The politics of classical recitals: A rasika’s tryst with classical art

 

In the second entry, a look at how the rasika, or the connoisseur comes to be

Where the artists and the stage contribute in creating the spectacle of a classical art recital, it is the rasika or the connoisseur who is co-constitutive in infusing class, hierarchy and power relations into a cultural pursuit. Class distinctions and hierarchies are articulated in the difference imagined between the ‘audience’ and the ‘rasika’ so that while a classical recital might be open to all, it is only the connoisseur who is seen to embody those artistic faculties essential for an earnest critique and appreciation of the classical art.

Local contexts of caste and class are at play in producing differentiated rasikas in specific locations formulated on the axis of power structures dominant in that region. For instance, in Maharashtra, a lavani recital staged in Kolhapur merits a rasika of the landowning class because here, the dance form can not only be enjoyed and revelled in but is also considered to be high art. Upper caste, rich men can afford the luxury of the lavani, and enjoy its sensual pleasures not always accessible in the same ways to the lower classes.

Contrarily, in the nationalist Brahminical set-up of Pune, lavani is far from being high art, rather it is elevated to the status of ‘folk’ dance only when the mantle of performing the lavani is taken up by a renowned ‘classical’ artiste. Categories of classical and folk, high brow and low brow are thus in flux, perpetuated by socio-political structures that determine the processes with which a dance like lavani can acquire legitimacy, status and dignity in varied regions.

Thus, along with the art and the site of the performance, it is also the perspective of the audiences that gives form to an imagined notion of what a classical recital ought to be. A rasika is thereby not born, but produced through a set of social, political and cultural markers that not only establish class and caste distinctions but also are suggestive of varied definitions of modernity.

In the earlier entry, I drew a comparison between the scale and fame of Shaniwarwada and Sawai Gandharwa with concerts like the NH7 Weekender or the Sunburn Festival. A similar comparison between the audiences who attend these different festivals throws up distinctions right from the manner in which they are addressed. Those attending a music concert or a rock show are part of a ‘crowd,’ the ones attending a lavani and tamasha are often the sahibs or the sheths and those sitting down for an evening of classical music and dance are the rasikas.

It is assumed that intellect, artistic inclinations and the right appreciation of art are attributes inherent in the rasika where by the varied khayals, bandish and thumris are appropriately enjoyed and revered. In a typical Hindustani classical recital, how well the khayal is received by the audience suggests the virtuosity of the performer and thus forms a large chunk of the recital. On the other hand, the thumri sang towards the rear end of the performance simply adds a bit of poetry and lyric to the raag.

A true rasika is mindful of this hierarchy within art itself and knows enough to immerse oneself completely in the khayal, while enjoying the thumri simply like a tiny sweet treat at the end of a particularly grand meal.

As such, the sensibility of a rasika who inevitably belongs to a particular caste and class group, is so formulated that for the true connoisseur art transcends entertainment – assumed to be the main reason that compels undergrads blithely unaware of what 'real' art constitutes, to attend weekenders – to become a highly stimulating, intellectual pursuit.

Here I am reminded of the Italian philosopher Antonio Gramsci’s conceptualisation that what is beneficial for the elites is deemed to be beneficial for all. Because through the production of such a rasika, classical art is also asserted as real, Indian art that those of a massy artistic leaning ought to aspire to. The audiences who attend two of Pune’s grandest classical recitals inevitably belong to such middle and upper-class households that can truly appreciate this celebration of Indian art. Within these families, children are most often than not engaged in acquiring training in these high arts like Kathak and Bharatnatyam or Carnatic and Hindustani sangeet.

The glorious choreographies thus presented at the Shaniwarwada dance festival then connote the brilliance of the artist and the praise of the rasika. This too is achieved in a particular manner such that the दाद does not constitute hooting or whistling (that would be too ungentrified). But when rasikas enjoy a particular composition, they must exclaim ‘Waah!’ or ‘Kya baat hai!’ or burst into applause following a touching abhinaya rendition that evokes the romance of Radha and Krishna or celebrates the victory of Rama over Ravana.

As a student of Kathak, I have been attending classical dance recitals for as long as I can remember. During this time, I have been educated in mastering the particular expressions and body language which denote pleasure or disappointment in a recital and have also learnt the subtleties of sartorial choices, what is known in the Natya Shastra as the aharya abhinaya, that mark out the rasika from your average film going, concert attending audience.

Simply put, class is produced not through money, cultural practices of having vada pav at Shaniwarwada and coffee at Sawai Gandharva are not enough and dressing appropriately for a classical concert befits the most ardent rasika. This means that jeans and skirts are strict no-nos and a kurta-salwar is the ideal outfit for young girls to wear at classical recitals.

The older, upper-class, caste audiences who can afford to buy expensive season’s passes are decked up in chiffon, cotton and silk sarees (here I direct you to Ashika’s ponderings on the cotton saree for a glimpse of how saree produces socio-cultural distinctions), jewelry and perfume. The men too, dress-up in their formal best where as the boys who are students of the performers don on kurtis as well.

That is not to say that modernity has not had its own particular influence on classical art. Recital durations have become shorter, choreographies have simplified and the distance between the artist and her audience has widened. It is evident in the historical trajectories of performing art that viewers could make a pharmaish or request for a particular composition to be sung or danced. The relics of such practices are evident in the pharmaish composition that is now a part of the overarching recital which indicates that there existed such connections between the performers and their audiences. Now there is silence, between the rasika and the dancer, changing notions of cultural spectacles ban such an interaction, particularly in a dance performance which might evoke memories of the erstwhile courtesans or devdasis.

Modernity has also transformed the connoisseur, the earlier urge to sit through a mehfil that stretches into midnight has been replaced by a desire for a performance that concludes by late evening. Here too, class operates in distinct ways so that while the middle-class audience might head on for pav bhaji after attending the Shaniwarwada, the upper-class elites would find their way out of the traffic to a fine-dine restaurant away from the crowded, busy city area.

The two grand festivals in Pune, a city which also hosts the NH7 weekender, are speaking to a mass of people who prefer Bollywood music over live Hindustani and Carnatic concerts and contemporary over the classical to suggest that their enduring presence means that they are not only modern and relevant but simultaneously high art rooted in true Indian culture and values.

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Image courtesy: nadroop.org