Her
head rests on a down-turned basket on the floor. Her thick, incredibly curly
hair is spread over it after the customary oil bath. As the incense fumes rise
from the live coals under the basket, the black waves seem endless and
enchanting. The face they frame turns ethereal. Diamond sparks from ear and nose
intensify the fragrant dream.
When she rises from cloudy
repose, she knots her hair, tucks jasmine flowers into its folds, sits before
the Gods in the puja (prayer) room and sings with her eyes closed, slender
fingers gliding over the tanpura (stringed musical instrument). I become even
more convinced that grandaunt Kunjamma is a celestial being. How else could she
make music which thrilled you all over?
At that time, I was too young
to realise that she was the idol of hundreds of thousands as the celebrated
musician M S Subbulakshmi. But I did know the legends of Goddesses who came to
earth on special missions. Now in my adulthood, stripped of childish fancies and
credulous faith, I am still unable to shake off that adoration. I certainly see
it reflected in the sea of faces in the concert hall, looking up at the lady on
the dais. To them, she is not merely a performer, not even a saintly singer. She
is Goddess incarnate. It is not human art but divine grace which manifests
itself through her voice.
That voice has been rated
peerless from the shy days of her debut when it soared like the high-pitched
notes of a bird in springtime. Later, the ravishing trills were weighted with
the stately grandeur and sonorous devotion of the classical tradition. Few other
artists have been as successful as Subbulakshmi in the melding of the conscious
and the unconscious, the inborn and the reflective elements of her art.
She plumbs the depths and
scales the heights of the raga, dwelling resoundingly on the gandhara of the
upper register, circling it with phrases pure and brilliant. She may drown you
in hymnal fervour as she repeats the line, 'O jagajanani, manonmani, omkara
rupini, kalyani…' The listener is lost in a trance. He doesn't realise that
the ecstasy is founded on technical mastery, marathon training and phenomenal
control. Perhaps this was at the back of his mind when the Hindustani maestro
Bade Ghulam Ali Khan called her "Suswaralakshmi Subbulakshmi".
And if you pay attention to
anything she sings from her vast, still-increasing repertoire in many languages
and in several musical forms, from Telugu kritis to Marathi abhangs (devotional
songs), you can see how much diction, breath control and thoughtful modulation
contribute to the transcendence which characterises her music. Meticulousness is
a constant factor in everything she does. Her unquestioning faith in God is
equalled by her unfailing commitment to her art.
National and international
leaders, fellow artists and celebrities from every walk of life rank among her
admirers. For an artist who has never given a single interview, letting her
music speak for itself, Subbulakshmi has received unprecedented press coverage.
The public adulation is evoked not only for her music but for the other worldly
qualities she represents. Indian thought identifies these with the Bhakti
tradition, where art is only a vehicle for seeking and finding God.
.....More and more of her fans
tell her that listening to her songs, live or recorded, has brought them good
fortune, averted mishaps, replaced physical or mental ailments with peace of
mind. I cannot forget a dear friend who repeatedly asked me to sing any 'MS'
music as she faced death from third-degree burns.
In real life, Subbulakshmi is
an extremely traditional and conservative woman of her generation. She is quite
unaware of the trails she has blazed, or her pioneering achievements.
..... With husband Thiagarajan
Sadasivam to guide her, M S Subbulakshmi has raised over Rs 30 million for
charity through her concerts.
.....Yes, grandaunt Kunjamma is
an inspiring role model, not only for the miracle of her culture: humility,
compassion, consideration for others and unwavering principles of conduct. Her
quest for perfection, sincerity of effort and concentration are not reserved for
the stage. They are visible in the camphor light that she circles around the
Gods and gurus in her puja room. That is why she fills you with the same rapture
when she sings a prayer at home, as she does on the concert stage with her
eyes-closed final, 'Kurai onrum illai (Lord, I have no regrets)'.
(As told to Gowri Ramnarayan,
Past Forward, Oxford University Press, 1997)