TMK Vijayam
If you are reading this, I strongly urge you to contribute to the Sumanasa foundation to help marginalized artists.
Click here to read the poem inspired by this conversation.
It has been a week since Mr. T. M. Krishna visited our home as part of his unplugged series of music and conversation. He is someone who has helped me understand a lot about my own privilege. His article on caste privilege was the first time I realized the intangible benefits I had accrued all my life as an upper-caste straight male. Since that article, I’ve found a lot of inspiration in his writing, activism, and music. So naturally, when he made the announcement about the unplugged event, I just had to grab the opportunity.
The preparation at home for the whole event felt like scenes from an 80’s or 90’s short story common in Vikatan or Kumudham. Perhaps even a bit like scenes from Bama Vijayam. Perhaps there is a short story waiting to be harvested from this incident in the future.
After the event, I felt a strong urge to not post anything instantly on social media because the experience was unique and overwhelming. I think an experience like that deserves a long-form essay rather than a quick Instagram or Twitter post.
The start of the event itself was rather inauspicious. The cab we booked was canceled at the last minute and I had to make 3 more attempts before we found a taxi and convinced him to make the round trip. Things went further downhill from there for yours truly.
Having reached the lobby of the hotel, I was waiting anxiously for the singer to turn up. The man turned up in a few minutes and did something that totally threw me off balance for the rest of the car ride. This is how the initial exchange went.
Me (walking up eagerly and holding out my hand): Hello sir. I am Sriram, your host for the evening.
TMK: Hi, I am Krishna.
How can one react to this? Imagine you attain enlightenment and reach Kailasam. And the exchange there goes likes this.
Me (folded palms, lips trembling): Oh lord of lords, Mahadeva, I am Sriram.
Paramasivan: Hi, I am Paramasivan.
#Facepalm!
Having been utterly disarmed by this simplicity, I herded my guests nervously into the car. From that point, in between the nervous forays I made towards conversation which were all received very gracefully by Mr. TMK was only interrupted by the ominous and incessant coughing from our taxi driver. I was petrified all through the ride that either TMK would get off the car and walk off in a huff or worse I would be the reason for Carnatic music’s only sensible artist getting Covid. (It has been a week since the event and I haven't received any legal notices from TMK for having infected so him. So it does look like those fears were misplaced. Phew!)
Once we reached home, I eased up considerably. I would attribute this to the fact that at home I could easily make an excuse and disappear from the scene than to TMK’s ability to put us at ease.
Guests flowed in, pleasantries were exchanged, and we finally sat down to commence. TMK started off with a brief explanation about the structure of the event and launched into a Swati Tirunal Kriti in Kalyani — Pankaja Lochana. I didn’t register much of that first song.
This was followed by a reading from the book Two men and music, a wonderful passage on Paluskar’s successful attempt at creating a Hindu, sacred form of Indian music excluding Muslims. TMK drew from that passage and made connections to the problematic Guru-Sishya power dynamic.
It was what happened after this that transfixed me. TMK sang இருட்டுக்கும் குரல் உண்டு, the Owl poem written by Perumal Murugan. For reasons inexplicable, the music and the poetry caused indescribable sensations even though I have listened to this composition by the same singer many times. From the time this song was presented, I was in a state of hyper-awareness. I surprised myself when I was able to recall and write down many aspects of the conversation that flowed afterward despite having no memory of listening to them consciously. Some notes that I made are presented below.
- The most beautiful quote from the conversation was TMK remarking that most of music is listening just like most of painting is seeing.
- To the question of how does one help others appreciate Carnatic music and get them to experience the same bliss that one experiences, TMK answered why should someone else even want your bliss or music.
- To have a conversation with someone who thinks your music is noise, you must first understand their noise first. These two points reminded me of a lot of J.K.’s writing where he exhorts to actively listen letting go of preconceived notions.
- TMK spoke about how very few Carnatic artists face rejection and he has had to face them during his performances in the Kuppam. He recollected how he sang in front of three kids who held his ear shut until he stopped singing and the percussionists took over. This made me think. A star like Vijay, Ajith, or even Rajnikanth is humbled by box office failures. But most Carnatic singers are in a state of constant godliness blessed with a perception of them carrying out divine work.
- Following the book reading, TMK spoke about how the freedom struggles of marginalized people were marginalized (sic). Personally, I hadn’t heard of Ayothidasar, Jyotirao and Savitribhai Phule, Ayyankali, Narayana Guru, Birsa Munda, etc., until I started understanding my caste and class privilege. And while I had heard the names of Periyar and Ambedkar, I never really understood who they were and what their work was unlike Gandhi, Nehru, etc. I think the clamour for teaching “right Indian history” must focus more on bringing to light the stories of these marginalized heroes rather than stories of kings, queens, noblemen, and privileged caste men who have had an undue share of representation.
- When the conversation went to Thyagaraja, TMK remarked on how we make Thyagaraja into a boring perfect man and how he is far more fascinating when viewed as a flawed individual who is trying to find his truth; when we see that while Thyagaraja speaks to Rama, his deity in all his compositions, ultimately, he is talking to Him about his mundane life and the doubts, anxieties, and fears that plague him.
- This point branched into an even more fascinating point about how it is a Hindu (and IMO, a Brahmin) trait to mark things as holy and lock them up in the puja room. It is indeed very disrespectful, as you remarked TMK,to do this to our scriptures, our saints, composers, philosophers, artists, and their arts, and so on instead of actively engaging with them. Thanks for this remark.
The final point that stood out for me was something I caught while TMK was talking to someone else. The conversation, I am guessing, stemmed from a question around how does one change things or take on the system. TMK gave some sage advice on this. He suggested that one must always start small, contribute in a sensitive manner respecting the voices of those who have been oppressed by the system and build up to a point where one feels safe enough to take the system on. This is wisdom that someone like me who has historically been very rash, brash, and insensitive can do with oodles of.
So with that in mind, I shall try to do whatever I can to undo the many wrongs perpetrated by me and my forefathers. Here’s to humble and honest changes towards a better tomorrow. And yes, here’s to pleasant endings even if they come from awkward and anxious beginnings.
