She challenged the thin-voiced norm laid down for women singers
She challenged the thin-voiced norm laid down for women singers
Nurses at the hospital where Gangubai Hangal spent her last days used to call her 'cutie pie'.
At 97, Gangubai was so full of good cheer and optimism that she would wave the nurses at Lifeline Hospital over to her bedside and teach them lines from a song she had learnt at school.
The nurses loved her spirit, and had become very fond of her. "About a year ago, she travelled to Goa and sang at a public event for about 20 minutes," said Deepa Ganesh, a journalist researching Gangubai's life for a biography.
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Gangubai taught a Kannada song to the nurses that she had learnt when she was nine, but never sang any on stage.
Many who hear Gangubai on the radio think she is a man. She used to employ her voice in the manner of an artist using a thick 5B pencil. Her strokes were bold, and etched out pictures that stand out starkly.
A doctor had administered electric shocks for her tonsilitis, and turned her voice that way, but Gangubai wasn't the sort to stop singing just because she sounded masculine.
For many of us drawn to Hindustani music through the medium of film songs, anything that was sung by a woman and that didn't sound thin was initially a surprise, then a delight, and finally a revelation about the politics of timbre.
A delight because it rang true, and a revelation that women who cultivated a thinness of voice for its marketability were artistically shortchanging us!
Lata Mangeshkar's voice from her golden years defines femininity for listeners of Indian popular music. In the south, we see her lineage in S Janaki, Chitra, Anuradha Sriram, B R Chaya and countless other singers. On the other hand, Gangubai is a high art practitioner of a daring style that Usha Uthup, Shubha Mudgal and Ila Arun attempt with varying degrees of success. Gangubai is the gold standard.