Difficult pleasures

“It’s exactly how the IPL has transformed cricket,” was Dickoo Nowroji’s opening remark, when I asked her how people’s interest in Western classical music has changed over the years in Calcutta. “The times have moved on and so has the Calcutta School of Music,” she added. This is the era of instant gratification, the age of decreasing attention span. Difficult pleasures are an anachronism now — anything beautiful has to be made easy, accessible and consumer-friendly. Yet, sitting in the beautiful drawing room of Nowroji’s Chowringhee Lane apartment, cocooned in old-world charm, I was startled by her IPL analogy.

From one corner of the parlour, a handsome cottage piano peeped out, as if eavesdropping on our conversation. Its eerie and alert presence made me a little nervous. It is not as if some innate squeamishness put me off the cricket metaphor. What made me uncomfortable was the fact that the comment came as a matter of course from the president of the Calcutta School of Music herself. Nowroji, who has held this office since 1996, learnt the piano from Mother Canice, one of the most inspiring teachers of Loreto Darjeeling. Her training has been rigorous, steeped in the discipline, perfectionism and exacting standards of a tradition of learning and teaching that remains no more. Since she moved to Calcutta several decades ago, she has been involved with music teaching and performance in the city, coming in contact with distinguished teachers, performers and connoisseurs. And most important, she has been exposed to some of the best music in the world. For this reason alone, rather than anything else, it might appear facetious to liken serious music-making to the mindless extravaganza of contemporary cricket — even though the comparison might well be valid.

But what are we to make of this change in the tradition of Western classical music in Calcutta? Looking for answers to this question, I was left feeling neither here nor there. Yes, all things must change with time, but not all change can be unqualifiedly considered to be for the better. Even the direst exigencies do not justify any compromise with standards of excellence, technical expertise and the overall development of a musical sensibility. Is it a mark of progress that the discipline of classical music, like everything else, has outgrown its pristine austerity and lapsed into an easy-listening mode? Or is it a sign of hope that Mozart and Beethoven remain enduringly present in public life as mobile-phone ringtones?

Founded by Phillipe Sandre in 1915, CSM hosted scores of international musicians alongside prodigiously gifted local names throughout the Sixties and Seventies. In 1972, the year when the school shifted to its Sunny Park premises from the grand old house on Wellesley Street, a festival was organized to commemorate this historic occasion. Satyajit Ray gave an inaugural talk (“Indian and Western Music — why I cannot do without either”), while the programme was versatile, covering various genres, styles and historical periods from Handel to Rachmaninoff. The Viccajee Family Ensemble, along with Father Mathieson, played Thomas Arne, while Lolita Mayadas, who was then the principal, and her sister Shanti, put up a puppet show based on Mozart’s Magic Flute. In this golden period of Western classical music, when foreign embassies took a more active interest in the CSM, pianist and conductor, Daniel Barenboim, visited CSM and rehearsed with the Calcutta Symphony Orchestra.

It would be unlikely now for a musician of Barenboim’s stature to visit the CSM to work with its students. There is still the Calcutta Chamber Orchestra, started by Father Mathieson with a handful of boys from the Oxford Mission, but its dying embers need to be stoked every now and then. For one, there is a perennial shortage of funds. Apart from the few trusts, an odd concert or an evening’s play at hotel lobbies, there is not much support to keep the CCO running. The CSM has to pay the CCO to rehearse regularly, so that the group does not disperse out of a lack of motivation or financial support. The school continues to organize several concerts every month, but the public seems to be either too busy to attend or unaware of them.

If the prospects of choosing Western classical music as a profession in India are dismal, strangely enough, music teachers find this a most rewarding field. Chaitali Ganguly, who teaches piano at the CSM, admits that the number of students keeps growing each year. Given the limited options available in a career in Western classical music, what could possibly explain this surge of interest? Moreover, tuition fees demanded by institutions as well as private tutors are rather steep. (Incidentally, the CSM charges relatively lower than premier music schools in the other metropolitan cities, although it increases the fees every two years)

The music contests ubiquitous on every other television channel these days are one reason why young people are tempted to go in for music training, believes Deepika Jaidka, administrator and relationship manager of the CCO. Of course, the CSM does not offer courses tailor-made for such purposes. All it promises is a classical base on which potential candidates can work towards a chosen career in music.

Is it then a certain socio-economic class of people who come with such expectations? If we consider the economics of Western classical music education, the answer would be pretty obvious. A decent piano, until a few years back, could cost up to several lakhs. Hiring is not a reliable option. There are only a few hundred pianos in the city let out on open-ended lease. However, with the new digital pianos costing around Rs 50,000, the clientele for this instrument has increased. Some might consider it a blessing that this instrument does not need tuning at all, but for the rest, this feature itself takes away all the human qualities that an ancient grand piano, with its quirks and eccentricities, has.

Tony Braganza, who runs the famous music shop on Marquis Street, confirms that there is an abiding demand for the keyboard. Not only are these cheaper, but also easier to learn on. Since little discipline or organized training is involved in mastering this instrument, a child can pick up a few stray tunes rather easily, much to the delight of doting parents. Those with a serious interest, but financially challenged, might begin learning on it, with a view towards moving on to the piano eventually. Teachers sensitive to these exigencies also make subtle adjustments in the method of instruction so that the transition from keyboard to piano does not become too unsettling.

But most teachers are far from aware of such nuances. A Grade VIII is the minimum requirement for becoming a teacher at the CSM, without additional teachers’ training courses or examinations. Many of the advanced students work as part-time instructors as well. There might be embarrassing consequences of having such a lenient system. A few years back, a Canadian music student wished to come to the CSM on an exchange programme. Since it is not a residential school, it could not accommodate such a request, but more tellingly, the student in question turned out to be better qualified than any of the teachers at the school.

Is it possible for the CSM to go back to its glory days, without diversifying into sundry fields of expertise, or even as it continues to branch out into other areas? There is now a project to transcribe old Hindi movie songs, alongside classes on Rabindrasangeet, popular ‘light’ music, and even a course on ‘skilful music recording’. The key lies in quality control. Unfortunately, in this ambience of equal opportunities, everyone demands to be given unconditional access to every sphere of public activity, including the Arts. Access is now a commodity, sold and bought freely, to suit every size, requirement, even calibre. It is no longer a privilege earned through discipline and devotion.