What truly defines success? These artists show how blending tradition with modernity creates lasting legacies.
Veena in a Family of Violinists
Jayanthi Kumaresh: I come from a family of musicians spanning six generations, beginning with the great Thyagaraja of the Sangeetha Trinity. Everyone in my family was a violinist, except for my Periamma (mother’s elder sister), who was the only one to play the Veena. My uncle was the legendary Lalgudi Jayaramanji.
In a family of violinists, my periamma married at the age of 15 a man who was 30. Today, at 90, she still teaches on Zoom, practicing for two hours every morning. She has even created a transportable Veena that can be carried anywhere in the world. I have to recall her now because we all shine because someone throws light on us.
I started playing the Veena, as an odd person, in a house full of cousins who played the violin. The Veena is a large instrument, and I found it difficult to carry its six-foot frame across airports. During my first tour in 1995, I performed 32 concerts in three months across the United States. After returning, I told my periamma that carrying the instrument while trying to propagate Carnatic music worldwide would be impossible.
“You have to do something,” I urged her. That’s when she created the portable Veena, designed so that non-essential parts could be dismantled. Thanks to her innovation, I am now able to perform everywhere. I travel eight months a year—not because I am doing something extraordinary, but because she made it possible.
Though the Veena is a large instrument, its sound is soft, whereas the violin is much louder. At times, I wondered why I was playing such a grand instrument with such a delicate sound. On top of that, people would often ask, “You are the niece of the legendary Lalgudi Jayaraman—why aren’t you playing the violin?” I chose Veena because Goddess Saraswati plays the Veena. That was my mother’s reasoning, and she convinced me.
That journey led me to Chennai, where I lived with my Guru for 22 years—performing, collaborating, and eventually persuading my schoolmates that playing the Veena was not just traditional but cool. Carnatic music is a 2,000-year-old tradition, and I wanted them to see its depth and relevance.
From there, the journey continued—you perform, you grow, you gain name, fame, and recognition. But then comes the deeper question: What is the true purpose of music? Somewhere along the way, I began asking myself: Why am I doing this? What happens to me?
Everyone sees the outward journey—the performances, the achievements—but the inward journey is what truly transforms a person. That, above all, is the most important thing. It is a matter of pride for me to represent India by playing its national instrument. How many people know that the Saraswati Veena holds the title of India’s national instrument?
The Friend Who Made a Difference
Narthaki Nataraj: I cannot claim of any renowned family background in the field of art. My family members are unfamiliar with the significance of prestigious honours such as the Padma Shri or the Puraskar awards. However, I take immense pride in my identity as a transgender individual and in leading a fulfilling life.
Transgenders, they say, are sacred, as we transcend conventional gender boundaries, embodying a form of divinity. I often joke that perhaps God grew tired of creating only men and women, and to showcase His creativity, He blended feminine features from women with masculine features from men—thus creating people like us, transgenders.
I am proud that the Tamil Nadu government appointed me as a member of the State Planning Commission, a rare and remarkable gesture. When reporters asked me what I could contribute, given that I would be sitting alongside economists and other experts, I was candid—I had studied only up to the 11th standard. Though I had been a rank holder and aspired to complete my 12th standard, my identity crisis prevented me from continuing my education.
Yet, thanks to my transgender friend Shakthi—who studied only up to the 9th standard—I progressed to a level where I was honoured with the Padma Shri award. That is the essence of management and administration. Shakthi is a master of time management. We manage our households by evaluating the available inventory, identifying needs, and bridging the gap—a process not unlike what a Planning Commission does for a State. I know I can make a meaningful contribution.
Meaning of Success
Meera Nair: What does success mean to you?
Jayanthi Kumaresh: Success is an ever-changing destination—it is never constant. Just as life itself is dynamic, evolving, and shifting, success continually transforms.
When you’re young, success might mean reading a passage at a particular speed. Then, as you perform alongside your contemporaries, you seek that moment of awe—the admiration in their eyes, the “Wow, you played brilliantly!” That becomes success. As artists, we are spoiled by the sound of applause. We thrive on it, we chase it. The sound of applause signals success—but only for a few days.
Then the definition shifts again. If you perform Jugalbandi at North Indian festivals like Sawai Gandharva Bhimsen Mahotsav, that is success. But soon, another milestone emerges. A collaboration with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. That’s success. Becoming recognised worldwide as an ambassador for Indian music? Wow. Another level of success. Then comes the opportunity to perform solo—no collaborations—at the Sydney Opera House. But once you achieve that, you ask yourself: Have I truly attained success?
That is when you realise: success is an illusion. It is never a final destination. You don’t think, ‘Okay, now I’ve achieved success.’ Instead, new aspirations emerge—the next award, the next recognition. That becomes success. And when you receive it, the cycle repeats.
Then comes a time when, after all these achievements, we realise that we have grown old. At the beginning of this journey, we ask ourselves: What is music? There is a certain light in the heart, isn’t there? That sound, that hand, and that instrument must share an unbreakable connection. One shouldn’t simply play whatever the hand finds on the instrument; rather, one should play what emerges from the mind. That is success.
And then, beyond that, there comes a moment when we must pass this knowledge on and create a legacy. That is success. When our students perform, we see something truly beautiful. ‘Look at my student—she won this award. This time, she’s singing at the Music Academy.’ That is success. But if you ask me today—when I landed at Chennai airport, a mother approached me and said, “My six-year-old is a big fan of yours. I never introduced her to music, yet every morning, she falls asleep, drinks Bournvita, and eats while listening to your music.”
For the next generation, ensuring this instrument and our musical system endure—that is success. I am grateful to God. But as long as success is tied to external, finite things, happiness remains fleeting. When success becomes something internal, something deeper, that—I believe—is the most permanent feeling.
Overcoming Biases
Meera Nair: You have faced many challenges and biases in society. You have overcome countless obstacles. What gave you the strength and confidence to face these challenges?
Narthaki Natarajan: Even now, I continue to face them. As Jayanthi said—when I dance, I forget. In England, during an interview for Pulse magazine, a reporter asked me two deeply emotional questions.
The first was: How do you feel your dance? To that, I replied: If you find someone in this world who claims to experience the peak of delirium, I will tell you—when I dance, I am in a greater delirium than them. I fly. I forget everything.
Satisfied with my answer, they asked another question: You have reached unimaginable heights. Your country is filled with unity, religion, caste—all intertwined in vibrant colours. If you had not become a dancer, what would you have become?”
I replied: “If I hadn’t danced, I would have become a good prostitute.” It was a painful answer. But that is what society offered us. If you are not conventionally beautiful, you are forced to beg. If you are beautiful, regardless of wealth, you cannot escape societal exploitation.
When I was a student, I wanted to become an advocate. I was a top-ranked student in school. We studied hard despite the ignorance surrounding us. My friend Shakthi and I studied well. But after the 9th standard, due to the gender identity crisis, she became scared and stopped her studies. Yet she supported me in everything I did. At the age of 11, I was thrown out of my house. We had to fend for ourselves. Imagine—what could an 11-year-old child possibly know about survival?
But our greatest strength was our love for each other. We believed we were queens. When we saw how society mocked us, we were furious. Why do people look at us this way? Now, I ask people: “I have no problem with my identity crisis. I am happy. I am who I want to be. What is your problem?”
Dr. Chokalingam, a renowned cardiologist, once asked me, “I have never heard of a single transgender patient suffering a heart attack. What is the reason?” My answer was simple: “We live happily. We focus on the present, without being stressed about tomorrow.”
Once upon a time, as Jayanthi said, I danced to assert my identity. Then I danced for name and fame—I wanted to prove myself and build my academy. I was the academy’s prime dancer, performing at festivals like the Edinburgh Festival and the Tromsø World Music Festival. I have been to them all. That was never an issue for me.
Then, I danced to earn money—but I struggled to find financial success. Now, I dance for myself. Whenever I receive an award, people from my hometown of Madurai ask me, “How much money do they give?” I humour them with fictitious numbers just to surprise them, but the truth is—there isn’t much money in awards. Most of the prize amount barely covers travel expenses.
Celebrity Outside, Daughter at Home
Meera Nair: Jayanthi, as a woman musician, did you face challenges? What did you have to overcome in your journey?
Jayanthi Kumaresh: I never thought of my journey in terms of being a woman or a man—I saw myself simply as a musician. My struggle was not about gender but about making people recognise the distinction between mediocrity and excellence.
I saw so many people celebrating mediocrity as excellence. How do you show them the difference? How do you make them realise the distinction between original Kanchipuram silk with an imitation? How do you make them see that true excellence is something entirely different? Codifying that distinction became the focus of much of my energy.
As a woman, the only time I consciously acknowledge my gender is when I stand at a conveyor belt in the airport, carrying my Veena. I’ll smile at someone and ask, “Could you help me?” I’ll be look a very timid person, and invariably, someone will lift the huge box and set it down for me.
Thanks to my musician community, I have never felt that being a woman was a setback in my professional journey. But at home, there has always been one puzzling aspect. Years ago, after finishing a concert, I returned home and proudly told my mother, “Two thousand people attended the concert, and I received a standing ovation!”
She simply asked, “Did you make dinner for Kumaresh before you left?” I remember Indira Nooyi once said that when she became a director, her mother told her, “There’s no milk in the fridge—go and get it first.”
So, I believe that part of the story will always remain unchanged. But I must say—my mother is immensely proud of me. Their concern is never about my success but about how our daughters balance their duties. And honestly, that is a beautiful part of life—our ability to multitask and manage so many things. This isn’t a limitation—it’s abundance.
Respect Yourself
Meera Nair: I completely agree with you. Being a woman does not matter in the outside world as much as it does within our homes, where we remain mothers, wives, or daughters-in-law. People look up to us for various things. It is important to cherish all aspects of life and fulfill our roles so that we have an enabling system to support us. What advice would you give to the younger generation?
Narthaki Natarajan: I wouldn’t give advice—no one likes to be advised. If we lead a meaningful life, that is enough for others to learn from us. The sun does not announce its arrival every day, yet it shines and provides light for the world.
I have a trust, and whatever I earn, I put into that trust so it can be used for the benefit of society. My life is even part of school textbooks, and there are questions about me worth five marks in the TNPSC exam. Society teaches me something new every day. Simply put: Respect yourself and keep doing your work. Thanks to my initiative, then-Chief Minister Karunanidhi coined the term ‘Thirunangai’ to refer to transgender individuals. I have no hesitation in saying that I am proud of my identity.
Meera Nair: Jayanthi, how can we balance innovation in music while retaining its traditional essence?
Jayanthi Kumaresh: Carnatic music is a constantly evolving system and it balances itself. We sing lullabies to put children to sleep, we sing Gowri Kalyanam at weddings—music is deeply woven into every aspect of everyday life. Tradition is merely an addition. What was done centuries ago has naturally evolved in its expression today. On social media, I created a series of snippets to demystify Carnatic music for a wider audience. We collaborate with Western instruments, we collaborate with Hindustani musicians, we work with Western classical orchestras. The seven musical notes remain the same in every system. To me, anyone who can appreciate sound can appreciate music.
