Eddy of Thoughts

With today being Mother Language Day, thought I should put down something that's been nagging me. Curse words. Cuss words. Or to simply put it, "bad words." There is something about words that refer to genital parts and sex, that is considered vulgar and commonplace in most languages. Sadly, I don't know any of those in my language. Except the general categories of animals that are considered derogatory, if you asked me to curse in my language, I would probably have to stay quiet. Anyone wanting to learn a language, learns the bad ones first. If you asked me some in mine, I would have to hang my head in shame! I'm trying not to feel too bad about that. 

 This lack of "knowledge" got me thinking. A mother tongue is inherited from the family, and mostly the vocabulary you develop will be very close to the vocabulary of people at home. This happens more so if you live in a place where your mother tongue isn't the language spoken. Your chance of listening to people speak it outside your home is very less. And it is outside where one picks up curse words - while travelling, in schools. In my case, I learnt curse words in English, Hindi, Kannada and sometimes fancy people taught us a few words in French and Spanish. I would have to rely on Tamil cinema to learn some. Fun fact here, my mother tongue is a dialect that is often made fun of in Tamil cinema, but I hoped to learn some of the standard ones but thanks to the censor board, those get cut or beeped out! 

 So I'd have to come back home. At home, my parents and grandparents never scolded us by using any objectionable word. No chance there. And I don't live in Palakkad or Ernakulam to hear some wayward mama or angry paati curse anyone with choicy words. A few weeks back my mom was remembering the words her caretaker used to scold her, and that got my dad and grandparents remembering some of the words too. I had never in my life heard those words, let alone know what they mean! I immediately started making down notes of the words and what they meant. I realised some referred to people's intellect, some regarding nonconformists, and some generic ones. But that was all. When I had repeated one of the words to write it down, my mom made a face of disgust and said, "Don't say that word!" When that's the case, I couldn't possibly ask her to tell me worse ones, if they do exist. 

 Listening to some of the words, I was sure I would not use them but I believe I should know all these words, and then I'll choose not to use them (or maybe I will if I don't want anyone to understand). Losing any part of language, especially the vulgar parts, is losing history and our understanding of the social dynamics of the times. 

In an obscure hamlet in Ramanathapuram district in Tamil Nadu, 13 years back, I chanced upon a rather unknown treasure. 

While driving from Rameshwaram to Thiruchendur, my parents with the physical  map of Tamil Nadu spread out, decided to take the shorter route there. It wasn't the highway but in those days, you wouldn't know how long it will take and how many minutes of delay something will cause, it was before Google maps, you know. A few kilometres down the road, it turned out to be a narrow road, also under construction. Adventurous as my parents are, they decided to go ahead on the route. My sister and I fell asleep somewhere in between despite being tossed around by the road, or that's what they called it. 

Sometime later, my mom woke us up and we had parked in front of a huge temple tower. It was around 11 am and was deserted. Parents had seen the gopuram from afar and thought to stop by. We had arrived at the grand temple in Uttarakosamangai. 

We walked in to see it equally deserted. The dried leaves lay on the ground, along with pigeon droppings. It was a Shiva temple and we worshipped at the main altar. The priest there had specially opened the door and locks for us. We then went on to circumambulate the temple, and found it odd that the priest was coming with us too. So far it seemed like some King had had a lot of money, built this enormous temple, tucked away in a small village. 

We had nearly completed the round when the priest stopped and asked us to wait. On the left side, he opened another set of metal doors and there it was. Nearly five feet tall, a magnificent Nataraja idol was covered in sandalwood paste. I was gawking at it. The priest then told us it was an emerald idol. Even covered in sandalwood paste, the features were sharp and beautiful. I had recently started enjoying my Bharatanatyam dance classes and was even more fascinated by the Lord of Cosmic Dance. He further told us that a few centuries ago, this was started to protect from raiders and the many Muslim rulers who were plundering and pillaging temples. 

Only on one day a year, the sandalwood paste is removed and the emerald idol shines - on Thiruvadira day of Margazhi month, considered Lord Shiva’s birthday. A lamp is lit right behind the idol and it shines through to the front. 

We had gone by car on a temple trip all across Tamil Nadu, and parents had done extensive research about all temples. Nowhere had we heard or read about this gem of a temple. After going there from the likes of temples in Madurai and Rameshwaram, we had felt immense sadness at the state of neglect this temple faced. 

Sea of calm and silence.

Echoing with drifting memories. All but reminding

Finality, as final as death.

~~~~~~~~

Gray clouds gather ominously around,

Sadness, despair, fear- nothing else I know,

Constant weather in my life.

~~~~~~~~

A cool midsummer breeze bringing

Nostalgia- memories of another time, another day

And another legend passes on. It is utterly impossible to capture in words what Lalgudi G. Jayaraman meant to music, and how much of a personal loss his passing is to us.

His music was beyond the swaras and structure. It was pure divine. Any raagam he played transcended the usual music experience and appealed to an inner self, which only sought for more. The bhaavam in his treatment of any ragam was supreme. A small example would be his unparalleled rendition of Mokshamu galada in Saramati. One would feel the yearning that probably Saint Thyagaraja wanted to convey.

Or this haunting rendition in Kannadagowla

We can keep picking different ragams, and all will turn out to be gems and each one an offering to the Goddess of music.

Lalgudi himself was a stalwart, but when he was accompanying another artist, the manner of his playing, his humility and calm manner of following the artist swaram to swaram is a rarity. Such a man he was.

The first time I paid attention to a rendition and associated the blissful sound of the violin to Lalgudi was while hearing this ragamalika taanam. And ever since, it has been absolute, undiluted love and reverence for him and of course his music. Despite not having heard or seen him live, he and his music was always there and now the sense of his absence is overwhelming.

He shall live on, as shall his music.

Here is another gem- Aadamodi galade in Charukeshi

When one breezes through the innumerable channels on television today, we invariably stop at one and a sense of immense loss and sadness befalls. Cartoon Network is now alien to us, who watched it come what may, for at least seven to eight years!

  For us, cartoons were not just a pastime. It was as real as the world we lived in. Tom and Jerry, The Roadrunner, Popeye, Bugs and Daffy and all the other Looney Tunes characters, Captain Planet, The Addams Family, Swat Cats, The Flintstones, all had our ardent following and in turn they gave us immense joy. We would fight with anyone and everyone that interrupted us or even thought of doing it. We have all grown up with these characters. Ask any of us to sing the opening and closing songs, and we will surely have an acapella contest on. Often these days, we break into singing these songs or remembering episodes and that gives us unfathomable joy, bordering on ecstasy.

  Unfortunately, none of us are able to bear to watch even a few minutes of the new shows aired these days. One may argue that we have grown out of it. But, I’m sure all of us can remember the older people in our houses watching the likes of Tom and Jerry with us, and thoroughly enjoying too. The ‘better animation’ techniques and technology has in fact brought the decline of the quality, along with uninteresting story lines. Why would we want Jerry to look 3-D and go searching for some magic ring when Jerry itself was magic?!

  Re run any of the ‘90s (and early 2000) cartoons, and the channel will have maximum viewership it has seen in a long time now.

Of all the words that are, Why none to describe this one? This swirl of the heart, skip of the beat, The music and the breeze.

It lightens and freshens, Makes a world with just a thought. Sure, yet not. All the while, the search is on.

Is it stark, or is it supple? All this lost in a melee. Just words are they? Appealing to you in no way?

On his 100th birthday, my humble namaskarams to him.

Thatha. I think perhaps any words will seem an understatement to who he is, and what he means to us. He is one person I know who instinctively sees the goodness in everyone, and even when presuming, he presumes only positive things. A rarity as that is, I wish many a times, that I could just imbibe this quality, his innate goodness.  He is the perfect example of the thought- simple living, high thinking. He is a man of discipline and methodicity. Even in the way he arranges his bags, his books, his spectacles, one can see the meticulous qualities of the sportsman that he was. After decades of playing that hockey game, he recounts with so much fervour as to how he scored in the last minutes, from a very tight position to make his team win. At the age of hundred, he still wakes up at five in the morning to watch a Test match happening in Melbourne or stays up to watch a thrilling football match. His passion and interest in the games is unbelievable.

  He is a voracious reader, and with him one can discuss on any topic ranging from spirituality, politics and governance, history and of course literature. Thatha delves deep into what he is reading and ensures he completely understands what the piece has to offer before proceeding. He makes notes on things he did not know previously. In my copy of Rafael Nadal’s autobiography, thatha has written in pencil what the words ‘claustrophobic’ and ‘asphyxiate’ mean. I smile every time I happen to see this. With Thatha, I can talk about just anything. I laugh at the memory of how, nearly twelve years back, I had animatedly described to him the attack of a snake I had seen on TV, and he then had told about the various species of the reptile. While putting forth an idea, he will patiently listen and want to know more, even if the concept is totally alien to him. His manner of engaging in the conversation makes you want to talk more and more. Just a few months back, I had the pleasure of explaining to him the concept of music bands and how they perform, with the analogy of a Carnatic musician in concert.

His interest in Carnatic music is immense. I have heard that he had a resonating voice and used to sing his children to sleep. He often remembers how people from the neighbourhood used to come to bhajan sessions to hear him elaborate a raga, inspite of him not having any training. He loves the raga Shanmukhapriya and enjoys listening to artists such as Semmangudi, among others.

  My sister and I wait for the occasions on which he takes a trip down the memory lane and tells us how life was in a different era, so to say. How his days in the military were, how he learnt swimming, his admiration for his maternal grandmother whose tact and shrewdness protected them during the Mappila Rebellion, the modest salaries and consequently how the cost of living was much much lower, and list will go on. I am certain that everyone who has met him will be in agreement when I say that he is one of the best companies anyone can have, immaterial of their age group.

The voice you hear

Is not my speaking voice, but my mind’s voice.

I’ve not spoken since six years old.

And I have many a stories untold.

  I see the birds chirruping outside,

The trees rustling, the rain falling.

And now I do wonder

What accounts do they have yonder.

  Silence is a constant feature-

My thoughts go unheard and pains unseen.

I want to laugh, I want to cry.

I want to dream aloud

And want my words to stop all around.

  Childhood they say is the golden age,

Thoughts blooming in innocent frames,

And joys are known in bounty,

With all onus treated lightly.

  Mine ended at six-

Before I knew ‘do’ or ‘fa’,

Ere I could say Constantinople.

Like always I thought, this too will be simple.

  For you see I knew not

That I was to be treated this sort.

Thoughts were eclipsed, I was shadowed and silence is all they heard.

Alas! Sympathy, not empathy was endowed.

  At least birds know what they are saying,

And the leaves agree to disagree.

The earth knows the rain’s sound.

Mamma, can you please turn around?

  Break the shackles of your mind.

Don’t ever be left behind.

You are strong and will prevail,

Lest you crumble and think you are maim.

  Now I shall break this reverie of mine,

And reflect with nature by the side.

Hear my music through my words,

My stray thoughts and ramblings through verse.

  Like a moth to a flame, I went to books

And found solace in its unfathomable depth.

For the strange thing is,

What does one do,

When long has been the slumber.

What does one do,

When the days seem numbered.

What does one do,

When a song remains unsung.

What does one do,

When a poem remains undone.

What does one do,

When a sea of passion overpowers.

What does one do,

When string of thoughts is cluttered.

What does one do,

When knotted seems every thread.

What does one do,

When even a line seems to bend.

What does one do,

When he refuses to look.

------

Seek for answers out of the blue,

M.S. Subbulakshmi is the first voice of Carnatic Music, rather any music, that I can remember. In many ways, I owe my interest and liking of the music form to her- the wholeness of her singing, her voice. Starting with her chanting of the Vishnu Sahasranama or her renditions of popular Annamacharya kritis, they are always etched in one's mind and her singing is most often the benchmark to compare any aspect of anyone else's singing. I always wish that I had breathed in the same space that she did, but evidently not so blessed. Given a chance to interview a person of my choice, there is no doubt that it is MS Amma I would like to speak to.

                                                                                               Source: Google images

My Dream Interview

That joyous sense of being lost.

It ensures my words are wrought

And with zest and life it is blot,

A myriad thoughts it has brought.

For one may happen to freely ask,

If thoughts come by when one is lost.

To weave them, string them ain’t a task

For enriched is a mind that seems so lost.

Those eyes that speak love to me,

Give wings to many a dream.

A dreamer is all that I have to be

Even without the moon so bright.

The gentle breeze bringing with it,

Renewed passion and torrential bliss.

All this and songs of the heart,

On 24th and 25th December 2012, Rasadhwani Kalakendra along with Shankara Adhyayana Kendra organized a two-day music festival featuring artists Rajkamal Nagaraj and Vani Sateesh, that ensured and gave music lovers an absolute treat.

On 24th flautist Rajkamal raptured the audience every minute of the concert. He began with varnam in Shree raga, followed by Purandara dasa’s Jaya jaya janaki kanta in Natai. Thyagaraja’s beautiful composition Geethartamu sangeethartamu in raga Suruti was the next item where the artist displayed the nuances of the raga with intricate laya patterns. The main item of the concert was Pankaja lochana in raga Kalyani where his mastery over the flute was highly evident. The raga, neraval and the kalpana swaras were extremely intelligent and gave the audience sheer joy, as always when Kalyani is presented. Following this were very soulful renditions in Kaapi and Sindhubhairavi and thillana in Dhanashree was a fitting ending to the musical evening.

The accompanying artists raised the concert standard. Vidushi Nalina Mohan on the violin, a veteran, effortlessly complemented with the flautist and they made the entire experience enjoyable. Vidwan B.C. Manjunath on the Mridangam and Vidwan Shashishankar on Ghatam played with good understanding.

25th morning proved to be just a continuation of the musical treat that the previous evening was. Vidushi Vani Sateesh enthralled the audience right from the start. A powerful rendition of Maharaja Swathi Tirunal’s composition Deva deva kalayamite set the tone for the rest of the concert. This was followed by a melodious Ee vasudha in raga Sahana and Chandrashekharam bhaje in raga Chandrakauns was entrancing. Ratnakanchuka dharini in raga Kamboji was the main piece of the concert. The artist explored the myriad hues of beauty of the raga in her alapana, neraval and kalpana swara.  This was followed by two beautifully sung devaranamas. With a thillana in Kuntalavarali, the concert ended in a crescendo, the audience wanting more.

The violist, Vidwan Mathur Srinidhi, was at his best, following every sangati with a swirl of melodies. Playing intricate rhythm patterns, percussionists Vidwan H. S. Sudhindra on the Mridangam and Vidwan Ranganatha Chakravarthy on the Ghatam displayed their in depth understanding of the art. For instance the manner in which they played while sahityam was ‘mandagamanollasini’ was highly appealing.

As I stand here watching the sea,

I wish and hope poetry just comes to me.

Like gushing water, mighty yet pliant;

Uncharted, unpremeditated and words so fluent.

  Eddy of thought often rests on those

Who wrote and wrote unfailingly more,

Whose words painted and brought to life

The languished souls with trifles rife.

  They that often stir our souls,

Give us hope to rise from lows.

To them are we in debt forever,