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Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Saturday, November 3, 2007
A Tribute to my Sir RK Suryanarayan
Fair, tall and handsome, plush dark hair, deep discerning eyes, a dominant nose, long manicured fingernails, a jubilant countenance, a magnetic charm, a child-like vivacity and an unvarnished candour. There was about him an aura of warmth that instantly endeared him to the learned & the layman. His love for life was unbounded; his interests manifold; his learning exhaustive. Surely a maverick king in the kingdom of music. Well, that was my Guru Veena Maestro R.K. Suryanarayan.
"What time do you want to come, 3.00 p.m; 4.00 a.m, 12.00 a.m ? Anytime, you choose’. My brother & I were baffled. It was always the teacher who fixed our classes. And a few years back when we decided to pursue music under ' Sir ', this was what he said. "You children have so many engagements these days. I can understand. I am 24 hours a musician. You can come whenever you want ". This was only the beginning of my astonishment. In the next few years, I was to see a sui genesis Guru.
As my classes progressed & my understanding of ' Sir ' grew deeper, I found a whole new world opening up before me. 'Sir ' was a musician first; a musician last. But between the two, I saw a humane, inspiring personality with a towering intellect.
Classes were never time bound. 'Sir ' would go on & on with an implicit urge to share all that he knew. His generally affectionate voice acquired a stern tone when I required some chastening. But the underlying warmth was unmistakable. His exuberance to teach was several times my enthusiasm to learn. This, coupled with his ability to sit without even a sign of discomfort, for hours together, many a time, put me to shame. ‘A musician must first learn to sit. Come on, let's have a bet. 10 hours without moving an
Inch’, he invited me one day. But I declined daring not to challenge his tenacious will power.
My classes were at times unusually long but never once did I regret missing my other engagements. With music there was a generous serving, of ‘food for the intellect’. Over a cup of coffee, ' Sir ' would speak endlessly and authoritatively on any topic – from the most common place to the most profound – politics, music, sports, science, mythology, astrology, linguistics, philosophy – everything. His house was some sort of 'Anubhava Mantapa' that drew people from all walks of life – a rickshaw driver, a scientist, a poet, a sanskrit grammarian, an astrologer – and ' Sir ' was at ease with all of them. How ' Sir ' meandered smoothly from one topic to another was proof of a mind that worked at mercurial speeds. His memory was redoubtable & his experience, enviable. Now he would quote the upanishads, the next moment Thoreau or Shakespere, the life of Beethoven, an anecdote from the Gandhi Bazaar neighbourhood, an incident that happened in Phillipines. Ooof! He could span all eras, all countries and people in minutes & at the end of it all, I often wondered if I'd been in a time machine.
And to top it all was his great sense of humour & wit. Juggling with words was as easy to him as juggling with swaras. But my most treasured moments were when, having discerned my penchant for philosophy, he would pour out his profound knowledge and discuss with me his spiritual experiences. His talks were so elevating that my vision of music & philosophy expanded in leaps & bounds.
Thoughtless learning and blind faith were something Sir detested. He never allowed us to accept readily all that he said. ‘Ask questions’, he would prod. ‘That is how you will learn ". On teaching a composition, he would explain, its meaning in full & then ask ‘What do you think made the composer write this? What must have been his experience?’ This inquisitive spirit was second nature to him. And to all my questioning, he had a logical answer that comforted my reason.
If any of us were stricken by the diffidence –depression fever Sir would immediately don the mantle of a healer. His large doses of ‘You-can-do-it’ could hearten anybody. But once, as a last resort, he said to an encouragement-proof student ‘Fear is death. If you still want to cling to your fears, it is better you die today’. Needless to say, the words found their mark.
Music, to Sirwas not just an art form. It was worship; a way of life. 'Music, to me’ ,he once wrote, ‘ is the power that justifies all things. The beauty of our music is the ability to improvise endlessly & that is my forte.
Sir was an artiste- with a scientist's affinity for research. His constant experimenting with new possibilities prompted him to play the veena using all 10 fingers – a technique that he had mastered to a very great extent. New ragas fascinated him. His own compositions in ragas like Hindola Darbar, Raja Kalyani, Sarveswara and so on speak of his unique tastes. His concerts were unpredictable. He was even labelled as an ' offbeat ' musician. But he refused to tread the beaten track. With just one or two popular pieces, he would rush to explore the beauty of other less known or unheard ragas, at times interspersing his concerts with explanations that guaranteed better audience involvement.
A highly rebellious and an adventurous man, he revolted against all kinds of authority, including religion. I never saw him wear the Vibhuti or Sandal paste (which I generally considered as the mark of a musician). He had even discarded his janivara. But beneath this apparantly atheistic appearance was a highly devout soul. Very few people who saw the depth of his devotion were fortunate enough to draw upon his vast spiritual experiences. Interestingly, he seldom allowed anybody, even his students, to offer namaskarams to him. " My blessings are always with you but the only true Guru is the Atman & his grace is ultimate. All of us here are just students ", he often said.
‘You must write!’ was the purport of a 3 hour lecture he gave me in September 2003. The very next day I read to him my Kannada article on the ‘greatness of a Guru’. ‘This is very good but you will soon write about your experiences with your Guru’, he said. 4 months later, here I am writing exactly what he said.
‘In a situation where young blood & experienced mind meet, the partnership is unbeatable. One without the other is incomplete. So I can understand your grief at the loss of your Guru’, my friend wrote to me last week. Yes, there is a vacuum. But my memory chest is full of treasures-his soulful music and his inspiring words. A westerner once asked him What is the secret of your music? Sir said ' JOY '. 'And what is JOY?' Sir explained, ' Joy is the secret of everything, not just music. Jesus first, Others next, Yourself last. With you it is Jesus first. With me it is Jagadeeswara first. That's the only difference." Indeed JOY was the very philosophy of his life and JOY was the greatest lesson he taught me.
Truly, ' Sir ' was my preceptor, my mentor, my alchemist.
"What time do you want to come, 3.00 p.m; 4.00 a.m, 12.00 a.m ? Anytime, you choose’. My brother & I were baffled. It was always the teacher who fixed our classes. And a few years back when we decided to pursue music under ' Sir ', this was what he said. "You children have so many engagements these days. I can understand. I am 24 hours a musician. You can come whenever you want ". This was only the beginning of my astonishment. In the next few years, I was to see a sui genesis Guru.
As my classes progressed & my understanding of ' Sir ' grew deeper, I found a whole new world opening up before me. 'Sir ' was a musician first; a musician last. But between the two, I saw a humane, inspiring personality with a towering intellect.
Classes were never time bound. 'Sir ' would go on & on with an implicit urge to share all that he knew. His generally affectionate voice acquired a stern tone when I required some chastening. But the underlying warmth was unmistakable. His exuberance to teach was several times my enthusiasm to learn. This, coupled with his ability to sit without even a sign of discomfort, for hours together, many a time, put me to shame. ‘A musician must first learn to sit. Come on, let's have a bet. 10 hours without moving an
Inch’, he invited me one day. But I declined daring not to challenge his tenacious will power.
My classes were at times unusually long but never once did I regret missing my other engagements. With music there was a generous serving, of ‘food for the intellect’. Over a cup of coffee, ' Sir ' would speak endlessly and authoritatively on any topic – from the most common place to the most profound – politics, music, sports, science, mythology, astrology, linguistics, philosophy – everything. His house was some sort of 'Anubhava Mantapa' that drew people from all walks of life – a rickshaw driver, a scientist, a poet, a sanskrit grammarian, an astrologer – and ' Sir ' was at ease with all of them. How ' Sir ' meandered smoothly from one topic to another was proof of a mind that worked at mercurial speeds. His memory was redoubtable & his experience, enviable. Now he would quote the upanishads, the next moment Thoreau or Shakespere, the life of Beethoven, an anecdote from the Gandhi Bazaar neighbourhood, an incident that happened in Phillipines. Ooof! He could span all eras, all countries and people in minutes & at the end of it all, I often wondered if I'd been in a time machine.
And to top it all was his great sense of humour & wit. Juggling with words was as easy to him as juggling with swaras. But my most treasured moments were when, having discerned my penchant for philosophy, he would pour out his profound knowledge and discuss with me his spiritual experiences. His talks were so elevating that my vision of music & philosophy expanded in leaps & bounds.
Thoughtless learning and blind faith were something Sir detested. He never allowed us to accept readily all that he said. ‘Ask questions’, he would prod. ‘That is how you will learn ". On teaching a composition, he would explain, its meaning in full & then ask ‘What do you think made the composer write this? What must have been his experience?’ This inquisitive spirit was second nature to him. And to all my questioning, he had a logical answer that comforted my reason.
If any of us were stricken by the diffidence –depression fever Sir would immediately don the mantle of a healer. His large doses of ‘You-can-do-it’ could hearten anybody. But once, as a last resort, he said to an encouragement-proof student ‘Fear is death. If you still want to cling to your fears, it is better you die today’. Needless to say, the words found their mark.
Music, to Sirwas not just an art form. It was worship; a way of life. 'Music, to me’ ,he once wrote, ‘ is the power that justifies all things. The beauty of our music is the ability to improvise endlessly & that is my forte.
Sir was an artiste- with a scientist's affinity for research. His constant experimenting with new possibilities prompted him to play the veena using all 10 fingers – a technique that he had mastered to a very great extent. New ragas fascinated him. His own compositions in ragas like Hindola Darbar, Raja Kalyani, Sarveswara and so on speak of his unique tastes. His concerts were unpredictable. He was even labelled as an ' offbeat ' musician. But he refused to tread the beaten track. With just one or two popular pieces, he would rush to explore the beauty of other less known or unheard ragas, at times interspersing his concerts with explanations that guaranteed better audience involvement.
A highly rebellious and an adventurous man, he revolted against all kinds of authority, including religion. I never saw him wear the Vibhuti or Sandal paste (which I generally considered as the mark of a musician). He had even discarded his janivara. But beneath this apparantly atheistic appearance was a highly devout soul. Very few people who saw the depth of his devotion were fortunate enough to draw upon his vast spiritual experiences. Interestingly, he seldom allowed anybody, even his students, to offer namaskarams to him. " My blessings are always with you but the only true Guru is the Atman & his grace is ultimate. All of us here are just students ", he often said.
‘You must write!’ was the purport of a 3 hour lecture he gave me in September 2003. The very next day I read to him my Kannada article on the ‘greatness of a Guru’. ‘This is very good but you will soon write about your experiences with your Guru’, he said. 4 months later, here I am writing exactly what he said.
‘In a situation where young blood & experienced mind meet, the partnership is unbeatable. One without the other is incomplete. So I can understand your grief at the loss of your Guru’, my friend wrote to me last week. Yes, there is a vacuum. But my memory chest is full of treasures-his soulful music and his inspiring words. A westerner once asked him What is the secret of your music? Sir said ' JOY '. 'And what is JOY?' Sir explained, ' Joy is the secret of everything, not just music. Jesus first, Others next, Yourself last. With you it is Jesus first. With me it is Jagadeeswara first. That's the only difference." Indeed JOY was the very philosophy of his life and JOY was the greatest lesson he taught me.
Truly, ' Sir ' was my preceptor, my mentor, my alchemist.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Life's like that, my dear !
A pinch or two of Vibhuti was all it needed. The holy ash has been Appa’s instant remedy for all ailments of the body or soul. I recall how, as a kid, when I came home with a bruised elbow, Appa would first coat it with a film of boroline, dust it with some ash and say ‘Look, now its gone’. Call it placebo effect ! But it did work all the time and I have seldom gone beyond a paracetemol.
For the first time in life, I was a ‘patient’. My calm countenance has often bestowed this adjective on me. But now!! It had a different connotation! A connotation that was new to me. Not an adjective. This time it was a noun. I was the ‘subject’. A ‘subject’? Or was I actually an ‘object’? Or was I ‘subjected' to being an ‘object’? I still wonder !
A bright, sunny February Friday landed me in the hospital. Me??? In a hospital?? I took time to come to terms with what had happened. I looked dazed and helpless. My heart was pounding – harder and louder. My curious pair of eyes made swift movements. My broken ankle was steadily demanding my attention. But amidst all the riotous distractions, I heard a song - ‘Ksheera sagara taranga’ kept playing in me, softly and gently; unruffled; unconcerned.
The wheels carrying me were gliding fast on the smooth floor, wading through a sea of people. I soon found myself in a colossal room. Beige curtains closed around me. A small crew in pink uniforms surrounded me. ‘A smaaaaaaal prick’, the nurse said. I thought she sought my consent. But the tiny ruthless needle had already done his job. A sphygmomanometer came next and faithfully read my blood pressure. ‘How did it happen?’ A couple of voices showed more concern, pressing me to recount how I had fallen off the stairs. I gave a précis narration but in my mind, I had relived the whole episode again. The pain was gaining strength every second and was fast trying to claim my bonny spirit. I felt defeated. My loud and dry screams seemed to voice my anguish, feebly. ‘You must be very careful’ – came some unsolicited advice. I quickly reclaimed myself to return a courteous smile. Amidst the din of a thousand alien voices, my ears feverishly tried to locate the three voices I knew – Appa, Madam and Achyutha.
‘Doctor, this is an ortho case’, the nurse introduced me. ‘ahhh…but doctor’, I demanded correction, ‘am not called 'case'….my name is Su….’. I wasn’t heard. More and more needles did their jobs, before I was formally ‘admitted’ and taken to the operation theatre to relocate an ankle bone. Appa clutched my wrist in his affectionate reassurance of strength. ‘Be brave’, Madam said as she placed her warm palm on my hand. ‘Ksheera sagara taranga’ was still playing in me, softly and gently; unruffled; unconcerned.
Next day morning, as I prepared myself for the surgery, I thought of the Tyagaraja aradhana. Yes. I would miss it. How will the drama come out? How will my little friends look in their costumes? And what will we do about the Srirangam pancharatnas? “Madam, I have practiced Ee vasudha” (Once again, I rehearsed the kriti in my mind. I was singing it well) But how will I go? Oh! come on!! Don’t miracles happen at times? Maybe the doctor will allow me to go today! Memories came rushing in. Imagination brought some wishful thinking. The train of thoughts continued to flood my mind until it came to an abrupt halt and I was whisked away to the OT again. Miracles did not come to my rescue. But my Madam did. On Madam’s advice, Goda aunty called me on my phone. Lying on the bed that evening, I sang ‘Endaro mahanubhavulu’ with all of them – a precious moment I will cherish all my life.
My four days in the hospital, were dotted with a few cries, plenty of laughs, get-well-soon calls, a host of loving visitors and lots of chocolates. A jolly bunch of nurses and caring doctors rejuvenated me. Those four days gave me some of the most valuable lessons in life.
Today, I am three months farther from there. The broken leg is mending. Appa, Amma and Teju have wrapped me in all their love to see me take my first steps – a second time. Madam’s huge doses of affection have guarded me from the slightest hint of boredom or depression. My music class, my long evening walks, leisurely rides on my bike, roadside- eating indulgence with Sri and ……yes – another flight of stairs – all beckon me and I wait eagerly to take on my life…..with all its music…..in all its hues…..On a sulky day when life seems to be sliding downhill, Madam reassures me ‘Life’s like that my dear! It shakes you up to the core. But never lose focus in life’. For a moment, I focus inside…..‘Ksheera sagara taranga’ is still playing in me, softly and gently; unruffled; unconcerned……... I sway to the music again…..and tell myself……
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep !!!
For the first time in life, I was a ‘patient’. My calm countenance has often bestowed this adjective on me. But now!! It had a different connotation! A connotation that was new to me. Not an adjective. This time it was a noun. I was the ‘subject’. A ‘subject’? Or was I actually an ‘object’? Or was I ‘subjected' to being an ‘object’? I still wonder !
A bright, sunny February Friday landed me in the hospital. Me??? In a hospital?? I took time to come to terms with what had happened. I looked dazed and helpless. My heart was pounding – harder and louder. My curious pair of eyes made swift movements. My broken ankle was steadily demanding my attention. But amidst all the riotous distractions, I heard a song - ‘Ksheera sagara taranga’ kept playing in me, softly and gently; unruffled; unconcerned.
The wheels carrying me were gliding fast on the smooth floor, wading through a sea of people. I soon found myself in a colossal room. Beige curtains closed around me. A small crew in pink uniforms surrounded me. ‘A smaaaaaaal prick’, the nurse said. I thought she sought my consent. But the tiny ruthless needle had already done his job. A sphygmomanometer came next and faithfully read my blood pressure. ‘How did it happen?’ A couple of voices showed more concern, pressing me to recount how I had fallen off the stairs. I gave a précis narration but in my mind, I had relived the whole episode again. The pain was gaining strength every second and was fast trying to claim my bonny spirit. I felt defeated. My loud and dry screams seemed to voice my anguish, feebly. ‘You must be very careful’ – came some unsolicited advice. I quickly reclaimed myself to return a courteous smile. Amidst the din of a thousand alien voices, my ears feverishly tried to locate the three voices I knew – Appa, Madam and Achyutha.
‘Doctor, this is an ortho case’, the nurse introduced me. ‘ahhh…but doctor’, I demanded correction, ‘am not called 'case'….my name is Su….’. I wasn’t heard. More and more needles did their jobs, before I was formally ‘admitted’ and taken to the operation theatre to relocate an ankle bone. Appa clutched my wrist in his affectionate reassurance of strength. ‘Be brave’, Madam said as she placed her warm palm on my hand. ‘Ksheera sagara taranga’ was still playing in me, softly and gently; unruffled; unconcerned.
Next day morning, as I prepared myself for the surgery, I thought of the Tyagaraja aradhana. Yes. I would miss it. How will the drama come out? How will my little friends look in their costumes? And what will we do about the Srirangam pancharatnas? “Madam, I have practiced Ee vasudha” (Once again, I rehearsed the kriti in my mind. I was singing it well) But how will I go? Oh! come on!! Don’t miracles happen at times? Maybe the doctor will allow me to go today! Memories came rushing in. Imagination brought some wishful thinking. The train of thoughts continued to flood my mind until it came to an abrupt halt and I was whisked away to the OT again. Miracles did not come to my rescue. But my Madam did. On Madam’s advice, Goda aunty called me on my phone. Lying on the bed that evening, I sang ‘Endaro mahanubhavulu’ with all of them – a precious moment I will cherish all my life.
My four days in the hospital, were dotted with a few cries, plenty of laughs, get-well-soon calls, a host of loving visitors and lots of chocolates. A jolly bunch of nurses and caring doctors rejuvenated me. Those four days gave me some of the most valuable lessons in life.
Today, I am three months farther from there. The broken leg is mending. Appa, Amma and Teju have wrapped me in all their love to see me take my first steps – a second time. Madam’s huge doses of affection have guarded me from the slightest hint of boredom or depression. My music class, my long evening walks, leisurely rides on my bike, roadside- eating indulgence with Sri and ……yes – another flight of stairs – all beckon me and I wait eagerly to take on my life…..with all its music…..in all its hues…..On a sulky day when life seems to be sliding downhill, Madam reassures me ‘Life’s like that my dear! It shakes you up to the core. But never lose focus in life’. For a moment, I focus inside…..‘Ksheera sagara taranga’ is still playing in me, softly and gently; unruffled; unconcerned……... I sway to the music again…..and tell myself……
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep !!!
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Inspiration
“ನೀನ್ಯಾಕೆ ಒಂದು blog ಬರೀಬಾರ್ದು?” Sri asked me one afternoon. “Blog’ ಆ? ಹಾಗಂದ್ರೆ?” My blissful ignorance at times scoffs at my friends’ learning and shocks them out of their complacency. Specially when they realize that “common” terms simply don’t figure in my vocabulary. Well, no regrets here. Not even a pinch of it. “Oh oooh come on Sri !You know it. ನಂಗೆ, ಈ ಹೊಸ idiot boxಗೆ ಶ್ರುತಿ ಸೇರಲ್ಲ”. Sri is my dear friend and she knows my idiosyncracies. And now she is my colleague too, or rather, I am her colleague and she better be nice to me. Well, I must tell you that she has. My problems with this new idiot box are of the nitty-gritty kind. “Sri, how do you print this page? How do you format this? How to move this back to the folder? How to do this and that and……..blah.. blah…blah. Sri will certainly twitch her nose. But she is a kind soul !
Sri heard my blog ignorance with a suffix – “Lead Kindly Light” Like a good friend, she ceremoniously initiated me to this new thing. “ಬರಹ ಅನ್ನೋದು ನಮ್ಮನಸ್ಗೆ ನಾವು ಹಿಡಿಯೋ ಕನ್ನಡಿ” reads one of her blogs. I’m hooked. What a wonderful bit of expression ! Then I read Surya, Hema, Rags…writings of all kinds… Sri’s philosophy on relationships…Surya’s confessions….Hema’s excitement on finding her “true love”….am jus getting inspired and Sri prompts me again. “ನಿಂಗೇನನ್ಸತ್ತೋ ಅದನ್ನ ಬರಿ. When we know that somebody will read our writing, we analyse our thoughts more closely. Just go ahead !” ಮೊನ್ನೆ ತಾನೆ ಗೌತಮ್ ಬೇರೆ blog start ಮಾಡು ಅಂತ ಹೇಳ್ಬಿಟ್ಟ. The write-o-holic in me gives in.
So here I am….. a blogger….finally……sharing my thoughts with you all as I enjoy my journey on the sands of time in my little musical caravan…called Life !!
Sri heard my blog ignorance with a suffix – “Lead Kindly Light” Like a good friend, she ceremoniously initiated me to this new thing. “ಬರಹ ಅನ್ನೋದು ನಮ್ಮನಸ್ಗೆ ನಾವು ಹಿಡಿಯೋ ಕನ್ನಡಿ” reads one of her blogs. I’m hooked. What a wonderful bit of expression ! Then I read Surya, Hema, Rags…writings of all kinds… Sri’s philosophy on relationships…Surya’s confessions….Hema’s excitement on finding her “true love”….am jus getting inspired and Sri prompts me again. “ನಿಂಗೇನನ್ಸತ್ತೋ ಅದನ್ನ ಬರಿ. When we know that somebody will read our writing, we analyse our thoughts more closely. Just go ahead !” ಮೊನ್ನೆ ತಾನೆ ಗೌತಮ್ ಬೇರೆ blog start ಮಾಡು ಅಂತ ಹೇಳ್ಬಿಟ್ಟ. The write-o-holic in me gives in.
So here I am….. a blogger….finally……sharing my thoughts with you all as I enjoy my journey on the sands of time in my little musical caravan…called Life !!
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