Legacy – a boon or a bane?

Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer (SSI) strode Carnatic music like a colossus. However, none in his family followed in his footsteps. His eldest daughter, Santha Kasy Aiyar, explains, “My father was categorically against his family pursuing music professionally. He felt musicians were perceived as lower in the social ladder than those formally educated (he had not gone to school himself) and that involvement in music would impede our attention to academics. Earnings through music were uncertain too, he felt, as success required a lot of luck besides inborn gift and lifelong practice.”

A version of this article appeared in The Hindu newspaper. Many thanks to Sri. S. Kasy Aiyar & Smt. Santha, Sri. T.R. Rajaram and Sri. V. Chandrasekaran & Smt. Mythili, for freely sharing their thoughts on their families and the milieu then. A special thanks to Sri. Anantha R. Krishnan for his astute suggestions at inception. I am most appreciative of all the seven musicians featured in this article who graciously congregated together at short notice, during music season, whilst juggling recordings and more. All patiently tolerated the several back-and-forth messages and phone calls that were needed. Personally, to talk to multiple vocalists, instrumentalists and percussionists together was an enriching and unique experience. The camaraderie, the ‘sympathy’, eyebrow-raising anecdotes and laughter galore made it a most memorable gathering – the audio clips here give but a small picture into the artistes’ thoughts and the overall atmosphere.

T.R. Rajaram, son of Palghat Mani Iyer, echoes very similar sentiments. “My father valued education very much – he himself had barely studied up to 5th Grade. My brother Rajamani (who learned mridangam) had begun a BA degree when our father learned that the BE was considered more prestigious. He asked my brother to switch to it which he did. He wished us to study well and take up salaried employment to ensure steady incomes. He also said that for us to be successful with music alone, we would have to be so good that artistes and rasika-s would imagine how much better a concert would have been had it been us who had been played. It was only to those that opportunities would come knocking automatically.”

Has it been easier for the third generation to pick up the gauntlet? In a discussion filled with mirth, nostalgia and some surprising anecdotes, seven third generation professional Carnatic musicians whose parents did not take up music as a career, explored legacy and its effects on them.

Despite almost all these artistes performing to rave reviews before they were teenagers, most of their parents displayed caution, encouraging their progeny’s academic achievement side-by-side. The socialisation by the grandparents had their effects, perhaps. Vocalist Palghat Dr. R. Ramaprasad (grandson of mridangist Palghat Mani Iyer) is a PhD in Economics. Vocalist Sikkil Gurucharan (grandson of Sikkil Kunjumani of the Sikkil Sisters flautist duo) has a Masters in Financial Management. Anantha R. Krishnan (grandson and disciple of mridangist Palghat R. Raghu) has a Masters degree in Music. Akkarai S. Subhalakshmi, of the violinist-vocalist duo the Akkarai Sisters (granddaughters of composer and musician Suchindram S.P. Sivasubramaniam) studied Commerce while Akkarai S. Sornalatha, the younger sibling, did Computer Science followed by a Masters degree in Music. Their father had insisted that they were to pursue only music, but they were still expected to excel in academics.  Praveen Sparsh (grandson of mridangist Thanjavur Upendran) and J.A. Jayanth (grandson and disciple of flautist T.S. Sankaran) hold Engineering degrees in Electronics.

The legacy made it faster and easier to obtain initial performing chances – an implicit assumption that a grandchild of ‘that’ person would pass muster. Reputed artistes acquiesced more willingly to perform alongside. Soft skills were absorbed by osmosis. Ramaprasad says, “How to interact with organisers, senior artistes and peers etc. came naturally.” Ramaprasad feels having been exposed to immense stalwarts due to the legacy makes it difficult for him to enjoy the music made by present day artistes – his standards are set very high – a negative of legacy. While the others felt that continued success in the field depended on their own efforts, Anantha thought sustenance too was aided by antecedents.

It was different for the Akkarai Sisters though, whose grandfather was largely unknown in Chennai. It is they who are making the world aware of him. They present his pieces at their concerts and released a book of his compositions on his birth centenary. Sornalatha, an avid researcher, explains that it was actually through his compositions that they learned a lot about their grandfather. Their grandmother, a harikatha exponent herself, who out-survived her husband by 16 years, was a crucial source of information.

The sisters knew from the get-go that their career, life’s purpose, so to speak, was to be music. Their father (Akkarai Swamynathan, also their guru) expected total commitment, with pretty much every minute of their lives strictly planned by him. “In concerts, what we look for is our father’s approval. A mere glance will tell us if we have met his standards or not.” Ramaprasad relates to this in its entirety. After every program, he either meets or talks to his father (and guru) T .R. Rajaram, to receive detailed, critical feedback. He says that when he graduated from college in 2001, he had standing in the music field – however the remuneration scales were much lower. Rajaram, too discouraged him from taking up music then, insisting that his son study further. Two years ago, Ramaprasad decided to get into music full-time.

Gurucharan is the only one to have learned from multiple teachers – primarily from a non-family member (Vaigal S. Gnanaskandan, disciple of Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer) and also his grandmothers and Radha Viswanathan (M.S. Subbulakshmi’s daughter and Gurucharan’s maternal aunt, flautist Sikkil Mala Chandrasekhar’s mother in law). Understandably, the grandmothers had a lot of say. “My taking up vocal, and the choice of teacher, were both decisions taken by my grandmothers,” he says. “I think they felt that a non-family member would instill the correct sense of discipline in me. It was a good decision. Gnanaskandan Sir was very strict and taught me many aspects that my grandmothers might have let slide due to their affection.”

Anantha’s parents were agreeable to any career choice he made. However, his mother, Palghat Raghu’s daughter, expected Anantha to exercise discipline and rigour in mridangam practice. He recollects always being surrounded by music at home and playing mridangam for music. When he decided to take up music professionally, his father did ask him to keep in mind that music was not the only thing he was capable of and, if he wished to, he could do other things as well. “And I did try do so for a while,” he says. He feels the most palpable connection to his grandfather when he physically touches the many instruments he inherited from him. “It was the responsibility of looking after those instruments that brought me back to India actually – I did not have a career here then.”

For Praveen, it was a tad different. He was born after his grandfather died. He says he was a playful child who was fascinated by cricket and did not spend much time thinking of legacy earlier on. He also worked as an Engineer for a while. “My parents gave me the freedom to do whatever I wanted,” he says. However, his guru, Guruvayur Dorai, suggested that he focus on his career and do music additionally. “Nothing was planned. I just organically got more and more into music before taking it up professionally.”

Jayanth remembers being fascinated with flutes from a very young age. “My grandfather, however, did not want me to pursue music at all. He was actually happy if I did not practice, hoping I would give up on the idea. In fact the only time he slapped me was when I missed college because I had stayed up late to practice and could not wake up on time. I also remember his requesting Mala aunty (Sikkil Mala Chandrasekhar) and Swamynathan uncle (the Akkarai Sisters’ father) to dissuade me from taking it up. It was thatha who insisted I study Engineering,” says Jayanth. Discussing the always tenuous business side of the music field was unsavoury to his grandfather, remembers Jayanth, and he wished to spare his grandson these difficulties. “It was Vellore Ramabhadran Sir who pushed for me and played with me multiple times.”

Musical provenance does not mean everyone becomes a performer. The siblings of many of these artistes displayed talent and/or appreciated music but were not keen on performance. A lineage does mean, though, that the family better understands the ‘quirks’ of a musician. “Music is a selfish pursuit. We are often unavailable to others even whilst physically present – we can be sitting for hours seemingly doing nothing but consumed by thoughts,” says Anantha. For Gurucharan, it implies he can practice at any time without raising eyebrows. “As a vocalist, I end up voice doodling constantly, for example. I have seen my grandmothers play or sing whilst cooking too!”

Financial pressures easing for their parents meant the opportunity cost of taking up music was surmountable for the third generation. Mythili Chandrasekaran, daughter of Sikkil Kunjumani, says that her husband encouraged Gurucharan to try music professionally awhile as they were available as a buffer if needed. However, this was only after Gurucharan completed his Masters degree, something his father felt was essential – just in case. The Akkarai Sisters explain, “It was necessity that dictated our father taking up a job though music was always his passion. Because of him, we never had to worry about finances. He wanted us to musically achieve what he could not.”

Subhalakshmi mentions an incident. Her father was once irritated with her for not practicing enough and decided to send her, alone, to Nagercoil on an overnight bus, for her to learn from her grandparents. She was only 4! A telegram sent to the grandparents was received by a neighbour who, understandably, was utterly taken aback. Fortunately, her grandfather received the communication and picked her up at the bus stand. Both sisters recollect immense affection displayed by their grandparents but Subhalakshmi adds that their father would keep tabs on their musical learning over the phone while in Nagercoil too. If they slacked off, the grandparents would get chided! Another anecdote Subhalakshmi narrates is of her father telling her to greet Palghat Raghu at a concert she was playing in when she was 12, with Abhishek Raghuram on vocal and Anantha on mridangam. Being too shy, she was just unable to get any words out. Though the concert was a successful one, she got a beating for that transgression when she returned home.

That type of strict disciplining reminded Ramaprasad of an incident that sounds tragicomic now. As a young child, he would frequently visit Palghat Raghu’s home where Anantha and he would play together. On one such occasion, while frolicking around the house, the two children smelled some exquisite kEsari from the kitchen window. (Ramaprasad’s description of the kEsari here was so full of feeling that everyone gathered could practically see and smell it in their minds’ eye!) Ramaprasad recollects it being a Friday and that it was probably laid out as ‘neivEdyam’. Anantha decided he had to partake of it at once – it was just too inviting. He pranced in and with unwashed hands, scooped up some kEsari for himself and another helping for Ramaprasad. Even as Anantha was receiving a beating from his mother for his infraction, Ramaprasad’s father arrived to pick up his son. Just seeing Anantha getting beaten was enough. Rajaram assumed that Ramaprasad was also equally guilty and beat his son too – no questions asked! Ramaprasad and Anantha were around 6 and 3 at the time, respectively.

Comparisons are part and parcel of legacy and not just for Anantha, Praveen and Jayanth who took up the same instruments as their musician grandparent. Gurucharan sometimes learned the same piece from each teacher, finding it unable to tell any teacher that he had already learned it. He says, “One gentleman told me that I sang like the flute and it was unbecoming to my vocal roots which stemmed from the Semmangudi bANi!” Gnanaskandan adviced Gurucharan to stick to one pATAntaram for each song and leave the creativity for the manodharmam aspects.

An irritating situation that recurs in perpetuity for musicians with a known legacy is organisers negotiating lower rates citing their grandparents’ prior association with them. Praveen and Jayanth, however, believe music is a profession like any other requiring proper discussion of remuneration, legacy notwithstanding. “It IS a business. I had invested in an Engineering degree and the numbers mattered. It was important for me to be self-sufficient,” says Praveen. Jayanth says, “Undercutting us also becomes an issue of our self-respect.” Gurucharan mentions looking at his grandmothers’ concert engagement diaries where they list the auspices they played under, what they received and the remuneration given to co-artistes. “It was incredible to see how variable the remuneration was – sometimes so measly!” he says.

All these musicians acknowledge personal financial security from their musical activities alone. Praveen, who engages in many collaborations and is interested in music technology, says that making music with others is what keeps him going. The immense scope currently for such projects gives him more ability to be choosy about what engagement he accepts – a sharp contrast from generations past. T.R. Rajaram says, “Money in music was really hard to come by in our days. There were very few sabha-s and hardly any sponsors.” Ramaprasad mentions that he had standing in the field in 2001 when he finished his Bachelor’s degree, but one could not be self-sufficient even then, on music alone.

As for emulating their illustrious grandparents, opinion was mixed. Gurucharan wishes to pick up their concert presentation and people skills. Anantha hopes to imbibe his grandfather’s thought-provoking humour. However, he and many of the others feel that the values, the social mores and even the music, have all changed and it is not possible to just blindly imitate. Jayanth has expanded the scope of his playing, for example, by including multiple bass flutes. He hopes he will accentuate the legacy. Praveen, despite never meeting his grandfather, finds his aura exerting impact. “When his compatriots and others speak of him with so much affection, it is a mystery to me – something I am trying to get in touch with.” All agree, however, that their lineage would be a source of perennial inspiration. Ramaprasad, of course, as a vocalist who is the grandson of a mridangist, is never subject to musical comparison. He was barely 6 months old when Mani Iyer died, but wishes to follow the values of his grandfather, sans alteration. Gurucharan tellingly responds, “Only time will tell.”

The musicians uniformly accede that their parents dedicating their lives to them whilst growing up has been crucial. Jayanth’s father played mridangam for him every night after a hard day’s work at the office. Mythili, who is a flautist herself, grappled with domestic responsibilities after marriage, tending to a joint family. It was only when her first child, Gurucharan’s elder sister, was about to start college that she took up a position teaching flute at the Government Music College. Even then, she remembers taking permission from work to ensure a young Gurucharan was ready for his concerts. The Akkarai Sisters says they are 100% what they are due to their parents. Their father spent every available minute teaching and grooming them – even when he was away, he would give detailed instructions to them on what they were to do. Their mother was the peacemaker, the invaluable mitigating influence, amidst intense discussions and flaring tempers. Ramaprasad feels guilty about his inability to give his daughters “even a fraction” of the musical mentoring he received from his father who is a violinist himself. “If I was performing at my elder daughter’s current age, it was only due to his investment of time and effort.” Times are different, yes, but one is left wondering if these musicians would have become who they are had their parents been equally zealous about their own aspirations, music or otherwise, and what we have missed of the second generation’s talents!

Post Script: S. Kasy Aiyar, Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer’s (SSI) first son-in-law, says: “SSI was emphatic that all girls in the family learn the fundamentals of music and that it should be a part of their daily life. Santha learned veena under K.S. Narayanaswamy, for instance. Vocal music came most naturally. Their house was a true ‘gurukulam’ with several sishya-s living there. SSI was singing or teaching his sishya-s all the time – truly 24×7. Santha and her siblings were immersed in music 24 hours of the day and imbibed it by constant listening. They learned almost unknowingly, neither needing special lessons nor regretting the absence of tutoring. I have a suspicion that they enjoyed freedom from the rigours of the sishya-s’ intensive practices. They had the pleasure of short-distance-learning – learning from the other room while the sishya-s were being taught and their mistakes corrected in the next room.”

Interestingly, when he was past 80, SSI relented to teach Santha and Kasy Aiyar’s youngest child, Srinivas (Cheenu) – the only family member he would ever teach directly. Before that, Cheenu had learned for a while from SSI’s prime disciple, P.S. Narayanaswamy. Kasy Aiyar narrates, “Cheenu was the only child in the family whom he formally taught some kriti-s. Before the very first lesson, he made Cheenu solemnly promise that he would never, ever, professionally sing from a platform. Note that he started teaching him only after he had excelled in studies and joined IIT Madras. Very soon, he found that Cheenu could really sing well and started taking special interest in teaching him. (I heard from his daughter in law that before Cheenu would come to learn, SSI often revised the lessons he wanted to teach! By the time Cheenu started learning from him, SSI was already past 80 and did not have many other students. And Cheenu was a critical student!) SSI became so impressed that he got us to engage a ‘Hindustani’ music teacher to teach him Voice Culture. SSI felt that Voice Culture was the special skill of the Hindustani musicians. I think, in the last years of his life, especially after his experience with Cheenu, he changed his view that musical accomplishment does not necessarily exclude academic brilliance. He never said so in as many words, but one could sense a small feeling of regret…”

Related links:

Akkarai Sisters’ Quarantunes

Anantha R. Krishnan – In Detail; Anantha R. Krishnan’s Quarantunes

J.A Jayanth’s Quarantunes

Palghat Dr. R. Ramaprasad’s Quarantunes; Melodies during Maladies

Praveen Sparsh