Dr Jayanthi Kumaresh: Music Cannot Be Conquered, It Can Only Be Pursued With Devotion [Carnatic Musician, Saraswati Veena Exponent, India]

 

Dr. Jayanthi Kumaresh has spent four decades proving that tradition is not a cage but a foundation for artistic evolution. One of India's foremost veena virtuosos, she speaks of music not as something to be mastered, but as a lifelong act of devotion.

Q. You've said your mother and your guru faced real resistance just to be allowed to perform, while your own family was far more supportive of you. Does that history feel like something you carry forward when you play—almost like you're performing on their behalf too?

I often think of the women who came before me—not only my mother and my guru, but an entire generation that had to earn the right to be heard. Their journey wasn't just about mastering music; it was about overcoming social barriers that many of us no longer face in the same way.

I have been fortunate. My family encouraged my musical journey, and that support gave me the freedom to focus entirely on my art. I never take that privilege for granted.

When I perform, I don't consciously feel that I am playing on their behalf. Rather, I feel that I am playing because of them. Their courage, perseverance, and unwavering commitment to music created the path that my generation could walk with greater ease.

The greatest tribute I can offer them is not to carry the weight of their struggles onto the stage, but to uphold the values they embodied—discipline, integrity, humility, and complete devotion to music. If every performance reflects those values, then their legacy continues to resonate through every note.

Q. You started learning the veena at age three and then lived with your aunt for 22 years to train under her. In a bond that long, the veena stops being just an instrument. Is it something you worship, something you fight with, something closer to a friend? And what does that many years with one teacher and one instrument give you that a shorter path never could?

People often ask me whether I consider the veena an instrument, a companion, or an object of worship. The truth is that, over the years, it has become all of these—and yet something beyond them.

There are days when it is my closest confidante, listening without judgment to emotions I cannot express in words. There are days when it challenges me, refusing to yield unless I approach it with complete honesty and humility. And every time I sit before it, there is an element of reverence—not because it is made of wood and strings, but because it carries within it centuries of musical wisdom.

Living with my guru—my aunt—for twenty-two years was not merely about learning compositions or perfecting technique. It was about absorbing a way of life. Music was never confined to lesson hours; it flowed through every moment of the day. I learned by listening, by observing silence, by watching how she respected the art, and by understanding that excellence is built as much through character as through practice.

Such a journey teaches patience. It teaches you that music cannot be conquered; it can only be pursued with devotion. In today's world, we often celebrate speed, but certain forms of knowledge reveal themselves only through time. A long apprenticeship allows music to slowly become part of your very being, until the distinction between the musician and the music begins to dissolve.

When that happens, the veena is no longer something you play—it becomes your voice.

Q. You've said music is "like water—it takes the shape of its container," which is how you explain playing so many different styles. How do you know the difference between adjusting to fit a situation and losing yourself completely? How do you define your own flexibility?

When I say music is like water, I don't mean it changes its essence. Water can become a river, a cloud, rain, or an ocean, but it is still water. In the same way, I believe an artist can adapt to different audiences, collaborations, and creative spaces without diluting their core identity.

For me, flexibility is not about becoming someone else to gain acceptance. It is about finding the most meaningful way to communicate without compromising the values that define me. My training, my aesthetic, and my relationship with music remain constant. What changes is the language, the approach, or the doorway through which I invite people into that world.

The line between adapting and losing oneself becomes very clear when change is driven by fear rather than curiosity. If I alter my music because I am afraid of being left behind or seek approval at any cost, I begin to move away from myself. But if I explore because I am genuinely curious—because I want to learn, connect, and grow—then every experience deepens my identity rather than weakening it.

I have always felt that tradition is not a cage; it is a strong foundation. A tree can spread its branches in every direction because its roots are secure. Similarly, the stronger my grounding, the greater my freedom to experiment.

I define flexibility not as changing who I am, but as discovering how many authentic expressions of myself are possible. The essence remains unchanged; only its form evolves.

Q. What's a piece of advice from your gurus that turned out to be crucial in shaping who you are today?

One piece of advice that has stayed with me throughout my journey is the importance of always remaining a student. My gurus taught me that music is not something one can ever completely master—it is an ocean, and we are all constantly learning from it.

They emphasized that technique is important, but the soul of music comes from sincerity, humility, and dedication. Every note has to be respected, every composition must be understood deeply, and every performance must be approached with a fresh mind.

This mindset has shaped not only my music but also my life. Even today, before every concert, I feel the same sense of wonder and responsibility that I felt as a young student. The journey of learning never ends, and that itself is the greatest blessing of being a musician.

Q. What does silence mean to you—the kind right before you begin playing versus the kind after you've finished?

Silence has two very different faces for me.

The silence before I begin playing is full of anticipation. It is not emptiness, but a space filled with possibilities. In that moment, the instrument, the audience, and I are waiting to discover what the music wishes to reveal. It is a moment of surrender, where I listen inwardly before I create outwardly.

The silence after I finish playing is very different. It is a silence of completion—like the last note continuing to travel long after it has left the instrument. Sometimes it feels like a conversation that has reached a beautiful pause, where words are unnecessary because the music has already spoken.

For me, both silences are sacred. The first gives birth to music; the second allows it to settle into the hearts of those who have received it.

Q. The veena has carried Saraswati's name for centuries, and you've taken that lineage to stages across the world. In 2024, you received the Sangeet Natak Akademi Award for it. What did that moment feel like—carrying that much history in front of an audience on the day it was finally recognized?

The veena is not just an instrument to me; it is a living tradition that carries centuries of wisdom, devotion, and artistic expression. To be associated with an instrument revered as the veena of Saraswati is both a privilege and a responsibility.

Every time I perform, I feel that I am not only presenting my own music but also carrying forward the voices and blessings of the great musicians and teachers who have nurtured this tradition before me.

Receiving the Sangeet Natak Akademi Award in 2024 was a deeply moving moment. I felt immense gratitude—towards my gurus, my family, my listeners, and the generations of veena vidwans and vidushis who preserved this beautiful art form. The award felt less like a personal achievement and more like an acknowledgment of the veena itself and the rich musical heritage it represents.

Standing there on that occasion, I was deeply conscious of the instrument's long journey—from temples and traditional spaces to concert halls across the world. It reminded me that we are all custodians of a great legacy. Our role is to keep tradition alive while allowing it to breathe, evolve, and connect with new generations.

Q. Is there a book—about music or about anything else—that shaped the way you think about your art? What would you want every young veena student to read before they even pick up the instrument?

Books have always been wonderful companions in my journey—not only because they give us knowledge, but because they expand the way we perceive the world.

One book that deeply influenced my thinking is The Inner Game of Music by Barry Green. It beautifully explores the relationship between the artist, the mind, and the process of performance. It reminds us that music is not just about mastering notes—it is about discovering freedom, awareness, and expression within them.

For a young veena student, I would encourage reading beyond books that focus solely on technique or music theory. Read about great musicians, philosophy, poetry, spirituality, nature, and human emotions—because all of these become part of your music. The veena is not merely an instrument we play; it is a medium through which we communicate our understanding of life.

Before picking up the instrument, a student should cultivate curiosity, humility, patience, and a deep respect for tradition. The greatest music comes not only from trained fingers, but from a sensitive mind and a compassionate heart.

Bio

Dr Jayanthi Kumaresh is a sixth-generation Carnatic musician and one of India's foremost Saraswati veena exponents. Trained from age three by her mother, violinist Lalgudi Rajalakshmi, she spent twenty-two years under her aunt and guru, Padmavathy Ananthagopalan, before earning a doctorate from the University of Mysore on veena playing styles. Over a four-decade career, she has performed at the Royal Albert Hall, Sydney Opera House, and BBC Proms, and pioneered concepts like 45 Ragas, Mysterious Duality, and the trio Triveni with Zakir Hussain. In 2024, she received the Sangeet Natak Akademi Award from the President of India. She often performs alongside her husband, violinist Kumaresh Rajagopalan.

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Interviewed by - Palak Soni