Interviewed by Shikha Malaviya 

The recital hall at the University of Minnesota is packed on this breezy Fall day, reverberating with the heat of many bodies, squashed together in narrow seats, and the coughs and sputters of seasonal change. In our hands, a baby pink brochure promises us a lecture/demonstration by one of India's finest young vocalists. And in our hearts, a sweet slow ache for a slice of the ancient and modern, the near and far; a desire for the sounds of India, the rumbles of her ancient soul. "She will not be singing any pop music," I hear someone whisper. I smile. Pop Music is how I had found her, her full-bodied voice tucked in the middle of a folksy rock song titled Dhoom Pichuk by the Indian pop group Euphoria. I recall the first time I hear her voice, a commingling of rasa and bhakti, 'hey manjhi re…,' circling then sweeping my ears and heart. My mind spills forth a collage of all of her songs that I have ever heard, from the haunting Toona Song in the film Kamasutra to the fast-paced rhythm of Ali More Angana that my daughter and I often danced to. And then a glimpse of her dancing in the rain, belting out the hard-rocking Ab Ke Sawan. I was ready to hear her: rebel of the raga, saint of swaras. The hall suddenly falls silent as we stretch our necks, straining for that first glimpse of vocal virtuoso Shubha Mudgal 

The versatile singer that we know today was strong and spirited from the start. Born in Allahabad, in 1959, to a family that embraced literature as well as Indian and western music, Shubha grew up in an artistic atmosphere of variety and innovation. As a young girl learning Kathak in Allahabad, she replied to a dance examiner's routine query of "Aap kis gharaane ka naachti hain (what gharana (house) do you dance from?)" with the retort "Hum apne gharaane ka naachti hain (I dance from my own gharana)". That attitude would carry her through the world of Indian classical music, giving her gurus as diverse as Ram Ashray Jha, Vinay Chandra Maudgalya, Vasant Thakkar, Naina Devi, Jitendra Abhisheki, and most notabely, Kumar Gandharva, whose eclectic approach resounds in Shubha's performances, especially renditions of Bhakti and Sufi poetry. On this particular day, she is singing raga Pooriya Dhanashri, Aaja Na Din Dooba, one of my favorite Kumar Gandharva renditions. I gasp in amazement as I hear the same inflections, the exact same pauses, knowing that he lives through her. 

As the lec-dem comes to an end, we all stand and clap. With strains of raga Pooriya Danashri still buzzing in my ears, I walk towards Shubhaji as she packs her tanpura, a black sleek wooden one minus a tumba, which she covers gently, as if putting a winter coat on a small child. I approach India's music diva, quietly and nervously. Shubha Mudgal stands in front of me, with her kohl-lined eyes and trademark tika bindi. Her face is innocent and childlike, much smaller and younger than the images on TV or in magazines. And then she smiles. My nervousness melts as I bring both of my hands into a namaskar. We set a time to meet the following day. 

Shubhaji and I are seated on a grayish blue velvet sofa, in the home of a music-loving gujarati family in Minnesota. She is dressed in an understated cream salwar kameez and gold earrings. She teasingly asks the daughter of the house, 'Have you finished your homework?' Shubhaji greets me warmly, thanking me for coming. At once I am at ease, so much so, that an hour passes by like a minute. In sixty minutes, we dive into the world of Shastriya Sangeet, from gharanas to gurus. In a voice so soft that I sometimes have to strain my ears, Shubhaji candidly talks about her life as a musician, revealing a self that is passionate, dedicated, and determined. 

Monsoon Magazine: How has having different teachers with different styles developed your outlook and meaning of music? 

Shubha Mudgal: You know, in a way, with traditional master-disciple/guru-shishya learning, it's not very common to change teachers. In fact, I haven't really changed teachers. It has been possible for me to learn from several people because almost all the people I learned from had an eclectic approach themselves. My first teacher, Pandit Ram Ashray Jha, in a recent conversation with a certain music firm in the United States said, "Maine bahattar guru kiye the (I learnt from 72 gurus)" Normally, saying this would be considered quite blasphemous. But I think what he meant was that even though he physically didn't learn from 72 people, he took and adapted things from them to formulate his own style. I think that is the best part of learning from different people. Each one has focused on a certain aspect of music. And these aspects I learn from all of them. It becomes far easier for me to become open about gharanas, to follow and emulate their ideals, and to see how one can actually borrow from different styles, forms, gharanas and enrich one's own experience. 

It is a little difficult to read about yourself in an article on classical music and have everybody labeled Gwalior or Agra or Jaipur and have yourself labeled as eclectic. But at the same time, it has given me an openness of outlook, which I value very greatly. 

MM: I know this is a vague question, but what does music mean to you? How does one make a living as a 'commercial' musician and be true to the inner, more spiritual aspects of music at the same time? 

SM: It's like life. You decide that you want to be honest and have a certain integrity about your work. And yet you are human and you fail at certain times. Sometimes deliberately, but mainly because it is human to err. Similarly with music, I try--and I am sure that every musician shares this sentiment-- is that one tries to be as honest as possible. There are times when you comprise, willingly, and sometimes you are forced to compromise. There is no doubting the passion and the obsession and the love for music that I, like so many music lovers, have. I mean, it's like a compulsion. I don't do music because that's the only thing that can earn me a livelihood. It also happens to be my profession. But even if it didn't earn me money or fame or concert tours to the United States, I'd still be doing that, which I have done. When one learnt music, it was because one felt compelled to learn. Perhaps one of the greatest things that you learn from music is a sense of humility. When you see other people who perform, you realize this, not just from maestros, but from a child as well. 

MM: And what about spirituality and music? Could you shed a little more light on the connection between the two and also tell us a little bit about your own research? 

What I am trying to do in my research is see how bhakti sahitya (devotional literature) can guide one's music: Is there a way of feeling saguna (a God with more physical properties)? And is there a way of feeling nirguna (a God that is abstract)? What are those differences? Can one at any point sing both in the same fashion? Because I feel that a lot of times, and this may surprise you, that one tends to mystify everything. Certainly the spirituality and grandeur of music is there, but that doesn't mean we keep harping about that. Today I may sing words, which are connected with a religious ritual, even though I'm not a very ritualistic person. It's only recently that I have started some pooja rituals. If bhakti (devotion) is a certain surrender, a certain focus and concentration on a particular subject, then even the act of trying to hit the correct note is an act of worship. If this is true, then we have to think about sahitya. How is it that so many of these medieval devotional texts (sometimes very erotic also) pervade, and are actually the most singable? 

MM: And also the most reachable. It touches everybody. 

SM: Yes. Its somehow seems to fit so perfectly. There are concerns and issue that I want to write about. For example, classical music has never been a form of protest. Poetry has. Literature has. But not Indian classical music. (In this vein) there are many issues that I would like to address-to not just put words to a melodic scheme, but to also write my own words. If the words truly reflect who I am, then it doesn't sound like a khayal. If I try to bring them into Braj and Avadhi (Hindi dialects), then I sound 500 years old. These are concerns that have drawn me towards literature, as well as a natural desire to look up sahitya and put words to music, and to see for myself, how the bhakti tradition has emphasized music, especially the Vaishnava (Lord Krishna) cult. In this cult, they say there are only two kinds of seva, bhog seva in which you offer something, as in money or food, and then there is raga seva, which is an offering of music. I think the idea of raga seva is wonderful. 

MM: Your research must have inspired you to compose and write a lot? 

SM: Yes, the ancient poetry that I've read has compelled me to compose. A lot of what I sing is from the texts that I have been studying. The words are from say, a Vaishnava text, and the tune that it's sung in, is my own. I guess what I haven't really done is to announce at every concert that this composition is mine. Because in a way it isn't, and yet it is. If I announce its mine, I feel that very often people would say 'oh, it's hers. Forget it.' Because we like to think that the older, more antique a thing is, the better it is. In fact, I've received reviews saying 'Shubha has a great stock of old traditional compositions,' and they don't know that it was composed, for lack of a better word, in 1996 or 1997 or 1998 or even in 1999. I guess it just goes to show that we have pre-conceived notions, about what a bhajan is or what makes a composition. If I were to say 'this song was written by Surdas and rendered in my own style', people would say 'you can't sing it that way.' 

MM: This brings me to the next question. Through your so-called 'eclectic' style, one could say that you are redefining Indian Classical music and opening up a dialogue on what exactly music is. Your comments? 

SM: I think the possibility has always existed. Just take a look at the different kinds of influences that have crept into Indian classical music. If you look at thumri dadra, Naina Devi used to say that the quwwalli influences it. In a quwwalli, you start the composition in fourteen beats and then the refrain towards the end goes into an eight beat cycle. That is also what we do in a thumri. Or for example, in haveli sangeet, we have the same situation present. There has obviously been borrowing from various styles. I think the nature of the music is such that it has always allowed adaptation from different influences and sources. It's just that we fail to acknowledge them. Or we decide to say, 'no, this is pure. It is untouched.' I don't think it is possible to be truly original in that sense, because somebody somewhere has already tried it. But yes, one should allow their artistic urges and compulsions to come through-I mean if you're a musician, how can you say, 'this one is from devotional poetry, so I'm not going to sing it.' I've studied khayal and thumri. But if I like Vaishnava poets, why can't I bring that into my music? Its been done before and it will continue. As long as the basic nature of the poetry and style is not really challenged-and if it is challenged, you are obviously making a place for a new adaptation. Perhaps in my lifetime nothing will happen. Or someone else will pick up on a thread many years later. I think it is necessary to be able to study within a discipline and yet try different things. You shouldn't have to be held captive. At least that's my feeling. But I may be completely wrong. 

MM: I feel you're absolutely right. Maybe that's why there will always be critics that say 'she doesn't have a gharana.' I think you have shaken up the Indian music world and that you have given people something to think about. 

SM: I think I have just followed what has already happened. It's not just me who has learned from several gurus. If you look at the life sketches of artists living today and gone by, they have been criss-crossing between the gharanas for ages. 

MM: So why has there been so much attention focused on you? 

SM: I don't know, frankly. I really have no idea. I think the only thing that I have done, although personally I feel that even that is not new, is my willingness and desire to work with different forms. Instrumentalists have had parallel careers in the film world and the world of classical music, like Pandit Ravi Shankar, Pandit Nikhil Ghosh, etc., in which they have still retained their reputation as maestros of the classical music world. But classical vocalists have not really ventured into the Indian film world to that extent. Of course we have some, like Parveenji (Sultana), Kishori Amonkar, and Shobhaji (Gurtu). However, I think I've been unabashed about these things. I feel that I'm first a student of voice rather than a student of only khayal or only thumri. I feel its necessary for me to try. I have an imperfect voice, you know. My voice has many limitations. As other voices do. Mine perhaps more limited than others. And this is not an attempt just to sound good, you know, or humble. But the fact is that I have a flawed voice. I want to know how to either overcome those limitations, or to see how with those limitations-it's like being born with a round face. There's little you can do about it, you know---you learn to be happy with what you have and work around the limitations and use what you have to the best advantage. I want to see how I can use my voice, with all its limitations and imperfections-can I adapt it to other styles? For me it's the study of voice. But very often I am asked insulting questions like, 'Did you do it for the money?' or 'Did you do it for the fame?' These are questions that would insult any artist's sense of integrity. 

MM: That is ridiculous and sad. If an artist makes a significant achievement, they should be appreciated, not questioned. 

SM: You know, one of the prerequisites of being a classical musician is that you must dress a certain way or talk in a certain way. We are all contemporary people. There is no need to hide from that fact. We must take pride in being modern people. 

MM: Speaking of modern and ancient, one of the things that you've achieved as an artist is a cross-generational audience. 

SM: Yes, that is a positive way of looking at this. Young people do come to my concerts, although they may be confused about what I am going to sing. Is she going to sing Ali More Angana or Ab Ke Sawan? Its great fun though, to have people of all kinds appreciate my music. 

MM: Yes, it's wonderful. In fact, it makes me feel that your singing in different areas has also created more interest in Indian classical music among younger people. 

SM: Well, I must confess, that there was no such noble motive. I just felt that recording technology was very special and needed to be studied carefully. Singing to a track without having live musicians has a challenge of its own, and I needed to see whether I could do that. So my motives (to record songs in various styles) were entirely selfish, I have to admit. 

But yes, I do feel very good about the fact that in India (its too early to say anything about the audience here, in the US), I get kids, even six and eight year olds, who attend my classical music concerts and sit quietly. I hesitate to say these things, especially in interviews, because it almost sounds arrogant (but then (laughing) so what). These children do not ask for the popular music. They sit with sketch books, sketching quietly while I sing. After the show is over, these children come up to me for autographs, and I ask them, 'Were you disappointed that I didn't sing Ab Ke Sawan?', and they say no. 

MM: I wanted to ask you a little more about your work as a composer. I have not seen too many women composers in the Indian music scene. Why do you think that is? 

SM: It's not the custom, especially in Indian classical music, to acknowledge the composer. Normally the composer's pseudonym is acknowledged in the composition. I don't use a pseudonym, because I don't write the poetry that I sing. But, for example, my guru, Ram Ashrey Jha ji, uses the pen name Ramrang. So if you hear a composition done by Ramrang, and you're a musician, you know it's him. Similarly, there's Sadarang, Adarang, etc. But in my experience, all musicians compose for themselves. There are women composers like Kishori Amonkar and Shruti Sadolikar-Katkar. But for some reason, announcing compositions is just not a part of concert practice. 

It does seem surprising that there are very few woman composers that one can turn back to, but at the same time, I feel that music is beyond the issue of gender. Even men, who have written, have always taken up a feminine voice to write. Compositions, whether made by males or females, have always been addressed in the feminine. In the end, it really doesn't matter who's composing, as long as the musical statement is made. 

MM: It was a wonderful surprise to see your personal presence on the web, through your website www.raag-sangeet.com. Can you tell us why you started it and what you hope to achieve with it? 

SM: I found that the web was a wonderful way of communicating (in the area of Indian music) but largely used by recording labels to advertise their wares. Or you have sites put up by fans/followers/friends with a photograph and some information, or perhaps a concert schedule. But there was no interaction. I mean, why would you want to visit a music site just to download a picture of an artist? The web seemed like a wonderful opportunity to be able to have an interactive dialogue with music lovers. I think that there is a great need for that, to have a place where people and musicians could ask questions: a democratic space not governed by some group or a recording label, which gives you answers not from a text book, but from personal experience. I also felt as a musician, that it was necessary to articulate this divide between the performer and the theorist, to start discussing things in a simple manner--not too esoteric or academic. It has been a struggle to maintain it though. As an individual, there is so much time and money that one can devote to it, because I am a musician first. And yet I feel that I need to do this too. I guess, unless it's a collective effort now, it's going to be difficult for me to maintain. 

Our conversation ends with a discussion of what type of music Shubha favors. "I am keen on listening to all kinds of music," she shares. Although Indian classical music is the most dominant form of music in her life, Shubha Mudgal strives to bring other sounds into her world. And ours. 

Come dusk and Shubhaji and her two-man troupe, tabla player Aneesh Pradhan and harmonium player Sudheer Nayak, are seated on a maroon carpet, bathed in a halo of yellow light and fresh flowers. Soon this magic carpet takes off, lifting us, the audience, through flights of musical fancy, making us never want to come down.