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Freshly returned from Tiruvaiyaru after the 158th Aradhana of Carnatic
Music's most beloved saint-composer, one's mind is a mélange of emotions - some
good and some not-so-good but on the whole tending towards the positive. It is
quite a toss-up regarding what one remembers most from one's maiden visit to the
cradle of our music. The divine Asaveri on the Nadaswaram on Aradhana morning
competes with the shockingly rude behaviour of a "security" officer towards
two hapless mridangists scrounging for a few precious inches of space. The
heartening memory of large crowds even at 10 pm, listening to the sequence of
20-minute concerts competes with the mediocre performance of some "leading"
artistes who needed to refer to a free Dinamalar pamphlet for the Pancharatna
lyrics. The lingering taste of sinfully fresh tender coconut competes with the
bone-jarring ride one had to endure on non-existent roads. The rare but
soothing sight of a Cauvery in full flow competes with the crass display of
gold bracelets and layers of make-up at the Pancharatna rendition...
Leaving
Chennai on the eve of the Aradhana, one's fond hopes of a smooth ride down to
Thanjavur were quickly dispelled by the utterly pathetic state of the roads
beyond Cuddalore. The 30 kmph crawl meant we reached Kumbhakonam way past
midnight - all decent eateries closed, we found a roadside joint beside the
Sarangapani temple serving steaming idlis even at that ungodly hour. I must
admit that I wouldn't have dared to step into that place during daylight hours
when the hygiene, or lack of it, would be more evident! Hunger and exhaustion
makes you do strange things to yourself. Another hour of roads that were
marginally better and we were in Thanjavur, dragging our weary frames into a
government-run guest house where the manager's "all rooms booked, saar" was
overcome through the good offices of a friend. Ah, the power of connections!
Knowing fully well that the mad scramble for space in the Pancharatna
enclosure for the 9 am rendition would begin a good three hours early, Shashikiran woke us all up at 5.30 am after barely four hours of fitful
slumber. What the hell, groggy me wondered... boarding practice already for
the new A380 superjumbo? He made us rush through the morning ablutions and herded us back into the
trusty Carnatica jalopy for the 30-minute drive to Tiruvaiyaru. The hurry
meant that our grouchiness was further aggravated by the denial of the morning
elixir - freshly brewed Tanjore filter kaappi - which was beckoning us en
route at Venkata Lodge. Coffee unfortunately is not fit to be "paaarselled",
unlike the hot pongal, idlis and chutney that we picked up there.
My sagging spirits were however revived, once
we reached the bridge spanning the Cauvery. Having seen the dry river bed
umpteen times and heard tales of misery arising from drought, the sight of
Mother Cauvery in full prosperous flow amidst the delicate green swathes of
paddy was indeed heartwarming. The faint
strains of Nadaswaram music wafting in the breeze and the fresh rays of the
rising sun helped enhance the charming serenity of the moment. Tiruvaiyaru and
the area adjoining the samadhi was however the very antithesis of serenity.
Madding crowds, honking vehicles, pedestrians and cattle jostling for five
feet of road space and a palanquin procession bearing the Tyagaraja utsava
mUrtti... throw in our angavastram-clad friends Manoj Siva & Shriramkumar
with truckloads of vibhuti on their foreheads scampering towards the
samadhi clutching their precious instruments and you get a picture of
utter frenzy!
We stepped into the already jam-packed
samadhi enclosure and somehow squeezed ourselves into place, betwixt a
clutch of stately vidwans and colorful vidushis. The next two
hours before the start of the group singing crept along as a singularly educative experience in the very Indian art of
'adjustment'. Pushes literally came to shoves, elbows nudged solar plexuses
and fine Cauvery sand crept into the folds of one's veshti, as hordes
of squatting un-gentle gents and un-genteel ladies 'adjusted' to accommodate
the relentless inflow of newcomers into the few square feet of real estate
before the black statue of the bard, segregated into tiny cattle pens by yards
of nylon rope. True to form, the politicos and the paparazzi barged in
precisely ten seconds before the start, upsetting and uprooting the carefully
adjusted seating plans of us lesser mortals. Mridangists to the right and
mridangists to the left, I ended up with Karukurichi Mohanram's toppi
resting on my right knee and another gent's valantalai on my left knee.
Pride of place in the middle went to a pouch containing Mohanram's sruti-adjustment
tools! The music started with the flautists led by
Ramani Sir, rendering "Chetulara", which ultimately ended up being the only
coherent and serene presentation of the morning.
Read Part II >>
-- Ramanathan N. Iyer
Feb. 1st, 2005 |
