Sorry Shreya Ghoshal

 [Disclaimer: I am no music critic but I do claim to be a communication scholar with understanding of nonverbal communication. For e.g. research shows that if a woman has a nasal voice, she is perceived to be neurotic and when a man has the same, he is assumed to be effeminate. When a woman has deep, loud voice she is considered aggressive and when a man has it, he is considered as a capable leader]

Some months back, a photographer friend captioned one of his beautiful rose photos with these words-- This one is for you, Shreya Ghoshal.  More recently, I read a friend’s remark which went somewhat like this: What kind of bees produces such honey in her throat?

I get it. I get why guys like her voice—sweet and smooth like a quietly flowing stream that will not threaten her banks, that will not seize the swimmer in fierce currents and sweep him downstream, that will not erupt and rise or bubble and break—just a gently, ever-flowing, stable, consistent, predictable, sweet stream. I get it why guys love her voice—like an angelic whisper that delicately twirls on your face and throat, caressing, beckoning, and always welcoming. Unlike the reality of women in their lives—the volcanic mood swings, the demanding scrutiny, an uncompromising possessiveness, typhoon in short. I get it why in contrast, Shreya Ghoshal’s voice seems to descend from the clouds, gently into the Gangotri glacier, melting even more imperceptibly, into a quiet, sparkling, youthful stream of everlasting love.

I understand why a voice like hers is needed to sing “Tujh Mein Rab Dikta Hain, Kya Karun” (What do I do—I see God in you) or belt a tamil melody like “Mannipaaya, Mannipaaya” (Forgive me...Forgive me). A voice that is loyal, that loves and accepts and hugs and cherishes and adores you—yeah, yeah, you—one-pointedly you! I get it, Guys!! I know why you love her voice!

Maybe because I am a woman, and straight at that, or maybe because I am prejudiced or maybe I have spent way too much time reading and teaching nonverbal communication…but sorry, Shreya Ghoshal—you don’t do it for me!

Your voice renders me restless, disturbed, and in a strange way oppressed. For every delicate turn of the note that your voice coos and welcomes in and reminds me what I am not, I take to my feet and run.

And run to the earthly rumblings of M.S. Subbalakshmi, to that day, when I stood at Magan Sangrahalaya in Sewagram, viewing and learning from Kumarappa’s words in the heart of Gandhi’s heart. How perfect it seemed that day—when a solar cooker lying innocently next to a miticool refrigerator (http://www.mitticool.in/) next to another rural innovation seemed to somehow rhyme with Subbulakshmi’s rendition of Vaishnavo Janatho.

 Or run to the monsoon outburst of Shuba Mudgal’s “Ab Ke Sawan" that day when I was yearning for different musical interpretation of the monsoons. How her songs rasped and broke and showered and celebrated human life in all its ambiguity and beauty.

Or run and slide to the sensual whispers of Bombay Jaishree’s “Vaseegara”…a voice that is sweet, that beckons and promises the sky—but never assures loyalty. A carefree voice that celebrates her life on earth, that plays and taunts, and yet so endlessly sweet!

 

Or run into the clarion call of Mercedes Sosa, blowing from the stomachy depths of Mother Earth “Cambia, todo Cambia" (Change, Everything Changes). A voice to which I must remain running—ever active, ever moving, ever alive and present. A voice that seeks me to become her, that nudges and pinches until the soul stirs.

 

Or run and fall into the rising tides of Etta James “At Last” and settle in…at last…at last. A voice that compassionately says, “oh yeah, yeah” so much so that I know of girl friends who hope to play this music at their wedding!

Yeah maybe I am prejudiced and in full respect to the variety of voices that paint our soundscapes, I have to say this—Sorry, Shreya Ghoshal—you don’t do it for me!