Vignesh comes sauntering into my home. The following narrative emanates from my dialogue with the young man one lazy afternoon. Now that his vacations have begun, the eight-year old has time for what children of that age normally do — aimless wandering, observing, exploring. I pull him into my conversation vortex as he comes home, all curious to know what I was doing. I am actually listening to some music, I tell him.
“What music and whose and why?”
I provide reasonably convincing answers to his unassailable questions to the best of my ability.
I patiently await my turn.
“So how are the music lessons going?”
Vignesh only needs a stimulus to share the clear and untainted wisdom that a child has. They are ok, comes the unequivocal answer.
“What do you mean,” I ask.
Vignesh deftly moves on to another level of conversation. I love Hamsadhwani, it is my favourite ragam. I coax him to sing. On good days, he obliges, not just me but other neighbours too, mainly seniors who are ever delighted to listen to him. Today is not the day though.
However, the Hamsadhwani repertoire is neatly explained. The Varnam first, then next something else.
“Which Varnam?”
Vignesh gives me a “given-up-on-you” look and calmly proceeds to explain that it is the Jalajaksha varnam. What else could it be after all ? Oh that one ! My professed ignorance in front of his knowledge strikes the right chord. Then I sing him a smattering of the varnam and he gives me an approving nod. We are on the right track. Conversations with children are never too easy. It feels like child’s play but you need to be a cut above the rest, if not it can end just as suddenly as it began. The child walks away, the minute you cease to hold his attention, leaving you reflecting on the blunt and unceremonious finish to the whole episode. But I am unrelenting and I go back to our starting point.
“Why do you say the class is ‘ok’?”
“I want to learn kritis,” he explains. In Hamsadhwani only.
“So shall I teach you one?”
“No, today is not the day for this either.”
We work out some rhyming raga names and enjoy talking about them — Vegavahini, Purvikalyani, Sunadavinodini.
We then mutually agree in the most pleasant terms to listen to some Hamsadhwani . It is obviously Dikshitar’s immortal and all-time favourite in MS Subbulakshmi’s voice. Vignesh heard it through and I told him how he could reach the song by himself and familiarise himself with it. He has a no-reaction expression that makes me wonder at what point our conversation would snap abruptly. It did not. He is perhaps silently reflecting on his access to the internet, after the monopoly of the elder brother would end. Next we watch a beautiful piece of ballet based on Kara Karayev’s delightful composition Seven Beauties.
You can listen to non-Carnatic also, I volunteer. Vignesh’s quiet, introspective mood makes me think.
“So, what is next in the paattu class”?
“The teacher comes on Sunday only and I want to learn kritis.”
“You will slowly get there.”
I motivate him helplessly. Behind the stoicism, I see the yearning of a child to have conversations on music and all else. The desire to expand the music learning space, to make it more spontaneous, informal and an equal playing ground. To be taken to concerts, to watch, learn and imitate. And also perhaps a change in pedagogy? If Hamsadhwani is the order of the day, why not ? It is solace enough to have an eight-year old profess deep love for a particular raga. The goal is not to make music icons for the future alone, but to have interested listeners with a strong bonding with classical music. Meanwhile a search is launched for the mysteriously missing boy who is finally retrieved by the harried watchman from the confines of our home. Our conversation comes to an end for now.
Coming back to Hamsadhwani, my personal favourite in this raga is Paahi Sripathe by the fascinating king-composer Swati Tirunal. It gives a different perspective to the raga and brings out a profundity that is usually stored away in Hamsadhwani.
Dr Vasumathi Badrinathan is an eminent Carnatic vocalist based in Mumbai. She can be contacted on vasu@vasumathi.net
