When he was ten years old, Balakrishnan Raghavan was moved to tears listening to a centuries-old Tamil hymn about Lord Shiva, sung by musician M S Subbulakshmi.  “I was wailing. Subbulakshmi’s voice soaring high and low, calling out to that divine-beloved, the voice of the poet who lived hundreds of years before us, the fierceness of their devotion, the ultimate surrender of the devotee, the madness of love, the pathos of separation, and the anticipation of union; all of this is etched in my memory,” he recalls.

From that experience, Indian classical music became a fount of his practice. Raghavan is a lifelong student of the arts, whose outlook on life and living is steeped “at the intersection of kindness, spirituality, sensuality, music, flow, and poetry.” The poems of the saints from the spiritual traditions of India have shaped “how I engage with, make sense of and access the world around me.” He strongly believes in the power of the collective kindness of humanity across time and space.

Raghavan is particularly drawn to the classical verses of communities on the margins, on the fringes, the “other’” to the dominant. “They were the alternative, the undercurrent, the subversive,” he says. “This liminal space inhabited by the marginalized saint, the marginalized women from the hereditary artist community, and the marginalized sexual minorities are where my work finds solace, inspiration, and meaning.”

He has been bringing forth the voices and contributions of women mystics, poets, and courtesans whose writings have rarely made their way into the mainstream classical tradition. He sets to music erotic poems by some of these silenced voices, and collaborates with dancers in the art form of Bharatanatyam to bring out visual imagery of their poems. One source describes Raghavan as “a passionate classical musician formally trained in Carnatic music, but highly proficient in other forms too, [who] is taking some steps in ensuring the voice of these amazing and daring women poets of our history does not fade off into oblivion.”

As Raghavan says:

“Through the verses and poems of the saints and the voices of women, I strive for a vanishing present. In 15th-century poet-saint Kabir’s words, I was wounded by the word. In my work, I bring together seemingly disparate idioms/poems/stories across time and space and place them beside each other. I enjoy this juxtaposition as it opens up space to consider a perennial philosophy that is beyond binaries, beyond the constraints of borders or boundaries.”

Raghavan finds immense hope, resilience, love, kindness, and diversity in these voices. “As we grapple with global problems of hate and violence, we need to foreground the marginalized voices to find solutions and solidarity. I strive to be a medium of flowing kindness and desire to be surrounded by kindred spirits in this life pilgrimage.”

An elder from Mumbai recently told him, “tum toh duniya ke ho” (you belong to the world). A friend’s mother said that in a world where people are busy creating boundaries, [Ragavan’s] work erases them and makes space for love. Indeed belonging to the world, he has found a home in Santa Cruz, California, while inhabiting spaces with beloved friends and family in India (Hyderabad, Punjab, Pune, Delhi, Mumbai, Bangalore), London, Paris, Mexico City, Berlin, Xalapa, New York, New  Jersey, North Carolina, and New Orleans.

Raghavan is an accomplished musician, researcher, and educator. He is pursuing a Ph.D. with a Regents Fellowship at the University of California, Santa Cruz (UCSC). His research encompasses Carnatic music, mystic traditions, poetry, translation, temple art, gender, caste, South Asian performance traditions, and the politics of spirituality.

He trained from illustrious maestros in Carnatic music for over twenty years, including a two-year-long immersive full-time discipleship (gurukulam) with his guru, Carnatic musician and scholar, Dr. R. Vedavalli. Here is an excerpt from a paper he wrote, centering his experience with this form of training:

My roots and my journey

"As a restless, bespectacled ten-year-old, I stumbled upon a Carnatic music concert at a temple festival, following which I asked my parents to let me learn ̳that‘ music. Before I knew it, I had finished about ten years of learning. These were bi-weekly classes at my guru‘s home in the evenings, after school. In most Indian families, unless one belongs to a lineage of artists, music is a hobby and individuals interested in arts still study science, math or accounts, get degrees and jobs, pursuing art or craft in parallel. I did exactly that. I finished my Bachelors in Computer Science and accepted a Business Intelligence consulting job with a UK based firm. The job took me to new cities within and outside of India for work while I continued making music, as a hobby, pursuing it after work hours and on weekends.

Those days, I was in search of a guru to further my musical practice. One summer evening, at an international convention of music, dance and culture in Calcutta, India that I was participating in, I stood among the scores of sweaty students and participants listening to Dr. R. Vedavalli‘s Carnatic vocal concert.

Dr. R. Vedavalli is a senior performer and scholar of Carnatic Vocal music. Born in 1935 in Mannargudi, Tamil Nadu, she received her training from Madurai Srirangam Iyengar, Mudicondan Venkatarama Iyer and T. Mukta. She is known for her traditional style, combining classicism with erudite scholarship in musicology. A reputed musicologist, stellar performer and a distinguished teacher, she has published her research in numerous journals, taught widely and performed extensively in India and abroad in her performing career of more than six decades. (R.Vedavalli, n.d.)

I was immediately drawn towards her music. My body shut off all other noise around me and I intently listened to her. Everything around me seemed blurred. For those two hours I stood fixated. It looked like she was somehow the only one I could see and the only one I could hear. I remained moved. I wanted to keep listening to that music, engage with it and find out if I could learn from her. This moment felt as if I was getting closer in finding that guru, as the saint composer of Carnatic Music Sri Tyagaraja (18th Century) mentions in his composition, Guruleka Etuvanti, that without the enlightening initiation by a guru, none however keen in his intellect can ever blossom into a musician who sings, ̳like one inspired‘ by a divine revelation.

Almost a year later, I requested her to take me as her student and asked if I could do a month-long gurukulam with her at her home in Chennai. She agreed and told me that she expected discipline and

devoted practice. I took a month-long sabbatical from work and went to her. The home of Vedavalli amma (mother) in Chennai was buzzing with activity: apart from my one-on-one lessons with her, she‘d have students, friends, family and visitors who ̳d come to learn, meet or invite her for a concert, for a workshop or an award or a lecture. This was my first brush with the idea of gurukulam, and I thoroughly enjoyed my month. Though I grew up in a city where Tamil wasn‘t spoken, Tamil was my mother tongue and Vedavalli amma‘s as well. This made communication easier. We converse in Tamil and I pepper it with English words which she calls a bane of this generation, which is losing its ability to be able think in one‘s mother tongue.

After my sabbatical, I would take an overnight train to Chennai from Bangalore for ̳weekend‘ gurukulams. I remember how excited I would be, planning with her over phone what I would learn when I got there. Vedavalli amma and her husband, whom I called mama, would wait for me eagerly like grandparents do. In two years, my job took me to London and I continued to learn, albeit inconsistently, over the internet and phone from Vedavalli amma.

The gurukulam begins

While I continued learning remotely from London, I felt a lack of connect in this mode of learning. I felt a void that made me grow fonder of music, of her, and of her music. She was that one person with whom I could learn, unaffected-by the chaos around me, by the hurried pace of life, by the popular trends in classical music and of music all around; Also, given her advancing age, I felt the need to learn from her and be there. I quit my job and within two days and a whole three years of my sabbatical, I moved back into the home of Vedavalli amma and mama in Chennai to pursue full time gurukulam.

When I stepped into the gurukulam I submitted myself to the idea. It meant leading a different, somewhat ascetic, life where Sundays were no different from Mondays. My days revolved around my music learning and my guru‘s word. Previously, I lived alone, had a busy work schedule; hung out with friends almost every day, dined out almost thrice a week, and had a ̳happening‘ social life. Moving to the

gurukulam, to their living room, I needed to find myself and my balance through music and simple rituals through the day; yoga, prayers, temple visits, music lessons, music practice and listening. In contrast to my earlier lifestyle, yoga, temple visits and my healthier food habits were new. Maintaining a diary helped me stay grounded and allowed me to cultivate and voice my thoughts.

Daily life in the gurukulam

In the mornings, at 7:30 a.m. after my yoga, amma draws the kolam (floor drawing made from rice flour) while I light the vilakku (oil lamp), collect flowers and incense sticks for the deity. We then offer milk to the deity and make filter coffee, all the while talking about how we had rested, deciding on what to cook for breakfast and discussing how the day is going to pan out etc. Then amma, mama and I take turns with different sections of The Hindu (an English-language daily). Amma and I never miss the daily horoscope section while mama informs us of the concerts happening in town listed in the engagements section. By now, it‘s time for the daily local radio Carnatic concert. As we listen, amma shares her opinion of the music we hear. She asks me what I liked and if there‘s anything I felt could be better. She analyses why a particular phrase is right, and if it adhered to the grammar of the ragam (a melodic framework) and why something isn‘t.

Breakfast happens after this and we sit down to sing. There‘s no set time for a class to start or end. There have been times when we have gone on for hours, and forgotten to cook, and then eaten late. This continues until we have visitors, other students, phone calls or the occasional vegetable vendor. On the days she has to write an article or give a lecture, she shares her approach to the subject with me as she works. I also transcribe, when required, as she speaks.

During the day, there‘s the occasional post-lunch nap and a few errands to run like going to the bank, picking up medicines, paying bills etc. and if there‘s time I sit down for my practice.

Every evening we visit the temple two blocks away from home. After our pradakshina (circumambulation), sometimes amma breaks into an impromptu pasuram (devotional hymn) in praise of the temple‘s main deity. The dialogue that ensues between her and the deity through the lyric of the pasuram and her musical improvisation is special. One needs to be there to experience it. Once back home, we sing or listen to music or just read before I set the table for dinner.

Learning

My lessons happen in her room as she sits on the wooden chair beside her bed or as she leans against the wall on her bed, while I sit on a straw mat on the floor. She then asks me what I wished to learn. If I have nothing concrete, she breaks into an alapana(a melodic improvisational segment), a pasuram, or a kriti (composition). Her approach to teaching is organic and kind. The pace of learning is unhurried.

On occasions when I struggle to sing, even after many repetitions, she checks in with me to see if I am feeling tired or distracted. ―Let it pickle. It takes a while for the mind to grasp a few of these things. Let‘s look at it later‖ she says. Before I sit to sing she always checks if I am well rested and if I had had food. She tells me about how one of her gurus‘ gurus would have many students at his home as part of his gurukulam and would only start teaching after having checked that they had all eaten.

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Additionally, Balakrishnan has been training with Shri. Prahlad Tipaniya, the contemporary voice of the musician-poet saint Kabir. As a guest faculty of music at Snehadhara Foundation, and Spastics Society of Karnataka, he explored the healing powers of music within the context of autism. Prior to pursuing his passion for music full-time, he was a Business Intelligence and Analytics consultant in London. As an interdisciplinary artist, and multi-lingual artist (conversant in nine different languages!) he continues to collaborate internationally and share his music across cities in India, the UK, Mexico, and the US.

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Join an Awakin Call with Balakrishnan Raghavan this Saturday! More details and RSVP info here.