One Hundred Tamils
of the 20th Century

M.S.Subbulakshmi
1916 - 2004

nominated by S.Suriyanarayanan
[see also Tamil Music on the Web]

Excerpts from a profile written on the occasion of the 1974 Ramon Magsaysay Award for Public Service:

Madurai Subramaniya Iyer (styled simply as M. S. in keeping with Tamil usage) Subbulakshmi was born on September 16, 1916 in the city of Madurai in South India. Madurai is located in the center of the Tamil-speaking state of Madras and has been for over 2,000 years the center of culture of the Dravidians, the earliest inhabitants of India who were pushed south by the Aryan invaders of the north. ...

...Besides being born into the center of southern Hindu culture, Subbulakshmi was further blessed by being born into a home "where music was valued and where votaries of music gathered." Her parents were Subramanya Iyer and Veena Vidushi Shanmukavadivu, a renowned singer and player of the veena - a plucked instrument popular in the south. Her younger brother and sister also shared their mother's love of music; her brother played the mridangam - an ancient barrel-shaped drum with goatskin ends used for keeping time and rhythm - and her sister became a singer. By the age of 10, Kunjamma, as Subbulakshmi was affectionately known, was accompanying her mother at concerts (as her two stepdaughters accompany her today). She still remembers when Dhanammal, a celebrated musician who heard her sing at this age, predicted for her "a bright future."

..... As a young girl she studied under Srinuvasa Iyengar of Madurai who taught her up to the varnam stage (the center piece of the sequence of dances in a Bharata Natyam court). "After that," she has said, "as I was unable to go to a music teacher for advanced tutoring, I continued to learn from my mother." In later years she "had the good fortune of learning from several great musicians and among them were Musiri Subrahmanya Iyer and Semmangudi Srinvasa Iyer."

By age 17, Subbulakshmi was giving concerts on her own, including major performances at the Madras Music Academy, the prestigious center for the study and promotion of Karnatic music. At the age of 24, she married T. (Thyagarajan) Sadasivam who has devoted himself to advancing her career. People who know her well say that without her husband she would not have achieved the artistic stature she enjoys and that "it is a sight to see her unceasingly acknowledging the gratitude she owes to him for everything she has." Recently she said, "he is my mentor and preceptor and he gave artistic shape and definition to my ideas of music which were almost running wild." Sadasivam, now publisher and managing director of Kalki, the widely circulated and highly respected Tamil weekly, was a film director and thus particularly well situated to assist her career through that medium.

Two fortuitous events brought Subbulakshmi early into national prominence. The first was her participation in the All-India Dance Conference in Bombay, organized under the Vikramaditya Celebrations, in 1944. Every Indian musician of importance was present and her performance created a sensation.

The second was her appearance in the title role of the Hindi-language film Meera, produced by her husband. Meera was a singer saint, an 18th century Rajput princess who gave up court life and wandered the countryside singing the praises of the Lord Krishna. The film was produced in 1946-47 in Rajputana and the villagers in the area saw Subbulakshmi as a "new Meera. ' They sought occasions to hear her sing and embarrassed her by lining the road to pay her homage when she walked the streets.

In this film she sang the bhajans of north India. Bhajans are folk music of a devotional nature, simple and compelling enough to be known, understood and loved by all. Already recognized as a distinguished singer of Carnatic classical ragas - which in general demand a musically sophisticated audience - Subbulakshmi suddenly found herself the idol of the common people throughout the length and breadth of the land. Sarojini Naidu, a poet and leader of the nationalist movement in India, dubbed her the "Nightingale of India," and added: 

"Every child in India has heard about Subbulakshmi for the beauty of her voice, the magic of her personality, and the gracious charity of her heart . . . . I want my living words to go to the utmost corners of the world so that people may realize how one great woman artist in India has been able to move the hearts of millions and millions of men and women by her songs. I believe the feelings roused in me will be roused in everyone who hears the enchanting voice of this enchanting singer who is abundantly gifted." 

Subbulakshmi herself concluded that "if one sings with sincerity and devotion, such music has the capacity to move the audience to divine experience, irrespective of their religious beliefs, their language and the countries to which they may belong."

Although Meera was her first and only Hindi film, she has played in Tamil films both before and since, including a Tamil version of Meera.

In 1941 Subbulakshmi and her husband visited Mahatma Gandhi at his religious retreat in Nagpur. Thereafter whenever she and he were in the same city she sang at his prayer meetings. Gandhi loved her rendition of north Indian bhajans and requested that she sing some for his 78th birthday, October 2, 1947. As she couldn't appear in person, All India Radio suggested she record some discs and have them sent to Delhi where he was in residence. Gandhi particularly wanted to hear "Hari Tuma Haro" whose haunting refrain translates, "Oh Lord, take away the pain from mankind." Not knowing this bhajan she suggested another singer, but he refused, saying he would rather hear her speak the words than another sing them.

Subbulakshmi learned and recorded the song the night of September 30th, finishing at 2 a.m. The disc, sent off by plane, was played on what was to be Gandhi's last birthday. Three months later he was dead by an assassin's bullet. When the announcement of his death was reported over the radio, it was followed by the playing of Subbulakshmi’s recording of "Hari Tuma Haro." Hearing her own voice singing his favorite bhajan was unnerving and Subbulakshmi finds to this day that "Hari Tuma Haro" brings a flood of memories of that tragic time.

Gandhi was not the only major Indian political figure who enjoyed Subbulakshmi’s singing. Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru seldom missed a concert of hers in Delhi and referred to her as "the Queen of Song."

The other phase of the career that has endeared Subbulakshmi to her countrymen is that of using her voice to raise money for good causes. Subbulakshmi herself regards public service as a natural outgrowth of the devotion to God which, she feels, is the essence of music. 

"Once we regard the Divinity within us with devotional fervor [bhakti]," she says, "we are bound to develop the same affection towards everything outside . . . .When the devotee has attained this state, service to the world becomes his creed." 

The first occasion in which she sang in a cause was in 1944 in connection with the Memorial Fund for Kasturba, the wife of Gandhi. Rajagopalacharia, Chief Minister of Madras State, asked for her cooperation in this effort and, as the "result of strong convictions and much thought," she consented. Her five concerts throughout South India raised 80,000 rupees (US$24,500).

During the following three decades Subbulakshmi has given more than 200 benefit performances and raised well over Rs. 10,000,000 for various Indian charities. Two causes close to her heart have been the Gandhi Memorial Fund and the fund in honor of the 100th anniversary of the death of Tyagaraja, one of the three great composers of Karnatic songs. Other beneficiaries have been various hospital, religious and educational institutions such as the Sevoor T. B. Sanatorium, the Kamala Nehru Hospital, the Ramkrishna Mission, the South Indian Education Society, the Indraprastha College for Women and the Madras Music Academy's Building Fund.

In recognition of her efforts Subbulakshmi received the Padma Bhushan (lit. With Lotus Flowers or Jewels Bedecked) from the Government of India in 1955, the first musician to be so honored. In making the presentation the President of India commented, "her music is a gift of the gods which she has placed at the service of the nation." 

In 1956 she received the President's National Award for Classical Karnatic Music and the same year was nominated to membership in the Sangeet Natak Akademi (National Academy of Music, Dance and Drama), a high honor for a performing artist.

In 1963 Subbulakshmi was invited to participate in the Edinburgh Festival and traveled to Europe for the first time. Unexpectedly - since, contrary to popular cliché, music is not an international language but the deepest expression of a specific culture - she found there an enthusiastic reception. The Times of London commented: 

"The vocal music of another culture is often felt to be harder to understand than its instrumental music, but this feeling is not always justified, and Subbulakshmi is an excellent introducer of the beauties and intricacies of Karnatic song." 

The Scotsman added: 

"We listen to a superb artist singing in her native improvisatory style. The barriers become academic, and similarities become obvious." 

Subbulakshmi herself concluded that "if one sings with sincerity and devotion, such music has the capacity to move the audience to divine experience, irrespective of their religious beliefs, their language and the countries to which they may belong."

Finishing in Edinburgh she went back to London where she gave a recital and made a number of recordings for the British Broadcasting Corporation. These performances were followed by informal recitals in several European cities and were climaxed by a concert in Cairo where she met the premier singer of the Middle East, Om Kalsum. This meeting was particularly meaningful because Subbulakshmi's popularity in India is often likened to that of Om Kalsum's in the Arab world. The music of both women cuts across national boundaries and appeals to pundits and the masses alike.

In October 1966 Subbulakshmi flew to the United States to sing as her country's representative at the United Nations in connection with United Nations Day observances. Her reputation had preceded her and she received an ovation even before she came on stage. During the next seven weeks she performed across the United States from Boston to San Francisco and back. One critic wrote: 

"A more educated and pedigreed singing art would be hard to imagine. The listener may well find himself under something close to a hypnotic spell." 

The San Francisco Chronicle greeted her singing as "a series of miracles." The reviewer exclaimed: 

"Her elaborate vocal filigree, sometimes sung in unison or octaves with her daughter Radha Viswanathan, were unbelievable in their poised ease and constancy of flow... She sings with a reedy yet dark voice and the most extraordinary flexibility. Like sleight-of-hand she throws out embellishments almost too fast to hear." 

Her other stepdaughter Vijaya also accompanied her on the tour, playing the tambura, a four or five stringed instrument that provides essential background harmony.

The Madras Music Academy in 1968 elected Subbulakshmi to preside over its Annual Conference, the first woman so honored. As Krishnaswamy noted, "the credit for elevating the status of lady artists to a place of equality with men goes to Srimati Subbulakshmi." 

On the concluding day of the session, January 2, 1969, the Minister for Civil Education conferred on her the highly coveted title, Sangita Kalanidhi (Master of Musical Arts). The citation recognized that she was: 

"endowed with a voice of unique sweetness and richness and an ability to harmonize strict standards and popular appeal and to do justice to the music of the South as well as the North. She has been the most beloved idol of the public in the recent annals of Indian music."

Subbulakshmi is often questioned concerning the training of singers today. Dealing with techniques, she advises students to train their voices to "traverse the three octaves with felicity, curbing the tendency to branch into falsetto," make the veena their teacher and adhere to tradition, at the same time mastering pronunciation, proper intonation and knowledge of the libretto. "Only hard work can qualify [one] for the task and there is no short cut," she emphasizes. 

She feels that the gurukala system - the teacher-disciple relationship - is of great importance and bemoans the fact that it is seldom practical today for a student to live with a guru during his formative years. The guru's role, she notes, is not to teach by rote or foster his own style, but to acquaint the student with traditionally accepted norms of beauty, thus exposing him to the fullness of the past. Students who study in colleges of music, she says, should at least "apprentice themselves under an experienced musician for two or three years thereafter, and attempt to learn the finer points of the art which that musician only will be in a position to teach."

Subbulakshmi always reminds students that technique is not all. Ragas and bhajans, she points out, have been composed for the "purpose of directing the minds of the listeners towards God and his manifestations," and that "one's singing comes through one's own experience and it is this depth of feeling that enables one to communicate with the audience." In fact, expression is more highly sought and judged than quality of voice.

Subbulakshmi fervently believes that in an age when young people are chaffing at the "controls and restraints imposed by various religious and ancient scriptures," music can lend a helping hand in bringing about peace of mind, harmonious relations and good behavior "When we negotiate starry scintillations . . . and when the percussion instruments accompany with gusto, a divine exhilaration steals over the audience . . . . This joy helps toward good conduct. That was why our ancients wove music into the very fabric of our daily lives." To have this effect on an audience, the singer must be virtuous, for "in the mind of a good person, bhakti is an instinctive growth. God himself makes his home in such a mind."

By the same token, Subbulakshmi advocates the compulsory teaching of music at all levels of education, from primary through university. "This does not mean that all [students] should be able to give concerts on the platform," she says. "Just as the study of science leads to the growth of knowledge, the study of music will bring serenity of mind."

Of her own training she says that she frequently sang one practice session, blending her voice with the tambura, the next without accompaniment. When she used the instrument again in the third session she found "there was invariably a perfect harmony between the two." This identity of voice and instrument is highly valued in Indian music. One votary of north Indian song once compared Subbulakshmi's voice to the shehnai, the double-reed wood wind of his area, noting that "it has the same richness of tone—its smoothness, vibrancy and above all its hypnotic quality."

Although she is noted for her extraordinary vocal range, Subbulakshmi "never exceeds the demand of the composition." She goes to the core of the song and shows restraint, rather than "gilding the lily" with virtuoso appurtenances. Restraint also extends to her private life. She is "simple, humble and almost childlike," those who know her report. She dresses quietly, her manner is demure, and although she is now matronly in appearance, her expression is often described as "innocent."

Not unexpectedly, "she talks, sings and lives music twenty-four hours a day," and is deeply religious. The puja (prayer) room in her house has three life-size portraits of Sri Chandrasekharendra Saraswathi Sankaracharya, the saint whom she calls "divinity in flesh and blood," and who has "been instrumental in restoring the faith and religious temperament of the people of Madras and reclaiming many to the path of God" in recent years. As her guru, he selected the verses for the highly popular record she made in 1970 of the Bhajagovindam (some 30 verses composed by the poet-philosopher Sankara in praise of Lord Krishna, which are both musical and of much philosophical content) and Vishnu Sahasranamam (a musical chant of the 1,000 names of Vishnu, one of the three main gods of the Hindu pantheon).

Wherever Indian cultural communities exist—India, Pakistan, Ceylon, Nepal, Malaysia, Burma, South Africa, East Africa and Mauritius, Fiji and the West Indies - Subbulakshmi's music touches a responsive chord. Her popularity and success are due, according to critic Narayana Menon, to her unusual combination of characteristics:

 "Good looks, intelligence, versatility, character, the humility to learn at all times and from all people. Finally, there is that elusive indefinable gift which few possess and which alone can transform a song into a thing of magic." 

The President of the National Academy of Music, Dance and Drama of India adds: "Her music is unique in that it has universal appeal; it appeals to the connoisseur, the vidwan who revels in intricate technique, and it appeals equally to the masses of people by its melody and sweetness . . . . In addition to its technical perfection, it is full of the fervour of devotion to God."

As the poet Dharam Bharati says, "If there is radiance in the heart, there will be radiance in the voice."

References

Hariharan, N. "Art Knows No Barriers," unidentified newspaper clipping, N.d.
"Indian Music," Encyclopedia Britannica. Chicago, Illinois: Encyclopedia Britannica Vol. 12, 1970.
Jagannathan, Maithily. "Queen of Song," Hindustan Times Weekly. Delhi. November 22, 1970. 
Joshi Baburao. Understanding Indian Music. New York: Asia Publishing House. 1968.
Menon, V. K. Narayana. M. S. Subbulakshmi. Booklet. Madras, India: Kalki Press. N.d. 8 p. 
______."M S. Subbulakshmi," Illustrated Weekly of India. Delhi. November 13, 1955. 
______. "A Note on the Music of India," Edinburgh International Festival, Indian Music Events (Program). August 20-September 4, 1963.
"Miracle Indian Music," San Francisco Chronicle. November 7, 1966.
Narasimhan, C. V. Music Recital by Smt. M, S. Subbulakshmi at the United Nations on Sunday. 23 October 1966, in Connection with the Observance of United Nations Day 1966 (Program). 11 p.
______. "She Came, She Sang, She Conquered," from The Subbulakshmi Story, reprinted by The Hindu. Madras, India. Leaflet. N.d. 4 p.
Parthasarathy, T. S. "M. S. Subbulakshmi: Four Decades of Virtuosity," Indian & Foreign Review. Delhi June 15, 1972.
Rangarayan S. Indian Express. Bombay. October 18, 1967.
"Sangita Kalanidhi Title for M. S.," Times of India. Bombay. January 2, 1969.
Sastry, B.V.K. "M. S. Subbulakshmi" Illustrated Weekly of India. Delhi. July 7, 1963.
Subbulakshmi M. S. "Bhakti is the Essence of Music" (Presidential Address). Translated from Tamil by V. T. Sreenivasan and reproduced from Bhavan's Journal. Bombay. August 10 and November 2, 1969.
Letters from and interviews with persons knowledgeable about the work and contributions of M. S. Subbulakshmi.

1974 Ramon Magsaysay Award for Public Service  - Citation 

Exacting purists acknowledge Srimati M. S. Subbulakshmi as the leading exponent of classical and semi-classical songs in the Karnataka tradition of South India. They and ordinary people alike find in the compelling melody and sweetness of her bhajans, or folk spirituals, "a deep, pure and abstract emotional appeal," transporting them to a sense of unity with the supreme deity. Rooted in millenia of Indian culture and mythology, her bhajans are a means of prayer and solace in the villages where bhakti marg, or the way of devotion, supersedes more intellectual philosophies. 

The gift of song that reaches the hearts of her countrymen results from a passionate pursuit of artistic excellence. As a girl of 10, in the South Indian cultural center of Madurai where she was born in 1916, Subbulakshmi began accompanying her celebrated mother's singing and veena playing. An enchanting voice, hard work, exacting discipline, character, humility and willingness to learn from everyone, made her at the age of 17 a soloist in her own right. When, at the age of 24, she married T. Sadasivam—now publisher of the prestigious Tamil weekly, Kalki, in Madras—she gained also her "friend, philosopher and guide."

As, with maturing years, Subbulakshmi's versatility encompassed Hindustani classics of North India and folk songs of many regions, her following grew far beyond the South; wider audiences first heard her in the film Meera. Mahatma Gandhi asked only to hear her sing "Hari Tuma Haro," or "Thou God," on his 78th birthday, which proved tragically to be his last. Jawaharlal Nehru, after hearing her sing, said, "Who am I, a mere Prime Minister, before a Queen of Song?"

On tours abroad Subbulakshmi sang at the Edinburgh International Music Festival and before the United Nations. Her vocal "filigree," traversing three octaves, and fidelity to tone and rhythm reached through to listeners unfamiliar with melodic Indian music that neither needs nor implies harmony.

In April 1944, after five successful benefit performances given for the Memorial Fund honoring Gandhi's wife, Kasturba, Subbulakshmi 's voice became an instrument for public causes. Receipts of concert halls - filled to overflowing - and open amphitheaters - often packed with tens of thousands paying only four annas each (three U.S. cents) so as to deny no one the joy of her songs - have been given to constructive works. Equivalent to over one million U.S. dollars, her contributions have benefited foundations for the poor, hospitals, orphanages, schools, and music and journalism institutes. While becoming the idol of millions, this lady has remained deeply religious, unpretentious and almost childlike in her simplicity.

In electing Srimati M. S. Subbulakshmi to receive the 1974 Ramon Magsaysay Award for Public Service, the Board of Trustees recognizes her exalting rendition of devotional song and magnanimous support of numerous public causes in India over four decades.

"We walked 30 miles to hear you today but arrived only at the very end. We waited in the hope of offering our respects to you before returning to our village."

The speakers were a dust-streaked couple in crumpled sari and dhoti in remote Ayalur in Tamil Nadu's Thanjavur district - where Carnatic vocalist M.S. Subbulakshmi had given a concert as the finale of a week-long temple festival. Her name had drawn from villages miles around, thousands who were at that time returning with no thought or word beyond the exhilaration her vocal music had wrought.

Drained by the two-and-a-half hour performance and passage through the adulation of the packed crowds, the (then) 70-year-old musician had no thought but of rest during the early journey of the next day. But she would not, could not, send the couple away disappointed. "Let us sing at least one song for them." The younger accompanist to whom she said this asked, "Do you know it is midnight now?" With a smile MS began to sing with the same earnestness and attention she had shown earlier on the stage. For her, music was ever a matter of reverence.

Another instance illustrates her appeal to the cognoscenti: It was with more than the usual trepidation that M.S. Subbulakshmi faced a distinguished audience of needle-sharp rasikas and fellow musicians at the  Music Academy in Madras one evening in the 1950s. She was about to present a pallavi in Raga Begada, "Kailasapate, pasupate, umapate, namostute," across the Adi tala cycle. This was a challenge to her virtuosity in   rhythm-charged ragam-tanam-pallavi techniques. Star-singer though she already was, she was not particularly known for pallavi pyrotechnics. What followed was no different from the typical Subbulakshmi concert -
thunderous applause greeted her at every stage of the unfolding.

The pallavi piece had been the idea of a musician friend and mentor Musiri Subramania Iyer. MS had enthusiastically rehearsed it with the active encouragement of violinist Tiruvalangadu Sundaresa Iyer, whose tuft-waving shouts of "bhesh, bhesh!" had punctuated the practice sessions.

The Alathur brothers, known to be masters of laya and pallavi exposition, were to call on MS the next day and offer their congratulations. "We have no words to describe the beauty and balance of your presentation. What anchored every part firmly to a finished whole was the accent on the Raga and the bhava you brought to it. This is what makes your music so enchanting, so durable. This is what the great Dakshinamurthi Pillai found to be special in your singing years ago." With that the mists parted and MS was back in shy girlhood.

Kunjamma (as she was known to those close to her), brought up with all the rigorous strictness that her mother could impose upon her training in art as in life, had sung at a wedding in the household of Dakshinamurthi Pillai, the venerable percussionist from Pudukkottai. The event had drawn a galaxy of artists - including the upcoming Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer, Musiri Subramania Iyer, Chembai Vaidyanatha Bhagavathar, Rajamanickam Pillai, Rajaratnam Pillai, Palghat Mani Iyer, G.N. Balasubramaniam and the Alathur brothers.

The next day, in the midst of this starry assembly, Dakshinamurthi Pillai suddenly smote his head with vehemence. "Andavane! (oh God!) How will you save your throats for a lifetime if you engage in vocal gymnastics? Leave all that to us drummers. Singers must emphasize the raga and the bhava so that you preserve your voice and let it gain in timbre. That little girl there, she knows this already. Didn't we hear her yesterday? Wasn't it satisfying? Touch our hearts?" At that public praise, Kunjamma shrank even more behind her mother in the corner.

Lost in memories, Subbulakshmi's narrative trembles. Those were times to recall with tears. She was blessed by every senior musician who came home to sing and play before or listen to her musician mother Shanmukhavadivu  playing the veena. Some were legendary firgures like Tirukkodikaval Krishna  Iyer, Veena Seshanna of Mysore, Ponuswami Pillai, Naina Pillai, Chittoor Subramaniam Pillai, Venkataramana Dass of Vizianagaram. Invariably, Kunjamma would be jerked forward to sing. "Though I would always be encouraged and appreciated by them, I never lost my timidity." She recalls that some of  them would teach her a song or two - as did the great Ariyakudi Ramanuja Iyenger.

"What were you like in those days?" brings a change in mood. "You can see it in the old pictures," she laughs. "A side parting in thick curls pressed down with lots of oil, a huge dot covering most of my forehead, the half- saree pinned to the puff-sleeved blouse with long brooch and longer safety pin, eardrops, nose-rings and bangles of imitation gold...Oh I forgot. The long plait was tied up with a banana stem strip! Or a ribbon which never  matched." Getting ready for the stage meant also the addition of a row of medals on the shoulder.

MS has been sheltered and protected through 78 years now. Like everybody else, she has had ups and downs, faced hurdles and setbacks, known heart- break. As an artist in India, she has scaled unrivalled peaks of fame. Through these public and personal happenings, she continues to radiate the childlike innocence of the old portraits. Yet what lingers on her face is not the look of naivete, or inexperience. It is a sense of inner peace and timeless faith lining her gentleness.

A perceptive profile of Subbulakshmi states: "Success and fame bring in their train friends and adulation, as well as jealousy and carping critics. She has been paid the most extravagant tributes by musicians, scholars, high dignitaries of State...I have also heard others dismiss her as a pretty  singer with a pretty voice who has built up a reputation on false values. She herself takes all this in her stride." It ends with a tribute to the beauty and grace of her music and looks to its maturing into greatness. The year was 1955.

That she has reached this greatness will hardly be challenged, even by  critics of her style - or those who play the devil's advocate. She has been the recipient of the highest awards and honours the nation could  bestow upon an artist short of the Bharat Ratna, and of significant
international recognition.

But the impressive list of distinctions can hardly explain the MS mystique. Certainly it has to do with her extraordinary voice, which continues to ring in the mind with vibrant power and clarity, whether heard from near or far or any angle. That her music is not diminished by the absence of instrumental accompaniment is knowledge treasured by those privileged to hear her in private. It was realised by the multitudes on occasions when her devotional songs were telecast by Doordarshan, as at the time of Indira Gandhi's assassination.

A whole range of explanations are offered for the primeval resonance of her voice - from the metaphysical to the physical. There are pious devotees who believe it to be a gift as a result of oblations of honey through her previous births! An ENT specialist, on the other hand, declares it has to do with the unusual arrangement of her vocal chords. To hear her is to be spellbound - the experience of more than three generations of men and women in many parts of the world. Over the years, the voice and charisma have melded to irresistibility nonpareil. Admirers range from old-timers, hep youngsters, fellow artists, householders, ascetics, religious and political leaders, atheists, scientists and fact-finders and pundits, to philistines.

Princes and heads of state have bowed to her music, as when the (then)  Maharana of Udaipur said to MS and husband T. Sadasivam: "In the old days I would have exchanged my whole kingdom for this Kalyani raga. Now I shall  give you whatever help you need by way of horses and elephants in location shooting." The occasion was the filming of Meera, produced by Sadasivam  with MS in the lead. Jawaharlal Nehru's tribute to her, "Who am I before the queen of song?" has been publicised widely as has been Mahatma Gandhi's request, shortly before he was gunned down by a Hindu fanatic on January 30, 1948.

 A message had been sent to Madras that Gandhiji wished MS to render his favourite bhajan, "Hari tum haro," and a response had gone from husband Sadasivam to the effect that she did not know how to sing this particular bhajan, somebody else could sing "Hari tum haro", and she could sing another bhajan. A reply had promptly come back on behalf of the Mahatma: "I should prefer to hear it SPOKEN by Subbulakshmi than SUNG by others." 

Nearly half a century after this incident, MS and Sadasivam recall that she heard the news of Gandhiji's assassination when she was listening to a relay of the Thyagaraja Utsavam (festival) and immediately her own singing of "Hari tum haro" came on the air. She swooned from the shock. Had not Gandhiji called upon her at a prayer meeting in 1947 at Birla House  in Bombay, "Subbulakshmi, Ramdhun tum gao" (You sing the Ramdhun)? His  choice of songs and his manner of recognition show that the Mahatma was thinking beyond music.

 It was that special quality she invokes of peace and bliss, not just with her voice, but from the depths of her own character - simple, devout and spirituelle. Often lay persons with no liking of classical music still play her devotional verses as an every morning ritual. The suprabhatams on the deities of Tirupati, Kasi, Rameshwaram and Kamakshi of Kanchi thrill pilgrims at dawn in temples from Kedarnath to Kanyakumari. In the midst of roadside blasts of film songs, if an occasional "Kaatrinile varum geetham" of "Chaakar rakho ji" come on, the pedestrian is arrested into paused listening. There are others who swear that listening to her recorded music helped them tide over troubled times, even traumas and tragedies. 

In this writer's personal experience, there was  the instance of a dear friend, a Hyderabadi girl, who repeatedly asked for  "any MS music" as she bravely faced death from third degree burns. More remarkable is her popularity outside the Carnatic belt. According to traditional stereotype, the North Indian is supposed to be indifferent to Carnatic music, but MS concerts draw large audiences in Jalandhar and Jaipur, Kanpur and Bhopal, Pune and Baroda, notwithstanding the predominance of the heavy pieces in Telugu, Sanskrit and Kannada by composers ranging from Thyagaraja to Yoganarasimham. 

The initial recognition, of course, came through the bhajans in Hindi that she rendered for the film Meera in 1944. Delightedly surrendering her title "The Nightingale of India" to MS, Sarojini Naidu introduced her in the film's first reel. A slender MS with downcast eyes, corkscrew curls blowing, hands twisting her pallav, is overwhelmed as Naidu heaps tributes with this prophecy to her countrymen, "You will be proud that India in this generation has produced so supreme an artist." 

Since then, MS recitals have always included bhajans - of Meera first and later Tulsidas, Kabir, Surdas, Nanak and abhangs of Tukaram. A few have heard her sing chhote khayals and thumris ("Na manoongi, Mishra Khamaj); "Neer bharan kaise jaaon," Tilakamod; "Mano mano kanhaiyya," Jonpuri), that she learnt in the 1930s from Dwijenderlal Roy in Calcutta and later from Siddheshwari Devi of Benares. The latter spent some months in Madras teaching MS thumris and tappas. 

It was a lesson in assiduity to see the two great women seated on the mat, facing each other and practising with intense interest the Yaman scales over and over again, with Siddheshwari Devi rolling the beads to keep the 108 count. To many North Indian business barons, an MS recital at a family wedding is not a status symbol but a blessing on the young couple. With excellent singers in Bombay who can sing bhajans with the greater ease of mother tongue spontaneity, why did they insist on a bhajan concert by MS? A Bombay-based industrialist's reply to the naive question was, "True! We can listen to good music by others. But no one else can create this feeling which takes us straight to heaven."

Hindustani musicians themselves have never stinted praise. Veteran Alladiya Khan was charmed by her Pantuvarali (Puriya Dhanashri); Bade Ghulam Ali Khan had announced she was "Suswaralakshmi Subbulakshmi," and Roshanara Begum had been ecstatic over her full-length concert. Others from Ravi Shankar to Pandit Jasraj and Amjad Ali Khan have been unfailing admirers. Vilayat Khan folds both his hands and closes his eyes as he speaks her name.

This recognition first came in the 1930s in a Calcutta studio when MS played Narada in Savithri. (This film launched the nationalist Tamil weekly Kalki, a joint venture of husband Sadasivam and writer R. Krishnamurthi). The MS recordings would gather other distinguished artists, K.L. Saigal, Pahari Sanyal, Kananbala, Keskar and Pannalal Ghosh (later to play Krishna's flute in Meera). Dilipkumar Roy was another admirer who was later to teach her bhajans and Rabindra Sangeet.

"They would make me sing again and again, especially the song 'Bruhi  mukundeti,` with its lightning sangati in the end," MS recalls happily (in Tamil). "In those days we had no sense of competition or oneupmanship. We enjoyed good music wherever we found it." Old-timers remember that in the film too, as Narada descended from the sky in jerks, but still singing that  enthralling song, the theatre resounded to applause. In the Bombay studio where the Meera score was recorded, it was the same story. Artists who came for other recordings would stop by and become rapt listeners. A thin newcomer, two long plaits dangling behind, refused to record her song after the MS session. "Not now, not after THAT!" She went on to become a legend in her own right as Lata Mangeshkar, while continuing to remain a devoted MS fan.

Another MS achievement was that, virtually for the first time, she astonished the Westerner into an appreciation of Carnatic music. In the 1960s, the few Indian musicians known outside the country were Hindustani instrumentalists. In the Western world, hardly anyone knew of the complex Carnatic system, which was deemed inexportable. Why, even North Indians found it indigestible. In a conversation with Jawaharlal Nehru, Sadasivam remarked that the West might prefer instrumental to vocal music. "Yes," said Panditji, tapping his fingers. Then looking straight at MS he broke into a smile, "But not in YOUR case!" MS always adds, "By God's grace, what he said came true when I sang at the Edinburgh Festival, at the United Nations and at Carnegie Hall."

On the eve of a public concert in New York, U.N. Chef de Cabinet and Carnatic music expert C.V. Narasimhan was disquieted at the prospect of rejection by the redoubtable critic of the New York Times. He was to call ecstatically the next morning. "You have won. The press overflows with praise." So it did after everyone of the string of concerts that MS gave in the US and in some parts of Europe before all-white audiences, most of whom were strangers to any music from India.

The New York Times said: "Subbulakshmi's vocal communication trancends words. The cliche of 'the voice used as an instrument` never seemed more appropriate. It could fly flutteringly or carry on a lively dialogue with the accompanists. Subbulakshmi and her ensemble are a revelation to Western ears. Their return can be awaited with only eagerness." Dr. W. Adriaansz, Professor of Music, University of Washington, wrote: "For many, the concert by Mrs. Subbulakshmi meant their first encounter with the music of South India and it was  extremely gratifying that in her the necessary factors for the basis of a successful contact between her music and a new audience - highly developed artistry as well as stage presence - were so convincingly present...without any doubt (she) belongs to the best representants of this music."

This writer witnessed that kind of wondrous rapture in Moscow when MS  performed before a select group of Russian musicians and musicologists in 1988. Midway through the singing a woman came up with flowers. She touched her eyes first and then her heart to communicate her bursting feelings. That this was a shared experience became evident when the applause and the audience followed MS as she left the hall, down the staircase, to the car on the street, until she drove away.

The question still remains unanswered: What is this almost transcendental quality behind the unfailing rapture? In the West, such responses are not unknown to the music from great composers like Mozart and Beethoven. Many would attribute it to the Indian bhakti tradition of poetry and song to which the singer belongs. The 6th-7th century cult of the Nayanmars and the Alwars, spread through Chaitanya and Jayadeva, as the people's movement of Basavanna and Mahadeviyakka, inspired Namdev and Tukaram, Surdas, Tulsidas and that extraordinary woman saint Meerabai, who spurned queenship and  wifehood in her restless quest of the Lord. The bhakti polarities of seeking and finding, loss and conquest, desire and fulfilment are realised in their verses.

Precisely these aspects mark Subbulakshmi's singing. This is true of those portions without verbal elements, like the raga alapana. Just as the devotee individuates the deity through incantation and description - detailing every limb, look and ornamentation - the singer shapes the raga, always starting with clear strokes to pedestal its identity and going on to breathe it to form and life. The enunciation of the antara gandhara (Sankarabharanam, Khambhoji, Pantuvarali, Kedaragowla) in the upper register - as a long-held note, as the end-point of embellishments, or the pivot of note clusters, mounts to fever pitch. Hands sculpt the air, face turns upwards, eyes gaze at the beyond, and suddenly there comes the madhyama/panchama climax and the rounded process of conclusion, all accomplished with seemingly effortless grace. After plumbing the depths and soaring to the heights, the listener emerges into quietude. That is how the Meera archtype gets superimposed in this Tamil daughter of the 20th century.

What is MS like in real life? The answer would be: except for the taut- nerved hypersensitivity of all great artists, no different from any other South Indian housewife, mother and grandmother of her generation. Fame, the approbation of the world's haut monde and glitterati, the adoration of hundreds of thousands, have left her transparently untouched. Home needs and little chores are given the same attention that she gives momentous affairs. She is meticulous and neat in personal life, even in the delicate lines of the kolam she draws everyday. She excels at putting all kinds of visitors at ease, with a genuine interest in what they have to say of  themselves. Gifts which please her most are strings of jasmine and mild French perfumes.

In appearance and lifestyle, she remains conservative: the long pallav of her handloom cottons or silks tucked round the waist, flower-wreathed "kondai", diamond nose and ear rings, glass bangles between gold, not to forget the row of kumkum and vibhuti from many temples dotting the turmeric-washed forehead. regular in the performance of puja and shloka-recitation, she is a strict follower of all the prescribed rituals of the sumangali householder. "My mother-in-law told me before she left for Kasi" would precede these observances.

Owning no jewels beyond what she wears and quick to give away the silk sarees gifted to her by admirers, she has never tried to appear younger than she is. Thousands see her as the embodiment of grace and ancient tradition of Indian womanhood - kind, considerate, compassionate, soft- spoken, self-sacrificing and somewhat unworldly. She breathes the tenderness  of the mother to the child, the bhakta to the god.

Looking at her self-effacing deportment, one has to remind oneself forcefully that she is a world-travelled artist, a globally-acclaimed career person who has changed the definition and image of Carnatic music in the 20th century. A first-time foreign listener at her concert was quick to note the ethereality of the MS image. "It is not right to describe her as the Maria Callas of India. Callas has fans, frenzied legions of them. But not devotees! MS does not sing, she makes divinity manifest."

How did MS train this voice, develop grasping power, and learn to refract emotional colours thorugh it? How did she absorb the aesthetics and techniques of a hoary musical tradition?

Born in the temple town of Madurai on September 16, 1916, to veena player Shanmukhavadivu (her initial M.S. record the birthplace and mother's name), little Kunjamma, brother Saktivel and sister Vadivambal grew up surrounded and filled by music. Grandmother Akkammal had been a violinist. Their tiny home in the narrow, cattle-lounging Hanumantharayan lane was close to Meenakshi temple. Whenever the deity was taken in procession through the main streets, the nadaswaram players would stop where this lane branched off and play their best for Shanmukhavadivu's approval. "My earliest interest in  music was focussed on the raga. I would try to reproduce the pipers as well as I could. My mother played and rehearsed constantly. No formal lessons, but I absorbed a whole wealth by listening and humming along with the veena." Much later, experts were to wonder at the way in which MS vocally rendered some of the rare and singular gamakas and prayogas of both veena and nadaswaram.

The family was rich only in music. Otherwise, for mother and children, and for the numerous uncles and aunts who crowded their home, it was a frugal existence. For the two girls it was confinement within the home, while the brother enjoyed a little more freedom.

Vadivambal died too early to fulfil her promise as a veena player. But for Subbulakshmi it was to be vocal music. The coconut was broken and offerings were made to god and guru Madurai Srinivasa Iyengar. But the lessons could  not go beyond the foundations because the guru passed away. "I also learnt Hindustani music for a short spell from Pandit Narayan Rao Vyas. 'Syama Sundara` which I sang in the film Seva Sadan was one of the pieces he taught me. I listened to a lot of good music on the radio (the neighbours'; we didn't own one!) from the window sill above the staircase. I loved to hear Abdul Kareem Khan and Bade Ghulam Ali Khan in the silence of the night."

Her formal schooling was stopped in class 5 when a teacher's beating brought on an attack of whooping cough. But she practiced music for long hours, lost in the vibrations of the tambura which she would tune reverently. The MS hallmark of sruti suddham can be traced to a game she evolved in her childhood. As she sang, she would stop playing the drone at intervals and check if she continued to maintain the pitch with and without it. Throughout the day she would sound the shadja panchama notes and pluck the strings to see if she was still aligned to them.

This natural ability, consciously developed through a kind of yoga, is responsible for the electrifying effect her opening syllables have on the audience, whether she plumbs the depths (mandara sanchara) or scales the heights (tara sanchara) of a fantastic voice range. Another little known fact of her early life was her fascination for the mridangam which  she learnt to play from brother Saktivel.

Intrigued by the gramophone records, Kunjamma would roll a piece of paper for the "speaker" (as in the logo of His Master's Voice) and sing into it for hours. This game became real when she accompanied her mother to Madras and cut her first disc at the age of 10. The songs were "Marakat vadivu" and "Oothukuzhiyinile" in an impossibly high pitch. In fact, it was through the Columbia Gramophone Company records that she was first noticed in the city - before she was 15 years old.

To balance and leaven maternal stringency, there was lawyer-father Subramania Iyer who lived a few streets away. In the faded photograph which hangs in her home today, his soft look and sensitive features bear an unmistakable resemblance to his "Rajathippa" (princess darling). That is how he called his pet daughter. He was wont to saying that he would arrange her marriage with a 'good boy` who would love and cherish her music. Not a singer himself, he was a true rasika and bhakta. In the early Ramanavami festivals he organised, there would be puja, music and procession each day. How wonderful it felt to the little girl when his strong loving hands picked her up and placed her next to the picture of Rama taken round the streets on a chariot! The recollection of such scenes from her childhood brings real happiness to her today.

The first stage appearance? "When it heppened, I felt only annoyance at being yanked from my favourite game - making mud pies. Someone picked me up, dusted my hands and skirt, carried me to the nearby Sethupati School where my mother was playing before 50 to 100 people. In those days that was the usual concert attendance. At mother's bidding I sang a couple of songs.  I was too young for the smiles and the claps to mean much. I was thinking more of returning to the mud."

From regular vocal accompaniment in Shanmukhavadivu's veena concerts, MS graduated to solo performances. Of her debut at the Madras Music Academy when she was 17, a connoisseur wrote: "When she, with her mother by her side (who played the tambura for the daughter), as a winsome girl in her teens, ascended the dais in 1934 and burst into classical songs, experienced musicians of the top rank vied with one another in expressing their delight in this new find." Chembai Vaidyanatha Bhagavatar came forward with loud hyperboles. Tiger Varadachariar nodded approval. Karaikudi Sambavisa Iyer was to say later, "Child, you carry the veena in your throat."

At this time Thiagarajan Sadasivam entered her life as a dashing suitor. He became her husband in 1940. Kasturi Srinivasan, Editor, The Hindu, was instrumental in arranging their marriage at Tiruneermalai. He insisted on registering it and also witnessed it. He remained a lifelong friend and  guide. With that began Subbulakshmi's ascent from being a south Indian celebrity to a national, even world, figure; and from a brilliant young virtuoso to the consummate artist she is today.

Her image, the course of her career, the direction of her music - they were all carefully fashioned by Sadasivam who, from the earliest stage, had a clear vision of what she was one day to attain. This freedom fighter, who sang nationalist songs himself in public while courting lathicharge and arrest, introduced MS to the great Congress leaders - Rajaji, Nehru and Gandhiji. Sadasivam, who made an early mark in the advertising field and in publishing, has always been the organiser.

To Sadasivam and MS the means have always been as important as the end. And therefore, though he persuaded her to act in a few movies with specific financial objectives in mind, they were on idealistic and chaste themes, with the accent on music. Sakuntalai featured songs still remembered today, by MS and G.N. Balasubramaniam - "Anandamen solvene", "Premaiyil" and the sparkling "Manamohananga." Sadasivam also inspired MS to sing lyrics steeped in patriotism such as those of Subramania Bharati ("Oli padaitha kanninai") and Bankimchandra Chatterji ("Bande mataram"). Their ardour was such that they prepared to walk out of the then Corporation Radio, Madras, when refused  permission to include one of these songs in the programme.

If MS is today regarded as a symbol of national integration, one reason is the inclusion in her repertoire of compositions in languages from many parts of India. This catholicity was consciously developed at the insistence of Sadasuvam who sees music not as an aesthetic exercise, but as a vehicle for spreading spirituality among the populace. For this reason he has insisted on her giving predominance to bhava and bhakti in alapana, kriti and niraval, while minimising technical displays in pallavi rendition and kalpnaswara. Though MS had learnt pallavis from the old stalwart Mazaha- varayanendal Subburama Bhagavatar, she readily followed her husband's instructions.

Believing that his wife's wealth of voice should not be used for personal gain, Sadasivam chanelled the proceeds of the concerts into charitable endowments. Starting in 1944 with five concerts for the Kasturba Memorial Fund, this has grown into a public service contribution of major proportions. Many causes and institutions (medical, scientific, research, educational, religious and charitable) have benefited from MS raising over Rs. 2 crore thus far from singing.

What is responsible for the flawless presentation of an MS 'Concert`? Un- doubtedly it is the shrewd programming masterminded by Sadasivam to suit each place and event. While this strategist designs the format and all the numbers from varnam to the lighter tukkadas, the combination of composers and languages, the main and ancillary ragas of the evening, he also allots the duration for each individual piece. MS herself lays out and embellishes the major pieces mentally, rehearsing constantly, even if outwardly engaged in other activities. She says: "We can only bring out a fraction of the thousand ideas we get at home. The stage is a constant examination ground." From his seat in front, Sadasivam signals changes likely to please the day's audience. But the couple have also made experiments, propagated lesser known/unknown composers, or flouted hidebound conservatism by championing the Tamil Isai cause of the 1940s.

Recognising sahitya as an integral part of Carnatic music, MS has cultivated impeccable diction in the different languages of the lyrics she sings. She is known for attention to every detail such as breath control, pauses in the  right places, voice modulation, changes in emphasis and breaking phrases in to their proper components. These techniques highlight the meaning. Here her knowledge of Tamil, Telugu, Malayalam, Sanskrit and Hindi is of immense help.

To watch her learn a new composition is an experience in itself. For the Annamacharya kritis (five cassettes produced for the Tirumala Tirupati Devasthanam), the lyrics were read repeatedly with an expert in Telugu to explicate the sense as also methods of splitting the words and syllables for the musical score; the whole rehearsed until neither text nor notation was required at the recording session. Even, more awesome was her mastery of that magnificent edifice, the mela ragamalika by Maha Vaidyanatha Sivan, a string of 72 ragas mostly rare, with hair's breadth variation between them. The Sanskrit libretto was equally taxing. But the finished product had natural ease and flow. When he heard it the Paramacharya of Kanchi pronounced his blessing: "This will last as long as the sun and the moon stand in the skies."

The MS classical repertoire in several languages is a formidable one, representing composers from the ancient to the contemporaneous. She acquired this from several musicians and scholars over the years, from guru Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer, Seithur Sundaresa Bhattar, Musiri Subramania Iyer, Papanasam Sivan, T.L Venkatarama Iyer, Turaiyur Rajagopala Sarma, Mayavaram Krishna Iyer, K.V. Narayanaswami, S. Ramanathan, Nedunuri Krishnamurti et al. She learnt a few padams from dancer Balasaraswati as well as from T. Brinda, both scions of the Dhanammal family renowned for this music. With a voice particularly suited for these delicate and quintessential depictions of ragabhava, MS soon shed them from her repertoire, perhaps because of their sensuous content.

In the architectonics of kriti rendition, MS is inimitable, whether in  simple structures or in the careful tier-by-tier build-up of "Giripai" (Sahana), "Dasarathe" (Todi), "Chakkani Raja" (Kharaharapriya) or "Sri Subrahmanyaya namaste" (Khambhoji). She is meticulous in maintaining the authenticity of pathantara as taught to her, drawing this a clear line between rachita (composed) and kalpita (improvised) sangita. However, the songs do get modulated and inflected according to her personal genius. That is why "Durusuga" (Saveri) sung by MS and Musiri (from whom she learnt it) become different experiences for the listener. When she sang his composition "Brochevarevarura" in Khamas, eminent musician Mysore Vasudevachar said, "the daughter had only black beads and glass bangles when she got married. I  feel like her father when she visits him now in a dazzle of jewel and silks." Her understanding of the texts and the distinct flavours infused into the score by each composer make for variations in the same raga when she sings different kritis in it. Her "Needu charana," "Talli ninni," "Nidhitsala sukhama," "Birana brova yite" and "Bhajare chita," all in Kalyani, reflect different moods and facets of bhakti.

The universality of her appeal owes in large measure to the vast collection of songs in several languages over and above the impressive range of classical compositions. Whether Hindi, Gujarati bhajan, Marathi abhang, Rabindra sangeet, Sanskrit sloka or Tamil Tiruppugazh, they are all marked by lyrical allure, poignant feeling and philosophic content. Thus the lighter numbers acquire a seriousness of their own. As critic and admirer Dr. V.K. Narayana Menon saw it: "She is, no doubt, constrained to sing music she would rather not. But that is the price one has to pay for being a celebrity. A musician is at once an artist and a public entertainer and it is not easy to set aside the wishes of large sections of one's audience. This is not succumbing to popular acclamation. It is a kind of invested responsibility."

MS does not flinch from self-criticism. What seems satisfactory while in the emotion-charged stage ambience is reviewed for improvements. She tells you that she had to work on varja ragas for easier control. At 78 one finds her still learning, rehearsing new pieces, with notebooks balanced on sruti box.

Though she had the maturity and wisdom to transcend showmanship and mere technical virtuosity, a critique noted, "She was the earliest to compete with male vidwans in the form and substance of the concert, including niraval, swara and pallavi singing, a fact hardly noticed in her early years because it was accomplished with a quiet innocence and humility  which have characterised her eventful life."

Guru Semmangudi also singles out three aspects of technical perfection as special to the MS style. "No other woman can sing the tanam like her. For me her reach in the lower octave, rare among women, is as impressive as her obvious essays in the higher. Thirdly I would rate her niraval singing among the best I have heard from women."

Particularly in the niraval the listener can perceive her vidwat - in the permutations of rhythm, in the spacing of syllables, in the perfect anuswaras connecting the curves, the sangati blitzes at crucial spots, the remarkable length of phrasing and the karvai balam (strength in dwelling on a single note). Through these technical feats, she retains and enhances the qualities of raga and the sahitya, seeing them as inseparable. "Kadambavana nilaye" (Sri Kamakoti; Saveri); "Rama, rama, rama yanutsu" (Ennaganu; Pantuvarali) and those wordy lines in "Tiruvadicharanam" (Khambhoji) where the devotee begs the Lord to save him from countless rebirths - these have long been lingering niraval experiences.

There is a school of thought that Subbulakshmi is a natural genius, that her music is not so much cerebral as inspired. However, the discerning listener knows how her music is crafted and polished; how the conscious and the unconscious elements are balanced. On those rare occasions when she is  introduced to talk about her approach she says: "The ragaswarupa must be established at once. Don't keep the listener in suspense as to whether it is Purvikalyani or Pantuvarali. This difference must come through in the way you dwell on the notes common to both ragas, even before the introduction of dissimilar notes. In Sankarabharanam stress the rishabha, but in Kalyani accent the gandhara quickly."

She goes on to sing differences in treatment between Durbar and Nayaki, Saurashtram and Chakravakam, Devgandhari and Arabhi. At a crowded wedding she can suddenly call your attention to the distant nadaswaram's mishandling of Sriranjini to sound those phrases exclusive to Ritigowla. She can  fascinate with her demonstration of tonal levels of every note in Bhairavi, their inter-relationships, permissible degrees of oscillation. "Much of this I kept discovering as I listened and sang. Learning the veena from Vidwan K.S. Nayaranaswami later in life was very beneficial in this search to understand raga intricacies."

Yet, popular rather than critical acclaim has more often not been the outcome of the MS efforts. She arouses devotion more than analytical scrutiny, despite her undoubted musicianship. In a nation quick to canonise and deify, she was first transformed into a saint, then to a veena-holding Saraswati - the goddess of learning and the arts. 

The golden voice is a divine gift which cannot fail the possessor, who remains a stranger to the struggles and labours of the less gifted. However, a 1968 commendation by T.T. Krishnamachari (Ananda Vikatan) recognises the truth. "She has the maturity to keep on learning. Training, feeling, and grasping power, she has them all. God has given her a good voice. She has made excellent use of that voice through practice. No one can become an expert without labour. A good voice by itself will not make for great art, though, as far as I know, no one (but MS) has been blessed with a voice of such sweetness."

Through her long career MS had drawn strength both on and off the stage from Radha (Viswanathan). Radha trained herself from childhood to vocally accompany MS in concerts. A major illness has curtailed her supportive role for the last 12 years, a loss which MS feels deeply.

The miracle of her performing full-length concerts at her age she attributes to the two gurus the Sadasivams have revered all their lives: the sage of Kanchi and the Sai Baba of Puttuparthi. For, at 78, MS continues to increase  in mellow artistry. Her commitment is evident in the ways in which she manages to overcome the handicaps of old age and physical frailty.

The warbles and trills of youth - the fine careless rapture of the careless bird in springtime - gave way in course of time to richness of timbre, to chiselled, polished execution. The brika flashes and organised raga edifices with high note crescendos were replaced by longer journeys into less-trodden ways in the middle and lower registers. These explorations are now undertaken in the freedom and ripeness of an autumn majesty. Retaining the sonorous sweetness and vitality through all these years of upward growth, "MS music" now makes an even more ravishing impact on the mind. "As I grow older, I feel more and more overwhelmed by the music." One sees this happening at times on the stage. Then she has to exercise great control just to go on singing.

Not the least of her achievements in over six decades of singing is the development of style of her own. This is not based on identifiable techniques of execution, but on the communication of a mood, of an ecstasy of emotion. What the ancient theoreticians called rasadhvani, when art became an experience of that ultimate bliss within and without, both immanent and transcendent. This was accomplished through auchitya - a wide term which embraces contextual appropriateness, adaptation of parts to one another and to the whole, a fitness of things, and poetic harmony. And MS exemplifies them all in her choice of raga and sahitya, balance of mood and technique, in her "mike sense" and timing, in the consonance she establishes with her accompanists and audience.

Towards the end of each recital MS sounds the cymbals in eyes-closed concentration for the Rajaji hymn "Kurai onrum illai " (I have no regrets). It becomes obvious that for all the splendour of her music, it is her image as a saintly person which will probably endure long after this century, just as in the case of Meerabai. For, in the highest tradition of the Indian way of life, Subbulakshmi links her art with the spiritual quest, where humility and perseverance assure the sadhaka of grace.