Shrimati Lalita Venkatram

"We’ve many clever musicians in India but few good singers:" I once remarked to Pandit Bhatkande, sitting in his room in the Marris School of Music at Lucknow, and wanting to know that learned critic’s authoritative opinion. He nodded an assent and I was pleased.

"You’ve heard Dilip and Ratanjakar, of course?" he asked. "They are the exceptions," I said. "What about Abdul Kareem?" he continued. "He too is an exception," I persisted.

Bhatkande had a poor opinion of South Indian singers and, therefore, I did not add to his list the name of the late Coimbatore Thayee or Musiri Subramaniam as another of the exceptions.

In spite of what pundits and professionals may say, I hold that Indian music, whether of the north or the south, is fundamentally one. In fact, all schools of Oriental music, whether of Japan or China, Ceylon or Java, Egypt or Arabia, have certain common characteristics and share a common heritage.

In essence all Oriental music is melodic, subjective, psychic and impersonal. Music, to the Orient, is a mood and not a method, an experience and not an experiment. Both folk-tunes and classical melodies reveal this spiritual quality.

In India, as elsewhere in the world, music is the language of the soul of the people. The many clashing cultures and conflicting civilisations in this ancient land have considerably enriched her art heritage, and nowhere so perceptibly as in music.

The Moghul culture, which in itself was an enrichment of Persian and Mongol cultures, gave to Indian music, as it gave to Indian architecture and painting, certain indefinable aesthetic qualities which it lacked. And what passes for North Indian music today is only the old Indian music with additional trimmings, filigrees and embellishments.

But the roots of both the Hindustani and the older Carnatic music are deep in the soil of this country and in the soul of its people. One has only to hear the kafee singers of Sind and the heart-melting devotional hymns of South India to understand the oneness of Indian music and the soul-throbbing nature of their simple melodies.

The classical music of both these systems has the same source, the same ground, the same traditions, the same inspiration; only their modes of expression and technique of teaching differ from province to province, even as the spoken languages differ.

The Ustads of the north and the Vidwans of the south more easily understand their respective ragas and ragamalas than their respective tongue; and a master-musician like Abdul Kareem can as easily master the difficult formulae of a South Indian kriti as a delightful singer like Shrimati Lalita Venkatram can master the sweet graces and the soft cadences of a North Indian kavali.

Nor were such musical contacts between these two major schools a rare phenomena even before the days of All-India Musical Conferences. We have the classical example of an historic visit of Gopal Naick, a reputed musician of the south, to the Court of Ala-ud-din Khilji, to challenge Amir Khusru, the Court’s great singer.

The story is worth repeating. Hearing of Gopal Naick’s visit to Delhi, Amir Khusru asked his royal patron’s permission to be away from his daily duties for a few days during the former’s visit to the palace. Gopal Naick played on his vina, day after day, determined to show to this Muslim Prince all that is best in the Carnatic music.

The Sultan was mightily pleased; and so was Khusru, who, unknown even to his king and hiding himself in a dark corner of the music pavilion, heard the intricate ragas played by Gopal Naick, and which he later practised, night and day, in order not to be outwitted by this South Indian musician.

The story goes that when the Sultan commanded Khusru to play some of the tunes of the Carnatic music, he not only imitated the South Indian but excelled him in certain ragas, which resulted in their embracing each other, forgetting their jealousies and acknowledging each other’s greatness.

The recent visit of Shrimati Lalita Venkatram to Sind and her triumph as a cultural messenger from the south to a land famous for songs, saints and singers is, in its own way, as historical an event as that of Gopal Naick’s to Delhi. She was universally acclaimed by Muslims, Parsees and Hindus, by connoisseurs and laymen, as one of the sweetest singers of India, as the golden-voiced girl from the Deccan.

Mrs. Venkatram is not unknown to music lovers in this country. Her melodious voice has won for her sincere admirers all over India and Ceylon. Her broadcasts from the Bombay Studio are events to which music enthusiasts look forward eagerly every month.

She represents Carnatic music at its best, and as a singer has few rivals in India. She is not a professional, nor did she study music in any academy or under any master. Her father, a musician-composer himself, taught her the first rudiments of the art, and her own genius did the rest.

Lalita Venkatram is a singer first and foremost. Her crowning glory is her voice and not mere knowledge and technique. She is an artist, and there is music in her soul as well as in her finger-tips. Her theoretical knowledge may not be profound and her singing flawless, but there is music in her melodies and soul in her songs.

Music, as taught by teachers and practised by most professionals today in India, is a nightmare. It is all skill and cleverness, memory and mathematics. It is science without imagination, art without soul. The Indian music world is as a vast desert with a few scattered oases.

Lalita Venkatram is such an oasis. Her voice has the freshness of a morning breeze; her songs the restfulness of an evening twilight. Her melodies come rippling, clear crystal, like a mountain stream over rounded pebbles; her music has the magic of a May full-moon.

She has a voice which is true in its timbre, pure in its tone, and soft in its cadences. She sings with an ease, freedom and naturalness that are intensely captivating. There is warmth and vitality in her songs.

"What a sweet voice," observed a Dutch lady, a musician herself, listening to Mrs. Venkatram’s broadcast, and wondered why other Indian singers do not take the trouble to cultivate their voice!

Lalita Venkatram‘s repertoire is rich and varied. Her favourites are, of course, the Telugu kritis of Tyagaraja, the inspired 18th century saint-singer of South India. His kritis have a sweetness all their own, incomparable in any other tongue, and very difficult of being rendered in an easy and free manner.

Mrs. Venkatram lived her childhood days in Andhradesa and speaks Telugu as one born to it. It is here that she scores over other musicians who, in their fondness for elaborations and flourishes, over-embellish them and thus spoil their sweetness.

These kritis have the same appeal and are as soul-moving as the simple kafee songs of Shah Lattif. They touch the innermost chords of ones being and are as tender and strong as the love emotions of a mother or a beloved.

Mrs. Venkatram’s devotional hymns in Tamil, her Hindi, Gujarati and Bengali songs, and even her folk-songs have a fascination all their own. Shy, gentle and dark-eyed, Lalita Venkatram is indeed one of the sweetest and most cultured singers of India, and another of India’s greatly gifted daughters.