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In 1995, Dr R V Raghavendra, an entrepreneur and an avid fan of classical music, set up Arogyadhara, a trust fund and health helpline for musicians. His philosophy is simple: as a community, we must take care of our artists, especially their medical needs
Years before the nation was confronted with the sad details of 90-year-old Bharat Ratna Bismillah Khan’s health and finances -- which emerged just days before his death in August 2006 -- the plight of another (albeit not so famous) 90-year-old musician barely created a ripple in her home state of Karnataka. In December 1998, Neelamma Kadambi, a reputed veena player and vocalist, died on the streets of Mysore, childless and uncared for. Khan’s plea for assistance was answered too late with a government grant of Rs 2.5 lakh for medical treatment, while Kadambi faded away unrecognised. At least one music-lover was moved enough by Kadambi’s situation and that of others like her to begin thinking about healthcare for musicians. Dr R V Raghavendra is the CEO of GML, an equipment-testing lab, and an avid fan of classical music. Under the aegis of the cultural organisation, Ananya (www.ananyaculture.org), which he founded in 1995, he formed Arogyadhara, a trust fund and health helpline for musicians. Arogyadhara was born out of the simple conviction that, as a community, we must take care of our artists. Odd as it may sound, however, artists may not want to be taken care of by the community. They are often outsiders whose goals don’t quite align with those of the mainstream. Though every section of society can be heard petitioning the government, when was the last time you heard of artists asking for a pension? This could also be because art and money have historically been strange bedfellows. Profit-making is usually not on the artist’s priority list, and security is a rare word in his vocabulary. Therefore when an artist’s health declines he is caught unawares, even as a sense of pride prevents him from extending the begging bowl. And so, when Raghavendra attempted to sound out several musicians about his novel plan he got a lukewarm response. Fear of losing face, he found, made many hesitate to admit that they or their ilk needed help. In fact, it was the “unexpected, fantastic response” he got from doctors that inspired him to press on. The “incubation of the idea” took one-and-a-half years. In 2001, Raghavendra organised what he calls an “awareness-raising concert” to come up with seed money for the project. Eminent classical musicians from Bangalore performed for free at Ravindra Kalakshetra, raising Rs 4 lakh from ticket sales alone. There have since been four such awareness programmes and, to date, funds worth Rs 8-10 lakh have been used to help no less than 70 classical musicians. Three free medical camps were conducted for them, complete with x-rays, sonographies and other medical procedures. The last camp detected the need for emergency surgery for four artists; these were immediately carried out. Here is how the helpline works. Musicians apply for identity cards which they show for free consultation and concessions on medical expenses. If required they can avail of treatment at hospitals and from medical specialists who form part of the Arogyadhara network. An Arogyadhara committee decides who gets financial assistance for treatment, and how much. A large group of doctors, with various specialisations, have voluntarily enlisted under the scheme. It is not only the elderly who benefit, as accidents could happen to anyone. One young mrudangam player was involved in an accident that made it impossible for him to sit. He was assisted through surgery. As Raghavendra narrates the success stories he cannot help voicing his regret at instances where help arrived too late. Like in the case of the flautist, M R Doreswamy, who died a day after he received assistance from Arogyadhara. Or khanjira player H P Ramachar who was suffering from a kidney problem and died just hours after Raghavendra had paid his hospital bill. The only consolation was that the families of the musicians did not have to bear the burden of medical expenses. Shyam S Damodar, 61, who sings in restaurants and has worked for prestigious hotel chains with his former band, West Wind, says performers of western music are in an equally precarious position, many having to “live hand-to-mouth”. “The uncertainty is always there,” he says. Still, Damodar doesn’t for a moment regret the decision he took, back in 1984, to quit his secure job and pursue a musical career. All artists, he feels, consider financial insecurity as part and parcel of the life they have chosen. Support structures Playwright Mahesh Dattani says he spent most of his life being blasé about savings. “But now, since old age is around the corner, one has to give it some thought. I think investing in good health is a more intelligent way of thinking about the future. If you are in good health, work will definitely come your way no matter what your age is.” Age and health have gradually begun to occupy a small part of artist C F John’s mind. For years he did installations that brought him no money because they could not be sold; the photos he took of them were all that remained once he had dismantled them. As he got older though he began to paint more, and also sell more. It was more a means of achieving a level of emotional security, a feeling of “creating something tangible”. Emotional security is crucial for the artist. One hears stories of legendary artists -- especially those in the performing arts -- being childishly petty, envious of the success of others, and taking penny-pinching to eccentric heights. Deep-seated insecurity is usually at the heart of such behaviour, as those who have fought their way out of penury and deprivation fear that their hard-won fame will vanish if they don’t fight to stay on top. Artists who have turned their struggles into life-lessons end up being the most confident. And they value the emotional and financial support of their loved ones. “The support of family is essential,” says John, while Damodar points out that if wife Hema had not been a bank employee they wouldn’t have got their plot of land or a housing loan. “When your partner has a job it’s a big support,” he says. He never forgets how Hema solidly backed his decision to take up music full-time. It was family support that strengthened Bangalore-born artist Smitha Cariappa’s determination to make a living purely through her art. She has been exhibiting her work since 1994, but she does not teach, sell her work, or take up any income-generating assignments. She survives through scholarships and residency programmes, believes in a simple lifestyle, and uses eco-friendly material. Installation and performance art are her current modes of expression. In her first year as a student at Chitrakala Parishath (where she did her masters in fine arts), she painted, exhibited and sold her paintings. “I got a little suspicious about why they were selling so well,” she says. That’s when she decided to stop -- to do her art, not sell it. A day job? Artists are constantly wrestling with the question: How do I earn money in such a way that it does not divert my attention from my art? “Teaching is a good option,” says visual artist S G Vasudev. Sculptor Balan Nambiar echoes him when he says: “Teaching provides the right ambience.” Artists have to keep body and soul together without selling either. John has worked in NGOs but he makes sure their principles match his. He believes in the harmonious integration of his work, his beliefs, his art, and his way of life. He would never take up a job that ran counter to his philosophy. Self-help is best In the artist’s constant endeavour to make ends meet, turning to the government would have been an option. But most artists do not favour this. Dattani says: “The biggest help they (the government) can offer is not interfering with creative expression.” Dance guru Dr Maya Rao, who turned 80 this year, has been living in the ambience of dance -- teaching and performing it -- for most of her life. Maya Rao comes from a generation that depended on government support and ICCR-sponsored foreign tours (for which the daily allowance, incidentally, used to be Rs 15, for decades!). Today she asks: “Why should we always complain about no government support?” her daughter Madhu Natraj adds: “When people crib I ask them: ‘Who told you to become a dancer?’” In an “instinctive reaction to seeing my mother being made to wait in the corridors of bureaucracy for hours,” she has not done a single project for the government. She finds nothing wrong in choreographing brief performances for the corporate sector. “Privatisation is the best thing that has happened to the arts,” she says. “There is money going around. I feel we shouldn’t hesitate to ask for a certain amount.” Is self-help then the best help? That’s what some older artists believe. They see sense in giving back to the community. Nambiar, for instance, has been holding free art classes for young people since 1971, every Sunday without fail (when he isn’t travelling), and with absolutely no publicity. Vasudev has been spending a great deal of energy in promoting art education and taking art to the people. In 1989, after the death of his artist wife, Arnawaz, he set up Arnawaz-Vasudev Charities (www.vasudevart.com), a private trust that facilitates a range of art-related activities. The trust has so far offered scholarships to 127 deserving young artists and art students, many of whom are now well-known. “Now I am tapping them, requesting them to channel money back to the art community.” When he helps youngsters, he remembers his own mentors K C S Paniker and K K Hebbar who were known for encouraging young artists. “That’s something that has rubbed off on me,” he says. Perhaps it is not only society that should take care of its artists, as Raghavendra would have it. The arts community must also take care of its own. -- C K Meena Contact:
Ananya Sangraha
94/1, 16th ‘A’ Cross
West Park Road, Malleswaram
Bangalore 560 055
Tel: + 91 80 2344 0409
Email:
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(C K Meena is a Bangalore-based author, freelance writer and journalism teacher) InfoChange News & Features, September 2008
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