How The Disciple unmasks the world of classical music

A strong sense of deja vu hit as I watched Sharad Nerulkar’s angsty journey through life and classical music in The

Disciple

. Those homilies about suffering and sacrificing all in the pursuit of an ancient legacy, the sermons to surrender unquestioningly to the god-figure of the guru, the harangues about the shallowness of popular culture all hit home.

These ideas are like a constant drone that wrap and cocoon the insular world of Hindustani classical music. Spoken by Maai, the chillingly ascetic-guru figure, they also set

young Nerulkar

on a never-ending struggle to stay on the high path. His fight to conquer ‘worldly’ desires — success, acclaim, sex — through his musical tapasya is tragi-comic and the conflict ultimately deadens him and his art.

Chaitanya Tamhane’s outstanding new work, set in the delightful and quirky ethos of Mumbai’s music circles, is an ode to the grandeur and complexity of Hindustani classical music. But it is also a sharp look at some of its shibboleths that are now ripe for questioning, especially by the young. Tamhane has spoken of his fascination with this precious music and his discomfort with its culture of reverence and submission. Here are five instances where his work lands rapier-sharp on the cliches:

Classical artistes should shun the material worldSome of the greatest legends of classical music, are and were, decidedly worldly souls — they revel in adulation, awards and the good things of life. And like all humans, they are not beyond envy, anxiety and manipulation. Many of them suffered and persevered through poverty and mortification in their early careers but in their ripe creative years, they did enjoy robust material — and love — lives.

That crack about the fictional maestro whose creative juices flow better with a tot of rum isn’t all fiction. Poor Nerulkar wants to be in a superior realm but watch the wistfulness on his face as youngsters from small towns find fame and glamour on reality shows.

They should sing only for god and guruThe deification of the guru with all the mythmaking around them puts them in a position of immense power. And in a position to exploit and tyrannise. “The guru was great, but the man was not,” as vocalist

Neela Bhagwat

said of her own experience of harassment in the wake of the MeToo exposés last year. The most questioning voice in the film, critic and researcher Rajesh Joshi, tries to jolt the bedazzled shishya with some pithy truths: ‘You young need to know how to separate fact from fiction. Demigods must be made a thing of the past. That is why there is so much exploitation in the field. Fans love a good story but most of these myths are self-righteous rubbish.’

You can perform only after you turn 40Till then you are not supposed to have the maturity to understand a music so layered. And if you work hard enough after 40, you might just hope to attain mastery by age 60. This is what keeps great young talent in the wings for decades. And why the same five wizards feature in every concert. This again is a fallacy — the history of Hindustani music is full of prodigies, men and women who soared to great heights in their 20s and 30s. All you need to do is watch

Kumar Gandharva

singing his heart out at age 10. But here is Nerulkar being ticked off by his guru,

Vinay Pradhan

, for being in a hurry. ‘Till I turned 40, I sat at Maai’s feet with my head down and practised. What is the rush?’

Those Mughals ‘polluted’ this musicThe fraternity will stoutly deny any communal divide in its history and present but as

Carnatic

singer T M Krishna often points out musicians are social creatures too, prejudices and all. A largely subterranean hostility, it shows up in widely accepted theories: That Carnatic music is ‘purer’ for being saved from the ‘invaders’, that Hindustani music was unalloyed worship till it was dragged into the courts of the badshahs, that Muslim composers created banal bandishes and so on. Persianate influences have in fact enriched Hindustani music — the khayal, around which The Disciple revolves, is one such syncretic legacy.

Filmi and All other music is base‘If you are looking to set up a home, go for pop, go for filmi’ — the contempt in the voice is unmistakable. As is the furrow in Nerulkar’s face when a woman asks him for a CD of abhangs at the sales counter he is manning during a concert. ‘Only our music touches the soul, all else entertains’ is one of the pet lines of purists. When a hapless youngster asks Nerulkar — a teacher in his middle age with the light gone from his eyes — if he can play for a fusion band the answer is in the Maai-mould — chalane se pehle daudana hai (you want to run before you can walk)? His epiphany arrives in the last scene in a local train where a mendicant is singing Kuen re kinare, a mystical folk song — nothing highfalutin’ there, just pure music.