Yesterday, after nearly three months of getting acquainted with the tip of the iceberg of "Naalaayira Divya Prabandam" set to music, I accompanied my Guru in a stage performance. No matter that I only knew six of the twenty six paasurams she sang...still, a performance is a performance, what?
I started music lessons when I was in kindergarten. The music class was held in a car-shed that was generously donated by a gentleman who had sold his car. The teacher, whose name I didn't know, was a thousand years old. He wore the vibuthi pattai on his forehead and carried with him a silver box of beetel leaves and associated laagiris, that he would periodically stuff into his mouth. I was the youngest of the herd and was never even given a passing glance. Usually, by the time the sarali varisais were done, I would be fast asleep on the torn jamakkaalam, and my grandmother would carry me back home.
Although 5 is too young an age to remember anything, I surprise myself by remembering interesting data from my first paatu class. For example, there were three sisters - Kanaka, Durga and Malathi. Of which, Malathi, who was four years my senior was considered a protoge, since she could already sing gamakams and brihas. I believe the old man had high hopes on this girl, but as of now, I don't know of a Malathi in the Indian Carnatic Music jungle. Perhaps she got married to an NRI and lives in Canada or Australia, with music long forgotten. There was another much older "akka" called Uma, who asked the teacher to teach her something special to be sung to the bridegroom's party as they came to "see" her. And the teacher taught her (and us in the process), "Kaamakshi, kaamakoti peeda vaasini" in Simmendhra madhyamam. I was in UKG then, but I remember that song today. I don't remember where I put the shopping list an hour ago.
I stopped going to this class in a couple of years because much of my formative years were spent shuttling between Triplicane and T.Nagar. During my tween years, we shifted permanently to T.Nagar, and that was when my music lessons took a more serious turn, and consequently became a chore for me. That is probably why I am very wary about getting my kid to join a formal music class yet. Sri Vaidhyanathan, a strict task master, may his soul rest in peace, would teach me one-on-one in my blind grandfather's room - my grandfather loved music and was particularly thrilled to hear his only grand daughter sing.
Sri Vaidyanathan laid a heavy duty foundation and refused to let me proceed to songs until all sarali varisais, jantai varisais and 35 alankarams were hardwired into my system. I must have been one of the rare kids that even knew that there were 35, and not just seven, alankarams, let alone being able to sing all of them. Considering what a dedicated teacher he was, and that I was blessed with a melodious voice, I could have enjoyed the process. However the enormous pressure from home to perform and the odd hours that the Guru would turn up - at 9 PM just when I would be nodding off - made me hate the whole concept of music class. Peer pressure that my friends, who did not sing as well as I did, proceeded in their respective classes to ada-thaala-varnams and keerthanais, while I was still plodding along with jathiswarams and swarajathis demorlaized me.
And then my mother fell seriously ill. I begged my folks to take me off the paatu class and given the stress everyone was under, it wasn't too hard to give in to me. Five years were spent struggling with an ailing mom, mourning her death and facing public exams that music was retreated into the dark recess of somewhere.
Once the dust of public exams settled, my mind slowly moved back to music. More to find solace from the wild, weird world of college I was thrown into. This time, I joined Sri B.V. Raman (may he R.I.P too), of the popular Raman-Lakshmanan duo. I enjoyed three years of music lessons with him immensely. I learned many many varnams and keerthanams, which, sadly, I did not write down because BVR believed that the moment you wrote down the songs, the compulsion to learn them by-heart is lost. He may have been right, but two decades from then, I don't remember these songs, and I don't have them written down as well - double darn !
And then academics took over again. That was pretty much the end of formal structured music lessons. I did visit Sri BVR now and then when I returned home on holidays to brush up on music. I even gave radio performances on the youth section a few times. But my own insincerety and laziness took me away from a natural talent. My aversion to public display of myself was another reason. People who heard me sing pressurized me to perform to a bigger audience, and although I did sing well, I didn't believe I had the skill to take my music to the next level. Although these days I am beginning to doubt that since some so-called "popular" singers seem to have no more skill than I did at that point. But then, no excuses for my own lack of sincerety of purpose.
Now my music is restricted to teaching a bunch of kids and more recently my Prabandam class. Yesterday's performance made me realise something though. I love to sing my daughter to sleep. I love teaching the neighbourhood kids. I don't mind singing at someone's kolu. However, hand me a mike and a group of people watching my face, my voice gives up on me. I am not sure if my Prabandam Guru would like agree to teach me if I say this, because she was banking on my vocal support to her programmes. I find the spirituatlity of the whole thing lost when I "perform".
Such is my sound of music.
[this is good]
Posted by: Brown Suga' | 12/01/2009 at 12:31 PM
[this is good]
Posted by: Bhuvana | 12/04/2009 at 12:41 AM
lovely experience..
Posted by: DeepaMangesh | 12/11/2009 at 01:19 PM