Part
1
Nostalgia is wishful thinking in reverse
gear. At least that could be the worst case scenario when an old man like me
settles down with a drink like Mr Mulliner at the Anglers' Bar and begins to
unleash his tales of fancy from the past, always seen through rose-tinted
spectacles.
At
its best, however, nostalgia can make you stop and ponder a while amidst the
frenetic business of life. If you happen to be honest and objective, and not a
victim of syrupy sentimentality, you can actually take stock of both the past
and the present, try to see where we have evolved as humans and artists or
sportspersons, and where we have allowed time and technology to force shortcuts
on us, thus depriving us of something precious that may never come back.
As
a writer on cricket, I am invariably asked to recall the past in fascinating
ways my editors conjure up. ''How would the greats of my era have fared in
today's cricket?'' is a constant refrain. Every time I succumb to such
pressures, I find I annoy as many people as I please. Nostalgia- lovers enjoy
these stories from the past, though they often accuse me of playing favourites
or forgetting to mention their own heroes. Of course, those who worship at the
altar of the spectacular present have little patience with what they see as my
partisan preference for the past masters. Sometimes, it can all turn out be a
lose-lose situation.
Watching
some Kalakshetra dancers and musicians past and present at the recent Bani
Festival stitched together by the director of Kalakshetra, her staff and her
students, I was curious to test my own nostalgia quotient against acceptable
parameters of objectivity. The
chronologically graded format of the programme the evening the Kalakshetra bani
was presented enabled me to measure the young talent on view with the remnants
of the consummate artistry of the seniors, almost all of them septuagenarians
today.
The
performances of the youngsters who gave margam displays in groups of six
gladdened the heart. I shall write about the individual artists in a later
post, but it is good to see that the strong foundation laid by Rukmini Devi and
strengthened by the early efforts of the likes of Sarada Hoffman and several
other good teachers has resulted in a continuing vibrancy of tradition and
excellent adherence to techniques. The all round good taste of the institution
still pervades every aspect of the programmes offered by Kalaksetra--from the
beautiful stage decor, and lovely costumes (though these have grown more ornate
through the decades), to the
well-mannered courtesy and quiet dignity of the staff senior and junior as we;;
as the volunteers. I can hear murmurs that chaos occasionally tends to rule,
but that is preferable to efficient rudeness. Vocalist Harikrishnan was in
sublime form, his raga suddham and seamless, sruti-perfect voice an object
lesson to many practitioners of Carnatic music. His elaboration of the raga
Sahana was easily the best I have heard in many a summer.
Among the veteran dancers, Shanta and VP Dhananjayan
and A Janardhanan gave us glimpses of the technical skill and poignant
interpretation of the lyric and theme that made them special in their heyday,
Balagopalan stole the show with his extraordinary abhinaya in a cameo
appearance. The nattuvangam by Savithri Jagannatha Rao would have won the
approval of the giants of yesteryear. It was firm, precise and dignified.
To
return to the ambience that made the event so refreshing, the floor seats were,
as always, occupied by studious youngsters and some superfit oldies, eagerly
drinking in the action on stage. Here again I could not help remembering how 40
years and more ago, I sometimes joined my wife and children of the family as a
member of the tarai ticket audience. (The first hints of our mortality were not
so subtly conveyed to us when in time the ushers and usherettes started
directing us to the chairs).
It was from these vantage seats that we watched in
awe as Janardhanan and Venkatachalapathy as Rama and Lakshmana, Krishnaveni as Sita and Balagopalan as Hanuman wove
magic before our eyes. That every role in the Ramayana dance drama was paid the
utmost attention was illustrated for example by the diminutive Stella Uppal's
hypnotic gambolling as the golden deer which made Sita's fascination so believable.
The grand music by Mysore Vasudevacharya and others sung by Sitarama Sarma,
Pasupathy and others often made you turn year eyes away from the stage towards
the orchestra pit. It is no exaggeration to say that Hariprasad and company had
a similar effect on us last week. (To
be continued).
