ILaiyaraaja – The Contrarian

 

How appropriate is appropriateness in Life?

But isn’t appropriateness itself subjective? Or is it?

At the same time, aren’t there norms and rules and doesn’t one have to strictly follow these and wouldn’t failure to follow these make one ‘appropriately inappropriate’?

Take music, Indian music, in particular. Each raga has ascending and descending notes and if an alien note enters the raga, it is against grammar rules.

For that matter, any work of art(and this includes poems) should follow the grammar without which it becomes meaningless and also cannot be termed as a work of art. But if one goes strictly by the rule book, the work also seems staid, mechanical, monotonous and even unenterprising, thus defeating the very purpose of art.

Any work of art attains a status not only if it is as per rules but also when it breaks certain rules.

Does this sound conflicting and paradoxical?

At the face of it, yes. But scratch the surface and you will see the real meaning; in fact, layers of meanings.

There is something called innovation; there is something called improvisation. Both these are offshoots of creativity. When the artform is kept as the base and new ideas are added to it by stretching the boundary without in anyway crossing the border, it acquires a special beauty. But here too, there should be a broad rule: the thin line distinguishing the border from the boundary should be very clear and not confusing.

And therein lies the hallmark of a genius.

Here is a sample of work from one of the geniuses who preferred to call himself as a ‘servant of the servants’(thoNdaradi podi), and yet was exalted to the status of an aazhwar.

Describing the beauty of the Universe is not uncommon in a poem, even if it is a verse dedicated to the Divine. However here, the poet looks at it in a different way. Let us see the verse first:

 

கதிரவன் குணதிசைச் சிகரம் வந்து அணைந்தான்;

கன இருள் அகன்றது காலை அம்பொழுதாய்;

மது விரிந்து ஒழுகின மா மலர் எல்லாம்;

வானவர்கள் அரசர்கள் வந்து வந்து ஈண்டி,

எதிர்திசை நிறைந்தனர்;இவரொடும் புகுந்த

இருள் களிற்று ஈட்டமும் பிடியொடு முரசும்

அதிர்தலில் அலைகடல் போன்றுளது எங்கும்;

அரங்கத்தம்மா! பள்ளி எழுந்தருளாயே!

 

Raja4376 · Paasuram

The sun has come to the east; No more darkness and it is the dawn; Honey oozes out from the flowers; Devas, Kings, male elephants, female elephants- have lined up; The drums sound with resonance; It seems like the sound of the ocean. Oh! Ranganatha!! Please wake up.

What is different here?

It is believed that it is the Divine which is responsible for the Universe, the actions, the activities and the beauty. Here, the poet describes the beauty to the One who is responsible for that and most importantly, has the audacity to ask that ‘One’ to wake up as if the Divine sleeps.

Is this appropriate or inappropriate?

Rather than trying to figure out an appropriate answer, let us all understand that at times there is beauty in inappropriateness and that it is this beauty which makes any work aesthetic and immortal.

And yes, this does not exclude musical works.

Take this particular song – Paadu Nilaave from Udaya Geetam(1985). For starters, it is based on a raga called Mohanam. Note the word –‘based’. As I have mentioned in many of my posts, it is not the raga alone which matters.

Now, Mohanam has just 5 swaras- sa ri2 ga3 pa dha2- with the numbers below each note referring to the variant of that note. ILaiyaraaja as such has composed many songs in this raga, with some being in its ‘purest’ form and others with a mix of alien notes. Generally, the alien notes would be the notes non-existent in the raga, say – the swaras, ma and ni. At times, it would also be the other variant of the 3 notes – ri, ga, dha-, but these would be sparingly used.

‘Paadu Nilaave’ is different and in more than one way.

The composition starts with the akaaram of Janaki which is graceful and bewitching at the same time. The strings reply with equal grace and with a sense of awe. As soon as the akaaram gets over, the strings take over and how? There are three sets with one set playing a tantalising melody and the other two sets playing a repeat melody alternating with each other. Even as this is on, the feeling of poignancy is ineluctable. This itself is somewhat unusual because Mohanam is a raga known for creating a happy mood. Now, read my line on ‘raga’ in one of the paragraphs!

The bells sound softly leading to the Pallavi which again has that sense of melancholy, not least because of the entry of the other variants of ‘ga’ and ‘dha’ with the former going on a procession along with its brother(ga3) and the latter combining once with its brother(dha2) in the end, giving that chromatic effect.

The procession continues in the first interlude with the strings sounding gingerly in the beginning. The next set of strings continue like a chain-link along with the subtle guitar. The chain-link is maintained by the piped instruments even as the strings back them like the wispy thread. As if not to be shown to be someone who is left behind, the flute enters and plays plaintively even as the two sets of strings back it, with one being dominant and the other, subtle. All these join together towards the end, making pensive glides and evoking a mélange of feelings.

The musical procession continues in the CharaNams with the first line alone in Mohanam and the following lines filled with the other ga. The other dha too appears now and then towards the end. This of course is just the technical side. But the feelings and emotions evoked by the lines and the flute ‘between the lines’ which billows a lugubrious and yet sweet melody, take us to empyrean heights.

The entry of SPB after the first CharaNam, vivifies the atmosphere and makes us expect more.

Our expectations are not belied. In fact, what happens is even beyond one’s expectations.

The second interlude is vivacious to start with. The strings and a phalanx of instruments play in Mohanam with vibrancy and catapults us to a sea of happiness. It is a flood of melody with the electric guitar trotting up and down with the strings backing it assiduously and different sounds ( 4 to be precise) going up like the Diwali crackers.

And then something happens…

A group of strings play in higher-octave with precision. Another set of strings supports it like a balustrade. Keys sound the notes like an incantation. But all these in a totally different raga called Pantuvarali.

Let me now touch upon something technical. Ragas like Pantuvarali are so flexible that if one takes out ‘sa’ and ‘pa’ and does gruha bhedam, one can get the popular pentatonic ragas like Mohanam, Hindolam, Suddha Dhanyasi, Suddha Saaveri and Madhyamavati. So, if the swara ‘ga’ of Pantuvarali is kept as the ‘sa’, it gives Mohanam. ILaiyaraaja has done this in the ‘Violin concerto’ in ‘Rajapaarvai’. But what he has done here is something unthinkable. He has done what can be called a ‘reverse gruha bhedam’. Honestly how he did it remains a mystery at least to me. He shifts from Mohanam to Pantuvarali in a jiffy and gets back to Mohanam towards the end of the interlude, which of course can be deciphered rather easily, as the ‘ga’ of Pantuvarali is kept as the ‘sa’.

So, how appropriate is the prolific use of the other variants in Mohanam?

How appropriate is the reverse gruha bhedam leading to a totally different raga?

Do we need answers or do we just need to see the beauty in being ‘inappropriate’ like ThoNdaradipodiyaazhwar who had the audacity to describe the beauty to the Creator and asked him to ‘open his eyes’?

Being inappropriate is appropriate, at times.

Being inappropriate is aesthetic, at times.

Being inappropriate makes our life beautiful, at times.

Do you agree?

 

 

ILaiyaraaja – Musician with a Desire

 

Is longing for something bad?

If we long for something or yearn for somebody, we become obsessed with that thought and we set aside everything in life focussing only on one thing, which seriously impacts our life itself.

So, is it good or bad?

Before we sit on the Judge’s seat, let us look at something.

Here is a girl who pines for a man and in the process goes to an extreme. Who that man is and what that extreme is, will be known in a bit. First, the verse:

 

மச்சு அணி மாட மதிள் அரங்கர் வாமனனார்,

பச்சைப் பசுந்தேவர் தாம் பண்டு நீர் ஏற்ற

பிச்சைக் குறையா ஆகி, என்னுடைய பெய்வளை மேல்

இச்சை உடையரேல் இத்தெருவே போதாரே?

 

The one who lives in the place called Srirangam- which is full of decorated walls- once took the form of a dwarf , went to an Emperor and asked for alms. Even after getting the entire Universe as a ‘gift’, He was probably not happy. But wouldn’t his longing be fulfilled if he looks at my bangles and therefore wouldn’t He just pass through this street(where I am standing right now)?

If by now you haven’t guessed who that ‘she’ is, let me tell you that her name is AandaaL and that this is from her immortal work called ‘Naacchiyaar Thirumozhi’.

At the surface, the verse may not convey much except for the rhyming words. But scratch the surface and meanings- esoteric, poetic and philosophical- will gush out just like water let out from a dam.

First- the contrasts.

He is rich as the place where He lives is surrounded by huge and beautiful walls. At the same time, He went for ‘begging’ as a dwarf. Here too there is a contrast- High walls/Dwarf/

Second- psychology.

It is she who longs for Him and yet she imagines and believes that it is He who longs for her.

Third- Poetic imagination.

This requires no explanation. Nor do other elements because of reasons that are obvious.

So, is longing good or bad?

A true artiste (by ‘artiste’, I mean one who looks at the world with an artistic eye) longs for beauty. Beauty in whatever he or she does; beauty in the world; beauty in thoughts.

Example : AandaaL

Example : AandaaL’s Ranganatha

Example : ILaiyaraaja.

While I have already given explanation for the first two, I would refrain from doing it for the third because I have done it innumerable times here. Therefore, let me straightaway go to explaining yet another composition of his.

What strikes one the moment one listens to ‘KaNNa Varuvaaya’ (Manadhil Urudhi VeNdum – 1987) is the hidden silence. If silence itself is beautiful, imagine how beautiful hidden silence could be. There is that sense of poignancy too which in a way is intrinsic in the raga called Gowrimanohari.

This raga is sandwiched between Kharaharapriya and KiravaNi-two ragas with contrasting emotions- but is unique and has a charm of its own. By the way, some classify ‘KaNNa Varuvaaya’ under Patdeep- supposedly the Hindustani counterpart of Gowrimanohari- but I feel it is wrong because the former has only 5 swaras in the aroh while the latter has all the seven both in the aroh and avaroh and the fact that this composition too has the ‘ri’ and ‘dha’ in the aroh(and yes, in the avaroh), rules out the Hindustani raag.

I was talking about the ‘silence’ and ‘poignancy’. The composition starts with the humming of the chorus which can be called tenebrous. One gets to see the lambent light when the keys enter and play ‘ta ka dhi mi/ ta ka’. But the mystic feeling is accentuated by the single- stringed instrument which follows and the subtle flute which ‘sings’ along with the chorus. The tabla trots up and down in tisram playing ‘ta ki ta’ eight times and the Pallavi begins.

The Pallavi in the voice of Chitra is marked by the mid-octave swaras to start with, but suddenly there is a surge. In the second line, the higher-octave ‘Ri’ and the upper ‘Sa’( twice ) appear in the second phrase- mannan- showing the creative genius of the composer. But even this is nothing when compared to the last line in which the lower ‘ni’ follows the mid-octave ‘ri’ (maalai malarcholai) and when the upper ‘Ri’ appears immediately after the mid-octave ‘ri’(nadhiyoram) which is followed by the upper ‘Ma’ and a slide-Ga Ri Sa ni dha pa ma- and this in my view, is simply magical.

What is also magical is the first interlude. If the bell sound being followed by the strings-which give the contours of WCM- shows one kind of contrast, the veena and the strings beguile us with a different kind of contrast. The strings play in higher-octave with flourish with two different sets playing ‘second fiddle’ in different octaves. Layers?

The percussion stops now letting the flute vivify the atmosphere with the strings providing the contrast yet again.

The voice of Yesudas starts the first CharaNam which yet again has different permutations and combinations of the swaras in Gowrimanohari, with the higher-octave swaras being juxtaposed with that of the mid-octave swaras and finally ending with the signature ‘Ga Ri Sa ni dha pa’. But this is just theory and is of academic interest. The entire CharaNam conveys love, separation, longing, and yearning.

As I keep saying, raga and swaras are just tools to convey and invoke the emotions. A composition goes much beyond these, a fact proved yet again here.

The solo-violin pines. The group of strings responds. The solo-violin pines again. The group of strings responds again. This interplay of emotions happens in the beginning of the second interlude and this segment goes sans percussion, adding to the feelings.

The chorus continues and is backed only by the single-stringed instrument making it tantalisingly beautiful. The percussion says ‘I can wait no longer’ and backs the veena and the metallic western instrument which alternate between each other even as the chorus continues its journey. There is brief silence yet again with the veena scything through the silence in its inimitable style and the strings responding in kind.

The second CharaNam is different from that of the first CharaNam in terms of the gait and in terms of the combination of swaras. It goes in the next speed and each line is divided into three 4s-ta ka dhi mi/ta ka dhi mi/ta ka dhi mi. The first two lines go ascending while the next two lines go descending. If one sees the contrast again here between the first two lines and the next two lines, one can see yet another contrast in the structure of the second set(third and fourth lines) with the first half sliding from the upper Sa and the second half sliding from the upper Ga. It reaches a crescendo in the end.

Is longing full of contrasts?

Then, is it good or bad?

AaNdaaL, ILaiyaraaja and Ranganatha might give an answer.

Maybe, they may not…

ILaiyaraaja – The Blissful Musician

“Oh! What shall I do!!”

Does this sound like a plaintive cry of a helpless creature?

Or does it sound like a statement of a confused man who is all at sea?

Or is it just an ordinary statement of a person caught in the throes of Life?

It will surprise many if I say that it is a line from a poem and that the poet utters it out of ecstasy.

Ecstasy sounding like helplessness and despondency?

Let us look at the entire verse and then see if we can find the answer.

‘Oh my Lord! My Pure leader! One who rules me!!

One who can take any form at will! One who is the handsome Bull!

One who is laying down with the lotus like eyes closed in that magnificent place called Thirukkudanthai, which itself is like the red lotus on the water!

Oh, what shall I do!!’

 

எம்மானே! என் வெள்ளை மூர்த்தி! என்னை ஆள்வானே,

எம்மா உருவும் வேண்டும் ஆற்றல் ஆவாய் எழில் ஏறே,

செம்மா கமலம் செழு  நீர் மிசைக் கண் மலரும் திருக்குடந்தை

அம்மா மலர்க் கண் வளர்கின்றானே! என் நான் செய்கேனே!

Is it clear now- at least to a certain extent- as to why the poet Nammaazhwar sounds so ecstatic?

I will not do full justice if I fail to explain certain things hidden in this verse, like the pollens hidden inside a flower.

In the first line, the Lord is addressed as ‘White leader’(it is ‘veLLai’ which is symbolic of purity and for a moment, let us keep the racist view and interpretation, aside!), while in the very next line he calls him ‘Handsome Bull’. Needless to say, Bull represents black. So, contrasts?

But the phrases just before the ‘black bull’ appears, also needs a close look. ‘Capable of taking any form’. What does this suggest? To me, it suggests Life itself. We encounter many things in Life and if we realise that everything-good, bad, ugly- is part of life, then Life becomes magical. Life and Divine are inseparable. The reference to Lotus here also suggests the ‘drops on a lotus leaf’.

These are just some of the esoteric meanings.

But I would like to go back to the original statement and ask a couple of questions.

Can ecstasy be a sign of helplessness?

If we become very happy and reach that state, is that a delusion?

Most importantly, why do we cry when we reach that state- is it because we find it hard to believe or is it because of something else?

We shall probably find answers towards the end.

Ecstasy is of course a divine feeling. But does it mean that only devout people feel it like how Nammaazhwar did? That one reaches that state irrespective of his/her scholarship or status, is a fact known to some. It could happen during any instance. But it is an irrefutable fact that one reaches that state while listening to music. I must hasten to add that the quality of music plays a huge role though ‘quality’ is a subjective term.

Subjectivity or objectivity is immaterial at times. ‘Aanandam Pongida’ from ‘Sirai Paravai’(1987) is a classic example of this.

Is it the raga which makes the composition great? Let us first look at the raga. Kharaharapriya is one of the most ancient ragas. Dating back to the Sangam era, during which it was called ‘Kodi paalai’. In fact, it happens to be one of the basic melodies as per Tamizh music. This raga , or rather the set of notes, exists as Kaafi in Hindustani music. It is also existing in Western classical music as a minor scale and is called Dorian in the original classical system in Greece. But what makes the raga great is not just its history or its universality. Rendered with some specials gamakams(oscillations), the raga shines like the moon radiating energy which can be called spiritual depending on how one sees it or even feels it.

As I keep saying ad nauseam, it is not the raga alone which makes a song beautiful and it is the way the composer uses it, fully understanding the spirit of the raga.

With the graceful swaras emanating from that classic instrument called the veena, and with the percussion and the subtle ankle bells sounding ta ki ta constantly, ‘Aanandam Pongida’ has a happy beginning. The strings in higher- octave infuse vigour and sail like a boat while the flute moves with flourish with the melody floating in the air which is redolent with spiritual fragrance. The guitar gives the signature notes of the raga in a flash.

The Pallavi (Yesudas and Sunanda) canters on and drenches us with happiness with the sympathetic strings appearing between the lines in the beginning. What makes it even more joyful is the ‘laali laali’ by the chorus which after singing in the mid-octave, switches over to the higher-octave.

Low, mid or high- happiness is eternal.

The guitar skitters. The strings scoot. As if enamoured by this spectacle, the veena enters and smiles with its swaras. The strings, meanwhile go on their own trip, somewhat different from the original trip. But it is the electric guitar, a rather unusual instrument for a classical raga, which steals the heart by playing a bewitching melody, even touching the descending notes of the raga with consummate ease. Just towards the end, the strings play in western classical style, proving for the n’th time that music is universal after all.

The lines in the CharaNams are soaked in classicism. The first two lines ooze the beauty of Kharaharapriya. However, the second line does require a special mention because of the glide from the higher notes to the lower notes in a jiffy. It is simply a definition of creative innovation.

The second half picks up momentum with the tisram beats in the next kaalam, taking us probably to the next level of happiness. Happiness anyway is a timeless experience.

As if to provide contrast, the entire second interlude has no percussion, though it follows the tisram pattern. The bells sound from the keys and the veena have a friendly banter to start with. What is unique about this banter is the way both play with relentless assiduity. What follows is tantalisingly beautiful. The strings play an alluring melody backed by another group of strings. The flute follows it up with a bewitching melody. This romance between the two sets of instruments makes us visualise flickers of light. Not to be left behind, the keys play the descending notes first and the signature notes next, lifting the spirits.The strings slow down, move like waves and the keys play the ascending notes in sets of 3- sa ri ga/ri ga ma/ ga ma pa.

And we cry- Oh what shall I do now?

Can ecstasy be a sign of helplessness?

If we become very happy and reach that state, is that a delusion?

Most importantly, why do we cry when we reach that state- is it because we find it hard to believe or is it because of something else?

 Don’t we see the divine smile of Nammaazhwar in the background?

ILaiyaraaja- The Ineffable Musician

 

Can somebody or something go beyond what is generally seen or believed? If this happens, will it happen in real or only in imagination?

While coming across certain works, one can’t help wondering at the beauty of the works and the genius mind behind the creation of the works. ‘Are such things possible?’, we wonder.

One such work is Kamba RamayaNam. Though there are just 4 lines in each verse, it is impossible not to be enamoured of the use of the words and the way these are arrayed to convey not just meanings but something beyond meanings.

Take this particular verse which appears almost in the beginning of the work even before Rama is born. The poet extols Dasharatha, the father of Rama.

People familiar with the story, know that this gentleman was an Emperor respected by one equally for his compassion as for his valour.

The poet wants to show both the qualities in one verse and begins by saying  'Since there is no need for him to use the arrows’. Now, the reader keeps wondering the reason. In no time he/she gets the answer- ‘because he has no enemies’. Why no enemies? It is because he has conquered the world. Fine then. ‘He must have become lazy now and therefore must have lost his strength as there is nobody’, the cynic inside us says this with a tinge of sarcasm. The mind reader that he is, the Emperor of poetry describes Dasharatha immediately be saying ‘ the one with the strongest shoulders’. We are zapped! So now that he does not have to prove himself as a warrior, does he rest on his laurels and whiles away his time in all vices?

The poet continues- Like a farmer whose only asset is a piece of land, and who works very hard to make that land the best, this Emperor too protects his land (his kingdom) and protects his people with utmost care and compassion.

எய்யென எழுபகை எங்கும் இன்மையால்,

மெய்பொரு தினவுறு முழவுத் தோளினான்

வையக முழுவதும் வரிஞன் ஓம்பும் ஓர்

செய்யெனக் காத்து இனிது அரசு செய்கின்றான்.

Not only was the mythological character called Dasharatha was great, but also the poet who uses his imagination to enthral the aesthetes, the connoisseurs, the cognoscenti, and the common man, great. Needless to say, no word can do justice to his greatness.

Coming to think of it, such geniuses do not ‘think’ and it just happens to them.

How this applies to the composer who has been ruling the roost for the last 47 years, is known to many. The fact that his compositions appeal to the erudite as much to the layman, speaks volumes of his greatness, which for all practical purposes cannot be put in words.

Take ‘Koottattile Kovil PuRa’(Idaya Kovil- 1985) as one of the examples. At the surface, it is just a song sung by an untrained singer with a mellifluous voice in a village. But what has the composer done here which has made the song sound as fresh as a daisy after so many decades?

For starters, it is based on a raga called ‘Karnataka Khamas’, which strangely enough has not been used by any classical composer despite being a very simple raga and despite being very close to some very popular ragas-Khamas and Harikambhoji being some examples. Take out the swara ‘ri’ from both arohana(ascending) and the avarohana(descending) from the latter and we get this raga. Likewise, instead of the devious ‘sa ma ga ma pa dha ni Sa’, make it straight- sa ga ma pa dha ni Sa-in the arohaNa and have the same sets of swaras in the avarohaNa instead of all the seven swaras, and you can make out how different it is from Khamas.

Surprisingly enough, ILaiyaraaja has composed many songs in this raga while many others have not even gone near that.

Well, the beauty of/in ‘Koottattila..’ does not stop just with this.

The drone of the Tanpura followed by the sound of the ankle bells, create an electable divine atmosphere in the beginning itself. The fact that the first few phrases of the Pallavi are rendered without percussion and the silence after the first couple of phrases, spread a unique fragrance making the experience mystical.

With just the mid-octave swaras(except for the odd upper Sa in the first line) in the Pallavi, the raga is sketched on the canvas with a dark pencil. The continuous stream of the lower ‘sa’ in the second and the third line(towards the end), makes one see the canvas fluttering in the air with remarkable assiduity.

The wind blows with musical grace. The percussion sounds in Tisram with zeal. Backed by very subtle instruments, the chorus hums. Dappled with the flickers of light, the flute responds. Don’t we see a rustic atmosphere here?

That is why, I choose to call the first interlude bewitchingly beautiful!

A series of mid-octave swaras move with finesse in the first two lines of the CharaNams, but with the sudden entry of the higher-octave swaras like the 'Ga’ and ‘Ma’ in the third line, the complexion changes. The accidental note ‘Ri’ too enters in a flash and disappears like a lightning. But what follows is more than interesting.

First, it is the sangati in the line that follows in the inimitable voice of SPB, which shows us the beauty of Karnataka Khamas in a trice. Next, is Laya Raaja.

As mentioned earlier, the composition is set in Tisram, the 3-beat cycle. The last line goes in sets of four-

ta ka dhi mi/ta ka dhi mi/ta ka dhi mi/ ta ka dhi mi/ta ka dhi mi/ ta ka dhi mi/ ta - - -.

That is, 7 sets of 4 with the ‘-‘ in the last segment denoting the ‘kaarvai’ or gap.

7x4 = 28.

Is this divisible by 3?

I shall park this for a while and see the number of tisrams. The number comes to 3 tisrams in keezh kaalam(slower speed). But the ‘ta ka dhi mi’ stops just after one syllable count in the third tisram, resulting in a count of 7. As the ‘ta ka dhi mi’s move in ati mel kaalam(super fast speed), it is 4 times the tisram count. So, now we get that answer to the puzzle but only partially.

What happens to the two remaining count- ki ta?

The song as such starts in ateeta eduppu - that is the Pallavi starting before the taaLam cycle. So the balance 2 accounts for this. Now, 2x4 = 8 and 28+8= 36 which is 9x4.

If all this is confusing, it is perfectly fine. Read it again, do the calculation and if you don’t get it, ask me. Or otherwise, just leave it. I shall come to this again towards the end.

The second interlude has a bevy of jatis in the beginning. Woven around this, the flute and the clarinet move alluringly and shimmer like a lambent of light. The humming of the chorus and the brief swara segment, are subtle, nuanced, and enticing.

Can somebody or something go beyond what is generally seen or believed? If this happens, will it happen in real or only in imagination?

The last line of the CharaNams, answers the question. Well, even if it doesn’t seem to answer, remember this-

Certain class of people and therefore their works are beyond greatness.

Do we then need answers?

 

 

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=hVjgm5PB0Pc&list=MLPT

ILaiyaraaja- The Free-spirited Musician

 

What are conventions?

A set of beliefs? Things which are followed traditionally?

First of all, how do we know if the beliefs are true or false?

Rather than making you confounded with a flurry of questions, let me explain the context.

Traditionally, it is believed that those days women were confined to their homes and were immersed only in activities related to their families, were not educated and therefore did not have independent thinking, leave alone expressing themselves.

Nothing can be far from truth than this if we consider the tamizh sangam age. There were many women poets who not just had a flair for the language, who not just had a natural ability to compose poems, but were also not hesitant to express themselves using simile from nature. Most importantly, topics which even now are considered taboo were touched upon by these poets with consummate ease.

Here is an example.

The lady is awaiting the return of her beloved who had promised to be back by monsoon. She sees a stag(male deer) who keeps looking for his pair-a doe. In short, the pair is separated. Instantly, she fears if her beloved too will witness such a sequence. Then, as if to console herself, she tells her friend that he will not see this. On the other hand, he will see the signs of monsoon- by sighting a pair which is together- think of me and come back to me immediately.

 

சென்ற நாட்ட கொன்றை அம் பசு வீ

நம் போல் பசக்கும் காலை, தம் போல்

சிறு தலைப் பிணையின் தீர்த்த நெறி கோட்டு

இரலை மானையும் காண்பர்கொல் நமரே?

புல்லென் காயாப் பூக்கெழு பெருஞ்சினை

மென் மயில் எருத்தின் தோன்றும்

புன் புல வைப்பிற் கானத்தானே.

 

The kondrai flowers are as pale as the complexion of my body now. The place he has gone to now has the long branches of kaaya trees which are full of dry flowers resembling the delicate neck of a peacock. Will he also spot the stag with twisted antlers(horns) which keeps searching for the small headed-doe(which is his pair)? No, I don’t think so. He will look at the signs of the monsoon and come back to me immediately.

This poem was written by Avvaiyaar, one of the women poets in the sangam era. I am not getting into the myths surrounding this name as it is beyond the scope of the discussion now.

What makes this poem unique is that the state of the mind of a woman is described by a woman and not by a man, which usually is the case(even now). Secondly, the kind of symbolism in the poem, makes it even more special.

Kondrai flowers- the pallor because of separation.

Dried Kaaaya flowers- his state of mind again because of separation.

Deer and Doe- He and She.

Peacock- Monsoon.

More than anything else, one feels the emotions even as one reads the lines. It also shatters the assumptions about the state of women and also goes to show how iconoclastic women were during that era in the Tamizh land.

The lady in the song of the day is as independent and as unconventional as the heroine in that verse and the poet who wrote the verse.

While listening to ‘Maanada kodi’ from ‘Mudal Vasantam’(1986), what strikes us the most is the feeling of unbounded joy in the voice(Janaki). This is because of the way the entire composition has been conceived, structured and executed.

For starters, the composition is based on a raga called Suddha Saveri. This very fact itself is interesting and intriguing at the same time. Suddha Saveri is a pure classical raga not generally used in film music. I must hasten to add that ILaiyaraaja has used it more prolifically than anybody else, though a couple of composers have made an attempt to use this raga. Branding any particular raga as ‘classical’ does by no stretch of imagination means that other ragas are not classical. But the fact is some ragas are more classical and the reasons are many though I would refrain from touching upon these now considering the fact that this discussion revolves around other factors and that the relevance will get lost if I start drowning myself into serious technical aspects.

The composition starts with the akaaram which is backed by the very subtle sound of the bells. This piece itself is enough to impact our full sensorium. It in fact even goes beyond that and gives an illusion of floating in the air. As if to give a contrasting feeling, the keys enter with a bang, ably buttressed by the bass guitar and the percussion-which is resounding along with the ankle bells, sounding just the first syllable ‘ta’ of tisram. The flute takes over and playing with finesse, expands the melody with the strings sounding ‘ta ka dhi mi ta ka’ in pure Suddha Saveri. The keys bend gracefully and as if charmed by this sound, the birds chirp.

What makes the Pallavi stand out is the podi sangati in the third line(thottaththu pookkaL). It is bewitchingly beautiful. What is exquisite about the entire Pallavi is the melody from the keys between the lines. This melody can also be called the leitmotif, as it keeps occurring now and then.

The strings in the beginning of the first interlude seem as if they are climbing up a hill, albeit effortlessly. The santoor interjects briefly before that magical instrument called flute enters. An instrument which is already magical assumes greatness and reaches gargantuan proportions in the hands of a true magician. And this is what happens here. Straddling between pure classicism and folk, the flute moves tantalisingly close to our heart showing us the visions of nature in its pristine form. This indeed is a surreal experience, accentuated by the strings which play in the higher-octave and the call and response between the flute and the santoor towards the end.

Balance between subtlety and grandeur. This is how one can describe the lines in the CharaNams which move softly and with flourish, bespattering droplets of honey and revealing the beauty of the raga called Suddha Saveri, with the initial akaaram - 4 cycles of tisram- and the ending humming- 2 cycles of tisram- looking like the raisins on an Indian sweet.

The flute does it again in the second interlude. But as one would expect from this composer, this time it is different. First, it plays an alluring melody. The strings respond with sobriety. This happens twice and the third time when it plays, the guitar-which had been silent all along- shows up and what a moment it is!

Known for its beguile and its fluidity, the guitar gives an incredible smile which even makes the flute bow down in appreciation. The keys follow with reverence and the strings move with ardour, symbolising the entire theme. The flute enters again and plays with translucence. The strings follow, but what happens now towards the end, is something which is indescribable. The flute, which until then was playing in higher octave, plays in the lower- octave which almost sounds like a whisper.

A whisper which gives us the meaning of ‘unconventional’.

A whisper which makes us feel nature.

A whisper which shatters all myths..

…about music and about women!

ILaiyaraaja – The Simple Labyrinthine

 

Things which appear easy, tend to become complex. Things which seem to be complex, turn out to be uncomplicated.

Are things really simple? Or are they seriously complex?

How do we then define anything? Are things definite or indefinite?

As if to give an answer to these complex questions, a poet composed this verse nearly 13 centuries ago:

  நின்றனர் இருந்தனர் கிடந்தனர் திரிந்தனர்,

நின்றிலர் இருந்திலர் கிடந்திலர் திரிந்திலர்,

என்றும் ஓர் இயல்வினர் என நினைவு அரியவர்;

என்றும் ஓர் இயல்வொடு நின்ற எம் திடரே.

 

He stood; He sat; He lay down; He wandered.

He does not stand; He does not sit; He does not lie down; He does not roam around.

Forever unstable; Forever stable.

 

Confusing? Contradictory?

Probably, yes; Probably, no. ‘Yes’ because it does sound complex. ‘No’, because this is how the Divine is.

Composed by Nammaazhwar, the four-lines define Life itself. Does this mean that Life cannot be defined? While I would prefer to answer this a little later, say towards the end, at the same time I would like to say that all great things have that duality and that once we see the duality, decipher it, comprehend it and assimilate it, Life gets beautiful. In fact, to put it the other way, we see the beauty in Life. After all, it is the way we see which matters.

These thoughts came to me while listening to ‘Nannu Nannuga’ from his most recent ‘Rangamarthaanda’.

For starters, it is based on a raga called Hamsanandi, a raga known for its classical contours. Secondly, it is fast paced, a quality not usually associated with that raga. Thirdly, the orchestration is totally in western style. There is a fourth factor too, but it is better that we see this a little later, not without a reason.

With bass guitar starting the proceedings, the akaaram in the voice of Gayathri starts on the third beat of the chatushram cycle. Generally akaaram does not follow time signature, but there are exceptions, this one being a perfect example. There is a touch of nonchalance in the way the bass guitar sounds and it adds to the experience. The drums join now and then even as the colours in Hamsanandi glow in the akaaram like a luminous light brightening as it charts a path.

With melody wrapped by the alluring swaras that are woven with silken threads, the Pallavi starts after 16 cycles of Chatushram. Rather unusually long, it sails like a ship on azure blue waters with the waves moving like the cradle and the silvery reflection of the full moon glistening on them. The ‘nidhamagari’ phrase in the end gives the quintessence of Hamsanandi, proving the fact that complexities are after all simple.

The enticing bass guitar takes over in the first interlude. It is beguilingly beautiful as the drums sound intensely and with an intent. The synth instruments enter even as the bass guitar sounds in the background and plays a tantalising melody. The bass guitar and the drums interject and does it seem tenebrous? Well, not at all. It seems like a bright light passing through a tunnel. Like a sudden lightning, the electric guitars glimmer and disappear. The keys play a soft melody. But there is more to this than meets the eye.

Remember the fourth factor mentioned in the beginning?

The keys play in Mohanam, a raga not usually related to/with Hamsanandi, but the key word here is ‘usually’.

The concept of Gruha Bhedam is complex. If one takes a raga like Hamsanandi, considers just the swaras- ni ri ga ma dha- and keep each swara as the ‘sa’, one gets the five popular pentatonic ragas- Madhyamavati, Hindolam, Suddha Saveri, Suddha Dhanyasi and Mohanam respectively.

So here the Master takes the ‘dha’ of Hamsanandi as the base and the raga gets transformed to Mohanam in a jiffy. The keys sound in Mohanam and this continues in the CharaNam. The third line reverts to Hamsanandi and this happens when the ‘ga’ of Mohanam is kept as the base. It is Hamsanandi all around till the end of the CharaNam even as the phrases follow the ‘ta ki ta/ta ki ta/ ta ka’ pattern.

Subtle and powerful. This is how one can define the electric guitar in the beginning of the second interlude. Covering the entire gamut of the raga, it bespatters nectar in its inimitable way. But here too, the fourth factor comes into play. Keeping the ‘ri’ of Hamsanandi as the base, the raga shifts to Hindolam- when its sounds the melody the second time. The synth guitar gets back to Hamsanandi and skitters through with a flourish.

With the Gruha bhedam just before the end of the second interlude, the second CharaNam straddles between Mohanam and Hamsanandi, the former in the first four lines and the latter in the second-half, but there is more to come..

Drenching us in a quick shower, the synth instrument plays a melody in Hamsanandi ending it in the swara ‘ri’. Keeping this as the base, Gayathri sings the swaras, and needless to say, it is in Hindolam. The swaras swing and rock touching the ecstatic realms of music. Just towards the end, it gets back to Hamsanandi, but this time without the swara ‘ri’, which as per Carnatic music, is a raga called Sunaadavinodini.

Hamsanandi, Mohanam, Hindolam, Sunadavinodini..

Same swaras, but different ragas..

Same colours, but different complexions..

Complex?

Nammaazhwar gives the answer!