Appreciating Art

'This CD has a wonderful Shubhapantuvarali kriti by TNS', said my friend.

'What ragam is that? Is there any film song that I know in this ragam?' I asked, for this was my initial way of learning to identify ragams.

'Well, Shubhapantuvarali is the ragam they play on Doordarshan, whenever a big leader dies', said my friend, only half-jokingly.

I started listening to the CD on my way back home. I was day-dreaming as usual while mechanically driving the car. I was jolted out of my reverie when the song began. Something was happening, something physical - like someone was choking me or like something was gnawing the insides of my stomach. I did not need any announcement to say that THIS was Shubhapantuvarali !!

Those were times when I was trying hard to learn to appreciate carnatic music. I would memorize names of a few ragams and one or 2 songs in each one of them and try to match aural patterns of new songs with those that I already knew. I was having a tough time understanding 'talam' (rhythm) and the mathematics involved in it.

Interestingly, although I had attempted to learn music a few times before that, I was not really interested in looking at it as a science. My approach towards learning music was to sound as close to my teacher's rendering of the song as possible and nothing more. However only when I was in the ideal geographic location amidst ideal friends (i.e., outside India amongst recently reborn Indians), did I start taking an active interest in classical music, primarily because I had a lot of time on hand with almost nothing to do.

My friends who took a keen interest in educating me on Carnatic Music and in making me listen to it with as much interest as them, were mostly guys who had developed such an interest fairly recently. They were mostly guys who had gone outside India for higher studies and were either still students or had recently completed their studies. As a result, the way I learnt to perceive music was the way they had learnt it. We spoke about the theory behind the music system. I would listen open-mouthed about how some ragams were pentatonic (although I initially thought that these discussions were meant to humiliate me!) and about parent and child ragams and what not.

When I came back to India and later started talking about these things as though I had invented them, both family and friends thought it was a passing fad. I was brimming with excitement and wanted to share my new-found knowledge and interest with all those I knew. I would talk ceaselessly, without bother, trying to tell people how 'Purvikalyani' and 'Pantuvarali' were very close (although if someone had bothered to question me on the actual similarities or differences, I would have been stumped!) and other such trivia that I had picked up.

After returning to India, I tried learning music from a few other people. Many of these attempts did not work out, often due to constraints with time, sometimes due to the approach towards music. One of my teachers used to hate the fact that I was looking at Carnatic Music as a science and was trying to find patterns everywhere. Her contention was that art was to be experienced, not analyzed.It used to remind me of my English teacher is school, who used to frequently state that people in the science stream did not have 'finer feelings' !!!

In the beginning my anxiety to share my joy was high. I tried my friends' methods with my siblings, parents and even a few close friends. I would gift my friends music CDs and concert recordings, play carnatic music all the time at home. But I could never get them listen to music in the same way I did.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that I was wrong in trying to make a person feel the same way I do about a piece of art. After all, that is the beauty of art, isn't it? It evokes different reactions in different people. Who says that analysis and experiencing art cannot go hand-in-hand? And who defines how one experiences art?

Words are usually never enough to describe how a piece of art makes you feel. How do I explain the indescribable swelling of emotions when I hear 'Chinnanchiru kiliye kannamma' by Bharathiyar, played on the violin by Lalgudi Jayaraman? Or the instant connection and tremendous respect I felt when I heard an elderly maami sighing contentedly after a Todi alapana - 'Todiyum Bhairaviyum evlo daram ketaalum salikave salikaadu!' ('You can listen to Todi and Bhairavi any number of times without getting bored!')? Or the peace I feel within when the entire crowd is spellbound and experiences complete unison with the singer and the music?