HLF Part 2

A festival of people and literature

If Mahesh Rangarajan, the environmental historian, was brilliant in his discourse on Nature and Nation, the anchor Aloka Parasher-Sen was a knowledgeable facilitator. The session left me, an ignoramus on the subject, thirsting for more, proving quite expensive as I bought every book by Mahesh Rangarajan available at the HLF bookstall.

The panel on Free Speech and Censorship was made memorable by Nayantara Sahgal’s gentle and supportive ways with the firebrand Maharashtrian Dalit writer Urmila Pawar, who was initially quite diffident about her lack of English. In this session and a later one, Pawar spoke of how all Dalit writing started out swearing angrily at God. She was not only the first Dalit woman writer from her part of the world , she was the first feminist author as well.

That evening I met my old friend George Abraham, blind, and one of the best communicators I have known,  in the hotel lobby. With him was Shakila Maharaj, a South African, also blind and a communicator. Though ready to drop at the end of a long day, I decided to wait up for George for a cup of coffe at the restaurant after he returned from his visit to a friend. George, a resident of Delhi,  and I go back a long way—since 2000 in fact, when he came to Chennai to organize the cricket  World Cup for the Blind and I interviewed him for the city portal Chennai Online. When we met around 11pm, it was well worth the wait, for George had stories to tell, stories of his exciting media ventures. He even produced a teleserial, Nazar ya Nazariya, stressing the need to empower the physically challenged. His Score Foundation helps people with disability and he is a proud man who has made light of his own disability, caused in childhood by an attack of meningitis.

George’s friend Shakila is a South African of Indian origin who lives in Durban, and speaks with an Irish accent, thanks to her early years in Ireland. Her husband Maharaj defied parental disapproval to marry her despite her disability. Shakila has had a successful career in the fashion business and now does audio descriptions for films so that the blind can enjoy them in the theatre. She has also written a film script, a comedy with three blind men and their loves, with a dash of mystery thrown into it.

If meeting George after a long gap was thrilling, with Shakila, it was instant friendship. It felt great to be accepted with total trust by someone you have just met. The three of us really hit it off.

George’s panel Through the Lens’s Eye had another member, Partho Bhowmick, who incredibly teaches the visually impaired photography. The panel was moderated by
L Subramani, a blind journalist who guided the conversation expertly, bringing out the best in each panellist. When I asked a question during Q&A time, Subramani stunned me—and the audience—by declaring that he once worked under me and that he owed much of his success to me! I, of course, remembered that he had been a sports correspondent reporting to me at Chennai Online. I was not only embarrassed but moved to tears as Subramani dwelt on my sterling but entirely imaginary qualities. I accosted him immediately after the discussion, and said, “Why did you do what you did? You know I never had a kind word for you when we worked together. I was always pulling you up for some lapse or other, even accusing you of laziness.´ “That is what you did for me sir,” Subramani replied. “You made me an honest, hard working journalist not taking advantage of my disability.”

Through the Lens’s Eye was accompanied by a delightful side show orchestrated by the lovely Anju Khemani—who runs the organization Drama for the Deaf—and a number of deaf members of her theatrical troupe, for whose benefit she was signing furiously throughout the session.

The next afternoon, Shakila and Partha Bhowmick were in conversation with Anju Khemani. Both explained their work most interestingly to  a most attentive audience.


I normally do not ask questions at seminars and panel discussions, rather afraid of making a fool of myself, but this time I could not resist the temptation, only I was a bit late off the starting block. Anju said, “We are already running late, but I will allow this one question from a special guest, who took a special interest in a blind employee. In fact, I am going to invite Mr Ramnarayan to HLF again next year.”

It was all rather heady, not at all what I had expected at HLF. Little did I realise, though, that more pleasant surprises were in store on the morrow.

A festival of people and literature

Part I

The Hyderabad Literary Festival has been the undoubted highlight of 2016 so far for me, yet I have taken over two months since my return from the city to post this note. The explanation is simple: I plunged into work, which has included at least three major events I was involved in. This is the first breather I have had in a long while.

It was a memorable experience, even if my own panel discussion, ostensibly centred around my book Third Man was a bit of a damp squib. I’ll come to that later, after I try to recapitulate my many enjoyable moments between 7^th and 10^th January, especially the wonderful interactions with other participants famous and not so famous.

My discovery of the festival was the delightful Nayantara Sahgal, gentle, vulnerable and friendly, not at all like the firebrand I expected, especially after the way she has critiqued the Indira Gandhi family over the last few years, and her crime of returning the Sahitya Akademi award in protest against the fundamentalist violence unleashed against writers and thinkers in the recent past. Her speech at the opening ceremony on the 7^th was a well reasoned plea to all of us, especially writers, to beware of the rising tide of intolerance in the country and resist it with all our might.ESL Narasimhan, the governor of AP and Telangana, spoke like a leader of the Sangh parivar, lambasting Sahgal in words that can only be described as unchivalrous. Over the next few days Sahgal was to frequently tell us how scared she was of the general violence in the air, but how impelled to speak her mind nevertheless for the sake of all of us who wish to safeguard our freedom. Kiran Nagarkar, with Nayantara Sahgal my breakfast mate on a couple of occasions, echoed this fear of Sahgal during his talk at one of the sessions. The theatre and film actor Dr Mohan Agashe had a slightly different say in the matter: he demanded of artists that they deal with threats to freedom through subtlety and circumvention. Both Sahgal and Nagarkar had to deal with rabble rousers apparently planted in their sessions. Nagarkar fielded some of the bullets deftly by declaring his love of our epics, which however did not mean he had to support fundamentalist stances by our politicians and their less cultured allies.

Now to come to my own panel discussion on cricket writing, it became a session about my khadoos Mumbaiyya-Hyderabadi former teammate Vijay Mohan Raj—who came to the organisers’ rescue by filling in for the absent Vijay Lokapally, my would-be fellow panelist—decided the whole hour belonged to him and hogged the strike, not forgetting to deliver a homily on ethics to me and the audience. Poor anchor Harimohan Paruvu, who had worked hard to persuade the festival authorities to invite me as a delegate, was denied the strike for far too long to score. I think I made the best of a bad bargain. At least one member of the audience—Jonathan Gil Harris, distinguished author of The First Firangis—seemed to agree. 

The casualty was my book Third Man, which I was forced to wave frantically at the audience—some of them disappointed stragglers from the next tent where the actor Shriya Saran failed to turn up—to let them know I had actually written a book.

I was not unduly disappointed, because I thoroughly enjoyed the many brilliant lectures and interactions I attended and the wonderful warmth of everyone I met—the organizers, the audience and the delegates. (To be continued)

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.