SFV Thyagaraja Araadhana

I am no music critic like my friend, the late Subbudu, to distinguish the nuances of ragas or alap. But I do have a good ear for music. And last evening undoubtedly was a feast for my ears.

It was a packed house, as most of the programs organized by SFV continue to be. Hence, a delay of ten minutes for want of being alert, got me a seat at the rear. Consequently I could not see the performers in person. As a poor compensation all I could see in front was heads of men  - some with fast receding hairlines, a few requiring visit to the hairdresser, yet others having neatly combed their well-oiled hair reminding me of Clark Gable in Gone with the Wind movie. But one thing was common with all of them. Their heads were oscillating at low, medium and high intensities fully involved in the melodies the chorus singers released one by one.

The devotion of the frontline singers, Uma, Malini and Lakshmi, ably supported by their disciples, stole the show while melody and serene ambience claimed a close second.

This said, what attracted me most was the verve with which a lady in one of the middle rows gave second-line support to the renderings with no less dedication. Wondered why she was not in the ‘stage’. The reason could be that she had to take the help of her mobile to remember the lines, and that might not augur well for a front-liner. But overall, given the lip movement of the audience, my gut feeling was that one-third of the audience was well versed in Carnatic music – menfolk not excluded.

Another thing that came to light was that we need not depend solely on Navin Kashyap (now in Japan on duty), to officiate as the priest for all events. Panindra, attired truly like a priest, did a good job, as did Raghuveer Dhone on an earlier occasion. Yet another talent that surfaced was the professional touch with which Ramasubramanya blew the conch. That would give the best conch-blowers in the country – from West Bengal? – a run for their life. Kudos to the multi-talented SFVians.

Dilip, accompanied by his son Abhinav on one side, and Suma and Deeksha, a teacher-student duo on the other, gave excellent violin support to elevate the mood of the audience. Abhiram, Godavarma’s son, proved equal to the occasion to give male vocal support along with other boys to accentuate the impact. And the Mridangist? Was he too from SFV? Regardless, he performed well, and his solo was well received.

Though it gets its turn in the end, one of the most-looked-for items is prasad. I guess Madam Vijaya, a seasoned hand providing culinary delights to SFVians, prepared mouth-watering boondi laddu, and an equally tasty kadalekai usilee. No wonder some stole a second helping. Don’t ask me: Did you, Uncle?

Amidst this enchanting ambience, a solitary face looked somewhat cheerless. Yes, it was my friend Kaleeswaran.  Not that he observed less excellence in the programme, but that much as he would have wished, he could not be part of the singing group as he didn’t enroll his name well in time to attend the rigorous practice sessions. Next time, K.

Down the memory lane once again, a couple of years ago, Aunty and I visited Tiruvayyaru. We saw the hall where Thyagaraja Araadhana reverberated year after year, with professional Carnatic music singers considering it their bounden duty to sing. We visited also the home of Saint Thyagaraja, a dilapidated house undergoing renovation. The house was locked. The gentleman opposite the house was having the key. With an umbrella in hand he was all set to go out somewhere, but spared time for us, opened the doors and took us inside. He showed the place where Thyagaraja Swamy ji sang in praise of Lord Rama. He suggested that my sister and Aunty sing a number or two. That would bring finesse to their future renderings. Aunty and my sister attempted.

We then visited the only Saraswathy temple in India (?). I prayed in secrecy to the Goddess of Learning that I too became an accomplished singer. The boon is still to be granted. But I am an incurable optimist, and shall keep my fingers crossed.

Dates with the Departed

Everyday is not Sunday. If last Sunday we were party to a joyous Ekatva-2019, consecutive three days thereafter were time for mourning.  Yes, happiness goes hand in hand with unhappiness as light with darkness or day with night. We had to be in three different places to pay last respects to two family friends and one relative who became dearer to God.

“I say, we must go and see Mrs A. She has been on ventilator the last 10 days,” said Aunty with concern. “But the hospital won’t allow us in ICU,” I replied. “We can see her from outside the glass partition,” she concluded.

We rang up her relative for the visiting hours Tuesday morning. “Mama, she passed away in the early hours and we have since brought the body home.”  So the proposed visit to the hospital in North Bangalore to wish her speedy recovery turned into a visit to the West - Vijayanagara - to pray for the soul to rest in peace. She was 52. What an age to be snatched away.

“She must be unwell,” you might guess. No, far from it, she was full of life. She had just returned from Trichy after a pleasure cum religious trip when she contracted some kind of infection and experienced difficulty to breath.

I couldn’t help recalling the infection that I too had a month before, and after a visit to the same Trichy - again for a pleasure cum religious trip.

The next day it was to Indira Nagar - the East. Here Mr K had breathed his last a couple of months ago. We couldn’t go for condolences earlier. He was the husband of one of my six sisters in law’s sister in law.

He leaves behind a 60 x 90 mansion sandwiched between two educational institutions, one a renowned High School with branches all over the city, and the other a Nursery school of a business magnate. Both are vying with one another to persuade the lady either to sell or offer the property on long-term lease to them. A very capable lady, she knows which side of her bread is buttered. 

It is inevitable at such times that we recall his traits. While on a visit to Tirupati with family, he saw TTD officials escorting a minister for VIP darshan. He tagged along with the party raising his hand high up in the air clinging his car keys, misleading the officials to think that he was the driver of the minister.

In another instance, he was heading for a shrine with family and his aged mother. One had to necessarily park the vehicle way behind and walk up to the temple. His mother was too fragile to do that. Fortunately he saw a minister’s car driving right up to the doorstep of the temple. He managed to get his car just behind. Lowering the glass window he indicated to the policemen on guard that the car just behind him was the last of the minister’s convoy. Though a bonus to the unknown car behind, it was a masterly stroke.

The third visit was to Domlur where my relative, Mr V passed away the previous evening. He was not keeping well for some time. After 60 years I met him last year for his daughter’s marriage.

It’s another Sunday today, and time perhaps for happiness again – not that it is a weekly cycle. One of my co-brothers-in-law had just bought a Honda car. Added to that his wife, my sister in law, had just retired from service. They rang up to ask, “Jijaji, why not the four of us drive up to Ooty in our new car?”  “By all means,” the couple-for-all-seasons in us reassured them. So here we are, off to Ooty tomorrow morning for a few days.

Ekatva - lovelier year by year

Exclusively for the benefit of those who missed yesterday the Ekatva-2019, SFV’s iconic Unity in Diversity function, I shall do a walk-through, simultaneously pacifying them not to lose heart. Given that Ekatva celebration is getting lovelier year by year, there is always a next time. Just be sure not to miss it next year. But definitely attend it, don’t procrastinate on the premise it would be still better a year later.

The vast lawn in front of Alder was selected to host the day-long event. It was divided into two parts. The morning session for prize distribution, and the evening for cultural programme. Yes, a month preceding the event the Sports Sub Committee was busy conducting a series of tournaments - Badminton, Billiards, Carrom, Chess… Sports events for all age groups included  walkathon, marathon, lemon and spoon race, and many more. Kudos organizers.

A total of 54 stalls in two rows had been erected on the path leading to Alder Gate, resembling no less than a marketplace erected for a Bollywood movie. The stalls included garments, fashion items for ladies, corporate sector, banking, finance, computer, bicycles, and food stalls of all kinds. Yes, as always, the crowd preferred to move around the food stalls.

The stage, public address system, background music, and other attendant items, all filled the bill eminently, leaving nothing to be desired.  Simply put, the way things were meticulously organized, one could rely on them to host an event of the Kumbh Mela magnitude.

Nothing attracts crowd without a teaser or two of the events to come. Kudos to Ambika Suresh for bringing forth from left, right and centre, a host of imaginative posters. Some of these included: “Kudiya Da Ciddha, Soul Sweepers, Fitness Fanatics, Dramebaaz Girls, Hipori Dance Battle, Maya Mantra, Invocation – An Ode to Shri  Ganesha, Fashion Fiesta, Precious Droplet, Dance of Yoga, Beat the Beauties, Funny Lil’ Clowns. Superb Ambika ji.

More than ever, residents were anxious to reserve in advance seats for themselves and their near and dear ones. Why go far. Aunty sent me as an advance party to reserve three more seats as she and another couple would make their presence at the venue a little later, with categoric instructions: the seats should be in the front row and in the centre; nothing more, nothing less. That is a different thing that despite being at the venue forty-minutes earlier, the seats we wangled were in the second, fifth and seventh rows.

The entire programme was simply fantastic. Given the unending number of items staged, if I write a gist of each, the write-up will assume episodic proportions. Luckily you have got a better idea from the titles of Ambika’s teaser posters.

Using a five-star parameter, I would give 3.5 to a majority, 4 to a few and 5 to one. Even on a conservative estimate nothing scores less than 3. Please don’t ask me a detailed break up. I enjoy living in this community, and would like to continue.

Also, I was absent for about thirty minutes trying out the food stalls. In the interim I have missed some important numbers. One I know was the Yoga dance. Therefore accept my rating with a pinch of salt.

As for the impact the entire evening had on me, suffice it to say that I got so much involved in the goings-on that I wondered why I shouldn’t be doing something of my own. And that reminded me that maybe next year I should repeat what we, a few senior couples, had enacted in unison in our Hebbal apartment complex a few years ago: “ऐ मेरी ज़ोहरा ज़बीं, तुझे मालूम नहीं, तू अभी तक है हंसीं, और मैं जवां…’ and a few other numbers of the 60s and 70s.

To sum up, it is like the performance of a cricket team. It is the total that matters. One player might score less than 10, another close to 50, and one 100. What matters is the total that the team puts up. In this context, Ekavta-2019 has put up a formidable total, and it is for EKatva-2020 to outperform it. Good luck.

Welcoming More Seniors

“I say, did you lock the door properly?” I asked Aunty as I walked up to call for the lift to go for our evening stroll. Sometimes an innocent question has a knack of turning into a missile. This was one occasion when it did.

“Tell me, when have I left the door ajar,” she quipped in a pitch reserved for such occasions. “No Madam (time to buy peace), just that last week half way to JP Nagar, you asked me if I had switched off the gas where you were boiling rice in the pressure cooker.”

“Don’t change the topic. We are talking of locking the door,” her tone suggesting one thing at a time.

The lift arrived, and I prayed for some passengers to join us en route so that we put up a smiling face at short notice and chat with them. It helps to act as a great leveler. It did.

Routinely we walk up to Alder Gate – mostly uneventful. But that day we saw a couple of our age relaxing in the steel bench. Upon eye contact, we smiled. All too eager to respond, they went a step ahead and stood up to greet us, or, more likely, to hold us up for a while for a chat. We were no less keen.

“My name is Venkatachalam. I belong to Nurani, Palakkad, but from age six I was brought up in Chennai. I retired as Professor of Chemistry from IIT, Madras. Two weeks back we moved to Alder (8014). In fact, quite a few residents here - nay IITians - greet me as having studied under me. I could place quite a few of them.”

“I am also from Palakkad, and Vadakkanthara village, close to Nurani. But then you never lived there,” I said.

Upon hearing the name Vadakkantharai his wife Padma, until now dormant, jumped into the fray. “There was one Chella Mami there.”

“She has two daughters, one in Calicut, and the other here in Bangalore? I attempted the next line. “Yes, yes,” she hastened. Vasanta, in Calicut, and Geeta in BMEL gate?” I asked like a CID zeroing in.

“Geeta’s husband Ramani is my elder brother,” she shared. “Oh my God, what a coincidence. Geeta is my cousin and I had the privilege to do my bit in this alliance.  

“By the way Ramani was my Chittappa’s best friend, and precisely why we recommended his name for the marriage,” Aunty clarified, not to be left behind for the credit part.

“Why not you come to home one day, and we spend some time together,” both the ladies asked each other at the same time. “It is a small world,” we menfolk supplemented.

As it turned, Mr Venkatachalam and Mr Radhakrishnan, also Alder (8084), are sambandhis, Radhakrishnan’s son having married Venkatachalam’s daughter.

For the uninitiated, Mr Radhakrishnan reigns supreme with informative, entertaining and spiritual contributions to the SFV Seniors Whatsup group. His movements in the complex are calculated to attract the minimum of attention.

On the flip side, my friend Shri Maanikavel who retired as the Registrar of Madras University, and his son are moving out of SFV. His son is relocating to the US some time in April. During the round, Maanikavel stopped us to say: “I am returning to Chennai in a day or two. I might come to help my son in packing. But just in case I don’t, let me bid farewell to you, sir,” he said rather touchingly.

Alas, for any action there is an opposite and equal reaction. If we have acquired a new friend, here is another to whom we have to bid farewell. Perhaps that what life is made up of, I shared with Aunty, more in a bid to patch up.

“That was an evening well spent, wasn’t it,” Aunty asked when we were returning home. “Except for the hiccup at the beginning, perhaps?” I glanced at her still unsure. She smiled.