M. S. Subbalakshmi

She was thirteen when I first met her Subbalakshmi had come to Bangalore to record her songs by His Master’s Voice Company.

"We are recording an exceptionally talented girl from Madura. Would you care to listen to her and tell us what you think of her?" was the cordial invitation from my friend, the Manager.

My first reactions were: "Ah! Another of these ‘Baby’ stunts, I suppose! A new technique in child exploitation!" I went however, and met, not a fake, but a real girl genius.

I wrote to the papers of what I thought of her, and when, later, at my request, she gave a benefit recital to a packed house of music-lovers in Bangalore, I knew she had set her young feet on the slippery road to fame and fortune. That was about a decade ago.

‘M. S.’–to call her by the name she is best known to her friends–had a vivid personality even at that age. There was something more than the mere budding of a beautiful girlhood; there was the subtle fragrance of a flowering genius. Her face revealed her soul.

Her dark dreamy eyes, eyes which the Indian masters loved to portray in their paintings and sculptures, revealed not a fragile child but a strong silent girl. Her bright vivacious face was wreathed in smiles, smiles sad and confiding.

For a girl of thirteen she had the will of a woman of forty, and for a gay light-hearted child of song, she was a bit self-willed and stubborn. And a girl of that nature was certainly not going to have an easy time of her life, and was bound to head for troubles and tribulations–and she did.

Born to a musical mother and brought up in a musical environment music was the very breath of her being. But she was no mere creature of her environment; she had an individuality of her own. She was born for music.

And today when every "extra" in a film studio is hailed as an artiste, and when every banjo player passes off for a genius, it is encouraging to know that there are some real artistes left in the country.

In a world gone crazy with mass productions of "stars" of all descriptions, film, radio, gramophone, dance and stage, it is refreshing to come across a genuine genius. Publicity may create popularity but not personalities!

A first-rank singer before she was sixteen, Subbalakshmi had the distinction of being the youngest musician to be invited for public recitals by the Music Academy, and by some of the foremost Sangeet Sabhas in India and Ceylon.

Subbalakshmi’s success as a singer was assured from the very start of her career. Apart from her personal charm, she has the rare creative imagination of a great artiste. Manodharma, in her case, is not any personal idiosyncracy but individual uniqueness.

And next perhaps to Kodumudi Sundrambal, she was the one woman-musician who drew the biggest crowds and broke box-office records. "Kokilagana" was no cheap title from an obscure body, but a genuine tribute from a discerning public.

‘M. S,’ was already a recognised musician when Musiri was finding his way, and when Semmangudi and Pattammal were unheard-of names. Ariyakudi, then as now, held the field, with Chembai as next best. The other great Vidwans deserted the concert halls for colleges and courts.

Fate never decreed that ‘M.S,’ should ever be among the "also ran"; she was a "winner" from the start. A splendid record for a young woman!

Subbalakshmi’s art has all the verve of her youth and the tempo of her soul. Her voice has the rich cadence of a mountain stream and the purity of a Veena note. There is texture in her voice, soft and strong as calamander; colour in her music; a liveliness and freedom characteristic of her youthful genius. She takes the highest notes with the effortlessness of a nightingale’s flight to its mate.

This is an art by itself. And when you consider how even some of the great Vidwans and Ustads contort their faces and make ridiculous caricatures of themselves in such attempts, it is some consolation to see a natural face for once. Women, (because of their innate vanity, I suppose!), avoid that exhibition of agonised looks and tortured faces!

Her recitals have not the long drawn-out boredom of the ordinary South Indian cutcheries. Her programmes are not over-burdened with padams and kritis. A classical singer herself, she has learnt the secret of unburdening her technique wherever necessary. It is the art of music she wishes to display and not its mathematics.

She, like others of her tribe, has her film madness too. Her first venture has not been as spectacular as those of many a lesser gifted actress. A financial success it certainly was, and brought her a small fortune, but that her great gifts were not fully exploited was only too obvious.

For a musician of her repute, a social play with the much over-done plot of a Brahmin girl’s domestic misery is not the ideal story. Even her second film "Sakuntala," now in production, may not do her full justice, though it is bound to be a big attraction because of her name.

A musical extravaganza, like what Hollywood puts across for Deanna Durbin, with special song hits, is just the stuff for her. Even a theme like the New Theatres "Street Singer" would have been a more suitable subject. After Sundrambal’s "Nandanar" and Musiri’s "Tukaram," she certainly deserved a better fate.

India’s contribution to cine art is nothing much to be proud about. As a business proposition it may have been all right, but as a cultural effort it has been a miserable failure. Even the laudable attempts of the New Theatres’ and the Prabhat’s have not been up to the mark.

Bad as Hindi Talkies are, the Tamil ones are the worst. The South Indian producers have a genius for vulgarising things, and nothing is too sacred for them, not even their own gods! From their talks you would imagine that even Korda, Capra and de Mille have a lot to learn from these master-minds! But the poverty of their creative imagination and their actual achievements are too pathetic for words!

Subbalakshmi’s home life had not been a smooth one. With "a will of the ten devils," as a friend remarked, that was to be expected. Though willful, she is not wayward; and is by nature simple, unassuming and affectionate. Generous to a fault, she hates to be bothered by the wants of tomorrow.

Her own big struggle in life was to get out of the environment in which she found herself, and to have an independent career. In that struggle she had to give up her home, mother, and even the little fortune that was hers. Bodily illness and mental depression have, for a while, cramped her, and today freed from some of these handicaps she hopes to make something of her young life.

That she is in her top form as a singer will be obvious to anyone who attended her Academy recital last year; and when, after her preoccupations in the film line, she returns to her old favourite, she is certain to take her place among the foremost musicians of South India.

"What six singers would you select from India to represent this country in a World Music Festival?" asked a well-known European Impressario not long ago, and I had no hesitation in suggesting Indubala and Heera Barodaker for Hindustani music; M. S. Subbalakshmi and Lalita Venkatram for the Carnatic; Kamala Jharia and Kananbala for popular songs.

This list would, of course, amuse the orthodox and the music-pandits. "What about Faiyaz Khan and Sawai Gandharv?"–I can her the Hindustaniwalas shout. "Why not Ariyakudi and Musiri?"–will be the Tamils’ cry. The film fans will plead for Saigal and Surendra.

I am not unmindful of the merits of the above, and even of a score more. Some of them are undoubtedly India’s foremost musicians. Faiyaz Khan and Ariyakudi are classicists of a very high order.

But I wouldn’t risk them in ‘a World Jamboree.’ They will be simply not understood. Terrible is the ignorance of the world to things Indian, and unbridgeable as yet is the gulf between the music of the East and the West.

Vidwans and Ustads, as we have them today, have the least chance to win a world opinion in favour of Indian music, or to create a wider and more intelligent appreciation of our music. Their high technique and their crude presentation will make no impression, and will certainly not remove the existing prejudices.

People of the world understand art and appreciate artistes, if they are artistes. And I claim, my six are artistes! At any rate ‘M.S.’ is certainly one.