He’s 91, Going on 92…; Long Live Hari!

Yesterday the Moorthy Clan (named after my wife’s father) witnessed one of its milestone celebrations – the 91st birthday of Hari, the senior-most son in law of Shri Moorthy. I know Hari would revolt at me (and justifiably) for using the term, son-in-law, because he considered himself more a son to Shri Moorthy the moment he joined the family. Hari stood by him like a solid rock. 

Aside his office job, Hari was totally committed to playing flute which he learnt while in Ambalapuza, his hometown. In most Southern temples Nadaswaram is played, but in Ambalapuza, where Lord Krishna is the presiding deity, they play flute. That got Hari interested in it from childhood, and he nourished it to the full - unaided by any Guru. No wonder, in Kolkata he is known as Flute Hari.

As Shoba, the not so recent addition to the Hari family, their younger daughter in law, an accomplished vocalist, would vouch: “Chititappa, you may not be served with breakfast or lunch when you visit us, but you are sure to be treated with music”. Very true. It was a real musical fare yesterday after the 91st birthday religious function, when Hari played the opening notes of a song, Srinath (his younger son) picked it up on his violin, and Shoba took to a higher level with her vocal rendition. No wonder, the concluding rendition of Bagyada Lakshmi Baaramma, was followed by a standing ovation. The 30 to 40 minutes of this musical rendezvous was a feast for the ears, before the one to follow for the belly.   

So much was Hari’s involvement in music that he got a fellowship from the Ministry of Culture, Government of India, to do research on the ragas of Carnatic music and write a thesis for posterity. He did with aplomb. Once when I happened to be in Chennai, he showed me this bulky document. Believe me, I had to lift with both hands.  A novice in Carnatic music, except that I enjoy listening to it, I was not hoping to make any substance of it. But no, it was a very lucid presentation. Kudos.

Hari has many feathers to his cap. I can’t recollect all of them. You just visit his living room, and it will be full of trophies and certificates. The most recent one was from the Rabindra Bharati University in Kolkata, where, for some time, he was a visiting professor on similarities between Hindustani and Carnatic ragas. 

These said, any description of Hari would be incomplete without yoga. He is so much committed to yoga that one cannot say with certainty if it is yoga or flute that is his first preference. His answer could be: these are two sides of a coin. Barring hata yoga, I think you can rely on him to get tips on how to get rid of your extra pounds all around, or a back pain, or a stiff neck. He spent weeks in Mungeri Yoga Ashram in Bihar, to legitimize his yoga expertise.

Tall, lean, clad in spotless saffron dhoti, a fitting kurta, sporting a soft overflowing beard (subject to change at will), and a matching freshly shampooed wavy hair at the back, to me he often resembled Swami Chinmayananda.  Yes, in many ways he was really an ascetic. Among his umpteen qualities, I have never seen him judge others, he always believed in minding his business, he seldom spoke unless spoken to, and he was totally committed to his two pursuits in life – yoga and flute – nothing more nothing less.

Hari, you told me on an earlier occasion when I tried to do namaskarams to you both that co-brothers-in-law are of equal status and protocol demands that one should not prostate before the other. Sorry Hari, I am now emboldened and refuse to buy your analogy, and hereby prostate before you and Kamala. (Old timers would recall that on State visits a Prime Minister of a country would be welcomed only by the host Prime Minister. But in Nehru’s case, President Tito of Yugoslavia and President Nasser of Egypt, violated this protocol and received Nehru at the airport. So why not I, a small fry, deviate?)