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!
