Tamil films and classical music

Travelling light: a journey in music 

By V Ramnarayan

Chapter 7

It was his friendship with the sons of a couple of film music directors that introduced Krishnan to the use of classical or semi-classical music in Tamil films. He was also an ardent follower of Hindi film music--in fact more interested in it than in Tamil film songs. One of them, Venkatachalam, was the son of KV Mahadevan, arguably the best exploiter of raga music during the 1960s, even more attractive to Krishnan's ears than Viswanathan-Ramamurthi, the star pair among music directors of that era. The other had been Sudarsan, the son of Subbiah Naidu of an earlier vintage. Through these and other friends connected to the film industry, Krishnan accumulated a fair knowledge of the classical and semi-classical music, musicians and others behind the scenes responsible for the high standard of film music then. This is what he pieced together from his conversations with these friends and from reading the newspaper and magazine articles of the time.

Music was king and queen in Indian cinema in the early 20th century. Those were the times when the success of a play or film was measured by the number of songs it featured, when encores prolonged them forever—even in silent films with music performed live in front of the screen by an assembled band.

Before playback singing—India’s brilliant contribution to cinema—came into being, the stars of the day had to do their own singing, but not all of them were musical, while those cast for their singing ability often could not act to save their lives.

The resultant classic was frequently unintentionally funny, but fans were undeterred by such incidental shortcomings, for listening to their heroes and heroines was reward enough.

In Tamil cinema, MK Tyagaraja Bhagavatar was perhaps the biggest draw among the singing stars of yesteryear, i.e., on a long term basis, excluding the sensational screen appearances of musical talents such as MS Subbulakshmi or GN Balasubramaniam, who made a huge mark on classical music.

A classically trained musician, Bhagavatar had a powerful yet pliant and mellifluous voice that traversed a great range and negotiated curves and glissandos seemingly effortlessly to the utter delight of millions of fans. Among these ardent enthusiasts were the cognoscenti as much as the man on the street. For MKT’s music was pure and unalloyed, but with an appeal that transcended that of proscenium concerts. His greatest hit, Haridas, ran for 114 weeks at the Broadway theatre, Chennai, a record that remains unbeaten to date.

Bhagavatar was paired famously with S. D. Subbulakshmi. The duo extemporised on stage to the delight of fans, their electric exchanges leading to their huge success in films like Pavalakkodi and Naveena Sarangadhara. Their songs Siva peruman kripai vendum and Chanchalam teerndinbamura became chartbusters.

SD Subbulakshmi, a discovery of director (and later, husband) K. Subramaniam, was to achieve critical acclaim in his ambitious Tyaga Bhumi (1939), a distinctly feminist film based on a novel by Kalki Krishnamurti that ran into censor trouble because of its “seditious” content. The song Desa sevai seyya vareer by D. K. Pattammal, which backgrounded a procession of freedom fighters, giving musical expression to patriotic sentiment, led to the banning of the film by the British government. Interestingly, the Carnatic musician and composer to have the greatest impact on Tamil film music, Papanasam Sivan, played Sambhu Sastri, the protagonist of Tyaga Bhumi. In an extraordinary reversal, a number of Sivan's compositions for films found their way to the concert stage. They are so classically pure that they are today unrecognisable as film songs.

The other Subbulakshmi, MS, was to lift the medium of cinema to a higher plane when worshipping crowds fell at her feet during the filming of Meera, directed by Ellis R. Dungan and masterminded by husband Sadasivam. For all the huge popularity of Kalki Krishnamurti’s Katrinile varum geetam and Anda nalum vandidado from this tale of a young female Rajasthani saint, their impact could not exceed by too much that of Ma Ramanan (Papanasam Sivan) from her debut film Seva Sadanam, based on Premchand’s reformist novel (made by that man K. Subramaniam, who else?). The song served to redefine film music with its unadulterated classicism; it has in fact passed into the mainstream of the Carnatic concert oeuvre.

Sakuntalai, a musical based on Kalidasa’s classic, had earlier starred that matinee idol among Carnatic musicians, G. N. Balasubramaniam, opposite M.S. The pair was a huge draw and the box office was kept busy by this extravaganza by Dungan. The duets Premaiyil yavum and Manamohananga anangey were responsible for that success.

Carnatic vocalist S. Rajam and his younger brother S. Balachandar were both to sing songs in films in which they acted. In fact, Balachandar, a child prodigy who became famous as a veena player, was a versatile all rounder, who acted in and directed films, besides playing many instruments.

Arguably the greatest all round star among the singer-actors of Tamil cinema was
P. U. Chinnappa, who came to films via the same route that Tyagaraja Bhagavatar took: stage plays. Chinnappa could act and that is where he was different from some of the other heroes like Bhagavatar and G. N. Balasubramaniam, essentially singers who strayed into films. Following in his father’s footsteps, Pudukkottai Ulaganatha Pillai Chinnasami became a stage actor at age five, in 1922. The play Sadaram, the story of a thief, catapulted Chinnappa to fame. His films Aryamala, Kannagi, Jagadalapratapan and Harishchandra established him as a leading actor, who besides singing his own songs, fought his own fights, with mastery over a number of martial arts.

An unusual singing star was K. B. Sundarambal, a box office draw for her golden voice and the devotional fervour of her singing. Both on stage and in films, she captured the hearts of her adoring audiences, playing both male and female roles with consummate ease. Her stage and life partner S. G. Kittappa was perhaps the most talented singer the Tamil stage had seen, and together, they made history. Sundarambal sang songs that were to become evergreen melodies in such films as Nandanar, Manimekhalal, Avvaiyar, Tiruvilaiyadal and Poompuhar. Her performance as Avvai, the Tamil poet-saint, was so convincing that a whole generation of children believed her to be the original Avvai Patti.

Another singing role she played was male, that of Nandan in Nandanar, which also had the classical vocalist Maharajapuram Viswanatha Iyer in it! In Manimekhalai, which followed, Sundarambal was paired with Kottamangalam Cheenu, a fine singer who was later consigned to oblivion. A later version of Nandanar Charitram, had the peerless Dandapani Desigar, playing the role of a dalit devotee, and singing movingly in his ringing baritone.

Another popular male vocalist, who made it big in the 1940s and 50s, was a namesake of the greatest flautist Carnatic music has known. TR Mahalingam was one of those singing stars who bagged acting roles because of their singing ability, but he was a success in both romantic songs and bhakti music. Chittoor V. Nagiah was another famous actor capable of singing his own songs, for he was a fully trained Carnatic vocalist, a conscientious one at that. For his role as Tyagaraja in the film on the celebrated composer’s life, he reportedly took lessons from GNB and Musiri Subramania Iyer, himself a singing star in and as Tukaram.

Of South India’s singing stars of a more recent vintage, P Bhanumati and Rajkumar achieved greater fame than most. Bhanumati who later became the principal of the Government Music College, Madras, was a classically trained vocalist who had early success singing her own songs in Tamil and Telugu, but the Kannada star was a late bloomer, who yet became an enduring icon in his dual role. Like Bhanumati, S. Varalakshmi was another actress from Andhra who had a nice singing voice and used it to effect in films.

Around 1960, Krishnan had heard the mellow vocie of PB Srinivas for the first time--under the music direction of MB Srinivasan, the original whose experiments in choral music involving Indian tunes gave some memorable film songs. It was at Tuticorin's Charles theatre that Krishnan saw such movies as Paathai Teriyudu Paar in which the two Srinivas (an)s had collaborate dto produce some glorious music.

G Ramanathan, SV Venkataraman and Adinarayana Rao were among south Indian music directors in films to deploy classical music to great effect in their movies. The first two were perhaps the top two music directors of the 1940s. Continuing to be prominent in the 1950s, GR composed the music for nearly a hundred films. Among his significant efforts was his turning Subramania Bharati's verses into film songs.

A landmark film of the 1960s was Tiruvilaiyadal, based on the Tamil myth of Tiruvilaiyadal Puranam, featuring the many miracles of Lord Siva who appeared in human form on earth. Though the main male singer of the film was TM Soundararajan, it also had one song  by Mangalampalli Balamuralikrishna, the famous Carnatic vocalist, who later became a Sangita Kalanidhi of the Madras Music Academy. Krishnan found it intriguing that in a scene in which a Tamil singer and a north Indian vocalist compete in court, TMS (the Tamil voice of Sivaji Ganesan) defeats Balamuralikrishna as lip-synced by TS Baliah, though to his ears the so-called north Indian's ragamalika (Oru naal poduma) sounded superior to TMS's Gaurimanohari (Paattum naane).

Another song by Balamuralikrishna, Tangaratham from the film Kalai Kovil was a sensational hit. The film had its excellent music composed by veena vidwan Chittibabu, whom Krishnan had the pleasure of meeting, when they were both waiting at a bus stop! Imagine a top-flight musician of today depending on public transport! Krishnan found the charismatic  artist with a sizable fan following among the young to be a simple and unaffected young man.

Sangita Kalanidhi

The Music Academy's decision to confer the title of Sangita Kalanidhi on vocalist Sanjay Subrahmanyan must be one of its most popular decisions for quite a while. Sanjay's has been a long and distinguished career in one so young. 

At 47, Sanjay represents a generation of musicians that took Carnatic music by storm in the 1980s, and it would be no exaggeration to say that Sanjay is, along with Vijay Siva and TM Krishna, part of the leading triumvirate of vocalists to dominate the field, at least among male musicians. The Academy broke with its own normal practice when it awarded Sudha Ragunathan the title ahead of more senior artists a couple of years ago. Sanjay is even younger, sending statisticians scurrying to list out the youngest Sangita Kalanidhis in history.

The near-unanimous verdict among experts and lay rasikas alike has been that the honour is richly deserved, and that we are far better off honouring our vidwans when they are still on top of their game, so to speak, than wait for their superannuation. Sanjay is regarded by many as an intellectual among musicians, but also someone who is keenly aware of his strengths and weaknesses and equipped with the capacity to enhance the former and work on the latter with single-minded persistence. Older rasikas remember the beautiful aesthetics that ruled--and largely continue to rule--his raga awareness and delineation, his original manodharma, and his ability to create and sustain a Sanjay brand of vocalisation.

Over the decades, by his own recent admission, Sanjay has learnt to use constructive criticism to his advantage by diligently working to overcome his shortcomings, as in making intelligent use of his attractive-if-not-so-strong voice and perfecting his sruti and tala sense. Also criticised early on for his apparent disdain for clear articulation of lyrics, he has grown into someone who takes great care in internalising and accurately but also musically rendering sahitya in an exemplary fashion.

A seasoned critic we know made an interesting observation: that Sanjay, like Vijay Siva and Krishna, places great value on the excellence of kriti rendering, something younger vidwans should focus on rather than lose sight of in their eagerness to polish their manodharma. 

Another, who describes Sanjay as a genius, exhorts him to concentrate on scaling musical heights without letting such preoccupations as his love of Tamil literature distract him from his pursuit of excellence. 

Yet another has it that what he considers Sanjay's demerits are exactly the attributes others find particularly captivating in his music--namely, some of his vocal idiosyncrasies.  Sanjay's endearing sense of humour is perhaps the source of much of these playful diversions, the same humour that makes him such a brilliant team player on stage. 

This is a time to rejoice, to celebrate a master stroke by Carnatic music 's apex body, not an occasion to dissect Sanjay's music--or commiserate with other deserving musicians yet to be so honoured. We all know that this particular awardee has earned his reward through sheer hard work and blazing originality.

TMK won't sing again in the Season

Did vidwan TM Krishna's recent announcement of his withdrawal from performing during the Chennai December music season surprise anyone? It did not surprise me for one. I would have been startled if he had decided not to surprise us this year, as he has been doing every year for a while now.

If my memory serves me right, it all started with a coffee table book on Carnatic music he co-authored with Bombay Jayashri, followed by articles he began to contribute to the press, first on music (one on the discriminatory treatment meted out to women artists was one of his early forays into writing), and gradually on a variety of subjects social, political and arts-related. 

Around the same time, the media reported that he would cycle everywhere during the music festival that year rather than add to the increased pollution of the period caused by increased traffic.

Later came his free cutcheris during the season, which the NRIs thronging the sabhas enjoyed in equal if not greater numbers than such of those locals as could not afford to pay.

And for quite some time now, almost all his concerts have had the surprise element built in-from the sequence and treatment of songs, raga alapana, tanam and so on to the nouveau-democratic seating arrangement on the dais.

In between, Krishna has envisioned and spearheaded several novel concepts and initiatives, including Margazhi Raagam, his cutcheri-as-movie with Bombay Jayashri, Samvada, a series of conversations between senior and junior vidwans he organised in collaboration with the archival institution Sampradaya, Svanubhava, an annual introduction to our arts for students, again initially partnering Jayashri, a revival of temple concert music, providing a platform for up-and-coming artists and One, an experimental film featuring Krishna singing a number of songs amidst nature without accompaniment.

Perhaps his largest, most ambitious endeavour so far has been his magnum opus on Carnatic music, which has won him accolades from such eminent personalities as Nobel laureate Amartya Sen.

Through it all, Krishna has maintained if not enlarged his large fan base, even as a number of critics question the sweeping changes he has been attempting in the format of the Carnatic music cutcheri. They are equally skeptical of the merit of many of his pronouncements on his art and its politics as well as the motives behind these pronouncements.

His defenders find much to laud in his rich music and find nothing sacrosanct about the modern cutcheri paddhati invented and inspired by Ariyakudi Ramanuja Iyengar in the last century. They love Krishna's intensity and eyes-closed devotion to his music, and his empathy and synergy with his accompanying artists.

They have no quarrel with his verbal exchanges with his accompanists and the audience during his concerts. To them, it is all part of the total TMK package, while the critics find it distracting and disrespectful.

TMK's most recent announcement of his planned abstention from the concert platform during the December season in future, too, has drawn varied responses. Some diehard rasikas are protesting against it, pleading with him, even demanding that he must not deny them the pleasure of listening to him.

Others have expressed outrage at his allegations of casteism, commodification and corruption in the whole season scenario. Yet others have made jokes about it, indirectly questioning the motives behind his decision, accusing him of publicity-seeking gimmickry.

It was only the other day that this column had made tongue-in-cheek remarks about the tendency of our artists to linger as performers long after they have gone over the hill.

In sharp contrast, TM Krishna has chosen to retire too early, it seems, at least from December season concerts. What will be his next move? Will he shift his free concerts to other times of the year? More important still, will he, in addition to his splendid efforts to nurture Carnatic music, launch his own initiatives to attack the ills he has been criticising in his book and other writings? 

All we can say with certainty is that there will never be a dull moment with TM Krishna around.

Seetharam Yoga

By Seetharam

“The Trance-Atlantique Science Digest,” a young magazine engaged in “sciensational” reporting, has issued an emergency advisory on the occasion of the first International Day of Yoga: “People who cannot withstand headstands and handstands should avoid grandstand exercises to project themselves as outstanding yogis and upstanding upholders of Bharatiya culture. Such exercises and gimmicks may cause bone-and-nerve injuries beyond the limits of current “yogopaedic” medicine.

The much-awed magazine has also made “bone-tingling” prognostications (in its 31 June 2015 issue) about the imminent emergence of certain gamechanger yogic practices and solutions, as indicated hereunder:

1. Bhrashtachar Nirmoolan Asana and Bhrashtachar Samarthan Asana - State-of-the-art corruption-prevention and corruption-promotion postures and gestures.

2. Balaatkaar Nivaran & Nirvan Asana – A structured course of fast-action, high-power defence drills to deter molesters, gang-rapists and other “practitioners of rapism.”

3. Bharat Vikas Maha Asana – A path-breaking yogic regimen to be executed every morning by 1.25 billion Indians (SavaaSau Karod Desh Vasis) to achieve 100% growth-rate in just one year.

4. Swachh Bharat Asana – A custom-designed activity to be performed every morning, just before “Bharat Vikas Maha Asana,” by 1.25 billion Indians to achieve “Crystal Clean India” in just 6 months.

5. Shadyantra Tantra Asana – A gameplan of fiendish manipulations and manoeuvrings devised to quietly strangle political opposition.

6. SwaRaje Vikraya Yoga – A suite of bending and twisting “workouts” to “sell” India and save "fugitives from justice."

7. Krishadhan Punah-Praapti Hatha Yoga – A hot-new sequence of rigorous movements to completely and quickly retrieve pitch-black money stashed offshore.

8. Niraatankvadi Mantra Yoga – A cutting-edge cocktail of meditation-mediation-intimidation techniques to “abolish” terrorism.

9. Ardha Chandra Namaskaar – An innovative series of 27.5 postures for fly-by-nighters to salute the crescent moon and seek “her” blessings.

10. India Gate Dhyaana-Yoga – A breathtaking combo package of meditation and yogasana to perpetrate the “great-grandmother of all scams” and then vanish into thin air with “Adrshyasana.”

11. “International Raja Yoga” a.k.a. “World Raja Yoga” to acquire the prime fortune(fortune=yoga) to jet-hop across the world … on “holiday duty”… every other weekend.

“The Trance-Atlantique Science Digest” anticipates also the development of “Yog-hurt” and “Yolk-hurt” – two antidotes to counteract “yogopaedic” complications, the first for lacto-veggies and the latter for “egg-eatarians” or “yolk folks,” indulging in “forced and harmful yogic stunts.  

Have a sensational, internationally Yoked Day!

                                                       

Have a fabulous Father’s Day, as well(Is it “International Yoga Father’s Day”?)

                                                     

Dr.Yoga De - c.ta.Ram Dev, D. Lull-Litt.*

[*This “dis-honorary” doctorate in “litterature” comes from Ill-lit Lodhi ICL University, which runs a variety of scamster’s degree programmes. “ICL” stands for International Criminal League, located in St. Urgentine’s Island, off the coast of Jet Black Sea.]

Carnatic music jazzes up

Travelling light: a journey in Carnatic music

By V Ramnarayan

Chapter 6

Both Krishnan and Guru completed their degree that year. Expectedly, Guru exerted just enough to pass the examination, actually walking out of the hall as soon as he knew he had answered the bare minimum of questions to ensure that, such was his indifference to academic achievements. He was also impatient to leave the exam hall, go to his hostel room and start practising tabla for an important concert a week later at Hyderabad. Krishnan, in fact, missed the exam coming down just the day before with a virulent attack of typhoid. He took the exam in September and did very creditably.

Guru never returned to Chennai from the Hyderabad concert. There, his tabla career took off, as it was the home town of his guru Shaik Dawood.  As he was keen to expand his Hindustani music horizons, Guru looked for a job that would allow him time for talim and riyaz. He got selected as a clerk in State Bank of Hyderabad. The work was child's play for someone of Guru's intelligence, orderly mind, and calm temperament. His boss and colleagues soon became admirers of his music, even demanded impromptu demonstrations of his percussive skills on the office desk and huge ledgers. Enjoying a light workload--somewhat in the manner of the heroes of PG Wodehouse novels--he spent at least as much time in the staff canteen as at his work table.

But Guru's Hyderabad saga will have to wait for now. Back in Madras, Krishnan's music education was proceeding rather erratically, by fits and starts. By now, college and cricket were taking up much of his time. He was also becoming a huge reader, discovering so many new authors. Again, with the advent of 70mm and stereophonic sound, watching movies in well appointed theatres like Safire and Anand was proving to be a pleasant pastime. Still, Krishnan did not neglect music. He regularly listened to radio broadcasts of both Carnatic and Hindustani music. When MS Subbulakshmi became in 1968 the first woman to receive the Sangita Kalanidhi title from the Music Academy, he started following the list of awardees. Palghat Mani Iyer had won it in 1966, and there had been no award in 1967. DK Pattammal followed soon, receiving the ultimate accolade in 1970.

It was around this time that instrumental music really came to the fore in Carnatic music, with three violinists belonging to three different, but distinguished, schools of music, hitting the headlines regularly--Lalgudi Jayaraman, TN Krishnan and MS Gopalakrishnan. One of the greatest legends of Carnatic music, Mali, was still around, but his concerts in India were rare. Mali's disciple N Ramani was a star in his own right, and a charismatic young veena vidwan Chittibabu emerged on the scene. Lalgudi Jayaraman and his sister Srimathi made a brilliant duo of violinists, while Jayaraman also collaborated with Ramani and veena vidwan Venkataraman in a novel trio. The violin-venu-veena combination was a riotous success. This was also the time Jayaraman began to withdraw gradually from his role as violin accompanist to the stalwart vocalists of the cutcheri scene. From Ariyakudi Ramanuja Iyengar, GN Balsubramaniam, Madurai Mani Iyer and Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer to later stars M Balamuralikrishna, KV Narayanaswamy and MD Ramanathan, he had accompanied the best in the business with distinction, but now it was time to move on, striking a solo path. He did play second fiddle to the new generation of singers of the likes of TN Seshagopalan and TV Sankaranarayanan, but not for long. Of course, like the mridangam maestro Palghat Mani Iyer, he refused to accompany female artists (the subject of a later chapter).

A sensation in the cutcheri circuit around this time was the arrival of Higgins Bhagavatar, from the USA. A trained vocalist in Western classical music and a researcher with a PhD in ethnomusicology, Higgins Bhagavatar as he came to be known first learnt Indian music from T Ranganathan, a brother of the Bharatanatyam dancer Balasaraswati, at Wesleyan University, Connecticut, came to Madras for advanced learning from flautist T Viswanathan, another brother of Bala. Higgins had a rich baritone voice which helped him capture the imagination of south Indian audiences when he started giving concerts like a seasoned bhagavatar.  More than just a novelty as an American vocalist in the Carnatic music tradition, he impressed the sternest purists, who naturally pointed out his occasional shortcomings in pronunciation and raga alapana.  He did achieve a rare proficiency in his field through dedicated practice and reverence for the Dhanammal school of music, including the padams and javalis the bani was famous for in his repertoire, as well as the great kritis of the tradition.

Krishnan had  a few encounters with Higgins Bhagavatar--one of which was personal--that he would not easily forget. The first was an AIR broadcast advertised as a concert by Jon Higgins, to listen to which he sat along with his stern eldest uncle and other family members. The programme was a huge success with the family, with everyone marvelling at Higgins's extraordinary mastery of an alien music system, his excellent diction and his amazing raga sense.  The eldest uncle was as enthusiastic a listener as the rest of the audience. Unfortunately, there had been a last-minute change of programme, and the voice they had heard belonged to M Balamuralikrishna, not Higgins. A disgusted uncle, no fan of Balamurali, was quick to dismiss the performance as mediocre. 

The second incident gave Krishnan a chance to meet Higgins personally at a wedding which the bhagavatar was filming on his movie camera. It was a brief meeting, but gave Krishnan a glimpse of Higgins's very pleasant personality. He spoke of his great admiration for the members of Dhanammal's family, the wonderful legacy of Brinda-Muktha's music, the superb teaching methods of Viswa, and the generosity with which the family embraced an American student. This was an eye-opener for Krishnan, who had hitherto been completely unaware of this parallel universe of Carnatic music.

Concert music in Madras was changing rapidly, though it continued to adhere to the format pioneered by Ariyakudi. New kritis were becoming de rigueur in concert after concert, though  they were not really new songs but songs recently rediscovered after long disuse from the traditional repertoire. The epic ragamalika composition Bhavayami Raghuramam by Swati Tirunal that had been tuned by Semmangudi was quite the rage in cutcheri big and small, and an intrinsic part, especially wedding concerts. Ragas of the lighter variety with inadequate scope for manodharma were competing with the grand major ragas for listener preference. The lilting Raghuvamsasudha in Kathanakutoohalam was another hit, especially when a popular instrumentalist like Chittibabu displayed his variegated gifts playing it.

Artists like Chittibabu and Balamuralikrishna forayed into film music, the former as music director of such movies as Kalai Kovil and the latter as a singer in the film Tiruvilaiyadal with his exciting swara singing in the song Oru naal poduma. The film industry sheltered many talented musicians, especially instrumentalists, who found it a more lucrative avenue than the concert platform. Vocalist Madurai GS Mani as an assistant music director, violinist VS Narasimhan and sitarist Janardan Mitta were examples of accomplished classical musicians making a livelihood in cinema. MB Srinivasan was a talented music director, too, with his knowledge and adaptation of Western music.

Krishnan was to leave Madras in December 1970 to pursue a banking career in Hyderabad, where he rejoined Guru, who had migrated there three years earlier. It was there that his informal education in Hindustani music took root and grew. 

Muttuswami Dikshitar (1775-1835)

Travelling light: a journey in music

Link from Chapter 1

Born on 24 March 1775 at Tiruvarur to Ramaswami Dikshitar and Subbamma, was the youngest of the three great composers hailing from his home town who went on to be celebrated as the Trinity of Carnatic music.

Named after the temple deity, Muttukumaraswamy of the Vaitheeswaran temple, Dikshitar had two younger brothers Baluswami and Chinnaswami and a sister Balambal.

Belonging to the priestly Dikshitar tradition, Muthuswami learnt Sanskrit, the Vedas, and other religious texts, and music from his father, who was an accomplished musician and composer, besides discharging administrative duties at the Tiruvarur temple.

While he was still in his teens, Muttuswami’s father sent him on a pilgrimage with Chidambaranatha Yogi, a wandering yogi, to learn both music and philosophy. The duo visited many places in north India before settling down for a long stay at Kasi. Dikshitar’s eclectic sweep of thought as reflected in his grand compositions was a result of the north Indian sojourn.

His five years at Kasi exposed Dikshitar to dhrupad, India’s ancient form of classical music. Many of his slow songs known for their grandeur and relatively straight notes show a remarkable resemblance to the dhrupad tradition.

A Srividya upasaka, or follower of the cult of devi worship, Dikshitar was a deeply religious person and mystic, who visited several temples and composed songs in praise of the deities there in a spontaneous expression of his devotion. Thus most of his compositions are marked by a deep sense of reverence and calm. Trained in veena playing, he developed a combination of the vocal and instrumental styles in his compositions—around 500 in number—marked by rich gamaka, a majestic gait, and a general preference for the chauka kala. He employed the signature Guruguha.

Muttuswami Dikshitar taught the four dance masters from Tanjavur who came to be known as the Tanjore Quartet. Dikshitar passed on to them the 72-mela-raga tradition of Venkatamakhi, which (unlike Tyagaraja), he followed. Sivanandam, Ponnayya, Chinnayya and Vadivelu were the star foursome who spread the Muttuswami Dikshitar legacy all over the south.

Evidently fond of Mayamalavagaula, Dikshitar composed several songs in such ragas. and ragas derived from it. Many of his songs were in Sanskrit, and were of the samashti charana variety, opening with a pallavi, eschewing the middle section or anupallavi, and ending in the samashti charana section. His songs can be divided into several groups, with the major Guruguha group including such sections as the Kamalamba Navavarna kritis and Navagraha kritis. He composed as many as 26 songs in praise of Vinayaka or Ganapati.

During his travels, Muttuswami Dikshitar was fascinated by the music of the British military band, which he heard at Madras, and inspired by them he created some 40 songs, of which 36 have survived as nottu swara sahitya. Some of the songs are set to familiar English numbers like God Save the King, but are odes to Hindu deities, including Saraswati, the goddess of learning. Some of these songs are taught as early lessons to students of Carnatic music.

Baluswami Dikshitar is credited with adapting the violin to Carnatic music, which was further popularised by Vadivelu. The descendants of Baluswami Dikshitar are said to be responsible for keeping alive the Dikshitar sishya parampara.

Krishnan's Hindustani guru

Travelling light: a journey in music

By V Ramnarayan

Chapter 5

Krishnan first met Guru in 1963, when he was doing his Pre-University Course (the equivalent of today's 12th standard) at Vivekananda College, run by the Ramakrishna Mission at Mylapore. Facing the college was a dhobi settlement advertised by the slow moving traffic of donkeys carrying laundry. The college itself  was located in a fairly large tree-shaded complex of buildings constructed in a non-descript style, but cool and reasonably friendly with its spacious classrooms and high ceilings serving to keep the heat out. Except for the Monday morning religion classes, there was no attempt at indoctrinating the students into the teachings of the mission. The teachers were generally of a high standard, but other than the general emphasis on academics, there was no overt pressure on the students to perform.

Krishnan, his old schoolmate Bala and Guru hit it off straightaway, all three in the Natural Science section, as they found many things of common interest to share with one another.

Bala was the most studious of the trio, though he wore his industriousness lightly, never showing off his academic superiority over the other two. Krishnan was the middle-order batsman and Guru the tailender, so to speak, in order of effort put in, which all showed in the results. Bala topped the class, and Krishnan was not very far behind, while Guru did just enough to pass tests and exams. Though all three were close to one another, Guru and Krishnan forged a special bond thanks to their common interest in music.

The bonus was that Guru was an accomplished tabla maestro, taught by the eminent percussionist Tabla Nawaz Shaik Dawood of Hyderabad.  Krishnan had always been fascinated by Hindustani music ever since he heard Nikhil Banerjee and Ravi Shankar as a boy, and he was proud to call himself a friend of Guru. He regularly went to the concerts in which Guru performed. He was thrilled when Guru was introduced before a concert at the SGS Sabha as The Young Man with the Magic Fingers.

That was the time Krishnan got to listen to some LP records of Hindustani music and such devotional music as Lata Mangeshkar's renderings of Meera bhajans, and the non-film music bhajans and ghazals of Mohammad Rafi, another great Hindi film singer. The Meera bhajans by Lata Mangeshkar had been set to music by her brother Hridaynath Mangeshkar, and many of Rafi's bhajans and ghazals by such iconic music directors as Khayyam. These the two youngsters listened to at the T'Nagar home of Guru's cousin who had been named after the Rajasthani songstress of yore. Meera, her mother and her siblings were lovely hosts in whose company the truant friends spent many an afternoon talking nonsense and listening to great music on the radiogram in their spacious, gracious home. In what was proving to be a completely unstructured if eclectic initiation into Hindustani music, Krishnan started listening \not only to the likes of Amir Khan, Paluskar and Bhimsen Joshi, but also to Lakshmi Shankar, A Kanan and Malabika Kanan, Bismillah Khan, Ali Akbar Khan, Omkarnath Thakur and N Rajam.

From Guru, Krishnan learnt some Hindustani music basics, and also tried to share some of his amateur knowledge of Carnatic music with him. He not only introduced Guru to the music of some of the leading Carnatic artists, but also made an attempt to explain the history and rationale of Carnatic music as well as the structure of a typical concert.

If we stitch together the bits and pieces of Krishnan's intermittent explanations to Guru over a period of about a year in college together, and flesh it out with the knowledge he acquired through reading and listening to through the years, it would read somewhat like what follows:

Carnatic music or karnataka sangitam is the classical or art music of south India—the area covering the four states of Tamil Nadu, Andhra Pradesh, Karnataka and Kerala.

Traditional followers of Indian music believe that it is of divine origin. In this, people who listen to north Indian or Hindustani and south Indian or Carnatic classical music, are united. In particular, the 

Vedas, more specifically the Sama Veda, are said to be the wellspring of what has evolved through the millennia into Indian classical music.

Carnatic music, like its northern counterpart, is essentially raga music—raga and tala music, to be more precise—with a vast number of songs based on an austere structure of melodic and rhythmic fundamentals. In short, every Carnatic music composition is rendered in a particular raga and a definite tala or rhythm cycle.

In Tamil Nadu, ancient Tamil compositions such as the Tevaram or Devaram and Tiruvachakam have been sung for centuries by a community of temple musicians known as Oduvars. The music they render is based on melodies called panns, which predate raga music.

A raga is a unique arrangement of the seven swaras or solfa notes—sa, ri, ga, ma, pa, dha and ni, with the microtones in between distinguishing it from western music. In practice, 12 such srutis are identified—with two ri-s (rishabha), two ga-s (gandhara), two ma-s (madhyama), two dha-s (dhaivata), and two ni-s (nishada).

In the melakarta scheme of ragas, 72 parent ragas are identified, and divided into two sets of ragas, based on the two types of madhyama—suddha and prati—with 36 suddha madhyama and 36 prati madhyama ragas.

All 72 parent ragas are complete ragas, with each raga containing all seven notes in both ascent and descent. In other words, each melakarta raga will have the scale sa-ri-ga-ma-pa-dha-ni-Sa in the ascent and Sa-ni-dha-pa-ma-ga-ri-sa.

The two subsets are further divided into 6 chakras each, consisting of 6 ragas each. Each of the suddha madhyama and prati madhyama ragas is differentiated by the positions of the other swaras, with only the shadja and panchama constant.

While the parent ragas are known as mela or janaka ragas, their offspring are known as janya or offspring ragas. A large number of permutation-combinations is possible, with such variations as 5 swaras in the ascent and 6/ 7 in the descent or vice versa, 5 and 5, or 6 and 6, so on and so forth.  

Thousands of ragas are the result.

A tala is a rhythmic cycle with a specific number of beats. Carnatic music uses a comprehensive system of talas called the Suladi sapta tala system. It has seven families of talas, each of which has five members, one each of five types or varieties (jati or chapu), thus allowing 35 possible talas. In practice, a small number of talas are regularly used.

Sophisticated, arithmetically intricate rules govern the elaboration of tala patterns. Once the tempo of a song is decided, the musician can accelerate. The vilambita is the slow pace, while madhyama is double that pace and the durita four times the vilambita kala. The singer maintains the tala or tempo by slapping his hand on his thigh, while instrumentalists may resort to tapping their feet.   

This is Carnatic music in a nutshell, though it is an oversimplification of a complex, sophisticated system.

Travelling light: a journey in music

Chapter 4
The Chennai Season

The veteran violinist on stage is a picture of composure. He coaxes the most transcendental sounds out of his ancient violin. His opening salvo stirs the soul as only a great raga at the hands of a great master can. The concert is not all about total surrender in the best bhakti mode. It offers joy and playfulness as well, when the artist moves from worshipping at the altar of an omnipresent, compassionate god to marvel at the pranks of the little blue god, playing the perennial favourite, Krishna nee begane baro. As the concert progresses, you realise it is a master class for aspiring musicians.

The reverie is unfortunately broken by a cellphone going off in the second row. Soon a middle-aged man is engaged in loud conversation on his handset. You try to give him a dirty look and shame him, but he closes his eyes and continues his conversation. Another cellphone rings two rows from you. A couple have an equally loud conversation about the concert, with the man getting a free lesson in raga-identification.

At another venue, the same evening, a young woman is playing the flute with the mastery of someone years senior to her. Ten minutes into the concert, a young man walks in and occupies a seat in the front row. Seasoned listeners can identify him as the husband of the flautist on stage. Now what does he do to encourage his wife? He stretches his legs, leans back and spreads out the afternoon issue of Kutcheri Buzz--the tabloid avidly consumed by the hordes of music lovers who throng the auditoria during the famed Chennai music season, now covering almost all of November and December.

People constantly walk in and walk out. Videographers and photographers occupy vantage positions, unmindful of the people whose views they are blocking. Children wail. Mothers run out in panic.

The Chennai Season has arrived. People, who never so much as peep into an auditorium during the rest of the year, now invade all the well known halls of Chennai. Banners and hoardings mar the aesthetics of the concerts as much as the loud and often erratic amplification. When the musicians are not asking the mikemen to increase the volume of the “feedback”–invariably taken to be a signal to raise the decibellage of the speakers aimed at the audience—the senior citizens in the front rows shout “Not audible” in a chorus.

This is the time local Carnatic music buffs as well as the NRIs who descend on Chennai every winter go from concert hall to concert hall to take in one or more of the thousands of “cutcheris” organised in a marvel of logistics and time management. Various sabhas, a ubiquitous, uniquely Tamil Nadu institution, vie with one another to bring the best of Carnatic music to the city’s audiences in a frenzy of programming. Lecture demonstrations and concerts are held throughout the day, starting as early as 7.30 a.m. and ending around 10 p.m. for two weeks. Because each sabha starts its festival on a different date, the whole frenetic schedule nowadays stretches to a couple of months.

Kitchens are closed at countless homes, as there’s no time to cook and clean or even stop over between concerts. Delicious ‘tiffin’ and aromatic ‘full meals’ in the temporary eateries specially put up for the season draw rasikas from all parts of the city, but those who are there for the food alone and not the music far outnumber the music-lovers.

The unique atmosphere of the season has to be seen to be believed. All the great and aspiring artists of Carnatic music perform at different venues. Many of them overdo it, accepting literally every invitation to perform for fear of offending the sabha secretaries, their lifeline to a successful career in music. This season, some of the stars have decided to limit their appearances in order to preserve their voices (or instruments) and retain the freshness of their music. (One hugely popular star has gone on record saying she is really taking it easy, she is only doing 15 concerts during the season)!

Every newspaper brings out special supplements on the season. Some TV channels even conduct their own festivals. Critics damn or praise the musicians, but today’s musicians are often well educated and extremely tech-savvy, perfectly capable of striking back at the pen pushers.

 “Carnatic music is alive and well”, seems to be the verdict of most critics, but old timers predictably lament the inability of today’s practitioners to equal the class of the stalwarts of the past.

Among the musicians themselves, opinions vary as to the state of Carnatic music today. Some say, ‘Those were the days when the rasika-s were really serious about attending season concerts and it was not just a fad. Today, we miss the serious rasika.’

Others say, “The audience is more demanding now. It inspires us through the year to do well, give of our best.” 

Everyone who has ever been a part of the Chennai Season will however agree on one thing: There is nothing in the national music calendar to beat it for sheer excitement.

Our man in Madras-Chennai

Having been away from Chennai for a whole decade, Krishnan tried to attend season concerts at a feverish pace, going from sabha to sabha for the first couple of years since his return to the city in the early 1980s. That was the time the great men and women singers of the 20th century were in their ripest bloom, but there were also emerging superstars in the likes of TN Seshagopalan, TV Sankaranarayanan and Maharajapuram Santhanam. This was at the cusp of the era of the new kids on the block, like Vijay Siva, Bombay Jayashri, Sanjay Subrahmanyan and Unnikrishnan. The mandolin sensation U Srinivas was wowing audiences ranging from geriatric to juvenile. Ravikiran, the child prodigy, was making a second coming as a gottuvadyam tyro, still uncomfortable in dhoti-kurta, while another child prodigy Veenai Gayathri continued to play sensational music .

But all this was some two decades after Krishnan had had his first taste of the festival. The first time he had attended a concert that formed part of the Music Academy's December season was in the early 1960s, when he was around 17. Earlier, He had once or twice been part of the audience at the grounds of his first alma mater PS High School (before his father's transfer to a small town), where the music was performed in the very special atmosphere of a thatched roof pandal, as the Academy was yet to build its own auditorium.

By this time, he had been fully involved in his passion for cricket, followed closely by his interest in Hindi film music and Hindustani music. This was also a time of voracious appetite for reading what he considered great literature and philosophy. The inspiration came from a number of sources--his parents, cousins, friends and teachers. The range of reading was wide, and included Charles Dickens, RL Stevenson, Alexandre Dumas, George Bernard Shaw, Oscar Wilde, JB Priestley, Terence Rattigan, Noel Coward, AJ Cronin,  Albert Camus, Somerset Maugham, Jerome K Jerome, Stephen Leacock, Aldous Huxley, RK Narayan, Manohar Malgonkar, a whole lot of American playwrights, and above all, PG Wodehouse. He was no longer into Tamil fiction by the likes of Kalki, Jayakanthan and Devan, a childhood interest that would resurface years later, though he did make an exception in the case of Sujatha's thrillers, and the novelty of Indira Parthasarathy's writings.

In the 1960s, he continued to savour the concerts of the giants of Carnatic music, whom he now heard at the Music Academy's premises on the rare occasion some elder spared him a ticket, but caught up with the concerts he missed via All India Radio, which broadcast season concerts by regular arrangement.

The high point of that first season that Krishnan attended was Ravi Shankar's concert, which ended at the stroke of midnight. Panditji and Ustad Allah Rakha gave the audience much to cheer, with their exquisite music, and exciting sawal-jawab exchanges. Though Krishnan heard great vocalists like Amir Khan, Paluskar and Bhimsen Joshi in the few film songs they rendered, Nikhil Banerji's sitar had been the only Hindustani music he had been exposed to. He only got to hear that great sitarist as an elder relative was his disciple. With the Ravi Shankar concert began Krishnan's life-long love of Hindustani music.

Travelling light: a journey in music

By V Ramnarayan

Chapter 3

Akashvani

By the time Krishnan completed school, he had more or less developed a good ear for music, both classical and film music. Though going to concerts was no longer a regular habit with him--mainly on account of the RR Sabha membership expiring as a result of Appa's frequent transfers across India--he continued to enjoy listening to the music of his choice, thanks to the brilliant fare All India Radio offered.

In Carnatic music, there was this morning concert at 8.30 everyday in a programme entitled Arangisai that the Madras station broadcast. This was something Amma tried not to miss, once she finished her morning chores, but Krishnan himself was rarely at home to listen to. The National Programme on Saturday nights was a huge draw, and all leading musicians tried to reserve their best for it. It was indeed the high point of the weekend for the family, led by Grandfather, when they were all together at Trivandrum, crowding around the noisy Murphy valve radio at home. For Amma, this had been the staple from childhood, as she had rarely been able to attend sabha concerts.

Krishnan became familiar with the interior of All India Radio Madras, as he went there a few times to get the copies of his certificates attested by a Gazetted Officer. His classmate and closest friend Bala took him there to meet his father Mr Rangaswamy, who was an engineer in the radio station. It was an imposing mansion of an office building facing the sea at the beginning of the Beach Road, now known as Kamarajar Salai. This was back in the 1960s, and the AIR building was still in good repair, quite well maintained, unlike the gloomy, smelly premises it has deteriorated to become now. It was barely ten years old when Krishnan visited there, having been constructed in 1954.

Mr Rangaswamy was an interesting character. He was a small, wiry man, who did not smile much, but his somewhat forbidding exterior masked a gentle nature. When he was not very busy, he liked to tell the boys the story of All India Radio, sharing his experiences with them with much enthusiasm. He was a smoker, and had a packet of Wills Filter kept within easy reach on his desk, but that was only for visitors. In private he preferred smoking bidis, and lit one up while talking to Bala and Krishnan.

AIR had moved to Santhome on 11 July 1954, and its first programme was a short alapana in the raga Todi by that genius of a nagaswara vidwan TN Rajaratnam Pillai, he told them. "A truly auspicious beginning", he continued, his eyes taking on a dreamy look. "Can there ever be a better Todi? Only one other musician came close to it--GN Balasubramaniam. Do you know that the great Rajaratnam Pillai himself once acknowledged to GNB that his Todi was second to none. It happened here, in this very building."

"For those great nagaswara vidwans, the raga was supreme, the composition coming second, sometimes a distant second. Mr S Rajam, Veena Balachander's elder brother, who has been Music Supervisor here for so many years, once told me a story involving Rajaratnam. After he played a brilliant piece, someone asked him who the composer was. "Shall we say Tyagaraja?" was his reply. 

Krishnan learnt from Rangaswamy's long lecture that radio had come to Madras as early as 16 May 1924, when the Madras Presidency Radio Club was formed by a band of amateurs led by CV Krishnaswamy Chetty. The Club started daily broadcasts on 31 July 1924 from its premises at Holloways Garden, Egmore. Financial problems led to its early closure in 1827, when the Club donated its 200-watt transmitter to the Corporation of Madras. The Corporation Radio Station that began on 1 April 1930 proved very popular. In addition to daily two-hour entertainment programmes in the evening, it also broadcast music lessons and stories for children. Sundays and holidays featured 'gramophone music' , which was broadcast through speakers installed at different open-air venues in the city including the Marina beach. Éuropean music' was a special treat once a month, and much of all this entertainment was beamed to 14 Corporation schools.

The Corporation Radio's service was taken over by AIR on 16 June 1938. Its station was located on Marshalls Road, Egmore and the service was inaugurated by Lord Erskine, the Madras Governor.  The programme was launched with a nagaswaram concert by Tiruvengadu Subramania Pillai.

When Bala asked his father if Madras was the first broadcasting station in India, Mr Rangaswamy excitedly told him of the early days of radio in India. "You know radio came to India within a couple of years of its debut in the world. The first broadcasting station in the world was set up in Pittsburgh, USA in 1920, and on 23 February  1920, Marconi Co. went on air in England from Chelmsford. In fact, India's first broadcasts were even ahead of the British Broadcasting Corporation's first set of regular programmes in November 1922. The Times of India, in collaboration with the Posts and Telegraphs Department, relayed a special programme of music at the instance of Sir George Lloyd, the Governor of Bombay. A one-off event, it was heard long distance by the governor who was at the time in Poona, 175 kilometres away. An amateur radio club in Bombay started regular programmes in June 1923, followed by Calcutta Radio Club in November the same year.

Rangaswamy also told the boys about the important role played by Dr BV Keskar, Minister for Information and Broadcasting from 1952 to 1961. His several initiatives included the huge impetus AIR gave Indian classical music, the institution of such iconic programmes as the National Programme of Music and the Radio Sangeet Sammelan, and the establishment of Vadya Vrinda, the Indian music orchestra, headed by giants like Pandit Ravi Shankar, and TK Jayarama Iyer. He was also instrumental in slowing the entry of film music and the banning of the harmonium in AIR.

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By the way

Vividh Bharati and its loyal band of listeners

Anand Akela from Marwar Mundwa. Allah Rakha from Jhumritalaiya. Sharad Agarwal from Rajnandgaon. And countless others from Yeotmal, Mancherial, Nanded, Karim Nagar, Nepa Nagar, Indore, Rajkot, Beed, Ujjain and Dhanbad. People to whom we should forever be indebted for introducing some of the greatest Hindi film songs to us. If Akashvani’s Aap ki Farmaish in which the names of all these listeners figured regularly brought us so many evergreen melodies, programmes like Sangeet Sarita not only played film songs based on ragas, but also presented classical music renderings of the same ragas, thus adding to the listener’s appreciation of good music.

Some of the most famous songs of all time based on classical music-songs included Man tarpat Hari darsan ko aaj, Poocho na kaise maine rayn bitayi, Jyoti kalash chhalke, Manmohana bade jhoote, Madhuban me Radhika nache re, or Zindagi bhar nahin bhulegi, each one a blockbuster-but also other melodies that did not quite hit the jackpot in box office terms, yet touched a chord with a whole generation of listeners.

Some little gems have stood the test of time, gems that we would probably never have come across but for Vividh Bharati. Of course, O sajna of Parakh belongs to the first category of all-time favourites, but the other Lata Mangeshkar beauty from the same film, Mila hai kisika jhumka, is a typical Salil Chaudhuri charmer whose first acquaintance we owe some anonymous listener from Ajmer or Sriganganagar.

Jaoon kahan bataye dil from Chhoti Bahen is a subtly poignant Mukesh-Shanker Jaikishen number. The haunting Saranga teri yaad mein and Haan deevana hun main, songs from the film Saranga which bring back memories of sleepy afternoons with book in hand and transistor radio by your side, were by Sardar Malik.

Songs heard on radio can be misleading. Kohinoor, a film released in the sixties, had a rich slew of delightful raga-based melodies. From Madhuban mein Radhika nache re, to Do sitaron ka zameen par hai milan aaj ki rat, or Dhal chuki shame gham, everyone of them promises a scene of serious purpose or sentimental romance, but what you saw on screen was a spoof-like treatment by the brilliant comic genius of Dilip Kumar with Meena Kumari, adding to heady music by Team Naushad-Shakeel Badayuni-Mohammed Rafi/ Lata Mangeshkar.

The same musical foursome had been a runaway success in Baiju Bawra, whose cast had Bharat Bhushan and Meen Kumari in the lead. Incredibly--well not so incredibly, for it was almost the norm in Hindi film music--the classic Man tarpat Hari darsan ko aaj was the result of a collaboration among a trio of Muslims in Shakeel Badayuni, Naushad, and Mohammad Rafi, as were the songs in Kohinoor, which offered the additional dimension of both the lead actors belonging to that category.

If Bharat Bhushan was not exactly known for his histrionic ability, he proved a credible Baiju in Baiju Bawra, but gave a relatively wooden performance in Barsaat ki Raat, in which he got to lip-sync for the all-time favourite Zindagi bhar nahin bhulegi. The actor’s portrayal of Mirza Ghalib in the eponymous film was unaffected if touchingly naïve, with at least one moment of delicious nonchalance when the poet swaggers away on hearing a wandering mendicant sing the praise of the incomparable Ghalib, though he does not recognise him:

‘Hai aur bhi duniya men sukhanvar bahut ache
Kahten hain ke Ghalib ka hai andazen bayan aur
(There are doubtless many good poets in this world 
But Ghalib has a unique style all his own, they say)

An extreme case of a complete ham getting to ‘sing’ some of the greatest songs in Hindi cinema was Pradeep Kumar, the star of movies featuring some unforgettable melodies by music director Roshan, with Man re tu kahe na dheer dhare from Chitralekha my personal favourite among that composer’s delightfully original numbers based on classical ragas.

While Naushad’s were probably the creations I most frequently heard on these wonderful broadcasts on Vividh Bharati--not to mention Jai Mala for India’s jawans, and the Urdu programme of Akashvani relayed at 3 pm or so--Sachin Dev Burman was never far behind, while Madan Mohan, C Ramachandra, Jaidev, Roshan, Chitragupt, Ghulam Mohammed, Ravi, and Shanker-Jaikishen kept you in constant supply of delightful compositions, each composer affixing his trademark touches to his songs.

And Khayyam! Was there ever a more completely original music director? Particularly engaging was his use of Punjabi folk, Pahadi dhun and ghazals. It was thanks to Vividh Bharati that I first heard that priceless Rafi-Suman Kalyanpur duet Thahariye hosh men aaloon that Khayyam composed for the film Mohabbat isko kahten hain. His Pahadi delights included Lata Mangeshkar’s Baharon mera jeevan bhi savaaro from Akhri Khat and his wife Jagjit Kaur’s Tum apna ranj-o-gham from Shagun, not to mention the title song from Kabhi Kabhi, written by Harivansh Rai Bacchan and sung by Mukesh.