Upstairs and Beyond: We Must All Go

 

There are days when you feel the most in touch with yourself, when you feel a part of you seeping out of your body, standing in front of you and saying, Hi!

Hi Kashish, what’s up? What have you been up to? Did you not miss me? that is what my interrogation felt like yesterday.

Yesterday was a dull, grey, smoggy Delhi winter day, but that is not what my itinerary looked like. Think of browns and maroons. Think of deep reds and Warli paintings. Think of khadi lampshades, indoor ferns and palms. Think of haldi yellow, tree-bark brown sarees with Bandhani prints, that is what my yesterday looked like.

And what did it sound like?

I must tell you, even I can rejoice today, with a side of envy and a wow girl, you are so lucky.

I attended a classical music concert yesterday, or should I say, a baithak. It was organised by two partners, Sukanya and Tejas: a trained classical singer meets a rock-metal guy, they fall in love, and together they produce Upstairs.

Upstairs, I must tell you, is a community the couple is building to promote Indian classical music, to make people fall in love with it, and to inform and educate them about it.

Coming back to what it sounded like, think of the violin, tabla, mridangam, an earthen pot, and a kanjira (go Google it). Four musicians, each on one of these instruments, in their full glory,they played, they fought, they teased, they relieved, they were in a trance, and they sent us into one too. The baithak, the music, the symphony, it was nothing short of surreal. The audience clapped for a straight two minutes, and then remained silent for another two.

But why did my Sunday look like this?

Do I know how to play any instrument in this world? No. I can only play Happy Birthday on a synthesiser, and tap out some beats on my school desk during short recess. That is it.

Is this again about theatre, just like my previous blogs? No. Upstairs showed up on my Instagram, they were calling for volunteers. I raised my hand, and we met.

And the answer to why is simple: I have always been a simp for good music. The language of it, I don’t care about. The synthesis of it, I do. Classical music, for me, as per my understanding and logical reasoning, has always been the ABCs of music, the algorithms, the calculations, the numbers involved in it, apart from the soul of the one pursuing it. It is beyond my rational brain to understand the existence of such a magical form of expression. Hence, my Sunday looked like this.

We listened to music. We chatted. I personally got an opportunity to speak candidly with one of the artists there, and with Sukanya, very kind of them to speak to me.

As a person living in Delhi, fully aware of the fact that the city has a plethora of offerings for people who crave art, culture, and aesthetics, I have often noticed a very similar kind of crowd visiting these spaces. The similarity lies in age groups; the disparity lies in pockets. Free exhibitions and free shows are cherished, but paid experiences often address empty rooms.

“Iske liye kaun paisa de?” might be a notion. Or, “Is it too expensive for me to just relish a weekend break?” some might say.

Stemming from this observation, I very naively asked Sukanya: Do you think art is for the privileged? Hoping that, as an organiser herself, she would be the right person to seek this answer from.

She replied:

“Having access to art and being able to understand or enjoy art are not the same thing.
To be fair, we are doing ticketed concerts, and our tickets are expensive, so they are not accessible to everyone.
There are volunteers who are here only because they don’t have to pay for it, they cannot economically afford to attend.
In that sense, I am guilty of making art for the privileged.
But if I don’t do this, how do I pay the artist?
If I don’t pay the artist, how do they sustain themselves? And if they can’t sustain themselves, they can’t continue to make art.
Artists cannot keep making music for free. Artists deserve to get paid.
Art can only exist when people like you and me support it daily, with time, attention, money, or effort.
Art cannot survive only through top-down support.
It is only when art becomes something that belongs to the masses that it can be for more than just the privileged.”

I got a chance to talk to Manohar too,the artist on the mridangam. He said something that strongly backed Sukanya’s argument:

“Being a full-time musician is always financially challenging because there is no fixed income. While teaching helps, it is still not the same as having a full-time job. At the same time, Indian classical music can reach everyone, but the aesthetic, ambience, and presentation format need to change to appeal to a wider audience. Western audiences already love Indian classical music in its most authentic form, so maybe it is the Indian audience that needs to rethink how it wants to consume Indian classical music.”

I then asked both Sukanya and Manohar what could be done about this.

Sukanya said:

“If we spent less time on paperwork and more time on practical things, we would get further. While government grants help lesser-privileged art forms survive, it’s equally important to build an ecosystem where artists learn to support themselves without subsidy. Micro-level challenges need micro-level solutions, and not everything has to be escalated to the top. If approvals only move from the very top downward, systems won’t change. Commercial establishments also need better foresight,utility alone is not enough for spaces meant to host cultural activity.”

Manohar added:

“The government can certainly do a lot more to incentivise Indian classical music for musicians who are serious about the art form. Being a full-time musician is always financially challenging, with no fixed income flow. While teaching helps, it is still not the same as having a full-time job, and without stronger institutional support, sustaining a career in classical music remains difficult.”

The point of all this is not to make you, my readers, buy the idea of art,but to understand that what might be an entertaining piece for you is someone else’s livelihood.

One might ask, what is the need for all this? Then think of one day without consuming any music, TV, OTT show, reel, newspaper, magazine, or even a good conversation. Sounds bad, right? There, exactly there, is the need for all this.

Art forms exist because humans know how to communicate, translate, express, or merely feel. Any experience lived and not shared is nothing but an inactive volcano, with a lot of thermal activity brewing inside.

I too am not able to purchase tickets to every art form being displayed in the world. But the privilege of connecting with the idea of it makes me spark conversations about it. I might attend one out of five concerts happening around me, but I make sure I talk enough about the four I couldn’t attend so that the word still reaches.

Your cause can be anything, your love for it, your curiosity for it, or even an Instagram story that might make you stand out or look cool among your friends. Go for it. Go for anything.

But always, and forever, try to understand the depth of what lies beyond your perspective. Help in any manner you can. If you can support monetarily, do it. If you can persuade people to do so, then do that.

The point is not just to sit, but to act, on your urges, your emotions, and your passions, always and forever, responsibly.

 © Kashish Saxena