Sanjay Subrahmanyam is one of the, if not THE, top ranking performing artistes in Carnatic music currently.
I can safely say that the sentence above is possibly the most inane sentence I have written in my life. Because to anyone who follows Carnatic music even casually, the premise is totally superfluous. It would be as obvious to them as a “gooseberry in one’s palm”, to borrow an ancient reference. To those who don’t follow the art form, Sanjay would almost certainly be an unknown entity, and the premise irrelevant.
So where am I going with this? I count myself in the former cohort - listeners / followers of Carnatic music. I have followed Sanjay’s musical journey since about 1990. I love his music, but more importantly I adore how he delivers great and chaste classical music without making a fuss about external appearances. I have seen and heard him in a phase when he would deliver a pristine Kambhoji or Todi, while sporting purple streaked longish hair. There was nothing unclassical about the music, yet he was cocking a mischievous snook at the stuffy mamas and mamis who infest the Carnatic listening world. Who place more value on appearance and form, while being unable to differentiate a Saveri from a Behag, or even a Varnam from a Kriti for that matter!
Sanjay has been at the forefront of adopting technology for audience engagement. He has experimented with having his own music forum, with virtual sabhas for concerts during the pandemic, or with using social media for outreach. It’s the last one of these that I will focus on today.
He is into his second season of a series of shorts on YouTube he calls “On that note” (http://www.youtube.com/playlist...). Season one was about ragas. Season two is about Carnatic celebrities. But what I’m going to talk about is neither the music, nor those personalities. There is a more abstracted life lesson I’m taking away from Sanjay’s musings; one that has far wider reaching application than the world of Carnatic music or even the broader canvas of creative arts.
Over the course of the series, he has freely admitted to not just NOT being a child prodigy, but actually slow off the blocks.
In the episode on GNB, he casually mentions that he did not know what was Todi or what was Kambhoji as late as age 10. Contrast this to the need many artistes have to let people know that they were so gifted as children that they could identify JayaSuddhaMalavi or SalangaNatta at age 2.25!
Or in the episode on TNK, he lets on that as late as high school, he was performing in competitions with prepared rather than spontaneous kalpana swarams. Or that he struggled to fit the more complex korvais to beat, and tried to adjust the beat instead of the music. He was made to get it right through repeated practice. Contrast that with the aura most musicians create about being divinely gifted and not having to struggle with basics like beat and pitch.
When talking about TMT, he lets you know that he came third in a competition, or sometimes got just a consolation prize even. No rancor, or misgivings. He treats it as a part of his musical journey; nothing more, nothing less. Contrast that with most artistes’ claims that they either never “sullied” themselves with such competitions, or if they did, they always won - no questions asked.
So what’s this "life lesson" that I’m alluding to? A slow or late start need not prevent ultimate success. Burdening children with expectations effectively robbing them of their childhood is not at all necessary; talent can and does ripen given time. Admitting your failures does not erode your sheen; if anything, it adds to it.
Sanjay is a phenomenal success by any yardstick - quality of music, pushing the boundaries of creativity while staying true to the art form, popularity, awards. You name it and he has it, and more. It is an inspiring story which I wish people who do not understand Carnatic music could follow, but the anecdotes are just too contextual and some understanding of the art form is necessary to follow the story. Hence this rudimentary attempt at writing.
P.S.: Sanjay makes each of these episodes rooted in very personal experiences, not just stories he has heard. In keeping with that spirit, let me share my moment related to Sanjay, of which he has no clue.
The year was 1991. December 1991 to be precise. It was the first time I was attending the famed music season of Chennai at the hallowed Madras Music Academy. Sanjay was still performing in the junior slot those days. I was waiting in the lobby of the Academy between concerts when a man with a camera and notepad - obviously a journalist - walked up to me and asked “Are you Sanjay Subrahmanyam?”
A fleeting physical resemblance to Sanjay Subrahmanyam is the closest I have gotten or will ever get to Carnatic music superstardom!
On that note…
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