“Kurai Ondrum Illai…”
Lord, I have no regrets…

Her voice resonates majestically to the tunes of Classical Indian repertoire, unwavering, sweeping assuredly through the heat waves that plague the famished crowd. Rather than hearing the squeaks of an old, withered woman crooning tiredly, one hears something entirely different –ethereal, the sounds resemble sweet ambrosia, and strike tones with the clarity of the heavenly instrument of the Gods, the Veena. And yet, as sweet-sounding as it is, it is mature, thick and juicy as a pomegranate, seeds glistening crimson like perfect rubies of melody.

Madurai Shanmukhvadivu Subbulakshmi, fondly called M.S.S, grew up in a simple Indian village, near the town of Madurai, Tamil Nadu, secluded from the outside world excepting music. Her mother, Shanmukhvadivu, was a famous Veena player, and yet, Subbalakshmi grew up disciplined, knowing nothing of the luxuries of being famous. In fact: “I spent my childhood in a tiny house wedged between a row of tightly packed houses,” she reflects. “…Occupied by cows…with no cars…” Being a girl, in the cultural society of the time, Rajathi (meaning princess –the name her father fancied for her) was confined to the sullen perch beside her window, she was unable to set foot outside alone, able only to stare longingly out windows and other girls in sparkling, flowing saris. She and her sister, Vadivambal, grew up to the simple satisfaction of indoor games.

And yet she never felt she lacked anything. Perhaps this, in later years, was reflected in her singing; the simplicity and endearment that coats every savory pitch. This is one of the aspects that makes her so special to me –the simplicity and devotion in the way she sings. It takes an extraordinary being to be able to sing in front of thousands, concentrated solely on transferring her message to God.

She was never very audience-orientated. Her debut was as a child, more interested in mud pies than performing in front of spectators. Her uncle, swinging her out of her play, commanded her to sing a few songs in front of the vast audience for one of her mother’s concerts. She complied, only wanting to get back with her goop. This little Rajathi had not yet discovered her talent –but those around her had. Slowly, through tedious, nurturing care, Madurai begin to discover a blind desire to sing and pray ardently that she had never experienced before. This uncontrollable passion carried on throughout her career, not stopping even when her body had…

As she continued performing (not as carelessly, of course), a wider audience formed, one that was not only from South India (the general area do Carnatic music performance and practice) but from North India, a place so secluded from the South that there was hardly any conception of something known as Carnatic music. And yet who would ever think of introducing this splendid form of music to the western world? M.S. was, interestingly, the first to perform her genre of music and the Edinburgh Festival (1963) and in the United Nations (1966).

Nevertheless, shunning the egoism that would have sprung up in any other person, Subbalakshmi, throughout her life, remained bent on providing for others. The total money raised through her concerts for charity soared over Rs. 30 million. Besides helping raise money for charity, she initially helped raise money for her husband, Thiagarajan Sadasivam begin a national Tamil Weekly magazine called Kalki by playing the male role of Saint Narada in the film Savitri (1941).

Little did she know that this would launch her career as an actress. She later played the role of Meera, an ancient devoted female singer, in which she herself sang the devotional tunes. This immediately grabbed the attention of audiences –as well as the media- around India, transforming her overnight from a young, ripening singer to a dazzling national phenomenon. Yet never once did she consider becoming an actress. Unlike most, she never was extremely orientated with her audience –she sang for God- not for herself, or for her audiences. She is probably the single most dedicated modern artist in her genre –and throughout.

Her minute escapades clearly evolved to something much more spectacular –and doubtless, her beautiful singing caliber continued fawning respect and adoration. M.S. had the great honor of singing the favorite Bhajan of Mahatma Gandhi –when she stated hesitantly that she had never once rendered the song, Gandhi, who valued her this much, requested that she “speak the song for him”. Thereupon she decided to humbly grant him the pleasure of her voice. Along with her irrefutable reputation for perfection, she was recognized formally for her dedication to Carnatic Music. In 1968 she became the first woman recipient of the Sangeetha Kalanidhi (roughly translated to Master Musician) award in the state of Tamil Nadu, and later was awarded the nationally accredited Bharat Ratna.

Sadly, M.S. died in the midst of her eight decade on December 11th, 2004. Yet unlike other pop divas who are long forgotten after their death, it is certain that her soul –and singing- will live on. In the front seat of my car, listening to her voice resonate boldly out of the broken stereo system, it’s easy to get entranced by her delectable voice. It’s almost as if she’s still alive, still smiling, still singing with all her heart. And there, in the car, I decide. Decide that no one will ever be able to sing like M.S. No one will ever be able to live her legend –a legend of compassion, dedication, devotion; and simplicity. No one.

“Kurai Ondrum Illai…”

Lord, I have no regrets.

No regrets indeed.