The Hindu Business Line : Singing praises

He could be just another college student whom you expect to find happily swinging his legs, seated on the low wall of any movie theatre complex in the city, watching the world go by. He wears the same sort of easy, relaxed expression, besides regulation jeans and a collarless T-shirt — but you notice the differences at once. The clothes are neat and smartly turned out, he is punctual for his appointment and he returns your offer of a handshake with a beatific smile and folded hands. He has been in India just nine months in all, over three visits, has seen little beyond the city and Puttaparthi, which was the reason he first came to the country.

He is Chong Chiu Sen, a Malaysian Chinese, who is 22 but looks at least four years younger. The octogenarian Carnatic musician D.K. Pattammal, the last of the greats of yesteryear, has accepted him as her student. Mami (as she is referred to fondly and respectfully) has given Chong an Indian name, Sai Madhana Mohan Kumar, in appreciation of his family's devotion to Sai Baba and his own deep involvement, indeed veneration of South Indian classical music. Mohan was drawn to the music after listening to Sai bhajans at his neighbourhood in Selangor, Malaysia.

His first attempts at this music was at age 12. A local teacher of classical Indian music took him through the initial phases although, as he puts it now, the singing lacked the refinements of gamakam and was thus incomplete. His father encouraged his India visit only after he finished schooling and so he came to Chennai.

At first, strangely enough, he enrolled as a student of Bharatanatyam with Usha Srinivasan but it was the melodies and their soulful classical rendering that kept drawing him away to his real forte. He decided one day that he would seek out a good teacher of music. Much to the amusement of others, he looked up a directory of such addresses and chanced upon the name of Pattammal, telephoned and went to see her.

At first both she and her husband tried gently to divert him elsewhere because the venerable old lady had stopped taking on the rigours of teaching beginners. Nor did they want to set off a trail of bearded foreigners with rucksacks beating a path to their door! However, she asked him to sing. We shall never know what it was that moved her then, but something in his earnest and open manner or perhaps the latent potential so obvious to the teacher led her to accept him as a pupil.

Since then Mohan has learnt some 20 kirtanas and even performed, with the encouragement of his guru, to small audiences. Those who have listened to him marvel at his tonal clarity and purity of music even though the orthodox would find room for improvement in his pronunciation of Tamil words, which for the most part is almost perfect.

He has made tentative steps towards kalpanaswaras as well, although he readily concedes that he is still a stumbling novice at it. His favourite songs are Ramanukku Mannar, Parukkulle Nalla Nadu and Rama Nee Pai. He sings the refrain from the last in a deep, sonorous voice reminiscent of M.D. Ramanathan.

Who are his favourite musicians and his inspiration? He is really a throwback to another generation, as he loves to listen to Ariyakudi and Semmangudi concerts.

It is amazing how well he has acclimatised to an entirely unrelated culture and ethos, living as a paying guest in a typical South Madras neighbourhood. As he speaks of his shortcomings in singing the sampoorna ragas and the difficult brighas you marvel at the way the terms of an ancient and totally alien system of music (Suddhasaveri, Hamsadhwani) roll trippingly off his tongue.

Classes with DKP include discussions of the origins and meanings of the pieces taught as well as the stories of the various composers and saints. One can sense that the affinity towards the music is far more than cultural or artistic; and far deeper than a fondly cultivated hobby. For example, he enjoys singing in temples and prefers them to other places, as he finds the feeling and energy are very different.

He occasionally takes a break from Tamil vegetarian cuisine to sample other fare, but clearly senses that the music is not the same on those non-vegetarian days. Maybe "something affects the purity of the music, I think," he speculates shyly.

Beyond the music he has not really bothered to go out on the town the way boys and girls of his generation do; he has seen little of the city. Music is what brought him here; and music it is that will obviously get his utmost priority and concentration.

He has been home twice and should go back soon, he feels, to complete his education. He is interested in reading for a degree in psychology in Malaysia. One of his brothers is interested in playing Indian music on the flute and a sister too has taken to bhajans, but so far he has been the only one to invest such time and effort in pursuing his interest.

Asked whether he has travelled or backpacked his way elsewhere in India or in the West, the response is still the same, shy, gentle smile — but not in the least apologetic or tentative — no he hasn't, and clearly sees no reason to either.

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