In the content age, the only way to sustain a dying artform is to produce more of it, and the most authentic version of it.
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“People love what other people are passionate about.” I had grossly underestimated the extent to which such passion might cause a transformation in one.
Joining the underrated and niche classical arts club in university, I immediately found my haven.
The people were introverted much like me and shared a common appreciation for culture and tradition. They were extremely devoted to, and passionate about, classical music and dance. Having learnt Carnatic music since the age of eight, I was expected to be a decent enough vocalist, that is, had I not treated music completely as a hobby, and confined my practice sessions to the 15-minute drive to my music class.
But there was also a deeper problem. Though I respected classical music, I was not exposed to the brilliance and dynamic nature of the art form. It seemed archaic, rigid and quite often, distant.
In college, my first experience in the club was a live Carnatic concert by Ramkrishnan Murthy. It was my first concert, and it blew my mind. I obsessively recorded videos and shared them with my mother and sister. I was amazed by the beauty of the compositions, their presentation, and how there was room for creativity and improvisation. The club hosted jamming sessions, called Baithaks, which allowed me to admire classical music in its entirety.
My perception was completely overturned as I listened in awe to instruments such as the harmonium, tabla, flute, violin and sitar blending harmoniously with the honey-sweet, crystal-clear voices of some of the most talented singers. I immensely enjoyed having elaborate discussions about the nature of Ragas or anecdotes about composers. Slowly my Spotify playlists started having more thumris, and thillanas than trap or pop. From turning off the radio before the AIR Akashvani instrumental programmes could start to searching for lengthy instrumental pieces, my interests had taken a complete 180-degree turn. I began to notice the development arc in my friends and fellow music enthusiasts in the club too, some of whom had barely any exposure to classical music apart from Kishore Kumar or Lata Mangeshkar. I saw them pick up the harmonium and tabla and later even go on to give small performances in festivals on campus.
After a year in the club, I found myself in its coordinating committee. This position gave me access to artists and professionals in the field of classical arts. I helped organise the next annual concert with much enthusiasm. I had only one motto as the coordinator: to make classical arts accessible to all and to change the archaic perception people had towards classical. Through the club, I could connect with the classical arts clubs of other universities, drawing inspiration from them and closely following up on competitions, concerts, fest performances and even purely classical events like Thyagaraja Aradhana.
By the time my tenure ended, the club had become larger than life. The classical artforms felt no longer confined by rules, but something that flowed naturally. And I believed that its future rested in the hands of the young.
Another factor that played a huge role was social media. In the content age, the only way to sustain a dying artform is to produce more of it, and the most authentic version of it. Thanks to social media, professional classical musicians and dancers are able to expand their audience and reach to the masses that have never experienced the taste of classical arts. Once they begin to explore the artforms, the algorithm takes care of keeping them engaged. Similarly, students of classical music and dance have found it easier to stay in touch with their art through online courses and self-learning tutorials. Classical arts education is no longer a thing of privilege, nor is it exclusive of technical education.
My lifestyle has changed since my induction into the club. I now hunt for classical concerts in my city. I have started teaching myself Bharatnatyam, the first artform I had fallen in love with at five, and while my guilty pleasure remains scrolling Instagram reels, I am happier when beautifully choreographed thirty-second pieces of Bharatnatyam or Kathak appear in my feed.
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