishna recently added a dollop of dollar dynamics into the simmering caste-class Carnatic music pot. He alleged that the strength of the dollar against the rupee was causing corruption among the sabha committee members and middlemen who arrange the “meetings and concerrts”. This meant that Thyagaraja kritis emanated more from the vocal chords of NRIs, with the burgeoning local talent being sidelined.

After an uncomfortable silence from the music fraternity, soft whispers are being heard in the corridors of social networking sites. Critics point to Krishna’s “hypocrisy” in accepting fat cheques for concerts abroad while turning his nose up when dollars make an entry into the Chennai music circuit.

The musician’s decision has clearly stirred the fuzzy caste-class Carnatic broth, sometimes adding to the flavours and sometimes adding to the stink.

The Dravidian politics in Tamil Nadu has always kept the caste cauldron simmering. It came to a boil last fortnight in IIM-Madras after the authorities banned a Dalit study group, and later revoked it after protests spilled over across the country.

Today, the raga has gone off-tune.

My Appa and I

The movie, Piku raised a lot of laughter, its humour endearing audience across age groups. But I lifted the thin layer of film that coated the screen and felt the underlying happiness and melancholy in the relationship between my Appa and me.

My Appa was certainly not a copybook-style “cool dad” that we read in books and see in advertisements. Whenever my friends made glowing tributes to their fathers, I would create a tally sheet to see if any of this matched with my Appa, and failed miserably. God must have been at his creative best while assigning him the most unique human traits. He was a bundle of contradictions. He had his own way of looking at life and interacting with people.

He was generous to the point of suffocating our guests. Our home was an open house and our house guests were not just familiar relatives and friends. They comprised mutual friends, friends of friends and relatives and friends of friends of friends. Many taxis from Howrah station and Dum Dum airport have brought guests to our place for them to enjoy Appa’s almost-claustrophobic hospitality. We were the casualties in this: the constant activity at home denied us the pleasure of peaceful reading or concentrating on our quadratic equations!
He has helped a lot of people find jobs, but refused to recommend one for his brother because he hated nepotism!
When I was barely six months into my first job, he planned a summer holiday to Chennai. He was entitled to air fare for his dependent family members. But I had to take the Coromandel express train, while the rest of them availed the travel allowance. He reasoned that technically, I was earning and was, therefore, no longer a dependent. That was the level of his integrity.
He was opinionated and intolerant of dissent. I would argue, fight, sulk and sometimes mutely follow his diktat. Our relationship was anything but smooth and easy.
He was embarrassingly honest and, believe me, I have often wanted the earth to part so that I could sink into oblivion to avoid Appa’s gift of putting me in the most awkward of situations.
But he was a gem, an unpolished gem.
And then, late one night Appa slipped into coma in his sleep after an attack of cerebral haemorrhage. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be at peace, without feeling the pain of multiple needles connected to tubes going in and out of his frail, diabetic body. Normally, a minor cut was all it took for him to bring the house down. I saw him through the glass window and visualised him waking up and shouting at the medical staff for “torturing” him. “Wake up, Appa. See what they are doing to you,” I silently instigated him.
Five days passed, and he showed no sign of waking up to throw his weight around. The doctor told us he would be a vegetable even after coming out of coma because his haemorrhage had caused significant damage to his brain. That was when I wanted him to die. I could not see him helpless.
There were many who revered him, but there were also many who ridiculed him after taking advantage of his generosity.
He passed away after 13 days. The doctor told us he lost the battle and died. I told myself he has won the war. He has left for a better place. He may have been whimsical, but never boring, he may have been annoying, but never unpleasant.
Whatever he was, he was my Appa. I could say anything to him, but could not tolerate anyone saying anything against him. He left me 14 years back, but I still love my Appa.