Dhanyasi

The story of Dhanyasi is subtle. Neither gifted nor ordinary, neither effortless nor laboured, neither royal nor of the slums. Not to mistaken for middle of the road - definitely opinionated and emphatic, and with a natural intelligence and beauty.

A self aware raga that works to accenuate its strengths and lives to please you. Dhanyasi lulls you into believing that you are in control and that she/he/it (depending on your mood)is playing to your whims - plaintive, courageous, encouraging, inspirational, soothing, soothsaying, aggressive, sombre or hopeful (though never overtly cheerful).

In fact, Dhanyasi has played you through and through like a master puppeteer. You notice the strings attached only in hindsight. She is the free spirit that pretends to be kept.

Being a sucker has never been more exquisite.

Reserved for Servants et al.

I am back to consulting which means that I now spend most of my week in Bombay, while continuing to live in Delhi. Which means that I am necessarily also back to the "Bombay vs. Delhi" debate. My intention in this post is not to delve into this vast and cliched topic but to let you know of my first, limited, likely naive, sense of Bombay - that it has an egalitarian outlook. An outlook that is apparent in many small ways:

On a previous visit, I took an autorickshaw from the airport to a meeting. There were a whole bunch of folks in suits and ties taking autos. Part of the reason I took the auto was that I was told it would be the quickest way to my destination through the traffic. Nevertheless, this is in direct contrast to my experience in Hyderabad where I was made to get down with all my luggage about a kilometre or two away from the swanky new terminal building - I almost missed my flight because Hyderabad thought it was unbecoming of the global city to have lowly autos in the vicinity of their new jewel.

There is a chaiwalla on the pavement next to the office building I work in. Next to him is a dosa corner, 2 cigarrette shops, and vendors of vada paav, pakodas and all sorts of other goodies. The chaiwalla serves taxi drivers and senior vice presidents who all appreciate the chai for what it is - a break from work, a temporary change of scene, and a tasty drink. I would find it hard to believe that the brain behind this Crabtree advertisement was from Mumbai (where else were the couple planning to have their tea?)

We stay in a serviced apartment- a sort of guesthouse with a caretaker. It is in a 19 storey apartment block serviced by precisely two elevators. Amazingly, there is a sign proclaiming that one of the elevators is reserved for servants, newspaper boys, cleaners, vendors and other public. Residents were explicitly disallowed from using one of only two elevators in the building while servants were implictly allowed to use either. Try imagining that in Delhi!

Water Bombs the Moon

The announcement of the discovery of water on the moon in end September was widely celebrated. Very little water was discovered– far less prevalent than on even the driest place on earth, and not in free form but bound up with minerals. A great feat of technology. And surely a significant finding.

Significant, yes, but why? We paid scant attention to the scientific implications of the finding (a possible rethink of the way in which the Earth and Moon were formed). Nor were we enveloped with renewed humility (we are discovering water only now, and we thought we knew our buddy the Moon very well). Surprisingly, the buzz wasn’t even about the possibility of discovering water-supported life forms on the moon. Rather, the buzz was about us - we will colonise, we will refuel, we will establish our bases, we will take, we will use, we will capitalise.

The first act of any colonisation is inevitably violence – and today, the Moon witnessed its first. NASA’s LCROSS probe launched a rocket into the Moon, before crashing itself on the lunar scape. The idea is for LCROSS to analyse the moon dust created by the first explosion for water vapour, on its way down.

The explosion was designed to create an estimated 250 metric tonnes of moon dust with the plumes visible through midsized off-the-shelf telescopes on earth. The Moon deserves better. And the Earth deserves our attention.

Bush has won the Nobel Peace Prize 2009...

...for Obama. Or how else does one explain the decision?

In the past, the prize has occasionally been given for achievements, such as to Gorbachev for ending the Cold War, to Arafat, Peres and Rabin for signing a peace deal, to de Klerk and Mandela for ending apartheid. In certain cases, the achievement of peace is not on the horizon, and so the prize has been awarded to acknowledge a lifetime's effort and to provide momentum, a la the Dalai Lama and Aung San Suu Kyi. The committee has also strayed into areas unrelated to peace, notably by giving Al Gore a share of the 2007 prize for making a entertaining presentation on global warming (notwithstanding the thought that if all of us were to fry, there would at long last be peace on Earth).

And now, Mr. Obama. Why? Because he has "created a new climate in international politics". Because "Multilateral diplomacy has regained a central position, with emphasis on the role that the United Nations and other international institutions can play". Because "His diplomacy is founded in the concept that those who are to lead the world must do so on the basis of values and attitudes that are shared by the majority of the world's population." And because of "his extraordinary efforts to strengthen international diplomacy and co-operation between peoples".

In other words, because if you're not with him, you are not necessarily against him. Because the US President is being a reasonable statesman again. Because he is not Bush.

Obama owes his election to the presidency to Bush - how else does one win on the single point agenda of "hope"? And now he's won himself a Nobel Peace Prize after 8 months of nothing but hoping - to quote the Committee one last time - "Only very rarely has a person to the same extent as Obama captured the world's attention and given its people hope for a better future"

Austere Posture

As public relations initiatives go, the Congress Party’s Austerity Drive has been daft, or at least, oddly conceived. The apparent aim is to show solidarity for the millions of farmers, suffering in times of desiccation. The intended audience for this great act is the great middle class, that is if anything, feeling flamboyant in the festive season. And the channels of communication are media outlets not best known for restraint.

There are two main problems with the entire exercise. First, austere-ness, as with all states of being, is a relative concept. Much like slimness is best appreciated when compared with the previously rotund silhouette, the newly austere being is immediately contrasted with the previously non-austere version, replete with fancy parties, first class travel and Gucci. Now what good is that for the Neta’s image?

The second problem is an age-old one, most recently faced by W – the elusive nature of an exit plan. When will it be okay to stop being austere? What’s the benchmark – rainfall, GDP, fewer than 200 farmer suicides (per month or per year)? If the farmers stop killing themselves, and the ministers go back to business class, does that mean that they have no empathy for policemen who continue to be killed by naxals, or children who die from malnutrition? Perhaps the logical end point is when India wins the Hockey World Cup next, or Rakhi Sawant goes off the air.

And what of the poor Indian peasant in whose name this Great Empathy? I’d be surprised if he can recognise a single national politician. In the rare event that he is aware of the austerity drive, he is probably filled with indifference, insult or both. He is being openly mocked by the politician who chooses his ‘hardships’ like he would luxury goods. Imagine Obama dressing up like a homeless man at a White House Halloween party.

Who was Pattammal?

I had a weekly radio show on Indian classical music(really an intranet podcast)on ISB Radio. I named it "Who is Pattammal?". D.K. Pattammal passed away yesterday, aged 90, most likely with a smile on her face.

The choice of the name for my show was a gimmick. I wanted to do better than the bland 'Ragamalika', the name of my radio show at Middlebury College a decade earlier. I wanted the name to be ear-catching and imply that there was something in it for the inherently curious but musically tuned-out. I instinctively decided to include the name of a female carnatic vocalist, the breed of classical musician that the general populace was least likely to have encountered. The great trinity of women artists in Carnatic music was M.S. Subbulakshmi (MS), M.L.Vasanthakumari (MLV) and D.K. Pattammal (DKP). The first two names were simply too long, and so with a silent apology, I had Patammal join my marketing team.

I cannot claim that she is my favourite musician, even among the three great women. If I were on my deathbed, I would certainly choose to be soothed by MS's empathetic voice. And I have often been surprised and invigorated by the imagination and virtuosity of MLV. DKP's music on the other hand is a bit of an acquired taste. Her voice was once naturally sweet but in most recordings (in the later years) it is low and gravelly - you get the impression that she really has to work with it. Her pronunciations while always correct are at times harsh, especially on the the consonants. Her music is no-nonsense and exact, never aiming to please, and verging on bland.

Verging on, yes, but never dull or boring. There is a joyful, urgent, and emphatic energy that seeps through every exact note. It is as though her music is Carnatic Music, as it wants to be, not for the Gods, not for the audiences, but for itself, and perhaps, Pattammal. The complete lack of pretension, or extraneous intent, in Pattamal's music makes it surprisingly captivating. Having acquired a taste for her style, I acquired a love for ragas that I had previously considered 'heavy' and avoidable only after listening to her renditions of them.

It is not clear whether it was her music made her the person that she was, or vice versa. She was, on all accounts, an angel. Laughing, smiling, welcoming,humble and always eager to share her knowledge, wisdom and experiences. In retrospect, she was the perfect talisman for a fledgling radio show on classical music - forthright and formidable without being intimidating.

You can read more about D.K. Pattammal here

What I Owe Ali Akbar Khan (1922 - 2009)

I went to Middlebury College when I was eighteen with about eleven cassette tapes and two CDs. One of them was a recording of Ali Akbar Khan on the sarod from the AIR archives - ragas Pilu and Durga. (I would grow especially fond of the latter raga a year later, once I met an enchanting girl of the same name).

My love for Indian classical music developed over a long time in stops and starts. It began in fact with Ceralac tins that I would drag out of the store room and bang everytime there was a carnatic concert on on Doordarshan. My parents hoped to channelise this cacophony into the form of a mini-mridangam bought for my fifth birthday. I gamely learned to play the mridangam for three years, though in retrospect I probably wasn't ready for the regimented lessons - I was respectful of the art, but there was little love.

In the meantime, my father continued to sing in the stairwells, and I continued to go to concerts with my parents and grandparents. While at boarding school in Rishi Valley for three years, I tried to go for singing lessons. But peer pressure was high, and I was trying to fit in. To openly admit that I was going for singing classes rather than P.E. in the morning would have been social disaster and so the experiment was quickly dropped within a week. It was only after school, during the year at Loyola College that I ended up taking carnatic music lessons - gently coaxed by my parents, and with my buddy Hari for company. Hari is always sufficiently enthusiastic and irreverant in new new ventures, and surprisingly there were at least four other lads of our age (or older) taking beginner's lessons with us - one of them was a Frenchman had come all the way from the Reunion Islands to learn Carnatic music in Madras. It was great fun.

After a year of this and half a dozen or so varnams and countless geethams, I set off for Middlebury. It is only in Middlebury that I began understanding what I enjoyed about the music I loved listening to. I'm not sure exactly why I became such an active listener at this point. Maybe it was the year of singing lessons that whetted my appetite to know more. Perhaps 18 is the age at which my mind could start demanding of itself with confidence. Perhaps it was the urge to explain myself to others in a foreign and cold place that led me to try and understand what I love. Largely, though, I think the reason is far more mundane - the Middlebury College Music Library.

This magnificent spot had a bunch of little cubicles, each with a music system and humongous headphones. It had a huge collection of Indian classical music - both Hindustani and Carnatic, perhaps over 300 CDs. They were largely of foreign music labels. This is important. You see, we in India, at least at the time, were terrible at documenting our music. The CD or cassette jackets gave you very little, usually incorrect information. Here's an example of lazy notes writing, from HMV Marga's Milestones series - a recording of MD Ramanathan's. The jacket notes say: "Hariyum Haranam is a composition of Sri Varadadasa in praise of Siva and Vishnu, and their side as in Raga Atana and Tala Rupakam". Apart from the vagueness of the phrase "and their side", the incorrect use of "as in", and the mis-spelling of 'Haranum' as 'Haranam', the main problem with the sentence is that there is no one called 'Sri Varadadasa'. 'Varadadasa' is the signature phrase of M.D. Ramanathan himself - the song, as I later learnt is one of his finest and most popular achievements as a composer.

On the the other hand the sleeve notes from foreign labels were packed with information - about the music, its origins, its theory, its forms, the musicians, their uniqueness of styles, the ragas, their notes, the differences, the nuances. And all of this in fairly accessible language. One of the first such CDs from the library collection that I devoured was Nonesuch's release of a Ramnad Krishnan recording with some wonderful ragas - Kanada, Begada, Madhyamavati and a ragam tanam pallavi in Bhairavi. It was this ability to immediately associate what I liked about a composition and its rendition with what I knew about it that spurred me on to listen longer, to listen widely and to listen actively.

The fact that foreign record labels were interested in recording and documenting our music, and that the Middlebury College in the little New England state of Vermont had invested so much in disemminating ragas (it had a wonderful concert series, and I got to watch Ali Akbar Khan live for about $5)was largely due to Ali Akbar Khan.

Ali Akbar Khan was the first Indian musician to record a Western LP. He visited the US as early as 1955 with the violinist Yehudi Menhuin who declared him the 'greatest musician in the world'. While Ravi Shankar rocked on at Woodstock, Ali Akbar Khan had already set up his music school in the Bay area, where he would settle in the later part of his life. He toured and played, married thrice, fathered eleven children, recorded and taught, created ragas, all with minimal fuss. I was told that he was a pleasure to host at Middlebury - all he asked for was a pizza delivery number.

So I owe Ali Akbar Khan many, many, many hours of pleasure in music, and not just from his sarod.

You can listen to some of Ali Akbar Khan's music here