DANCE MACABRE

 A month after the gruesome attack on its President Sankara Menon by goons, the police are still clueless. Power struggles and controversies have dogged this august institution from the time of   Rukmini Devi Arundale’death in 1985.

                                  

At night, the Kalakshetra campus is breathtakingly beautiful. Scores of trees stand silhouetted in the dark like sentinels. The cottages are shuttered and seemingly exhausted after endless rehearsals during the day. In the silence you can hear only the rustle of leaves and the distant role of waves as they break on the beach.

A narrow public path divides the administrative offices and staff quarters from the college.

Occasionally, a funeral procession singing mournful dirges passes through to the crematorium on the grounds nearby. It was a similar scene at Kalakshetra just after midnight on the fourth of May. Sankara Menon, Dr. Padmasini and Kamala Trilokekar were deep in slumber. A full Chaitra moon bathed the landscape with silver rays.

Suddenly, a group of men --- we do not know how many or what they looked like --- broke through the flimsy back door of the house nearest the road. Hearing the noise, Padmasini woke up and went to check what it was. She was brutally clubbed on the head and slashed with knives. Blood streaming down her face, she screamed and pressed an alarm button before falling unconscious.

Meanwhile, Menon and Kamala awoke and faced a vicious attack that left Menon with a fractured skull and Kamala with serious injuries. All three are over 80 years of age. Dr. Padmasini or Paddu as she is known at Kalakshetra, renounced a medical career to associate herself with the Theosophical Society and Rukmini Devi’s Kalakshetra. Sankara Menon, erudite scholar, eloquent orator, charming and capable, is President of Kalakshetra and is looked up to as a mentor by   three generations of students.  Kamala is an educationist and has been in charge of the Montessori Teacher Training School   of Kalakshetra. These three are part of the cultural renaissance of our country and have dedicated themselves to the movement. Today, at the end of their eventful and meaningful lives they lie in bed, pain and terror in their eyes, victims of the mindless violence that has become part of our society.

The news of the assault was received with shock and disbelief by countless students, friends, admirers and supporters of Kalakshetra around the world.

This premier art institute has been embroiled in controversy since Rukmini Devi’s times. Favoritism is rampant and students are forever faced with irregular classes and incomplete syllabi.

Old-fashioned discipline is enforced. Last year, a final-year student was prevented from appearing for the examinations on the grounds of indiscipline. Kalakshetra lacks a strong administrative head who can officiate independent of internal politics. Rukmini Devi was an autocratic head. No one has been able to fill the void left by her death.

In 1985, when Rukmini Devi was over 80 and ailing, the institution came under a cloud following allegations regarding misappropriation of funds.

Unhappy over the state of affairs, Rukmini Devi secretly took legal action and formed a trust which would assume control over the management. Former President R. Venkataraman and Sankara Menon were part of the new setup.

The move came as a shock to members of the Kalakshetra Society who were instrumental in shaping its institution right from its inception. A counter-appeal against the trust was upheld in court and status quo resumed. The trust went to the high court where the matter rests since 1987. The bitterness and rivalry which  had earlier been only an undercurrent now lay exposed and several family members were seen in a new light under the changed circumstances.

In 1992, Bhaskar Ghosh, cultural secretary of the government, inaugurated the arts festival and announced a grant of Rs. 8 crore to Kalakshetra. With no strings attached. But nothing has materialized so far.

The threat of being rewarded the status of a deemed university hangs like a Damocles sword over the famous college of art. The status will help ease many problems, bring stability and increase staff salaries. But it will also bring with it a plethora of   rules and regulations which will oust many of the existing staffers who are well past the official retirement age.

Though teachers at Kalakshetra are pathetically underpaid, they are not there for the money. They are the pride and soul of Kalakshetra, the crème de la crème of India’s dancers trained and inspired by Rukmini Devi herself. They continue to work under the most tiring conditions. Unlike Tagore’s Santiniketan, the high standard of technique and presentation has not slipped a fraction here.

The state of confusion and conflict   prevailing in Kalakshetra should be a matter of grave concern to all art lovers. The gruesome attack on three distinguished   but defenseless senior citizens carries a serious message. It is alarming that there has been no public outcry condemning the crime. Prominent members of our society who have prided themselves on their association with Kalakshetra have kept mum. The Tamil Nadu chief minister, governor and the culture-vultures of the capital have also maintained an apathetic silence.

Whom or what did the terrorists really attack? The establishment? The college of arts, for sitting on prime property worth several crores? Was it vendetta?  A warning?  Rebellion against discipline? The police do not have a clue. Do the victims?

                           

 (Published on June 7, 1993 in ‘The Independent’, Times Of India)

     Author’s Note:

I studied at Kalakshetra from 1966 to 1970. One can’t really call Padmasani (Paddu) Teacher just a warden. She kept a hawk’s eye over everything from the garden and the layout of the campus to working overtime as bhajan singer, nurse and doctor to the students. Sankara Menon was the father figure, confidante, guide and philosopher. His Bhagavad-Gita classes swept the hazy     cobwebs of our minds and showed us a clear path to follow in our lives.

       Kamala was a sweet, loving, feminine figure who kept a quiet, low profile. 

       I was on my first visit to Melattur to attend the Bhagavata Mela Narasimha Jayanti festival when I read about this attack in the newspapers. I was deeply shocked and totally shattered. On my way back to Mumbai, I had four hours in Chennai between two trains. I rushed to the Apollo hospital.  Paddu’s sister Hema and Leela Samson were attending to them. Only Sankara Menon was sitting up. Paddu was totally unconscious and lay with tubes running in and out of her body. Kamala was under sedation. I was inconsolable. The incident leaves my heart aching every time I think of it.

       Padmasini eventually lost the battle for her life. Sankara Menon died of natural causes after  

       one year and Kamala never recovered.

       As predicted in this article, Kalakshetra was declared a deemed University and tragically,        

        several gurus who had dedicated themselves to Kalakshetra and Rukmini Devi were thrown           

        out for having crossed the retirement age. 

Seasons of Melody

From the sound of silence to the sounds of music…to the sounds of reverberating applause…it has been a long journey for Ustad Ghulam Mustafa Khan Saheb

“Music begins with silence. When the turbulence inside us recedes, it is filled by God. That is music.” He should know. Ustad Ghulam Mustafa Khan Saheb, a dazzling luminary on the musical firmament, has contributed enough to his chosen field to elicit the defining phrase ‘a seer in a spiritual trance.’

In the nascent new millennium, Khan Saheb has every right to look back with pride on the rich harvest of 70 autumns laden with musical joy and discovery. An impressive 60 of those years have been as a performer, a torch bearer of the famed Rampur-Sahaswan Gharana (house style) of north Indian music.

He was only eight years old when he was pushed onto the stage to stand in for a musician who failed to arrive in time during a music festival in his native Badayun, in Uttar Pradesh.

His father hoped he will hold fort for about twenty minutes but the youngster sang Raga Bhairavi for over an hour. Little wonder that the grandson of the legendary Inayat Hussain Khan and son of Waris Hussain Khan could pull off such a feat. Born into a family which inhaled music as much as the native air, Ustad Ghulam Mustafa Khan Saheb has many singular achievements to his credit.

The Rampur –Sahaswan Gharana is the fountainhead from which numerous talents have sprung in the last century. Baba Allaudin Khan of Maihar was a student who then gave us Ustad Ali Akbar Khan, Annapurna Devi and Pt. Ravi Shankar. Mohammed Hussain Khan was the brother of Inayat Hussain Khan. Hussain Khan’s disciple V.N.Bhatkhande pioneered the institutionalization of musical education. Other students, Chajju Khan and Nazir Khan, established the Bhendi Bazaar Gharana. Yet another shishya (student), Bhaiya Ganapat Rao, introduce the harmonium as an accompaniment.

This phenomenally successful growth of talent through a single family is reflected in Khan Saheb’s career. India’s most famous voices have honed their skills under the strict tutelage of Ustad Ghulam Mustafa Khan. Internationally renowned playback artistes Manna Dey, Asha Bhonsle, the late Geeta Dutt, Kamal Barot, Harihran, Sonu Nigam, and Anaida are some of those who have benefited from Khansaheb’s tutelage. Among classical singers who have learnt under him are Lakshmi Nayampalli, brother Aftab Ahmed Khan, Geeta Prem, and his own sons, Ghulam Murtuza and Ghulam Qadir.

“As a teacher I demand total commitment from my students. Special attention has to be given to the training and flowering of a voice. I have been very lucky as I have had, and still do, wonderfully responsive students who respect me and come up to my expectations. I’m lucky to have received support, love and loyalty from them.” A cherished dream is to gather his students around him and have a month long workshop on the pattern of a gurukul where everyone lives together and music will be the only agenda. Through his institution Sarang, he hopes he will be able to create a fund to help youngsters and give financial aid to deserving musicians. Time and experience have given his golden voice a rich timbre which can still traverse the octaves mellifluously. “I was trained to adapt my voice and attitude to cover the entire range of musical forms. My passion for musical knowledge led me to explore ancient Indian music treaties like Natya Shastra, Brihat-Deshi and Sarangdev’s Sangeet Ratnakara. I recreated compositions based on Jati Gayan. Their structure is intricate and no one had attempted them for over 700 years. Over three hours of my rendition has been recorded for our national archives.” His pride is fully justified. Khan Saheb’s skill as a composer has been immortalised in several award winning documentaries and films, besides in the bandishes for classical music. His compositions are pithy, succinct and lyrical. For instance, a ‘chota khayal’ in Raga Marwa goes:

Un bin maika chain nahin avey,

Jiya bechain din rain sajni 

Rovatu rovatu beetatu rasrang

Tum bin chin din rajni…

  My heart is restless without him, Oh friend! Night and day my tears flow, every moment of the day and night is worthless without you, O Rasrang (Rasrang is his signature).

In a bada khyal in Raga Asaveri hesays;

Ley jaa sandes, ley ja kaaga un son jaye kahiyo

Tumre Milan ki aas,

Baant takat akhiyan pathrayi,

Rasrang jaaye base ho kavan des

Take this message to my beloved, Oh raven! Tell him I yearn for our meeting. Dry-eyed, I wait for him. Who knows where he is?

He is unassuming and modest, even after phenomenal success. “I believe that when Allah sends a message, I receive it. The composition creates itself. I look at life’s vicissitudes like the sun. It does not differentiate between flowers and garbage but shines equally on both,” he says. His compositions and music direction for films like Umrao Jaan, Bhuvan Shome, Badnam Basti, Noor Jahan, Anarkali (Telugu), Chand Pretticha (Marathi) Drut (Bengali) and others have won awards. He was selected to act and sing as the legendary singer Baiju Bawra in a German documentary film.

Unexpectedly, the musician’s hero is a stalwart in astronomy and physics. “I admire Galileo. When he was jailed for speaking what he felt was the truth, somebody told him to ask for forgiveness. His friend advised him to admit that he was wrong and told him that he would be freed. Galileo did just that.” Truth will always remain truth. Why should I be locked inside? Let me continue to work in freedom.” is what he is supposed to have said. Vivekananda is also one of my favourites. I have read his complete works. He brought the whole world to his feet when he addressed the audience as brothers and sisters, a concept hitherto unknown to the western psyche.”

Ustad Ghulam Mustafa Khan was one of the earliest classical musicians to be selected to represent the country abroad in 1964. Since then he has been invited to perform at major festivals in Europe, the USA and UK. He was invited to sing at the unique “Twenty – Four Hour Raga Festival” in Paris in 1985. His classical albums have been trendsetters in the fields as he recorded rare and complicated ragas like Saraswati and Nayaki Kanada. The orthodox Jeeyar, the present head of the Ahobila Mutt, is a fan of Khan Saheb and has often requested him to sing bhajans during the Dol utsav (the cradle ceremony of Lord Krishna). Khan Saheb ventured to give an album of ghazals of Ebrahim Ashiq, which has received recommendation for its inimitable presentation. He was awarded the Padmashri in 1991.

“I have disciplined myself to follow the dictum of the Gita,” says the Ustad simply. “Our objective should be to put our best and not to worry about the outcome. I believe that there are only two religions in this world: those who believe and those who don’t…Life is like an escalator. We pass by as the world remains still. So many great men are born in this world whose contribution to the world has made them immortal. Kings like Swati Tirunal and Mansingh Tomar had everything yet gave so much to others. Tyagaraja, Tukaram, or Mirabai had no wealth but their contribution is priceless too.

I feel that I must prepare myself to face my Creator, I must have a clean record. My cup of Joy is overflowing as I have been blessed with a wonderful family. I do not hanker after what I do not have, but only count my blessings,” he concludes.

The world of music counts its blessings too, in being blessed with a musician who has infused it with richness and vibrancy.

DOWN MEMORY LANE

           Ghulam Mustafa recalls a few memorable moments…

• I am very proud of the fact that I have been singing on Al India Radio from 1949. Today, people are unable to comprehend the tremendous contribution that ‘radio’ made to music. We are eternally grateful that AIR has recorded the voices of the great musicians of those days.
• I was always fond of doing my ‘riyaz’ (musical practice). I would let nothing come between me and my daily riyaz.  In 1951, on one hot summer afternoon, my guruji was having his afternoon siesta. It was time for my time for my riyaz and I could not strum the Tanpura for fear of waking him. Desperate, I crept away to a kabrastan (graveyard) nearby. I tied a string to a bamboo pole and tuned it to give me a basic pitch and finished my practice undisturbed.
• My obsession with music made me actually run away from home in 1952. I went to Lucknow for an AIR programme. I did not return home and proceeded to Sitapur. There is a holy place in Atwah called Neemasarmisrikh. My parents were able to trace me only after a year.
• I began to live in Lucknow with one Babban Sahib who had great respect for my family. I created a makeshift shack on the landing of a staircase in his house and observed 40 days of prayers during the day and riyaz at night.
• I had tremendous stamina and will-power at that age which belied my slender frame. I would sing for several hours without resting. In 1955, I had shifted to Kanpur to stay with my uncle Ustad Rashid Ahmed Khan. The Rashtriya Sangeet Vidyalaya organized a Sangeet Dhara, which is a 24-hour non stop music performance. My turn came at midnight and I was totally involved in my music. I just went on and on … someone gave me a hot cup of milk only to make me stop. It was 8 a.m. and I had sung alone for eight hours!
• In 1957, I came to Mumbai. I was to perform at the house of Babubhai Banker, renowned industrialist. It was a great honour for me that Pandit Taranath, who had accompanied my guru extensively, accompanied me that evening. As I climbed up the stairs I was overwhelmed to see Bade Ghulam Ali Khan Sahib, Amir Khan, Pt. B.R.Deodhar, Anjalibhai Malpekar and other artistes among the guests. I was inspired enough to sing Raga Behag for over an hour followed by Jog Kauns and a thumri in Pilu. They showered their heartfelt appreciation and generously wished me a successful career.
• Acharya Brihaspati, who lived in Kanpur, encouraged me to do research in ancient Indian music. These compositions called Jati Gayan were found only in 700 –year-old manuscripts. I breathed life into them.

This feature was first published in the airline magazine ‘Jetwings’, September 2001.

Author’s Note:

Our family’s association with Khan Saheb goes back to 1957 when my father was posted at Kanpur. My mother was introduced to him and started learning music from him. A young, handsome 26- year old Ghulam Mustafa  Khan became her guru. After two years, when we returned to Mumbai, he also settled here and continued to be in touch with us. There is a story told in our family that I was forced to start classes under him when I was ten years old. On the very first day, my first ‘SA’ exploded into tears and I ran away, hiding myself till he left home! My son Ranjan and daughter Ruupa are now his ‘gandabandh’ disciples.

INSIGHTS INTO ARDHANARISWAR CONCEPT

A jamboree held in Mumbai had over 200 artistes from all genres and styles of music, dance and theatre converge to create an unforgettable tapestry of Indian performing arts.

An eight-day workshop was held at The National Centre for the Performing Arts, (N. C. P. A) Mumbai. Dubbed as a creative experiment to discover “the feminine in us”, it was titled “The Hidden River”. Saraswati, the goddess of art and herself a hidden river, was invoked to serve as a raft for this exploration. The innovative dipstick into the Jungian theory of anima exploited the vast and rich matrix of our performing arts tradition to probe into our inner consciousness and provide insights on the Ardhanariswar concept in the context of modern society. The male-female principle seems to be the current fixation among our artistes considering that there were at least three major productions centering around this theme last year.

What is unique about this presentation is that it was a confluence of over 20 tributaries of classical and folk art traditions gently persuaded to flow towards the common Sangam of rediscovering the essence of Atman or soul.

The workshop was conducted by Rajeev Sethi who has won awards such as the Padmabhushan (1985) and “Designer of the Year” (1992). Sethi navigated the perilous course with a crew comprising of theatre heavyweights like Vijaya Mehta, Shama Zaidi, Bhaskar Chandavarkar and Shanta Gokhale.

Together they attempted to crossbreed Bharatanatyam and A.K. Ramanujam’s poem, with an Alaap by a Manganiyar and graft Mayurbhanj Chhau to Koodiyaattam drums, creating something whose appeal was but transient. Sethi was, of course, totally at ease with this sort of thing having masterminded the Apna Utsav and Aditi earlier. He comes across as a visualiser for whom the world is indeed a stage. The cast comprised of 150 members and the canvas was vast. Sethi drew out the best from each artiste. The workshop began with nothing but a loose script but as the theme developed, a giant jigsaw began to fall in place. The challenges in visualization and sheer logistics could have seemed insuperable but for Sethi’s perseverance and the sponsor’s generosity.

The first two days of the workshop were devoted to introducing each other and demonstrations to determine the force of each art. The third and fourth days were the actual joining of pieces and observers were privileged to imbibe the heady mela atmosphere and witness strikingly touching vignettes of dance and music which the informality of the occasion seemed to inspire. Maya Rao (Delhi) demonstrated the power of Kathakali’s subliminal beauty when unencumbered by makeup and costume. Unfortunately, she did not participate in the final event.

A theatre experience is influenced in no small measure by the ambience in which it is staged. A special performance space was constructed amidst the ruins of a derelict textile mill near the picturesque pier of one of Mumbai’s docks. The clear starlit sky overhead and a chilly sea-breeze heightened expectations and ensured audience participation.

The centrestage was surrounded by a pit where all the participants sat and watched the others, getting up only on cue to do their bit.

The pit had another border of narrow platform which was used to great advantage. Split-levels and minor satellite platform created a feeling of space and time.

A shrine for Ardhanariswar was consecrated high up an aisle, allowing performers to walk into spectator space. The mythological dimension of the male and female principle was demonstrated by Ammanur Madhava Chakyar and Kudunalur K. Nair. In their heyday, the two octogenarians were much admired for their artistry. Today, weighed down by age, costume and makeup, their movements were a little restricted. Raja Radha Reddy converted a Kshetrajna Padam into a mini drama. Their depiction of the cosmic union went down well with the audience. Unfortunately, the vocalist accompanying them was mediocre and the only contribution of music from the southern belt was disappointing to say the least.

The process and methodology of the workshop, threw up several interesting ideas which were immediately seized upon and absorbed into the script. For instance, when Navtej Johar was depicting the bhakti element, Asha Coorlawala, a contemporary dancer, was inspired to express herself in abstract movements. Another factor was the emergence of parallel themes which provided more grist for the mill. Anwar, a Manganiyar who amazed everyone with the sheer beauty of his voice and music, confessed that his wife is not permitted by tradition to appear or perform on stage.

He was immediately challenged by Teejan Bai, the famous Pandwani storyteller. As a result, Anwar’s wife and daughter also performed for the first time that evening.

Nurjehan Bai, a courtesan from Baroda, had given up music after she stopped practicing her profession. For the workshop, she was coaxed into performing after a gap of 15 years. Her voice, packing real emotive power, touched a chord in the hearts of the listeners.

The history of classical dance was another welcome interpolation Two charming Gotipuas from Orissa, inspired Guru Kelucharan Mahapatra to reminisce his own childhood. Kelubabu’s Ashtapadi symbolized the truth this project was driving at when he transformed himself into Radha in dalliance with the Eternal Lover Krishna.

Others who impressed with their performances were Shaheeda Bano, (daughter of Nurjehan Begum) who sang a Quawwali. Ghazi Khan, the wizard with the castanets was especially scintillating when he was pitted against the intricate rhythms of the Koodiyaattam drums, --- no mean achievement for a folk artiste. Teejan Bai, the feisty storyteller, turned the tables during the workshop when she declared, “The female element in man is a well known fact, but what about the man in me?”

Other themes of a contemporary nature which were touched upon were amniocentesis, female infanticide and abortion. This was a contribution of urban theatre. Effective narration in English by eminent theatre personalities brought the burning questions of female survival closer to heart.

But one could not understand the need for rubbing salt in the still raw wounds of the Mumbai psyche by enacting a communal riot scene. It was irrelevant.

The presentation juxtaposed the body language spoken by Malkahamb gymnasts with those from the street and the circus. It was pathetic to see the marginalized theatre forms like the Therukoothu (Tamil Nadu), the Bahuroopia, Bhavai (Gujarat), Baul (Bengal), Bansrani (East India) and the Nats (Gujarat). The awesome skill of the Charkop dancers who swirled and danced with four tiered plates and pots ringed with flaming lamps on their heads was enhanced by the enormous drum and high-pitched singing accompaniment. Three women demonstrated Theratali skillfully striking together the cymbals tied on various parts of the body.

The presentation ended on a thrilling note dictated by typical touristy formula and had all the performers dancing the Phugadi (couples twirling around holding crossed hands) on the stage.  The tremendous effort, energy and fun poured into this jamboree will remain an evanescent self-indulgence for a privileged few, considering that no effort was taken to document the process or the product of the workshop. The invitation to the workshop claimed that “The workshop will conclude as a docu-drama to be presented to an Indian and international audience.” One fervently wishes that this will be made possible. The mega-event also went unnoticed in Mumbai, a major centre for art.

The performances were open to a small number of invitees. When questioned on the lack of publicity given to the event, an NCPA spokesman said, ‘we wanted it that way.’ The other organization which coordinated this event was SARTHI, a voluntary agency aiming to help artistes.

While the first performance was wasted on a restless and unappreciative crowd, it was a consolation that the invitees on the second day waited patiently for the leisurely presentation to unwind. The balance of the yin and yang in Nature, in our tradition and performing arts is an essential aspect of life. The yo-yo syndrome of constantly having to work at maintaining this balance and its indisputable existence was sharply brought into top focus by this project.

The double-faced drums, Purush and Prakriti, Tandava and Lasya, Raudra and Shringara were some of the pair of opposites which were explored. The one achievement which seemed most significant was the breakdown of physical and mental barriers among the participants. All regional, parochial and chauvinistic shrouds were hung up to dry on this peg. The eagerness to respond to the others, the willingness to interact and ability to appreciate were heartening happenings in the increasingly commercial arts world. Many precious issues were thus churned up in this gathering which Madhava Chakyar likened to an ‘Indra Sabha’. Narrative traditions and the abstract related in terms of their flow into one another. Solo dancing traditions seem to be threatened by the sheer energy generated by multiple streams and plural visuals.

Is it a sign of times? This concern is voiced by yet another observer who is also a Chhau dancer. “Our arts are best left alone. What is the mental make-up of a simple folk dancer who is exposed to this mind-boggling variety of kinetic images?” asks Prakriti Kashyap. “Dissatisfaction will creep in and there will be absorption of alien elements into the art.” As it happened, this was proved beyond doubt when Gulabo, a bewitchingly beautiful Rajasthani dancer, interspersed her natural folk dancing style with mannerisms a la Dixit.

[Published on March 15, 1996, in Friday Review of ‘The Hindu’, (Chennai)]

Author’s Note:

This was the first feature I wrote for this prestigious newspaper. I was then invited to contribute regularly about Mumbai based cultural events and did so for two years. ‘The Hindu’ proudly maintains a high standard of the Queen’s English and is almost the only publication where fine arts, literature, and young readers have special weekly supplements.

HE LOVES ME, HE LOVES ME NOT

By Indu Raman

             Critics – people artistes love to hate. The bitter pill the dancer must swallow            

              before the performance. The hottest topic in the green room.  The dancer’s  

              favourite bete noire. The one unifying factor among artistes. The critic is today 

              defined as the one who is himself criticised by those he criticizes.

            There is a striking portrayal of the archetypal dance critic in the Telugu film Sagara Sangamam. A scruffy, kurta-clad, bearded critic sits happily through a splendid dance performance – until the dancer commits a grave faux pas in the interpretation of the text. The critic focuses on the blunder in his review. Storming into the newspaper office, the incensed dancer demands to meet the critic, ostensibly to give a piece of her mind. His mouth filled with paan, the critic demonstrates then and there, his extraordinary knowledge and passion for the art.

           Delhi has been recently resounding with yet another clash between dancers and critics, the echoes of which are being heard in Bombay. This issue is like an undeflatable balloon. It just grows bigger and bigger, yet it never bursts. There is no end to it. There is no solution which will make everyone sit back and say, “Thank God, It’s over!”

            Criticism is a fine art. It implies that the person who reviews the merits and demerits of an artistic work knows the subject well enough and has known it long enough. In India, the critic has a difficult, almost impossible job. He is expected to cover a variety of styles of music and dance. Can a classical music enthusiast write about a Ghazal programme without a bias? Firstly, his attitude will be one of condescension towards popular music. Secondly, by choice, he may not have sat through enough Ghazal programmes to be aware of what is current. Against what standards will he judge?

            A dance critic who is basically a lover of Kathak faces a similar problem when he has to assess a Bharata Natyam performance. He understands Hindusthani music, can distinguish the nuances of the gharanas and relates to the total ambience. Can he switch over to a Bharata Natyam recital and use the same yardstick? The music                    is different. Unknown languages are used. Allusions to southern temple traditions and myths abound. If the dancer misinterprets the text, or the singer pronounces a word wrong, would he know? There is thus a crying need for specialization.

                        The critic must also follow the art closely and update himself on the innovations, shifts and interpolations that creep into it. The gharana strongholds in Hindustani music for instance, are weakening. Artistes are striving for originality. The critic, like the barometer, must allow his levels to change constantly.

                        All criticism is subjective. Criticism written without passion is mere reportage. The critic must react on a personal level. His knowledge of and love for the art must cause him to feel outraged over a bad performance. He must goad, inspire and provoke the artiste to give of his or her best. He is the watchdog. No one could have put the essence of his function more succinctly than George Bernard Shaw who said, “a critic must know the facts, that is where his bias comes out.”

                        But, it is here that the critic must be chary of the poison in his quill. He must focus on the interpretation of the art and not be prejudiced by the artiste’s personality or lifestyle. Young, upcoming artistes deserve constructive advice, reprimand and a modicum of praise. The professional dancer who already has a reputation can be administered a stiff dose of disapproval, if he/she consistently performs badly.

                        There is a time for encouragement and indignation, for provocation and nostalgia. The critics themselves have unrealistic ideals to follow. They must aim to be fair, take a long-term view and above all, they must care for art and artistes.

                        And what of the target camp? Performers wear their grudges on their sleeve. They shout blue murder every time unfair criticism appears and go into euphoria over praise. The artiste is a sensitive soul. That is why he or she is an artiste.

                       A stable relationship between the artiste and the critic is thus impossible to achieve. Nor is it necessary. There must be an unbridgeable chasm between the two. Only then do the artiste’s motives end with her doing her best and the critic remains unshackled by personal relations. Only then can he view a performance, without tinted glasses or guilt, pulling the punches out of his pen.

                       Ideally the critic should remain incognito. No bylines. This could give him the kind of freedom everyone only talks about. – freedom of the press. But will newspapers be willing to stand by such a critic? Shaw, favours this stand: “A critic should not know anybody.” He says. “His hand should be against every man and every man’s hand against his.”

                        The pen has always vested power in him who has wielded it. Critics think dancers are narcissistic, egoistic and dancers want to demolish the pedestals the critics place themselves on. If dancers fear that a critic can shatter their carefully built career with a damaging review, the critics are wary of intimidation and the gagging of independent criticism.

                       And yet, the fact remains that each needs the other. We are back with the balloon. It is never going to burst.

(First published in The Independent (TOI))

REVIVING THE GURUKUL TRADITION

The Chintamani Ashram conceived Guru Mani, founder of the Kalasadan Institute Of Fine Arts, will impart both Carnatic and Hindustani Music, all styles of Dance, Yoga and Sanskrit in a Gurukul atmosphere.

Guru Mani, born in a village called Veembil near Thrisoor, Kerala, came to Bombay in 1942. As a sprightly young scholar of English, Sanskrit and Mathematics, He landed an attractive job with India Book House. His major interests, however, were dance, dramatics and music.

The arrival of dance guru Smt. Karunambal and her husband  Govindaraja Pillai in Bombay was an added impetus. Young Mani, had the good fortune and honour of being an attractive contributor in establishing the first south Indian dance school in Mumbai, Sri Rajarajeshwari Bharata Natya Kala Mandir at Matunga. Reminiscing about those early days, Guru Karunambal says, “Mani left his job to learn from me. Even though he learnt for a very short while, his ardour for the art was very impressive. His guru-bhakti is such that he visits us to pay his respects on every Guru-Poornima and on Dussera day.”

Guru Mani founded the Kalasadan Cultural Society in 1954 and has a record 1000 students on its rolls, today! But, there have been allegations that their students who were put on the stage fell far short of the classical standards expected of them. Acquiescing this, Guru Mani says, “There was a certain phase where parents put extreme pressure on us, to see their children on the stage. Today, we have a five-year course. We arrange group arangetrams to fight rising costs.”

What he allegedly lacks in artistry, Guru Mani, amply compensates with faith, courage, indomitable will-power and magnitude of vision. In 1947, he took one step when he helped establish Bharata Natyam in Mumbai. In 1977, his next mammoth achievement was the first ever All India Dance and Music Conference (A.I.D.A. M. C.), in Bombay. Mild, soft-spoken and quite unknown till then, he strode like a colossus among the artistes after the thundering success of the convention. Now in 1991, he is poised to soar greater heights and leave an indelible footprint on the city.

Mani’s dream to build an art complex in Bombay may soon become a reality. The Chintamani Ashram to be built at Titwala has been conceived as a massive institution, where classical music and dance will be taught in a gurukul atmosphere. Students will reside here with their Gurus and freely interact with other departments. Both Carnatic and Hindustani Music, all the styles of Dance, Yoga and Sanskrit will coexist in Chintamani-- speaking volumes for the catholicity of the founder.

The more ambitious part of this Shiva Linga shaped complex, the auditorium, will be built in the second phase only. The practical and down-to-earth Guru Mani explains, “We are beginning with the basic structure. We have to first build the classrooms, a shopping arcade and a bank facility to become self-sufficient. The shops will sell and repair musical instruments, paintings, antiques and other artistic requirements.” How does the word Ashram fit such a modernistic, concrete structure?  “An ashram also connotes a disciplined life, doesn’t it? That’s what I want to emphasise------ healthy, sensible values of life must be imparted to youth,” the Guru replies.

Shades of Protima Bedi’s Nrityagram? This Ashram or Dance village near Bangalore was built brick-by-brick media coverage, inaugurated by a Prime Minister and collapsed without a whimper. Guru Mani denies any knowledge of details about this utopian venture, but humbly asserts, “One has to build from the foundation, with sincerity and devotion. If Goddess Mahalakshmi wills it, I may see it completed in my lifetime. The funds are being collected by painstakingly organizing music festivals and soliciting donations. Our students and their parents are our real pillars of strength. They have generously given their time and any resources available to them.” Guru Mani describes a touching incident. “From 1979 when I first conceived the idea of an Ashram, I have been depositing One rupee per month per student, in a separate account. In fact, it was this corpus which we used, to pay for the land in ’89.” Around 27 classrooms representing stars of the Indian almanac will be named after the donor who pays amount of Rs.1.25 lakhs, for its construction. Hema Malini, the film-actress and dancer, has already made the first offer. She is a long-time friend and patron of Kalasadan. Mani’s wife, two sons and four daughters have dedicated their lives to art, ----- or more precisely to their father’s ambitions. They are running the classes, while the septuagenarian Guru is embroiled in all the mundane formalities which precede the laying of the foundation stone.

Kalasadan’s noble aim is the reviving of the age-old Guru-Shishya tradition. This is the only way of learning our classical arts, which are steeped in divinity and requires complete dedication of one’s body, mind and soul. Living with the teacher, one absorbs much more than just the art, the philosophy, the politics and close encounters with other greater contemporaries.

Yet another septuagenarian, Nikhil Ghosh, is still battling with problems of finance for his truly precious project, --------- an encyclopedia of Indian Music. Chintamani may well turn out to be a Bharat Bhavan, a Santiniketan or a Kalamandalam, in this part of the country.

This was first published in The Independent (TOI)

Understanding Cinema

There is a story I often quote in my lectures on classical dance. It unfailingly brings out a spark of understanding in my students’ eyes. In an ancient text called Vishnudharmottama there is a story about a king who desires to learn dance. He approaches the venerated court acharya of dance. The guru tells him ‘go and learn the art of sculpture first.’ The king obeys him and spends a year learning sculpture. When he returns, the guru sends him back to learn the art of painting then music and so on. Finally, he is admitted to the class of dance.

This story explains why one needs to understand other arts to become a master of dance. Dance is sculpture come alive, painting gives an insight into colour and form and music is the soul of dance. Today as I study cinema I can see how it applies far more aptly to this nineteenth century art called cinema. Dance embodies so many arts and I see cinema as a magnificent expansion of all the arts made possible by the wizardry of modern science. Like dance and theatre, cinema too is money –guzzling fickle Dame who may or may not grant you success. History records show legendary film makers been bitten by the silver screen bug because of their obsession. They have mortgaged their homes, pawned their wife’s jewellery and binged on alcohol or drugs in frustration. In fact, if you are not passionate about cinema you can never make a credible film.

 After spending over half my life exploring the creative aspects of dance and theatre, I, a closet star-struck movie buff, was drawn to study cinema. What is it in cinema that fascinates and unites millions of people around the world?

I had no idea how to go about satisfying my new thirst for knowledge about cinema. How does one read a film? Why do some films remain evergreen in my memory and some I cannot even remember the names of? I still can never forget the first film I ever saw- Fancy Pants (1950 starring Bob Hope and Lucille Ball). Born in the black and white era I remember having seen a great many films in Tamil, Hindi and English as a child. Tickets were a couple of rupees and we stayed a stone’s throw from Metro, Eros, New Empire and Regal. Sunday mornings the rates were half rate and we never missed a flick. Undoubtedly the melodious film music of the golden era helped burn some scenes into one’s memory.

My friends in the media were too busy to help me in my search but suggested good films I could see and books I could read. But can you really understand the layers of work that went into making a film by reading a book? Well the Universe heard my plaintive moan and gave me a teacher, Oorvazi Irani (Andheri, Mumbai). Irani is passionate about cinema, is academically and professionally trained and has a family background of film makers. In six all- day sessions (three weekends), we were bombarded with information starting with the first ever still photograph to the present day. The passionate- for- cinema class was taken through the journey film has made in France, Germany, Italy, America, Russia, Iran and India.

Beginning from 1839 when still photography was discovered and the first motion picture camera invented by Edison and Dickson we trailed through Lumiere Brothers, the pioneering film editors Edwin Porter to Griffith’s ‘Birth of a Nation’ (1908), every session a pure delight. What did terms German Expressionism mean? Who were French Impressionist film-makers? The first sound films, Italian Neo-realist movement, Orson Welles, and the French New Wave had meant nothing before but mean a great deal now. Every session was illustrated with relevant clippings and rare films. Fellini’s La Strada left me sleepless for nights, Akira Kurosawa’s Rashomon captured my days and Dreyer’s Passion of Jeanne D’Arc, an amazing silent movie, keeps flashing before my eyes even today.

Joining a film club satiates our thirst for good films. Here it was not just watching films. This was a unique experiment in education where one does not just learn but discovers. The weekends were a voyage of discovery of the hidden joys of cinema, the technique and the related fields which combine magically to gift us a 90 minute slice of life.

We were given simple assignments to awaken our forgotten senses of sound and sight. To appreciate the sensitive art of acting first hand we went through an entire session of dealing with feelings and emotion including an introduction to the Natya Sastra. We learned why Chekov and Stanislavsky had a different approach to acting. Directors like Godard, Dreyer, Truffaut, Guru Dutt, Ray and Ghatak are names that mean something more now. After the sessions were over we thirsted for more and those with genuine passion continue to meet, watch movies and discuss the style and specialty of the various directors.   A unique community was thus created to spread the joy of cinema.

Appreciation of cinema and understanding the history of cinema is vital for all film professionals. Today’s mainstream films are lavish meaningless exercises with neither beauty nor message. In the last decade youngsters feasted on regressive television serials and artless films leading to thought famine. Like a small frog in this stagnant pond this is all they had access to. An informed cinema audience will demand quality cinema and will be quick to spot denim-clad cowboys disguised in salwars and dhotis.

Today’s actor, critic or film professional may wonder, ‘why should I learn history of cinema or bother about what happened in France or Germany’? Who cares? How can I commit to six days of my life learning about unheard of directors and actors? Is it going to get me roles or help me make a box-office hit? Yessir! The film appreciation course opens your eyes to the vast possibilities of cinema. The course is a tribute to the masters, pioneers and visionaries who have fashioned cinema into what it is today. Every era in cinematic history uncovers a layer of understanding with its own cultural, linguistic and socio-political influences.  Watching the masters’ films refines our senses. They have achieved wonders without the help of digital wizardry but just the limited technology available to them. Today’s actor or director will assuredly draw inspiration from these gems of world masters.

[First published in passionforcinema.com (now defunct)]

PANDIT SHARAD SATHE AT SIXTY

On a warm Sunday morning in May, an exclusive gathering of musicians, music lovers and friends gathered to felicitate Pandit Sharad Sathe, a senior musician of the Gwalior Gharana on his 60th birthday. The invitees were regaled by Sathe and his wife Sunetra for three hours  and more of classy music. The only interruption was a brief interlude to accommodate a touching two- minute interlude made by their daughter Smita Mahajan. And a word of thanks to the distinguished audience. The music that morning reflected the sophistication grace and emotional overtones of the Gwalior Gharana.

 Sunetra Sathe opened the session with a forceful rendering of compositions in Jaunpuri and Alaiya Bilawal. She had been on a self-imposed exile from the public stage for twelve years but her music revealed her thorough grounding and involvement in the art. Pt Sharad Sathe’s recital was in the nature of a heartfelt offering to his gurus. He seemed inspired by the presence of the octogenarian Pt Sharad Chandra Arolkar with whom he has maintained a constructive relationship for the past twenty-six years. The Todi which flowed was a brilliant display of grandeur and aesthetics. The musical grammar was correct, there was also emotion or bhava.

The quality of an inner harmony which gives richness and dimension to his music was also evident. He rendered a tappa with great felicity and concluded his recital with a tarana and a composition in Bhairavi. The event helped recall how music brought Sharad Sathe and Sunetra together and has remained a binding force in their family.

Born in 1932 in Pune , Sathe was encouraged by his sister Kamal Ketkar a musicologist, to learn music under her guru the young Dattatreya Paluskar. The gifted son of the legendary Vishnu Digambar Paluskar, D.V Paluskar is credited with simplifying the highly complex Gwalior gayaki and endowing it with a depth of perception and a rich emotive quality. Sathe was in his teens when he began receiving instruction under Paluskar as one of the most promising students. He enjoyed the privilege of travelling and performing with his Master.

“Over seven years I had the opportunity to learn concert planning for my guru could gauge the audience and give them exactly what they wanted”, says Sathe in admiration, and adds: “I remember an Independence Day concert in Lahore in 1953. In the morning Panditji had high fever. D. K. Datar who was to accompany him on the violin and I had taken for granted that concert would be cancelled. But in the morning, my guruji asked to be helped on to the stage and gave an unblemished recital. His spirit was admirable. In 1954, at a conference in Motihari  Bihar, he was scheduled to sing last. His turn came at three o clock in the morning. The audience was tired and listless. Guruji began with a drut khayal in Lalit, an early morning raga. The audience responded with such renewed energy and sheer joy that it seemed like a miracle.”

The sense of bereavement at the tragic death of his youthful master still lingers in Sathe’s voice. As he remembers the events leading to Paluskar’s sudden end. Paluskar had just returned from a tour to China in 1955 as part of a government delegation. On Vijayadashami Day, he developed high fever diagnosed as encephalitis, and collapsed within 24 hours.

Sharad Sathe was only twenty-three at that time and had graduated in science. His quest for another guru brought him to Bombay in 1956. He continued his musical training under B. R. Deodhar who passed away in March 1990. He was also a disciple of Vishnu Digamber Paluskar.

Sunetra studied music with Govind Rao Desai, of the Gwalior tradition. She has an interesting story to tell about her first meeting with Sharad Sathe. “The first time I saw him was at his concert. Half way through the concert, I just walked away, unable to enjoy the music.” Quips Sathe, cutting in, “Perhaps you were overwhelmed by my personality.” Sunetra gave up performing when the family responsibilities grew. Married in 1958, the Sathes have a daughter Smita (vocalist and dancer) and a son, Samir.

Sathe comes across as an enlightened musician who has could successfully blend learning with a studied modern approach to life and music onstage and off it he projects a sense of harmony and conveys a shrewd inner determination which has stood him in good stead throughout his career of forty plus years. Says he,” Music has been the mainstay of my life. I am indeed fortunate in my guru-s and content with the course of my career has taken. I am not one to take recourse to gimmicks or pursue publicity. I believe that the satisfaction good music can give cannot be matched by anything in the world. These are the values I have been taught by my guru-s and this I have tried to impart to my children and students.”

Under his guidance, Pandit Sharad Sathe ‘s daughter Smita and son Samir inherit an ear for music and the arts. Smita Sathe-Mahajan is an accomplished dancer who has published a book of her compositions and lyrics for dance. She choreographed a few items and presented them with her students. Smita and Samir are trained in Carnatic music as well.

Panditji is dedicated to the promotion of arts and culture and is connected to the Dadar Matunga Cultural Centre. He is a calligrapher and a commercial artist, which is not known to many of his fans.

[This article was first published in Sruti Issue 99/100]