A friend wanted to know the background behind my interest in Vipassana meditation. Did you go to a shibhir, she asked. I have never attended a meditation camp. I came to know of it first from Peter Ryce my wonderful friend from California--he claims we were brothers in our earlier birth--after he learnt it from Goenkaji, the man who really brought it back to India, the land of the Buddha, the creator of vipassana, from Myanmar where he had been the disciple of U Ba Khin. Years later, my sister-in-law Rukku and her friend Amala did the ten-day course in Hyderabad. Recently, I could not stop the flow of tears as I watched a documentary (http://www.dailymotion.com/relevance/search/vipassana/video/xqhdl_doing-time-doing-vipassana-english_news) on the vipassana experiment at Tihar jail, a moving account of the transformation of man that defies conventional wisdom on crime and punishment.
Everytime I think of vipassana, I can't help thinking of Radhi, a friend of ours who teaches it. I first met her when she was a schoolgirl (or was she in junior college as they called it back then in Hyderabad?) I was in my thirties then, a bank officer, and my wife Gowri an English lecturer in a college. Radhi's elder sister Jayasri was Gowri's colleague, brilliant, vivacious and articulate, even argumentative. She taught science but her interests were wide and she loved the good fight. She and Gowri got on famously. I got to know her very well too and some of her loudest arguments at my home were with me. Her views tended towards fiery feminism and I invariably ended up on the losing side of these verbal battles.
We got to know Jayasri and her family well and they lived within shouting disatnce of our house. They were simple, hard working middle class Tamil folk, with fairly orthodox views. Jayasri was the second of three daughters. They led predictably normal, south Indian lives, a closely knit family. Little did any of us know what fate had in store for them.
Jayasri suffered grievous burns in a kitchen accident in August 1980. I remember my being slightly annoyed with Jayasri for some silly reason and my impatience when Gowri asked me to take her to visit her in hospital, imagining it was a minor problem. I was ashamed of myself when I found out the extent of the burns.
Jayasri did not survive. She succumbed to her burns on 19th August, a few days after the accident. What we can never forget is the way she kept asking Gowri to sing one song after another as she lay dying in her hospital bed. M S Subbulakshmi was her favourite, and she repeatedly asked for specific songs of hers to be sung. This went on for a couple of hours, and I don't know how Gowri managed to respond to Jayasri's requests without breaking down.
Naturally we spent the next couple of weeks trying to be of some support to Jayasri's family. That's the time, I came to know young Radhi, shattered beyond consolation, but quietly dignified as only the young can be.
Over the decades, we have been in touch with Radhi but only just. I can only guess what vipassana must mean to her, but she is a picture of serenity today, and must be bringing solace to many lives as a teacher.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Brothers in music
It was wonderful to listen to the Gundecha Brothers, Umakant, Ramakant and Akhilesh, on Worldspace this afternoon. To some, dhrupad may be an acquired taste, if at all, but I fell in love with it the first time I heard it. The vocalists Umakant and Ramakant are brothers in case you didn't know and a third brother Akhilesh accompanies them on the pakhawaj.
It was a sleepy afternoon and the exquisite music by the brothers had a meditative, deeply peace-inducing quality to it. I was trying to read a Tamil novel with a view to evaluating it for translation purposes (I work for a publishing firm bringing Indian writing in Indian languages to the world via English). Soon, it was a losing battle, and I closed the book--and my eyes--to drink in the profound beauty of the music.
I remember the first time I heard of the brothers. My wife Gowri had accompanied M S Subbulakshmi to Bhopal where she received the Kalidas Samman awarded by the Madhya Pradesh government. The young siblings sang the prayer song or gave a short recital, I don't remember which, and Gowri gave me rave notices about their voice and vidwat.
My first experience of their concert music was when I heard them at the Krishna Gana Sabha at T'Nagar a couple of years later. It had exuberant, vibrant vocalisation all the way. The sruti suddham gave it a quality of majesty. Gowri was away and I did not walk up to the young trio and introduce myself.
I met them before long. They came to Madras for a live morning concert at All India Radio and I drove them around in my battered 1964 Fiat. They were simple townsmen quite in awe of the big city. Their joy knew no bounds when, after the concert, Gowri and I took them to meet M S Subbulakshmi. There they prostrated before MS and Sadasivam seeking their blesings.
By the time the Gundecha Brothers came to Madras again and called us, they had become internationally known. This time they sang for an hour at MS's residence before a small, invited audience. Surprisingly, their voices were unduly subdued and I wondered if their music was suffering some kind of decline. (Little did I know then that that was their way of showing their respect for a great senior musician!) The social interaction, however, was spontaneous and warm, and the brothers stole everyone's heart with their humility and pleasant manners.
The Gundecha Brothers became more frequent visitors to Chennai, mostly thanks to their close association with Chandralekha, the late dancer. I heard them in concert a few more times, only to realise that their music, far from declining, was in glorious bloom, attaining greater and greater heights with the passing years.
And, while international celebrityhood has given them a robust confidence in their art, they remain simple and unspoilt as before, for all that they are the torchbearers of a great tradition of music.
It was a sleepy afternoon and the exquisite music by the brothers had a meditative, deeply peace-inducing quality to it. I was trying to read a Tamil novel with a view to evaluating it for translation purposes (I work for a publishing firm bringing Indian writing in Indian languages to the world via English). Soon, it was a losing battle, and I closed the book--and my eyes--to drink in the profound beauty of the music.
I remember the first time I heard of the brothers. My wife Gowri had accompanied M S Subbulakshmi to Bhopal where she received the Kalidas Samman awarded by the Madhya Pradesh government. The young siblings sang the prayer song or gave a short recital, I don't remember which, and Gowri gave me rave notices about their voice and vidwat.
My first experience of their concert music was when I heard them at the Krishna Gana Sabha at T'Nagar a couple of years later. It had exuberant, vibrant vocalisation all the way. The sruti suddham gave it a quality of majesty. Gowri was away and I did not walk up to the young trio and introduce myself.
I met them before long. They came to Madras for a live morning concert at All India Radio and I drove them around in my battered 1964 Fiat. They were simple townsmen quite in awe of the big city. Their joy knew no bounds when, after the concert, Gowri and I took them to meet M S Subbulakshmi. There they prostrated before MS and Sadasivam seeking their blesings.
By the time the Gundecha Brothers came to Madras again and called us, they had become internationally known. This time they sang for an hour at MS's residence before a small, invited audience. Surprisingly, their voices were unduly subdued and I wondered if their music was suffering some kind of decline. (Little did I know then that that was their way of showing their respect for a great senior musician!) The social interaction, however, was spontaneous and warm, and the brothers stole everyone's heart with their humility and pleasant manners.
The Gundecha Brothers became more frequent visitors to Chennai, mostly thanks to their close association with Chandralekha, the late dancer. I heard them in concert a few more times, only to realise that their music, far from declining, was in glorious bloom, attaining greater and greater heights with the passing years.
And, while international celebrityhood has given them a robust confidence in their art, they remain simple and unspoilt as before, for all that they are the torchbearers of a great tradition of music.
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