The Hindu Business Line : The music of life

I was alone and was feeling a little nervous. Though fond of music, ask me about a raga or tala, and I'm stuck. To me music is just that tonic to reach out to the stars. But I knew about his interest in rummy!

"Do you know... have you heard of Kanaka Dasa?"

Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer

Ten years ago, there began, once again, this quest to meet and to photograph the greats of Carnatic music and Bharatanatyam.

True, I had in my collection many memories and visuals of many a giant in the field of sound and step. Once again there was this desire to feel the moods and witness the intangible delight of meeting the greats. Laya, I called it a meaningful extension of sound and rhythm. Thus began another journey — a journey leading me to sound and steps, silence and surrender.

He is no more... the giant vocalist Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer. The connoisseurs recall the grandeur of his wholesome, chaste music. A great of our times.

And one day, a few years ago...

I stood in front of his home in a by-lane off Lloyds road, in Chennai, one morning, with eagerness, anxiety and a flow of musical mood. Somehow it had proved difficult to get a `Yes' from Semmangudi for a few minutes with the camera. Perhaps he was tired of interviews and the popping of flash guns. A constant request and reminders and at last he had said `Yes.'

I wish I had some one with me with some knowledge of music to carry on a meaningful dialogue. I was alone and was feeling a little nervous. Though fond of music, ask me about a raga or tala, and I'm stuck. To me music is just that tonic to reach out to the stars. It sometimes soothes with a divine touch.

Standing near the front door one could hear the melodious chanting of mantras. After a while, one could smell the fragrance of camphor as arathi was being performed. The bells were ringing.

"I will meet you after my pooja. Come around 10 in the morning," the master had said. The door was ajar and the main hall was empty. Perhaps, everyone was at the pooja.

The seconds stretched to minutes in my mind and my anxiety began to mount. How would I start a dialogue? True, to some extent, I knew of his days in Travancore, as also about his friendship with Shri Sadasivam and admiration for M.S. I was also aware of his interest in cards — Rummy! But cards could not be the starting point of a dialogue! Above all, I cursed myself for not being fluent in Tamil.

All of a sudden he came out, clad in a mundu and bare-chested with many a rudraksha mala, forehead smeared with sacred ash and lips moving, still chanting that which was heard/not heard. My immediate response/feeling was of being in front of a saint.

He had, in one arm some wet clothes and in the other hand was a long pole. More bamboo poles were near the ceiling and there he was spreading his wet clothes with the help of the pole in his hand. He had not looked at me at all. Yes, there I was standing and stiff like a bamboo myself!

Through with his work, he looks at me and there comes the first question. "What did you say your name is?"

Raghavendra Rao, Sir.

"You are a Madhva then?"

Yes, Sir.

"Have you gone/seen Udipi Krishna?"

Yes, I have, Sir.

"Do you know about Kanaka Dasa and Kanakana Kandi (a hole)?"

Thank God, I knew the story of the shepherd boy and how the idol of Lord Krishna turned around to give darshan to this dasa/disciple through a hole in the wall when the orthodox prevented him from entering the temple.

Yes, Sir. I am aware of the story. Kanaka Dasa and Purandara Dasa were great in their compositions. Their kritis, even today, as my humble knowledge goes, have contemporary significance.

I could see he was a little happy with my story telling. He invited me to his room and there it was... the easy chair one had heard so much about. Soon the master relaxed in his favourite chair.

"So, your mother tongue is Kannada?"

Yes, Sir.

"Do you know about the Rajas of Mysore — the Wadiyar dynasty? They loved music and composed many kritis of their own. They respected and helped many musicians. Travancore and Mysore did so much for music in those days."

I ventured to say, "I have heard that Shri Krishna Raja Wadiyar honoured you when you were young and he loved your music so much he presented you with a gold chain. Is that true, Sir?"

"Very much. It meant so much to me, both the gesture and the Raja's praise."

The camera was happily active... the session was a milestone in my voyage into the world of music.

I talked about `laya' and my ambition to visually record the giants and those young who were marching ahead to seek a place in the honour list.

Semmangudi looked happy. He said, "That is good .. I bless you... but then do not forget to show me the pictures."

With his certificate and blessings, I felt I had got an `A' grade in my effort. And I forgot what had happened to me when I was eight years old. My mother insisted I learn music, but the music teacher had dismissed me after a few classes. He had said, "No, you have no concept of tala. You will never learn music."

He was both right and wrong. In life too, the beat, the discipline has faltered sometimes but somehow the nada, the music has infused the spirit as visual imagery...

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