Any book that widens your horizon even by the teeny tiniest bit is a gem. Sebastian and Sons written by T.M. Krishna is one such gem. I hope you will be convinced to read the book by the end of this writeup and agree with me when you finish reading this book.
To the untrained eye, it may look like a book that talks about Mridangam makers. I did to me too. I always assumed it would be a book that talks in detail about classical music and musicians. My experience with music strictly lies in the cinematic realm and Carnatic music is Greek and Latin to me. This is probably one of the reasons why I avoided reading it for a long time, despite being familiar with Mr. Krishna's reputation of being a disrupter of the Brahmanical Carnatic music scene.
So, yes this book is definitely going to talk about music in excruciating detail but from a perspective that is rarely seen in any mainstream media; A perspective that brings together the intricacies of music and the ability to see caste. The second quality, in my opinion, is a much more important factor that makes this book what it is.
While this book talks about the history of mridangam makers, its important to understand what history is not. History is not facts, dates and names. It's perspective. History without the right perspective can have you celebrating the wrong people and spewing unwarranted hate at others.
For every name that gets mentioned in history, a hundred names don’t. Especially names like Sebastian, Parlandu and Antony. This is thought that came to me, time and time again as I read this book.
Mridangam like a lot of Indian percussion instruments is made out of animal skin, cow, buffalo and goat skin to be precise. The process of making the Mridangam which is explained in detail with illustrations is a physically taxing, time-consuming, labour intensive work. But this back breaking work barely gets any credit in the musical community. Especially when the mridangam happens to be an instrument that requires regular maintenance work that can only be done by the makers.
Unlike other instruments, the maker-artist relationship is not severed when the maker hands over the instrument to the buyer (artist). The regular upkeep that mridangam requires, surely means that two people from opposite spectrums of the caste hierarchy have to spend a considerable amount of time together. This was in a time when the social intermingling of castes was very restricted and untouchability was considered the norm and not a blasphemous atrocity.
At several places in the book, you will find that the author questions the dynamic of this relationship beyond the maker-artist label. He forcefully squeezes the words out of old time mridangam makers who humbly express how the artists who were predominantly brahmin "gracefully allowed" them inside their houses ( mostly outer sheds and courtyards ) to work on their mridangams.
They gain the respect of their own community for working with the Iyers but does this ever translate into the caste stigma being removed. Sadly no. This arrangement was one that was led by convenience more than progressiveness. Like much else in our society, all progressiveness is merely here because it was convenient and not because of a great change of heart.
One more interesting observation is how almost every mridangam maker interviewed in this book gratefully remembers the patron artist for choosing them to make and repair their mridangams. But mridangam artists rarely credit the maker for the musicality of the mridangam. To them the mridangam makers are merely executors, their innate sense of knowledge in skin, wood, tone and pitch is not considered as a craft.
Some mridangam artists barely even acknowledge the presence of skin in their instruments. While the maker toils hard to procure, dry, cut, tie and stitch the various animal skins required for the mridangam, the artists walk away with all the credit for the music.
One particularly amusing incident is where the famous mridangam artist Palghat Mani Iyer refuses to even look at the cow that was going to be slaughtered for his own mridangam. Just like a cat believing that the whole world goes dark when it closes its eyes. Just because the cow/goat skin is dried, polished and attached to the mridangam, they choose to completely ignore the fact that it belonged on an animal once. What's even more funny is their tendency to look down on Parai or Thappu which is also made from the same cow skin.
Caste plays a crucial role in deciding the place of a person and instrument in the society. A small example is how even when several percussion instruments such as Tabla, Kanjira and Thavil are also made from animal skin, they don't face the same stigma that Parai does. The hands that play the instrument determines everything.
The same can be extended to the mridangam makers who come from Dalit communities. Their expertise in choosing the right skin, processing it and creating an excellent instrument is discredited too easily. It takes years of experience and physical labour to learn the making of the instrument. To excel at it, it takes even more years. These makers have dedicated their lifetime to learning an art that is not even recognised as an art by the Kalai Panpattu Thurai ( The Department of Culture).
The innovation produced in the making of Mridangams by people such as Parlandu has largely changed the way the instrument is played but the recognition that he gets is very deserved but also unique. The same respect or acknowledgement is not given to other makers from the community. It is as if his unparalleled knowledge in Mridangams is the only thing that breaks the caste barrier. Also, it's not sure if he received said reverence when he was alive. There is whole chapter on Parlandu and his relationship with mridangam artists at the very end. A complicated relationship, courtesy of the caste system. In some ways, Parlandu reminded me of Illayaraja.
T.M. Krishna's Sebastian and Sons talks throws light on the mridangam making families in Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Karnataka and Andhra. The prime focus on Sevittian (Sebastian) and his descendants who have been the forerunners in this art form. But the book does not stop there. Every step of the process from procuring skin to processing it is explained in detail. Every person in the process is acknowledged. Their work, valued. The people involved in the work aren't just mechanically performing a clerical job. The same passion that goes into learning to play the Mridangam goes into the making process too.
The book also mentions the women who are active in the Mridangam scene. Though few in number, but their part definitely can't be ignored. The last few chapters talk about the women who make mridangams, work with animal skins and powder the stone required for making the saadam ( a paste applied on the mridangam).
Personally, I found the details of the making process a little difficult to wrap my head around. It was well explained with illustrations but somehow, it just got away from me. For starters, I wasn't even aware that both sides of the Mridangam aren't of the same size. The one facing the audience is smaller. So watching a few videos about the process can help understand the vaarus, kannus, saadam, muttu and toppi. But even if you don't remember too much of the process, this book helps you view the world of Mridangam through the caste lens. And that is precisely why this book is an important read.
Of course, there will always be those people who say, why do you have to bring caste into everything? But when it's everywhere, how can one not see it? This book is definitely not for the caste blind. Unless you want to unlearn and learn to see.
You can read this book for free with Amazon Kindle unlimited - Sebastian and Sons
P.S. A long write up after a really long time. Hope you all got to this point. Even if you didn't, its okay, read the book. That's always the goal.
Images courtesy : Sebastian and Sons, The Huffington Post
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