A seasoned cultural commentator and former journalist with leading publications, S. Kalidas has had a ringside view of India’s cultural scene, from the early years of independence to the present. Son of the eminent artist J. Swaminathan, he has an interest both in the performing and visual arts and their transition from tradition to modernity. But India is a country whose society is continually in transition, and as time passes, entire ways of life are metamorphosing. Kalidas has watched the world of the courtesans and temple dancers — the tawaifs and devadasis — gradually vanish, and a new breed of artist emerge from the educated Indian middle class and elite. Kalidas speaks with compassion and nostalgia of what the arts have lost and how the custodians of centuries-old traditions have been rendered irrelevant, but he also puts into perspective the function of the tawaifs as quintessential artistes, and emphasises the pivotal role of shringara in their art, life and imagination. His book, “Begum Akhtar: Love’s Own Voice” (Roli) will be launched this Friday in New Delhi with a CD of her hits. Excerpts from an interview:
On the book
I had made a film on Begum Akhtar about 15 years ago. But documentary films are hardly ever seen! It was last seen in ’93 or ’94. I was happy to do the book, as I had the interviews and I did have something to say about Begum Akhtar and the concept of love in Indo-Persian poetry, and the size of this book, which is like a long essay or monograph, was just right for it.
The concept of love in Indian culture
This understanding of ishq or mohabbat is a quintessential element in the arts of poetry, music and dance across India. It comes to us closer to our own times through the tawaifs and devadasis. But if you go back to the Natya Shastra, shringara is the most important rasa. All the other rasas are in the context of shringara.
Love and the courtesan
Love or the lack of it is the major impetus to art, and nobody understood this better than the tawaif and the devadasi, and that is the theme I’ve dwelt on through Begum Akhtar. Balamma (Balasaraswati) used to say that only a devadasi knew the pain of viraham. Whether it is bhakti or Sufism or human love between people, between communities — love is the vehicle for all artistic thought. I have quoted Sheila Dhar in the book saying, “If love didn’t happen, Begum Akhtar had to invent it.” I’m evoking all those (cultural and poetic) references through this story of Begum Akhtar and this passionate need to love and be loved.
Personal interaction with Begum Akhtar
My own interaction with Begum Akhtar was when I was 16 or 17 years old when my mother was working for a leftist organisation for working women. Two years consecutively, Begum Akhtar agreed to sing to raise funds for it. So I had the opportunity to hear her live in Sapru House.
Vanishing world of the tawaifs
We had just begun urban middle class life in independent India. The tawaif was a character everyone wanted to know but was afraid about. So it was a peculiar situation. I had the fortune to meet and hear the last of the great tawaifs — Siddheshwari Devi, Balamma, Kesarbai, Gangubai…. So this book in a small way also represents the loss of that world. And it was when I was growing up that the non-gharana artistes started making a name. Just as Balamma was giving her last performance, Yamini was giving her first performances in Delhi. I was perhaps the youngest of the people who saw this transition.
The perspective of time
The documentary interviews were taken 20 years after Begum Akhtar died. It is virtually impossible to work on a person’s life in their lifetime or just after they die. Her “adopted” sister or Sheila Dhar — they would never have given me candid interviews if she had just died. Time gives you the possibility to be more honest.
