Ananthapadmanabhan Veenai

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Chat Corner

A natural talent Ananthapadmanabhan

The name is synonymous with the veena. He was recently conferred ‘A Top Grade’ by All India Radio (AIR), the only veena artiste from Kerala in this category. The self-groomed Ananthapadmanabhan is the only veena staff artiste of the AIR in Kerala. Born in Thiruvananthapuram in 1951, he migrated to Thrissur in 1975 with an appointment order of the AIR in pocket. A beaming Ananthapadmanabhan introspects.

Initiation into classical music...

My father, the late T.S. Ananthakrishnan, who was Professor of Civil Engineering at the College of Engineering, Thiruvananthapuram, was a good veena artiste. He always used to play the veena at home. My father’s niece Gomathi Chidambaram was also an accomplished veena player. So the ambience at home was very musical. By the time I was 15, I had learnt the basics of the veena, both formally and informally from my father; by informal, I mean listening to him practising. In 1966, I happened to hear S. Balachander’s magical mellifluousness on the veena and was besotted by it. That concert helped me make the decision that the veena would be my forte.

Training…

After learning the basics from my father, I trained myself through practice that lasted for about six to seven hours a day. This practice was my main entertainment. During the last five years of college life, I used to spend all my evenings either practising or listening to concerts. I was very lucky to enjoy many live concerts of S. Balachander, Chitti Babu, K.S. Narayanaswamy, Mysore Doraiswamy Iyengar, M.D. Ramanathan, Semmangudi, Bade Ghulam Ali Khan and Ravi Shankar, to name a few. Those days, I used to play all the compositions I had heard at a concert when I got back home. Sometimes, I would select a raga and practise it for about six hours, trying to highlight its special features.

The break…

After graduating in Mathematics from M.G. College, Thiruvananthapuram, I wandered around for some time. Maths was never a choice. Music is and was always in my head and heart. During that time, I used to play the veena and the sitar for Thunder Birds Orchestra. I have performed with almost all the top playback singers in Malayalam. Although I also learnt to play the sitar, I realised that playing both the veena and the sitar would not take me anywhere. So, I decided to focus on the veena. In 1975, I was appointed as a veena staff artiste in All India Radio, Thrissur.

Style of playing…

I do not belong to any particular school of playing. Moreover, I have not been trained in any music college. So, with equal ease, I play both Carnatic and Hindustani ragas on the veena. That provokes orthodox rasikas. Even now there are pundits who feel that that ragas such as Nalinakanthi, Kalyana Vasantham, Bageswari, Desh, Syamkalyan and Shudhasarang should not be played on the veena. I do play these ragas, some of which are among my favourites. My work in AIR has given me the experience and confidence as I got to tune light music compositions too.

‘Triveni Sangamam’ ‘Triveni Sangaman’ was a confluence of Carnatic, Hindustani and Western music. The audience loved it. I did it in 1976, long before the people of Kerala even started discussing about fusion music.

Favourite ragas….

All the ragas are my favourite. Nevertheless, I think I perform more compositions in Carnatic ragas such as Todi and Reetigowla and in Hindustani ragas such as Bagesri, Syamkalyan, Sindhu Bhairavi, Jaijaivanthi and so on. The moods evoked by those ragas… such as romance, devotion, melancholy and so on captivate me.

Teaching music…

I do teach. But I believe that music cannot be taught. One needs an inborn flair; constant practice can set that spark aflame. A guru is only a guide to channel such divine sparks. Being the ward of a great musician does not necessarily make one the the torch bearer of that tradition. So, usually, in my classes I perform and allow my students to pick it up and improvise according to their calibre.

K.K. GOPALAKRISHNAN

GarbaRakshambikai

Garbarakshambikai is a Hindu goddess who is supposed to protect the fetus and pregnant women. Typically when some one has a difficult pregnancy, it is to her that people pray.

The main temple is located in Tirukarukavur(Thiru -Shri, Karu - Seed, Ka--Kakaradhu- protect, oor- city).

The Taj

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A monument to love – Mumbai’s Taj Mahal

Russi M. Lala

A horrific terrorist attack has ravaged one of Mumbai’s most-loved symbols and taken the lives of many of its dedicated staff. This heritage hotel was not started as a commercial venture. It was Jamsetji Tata’s gift to the city he loved — as the Taj Mahal of Agra was Shah Jahan’s memorial to the woman he loved.

MUMBAI'S PRIDE: Before the Gateway of India was built, the Taj Mahal offered the first view of the city of Bombay to ships sailing into the harbour. Even now, with many more tall buildings on the skyline, the hotel engages immediate attention.

The 1880s and 1890s were a time of great construction in Bombay. The Grand Victoria Terminus was built, and after it the Municipal Corporation building, another beautiful structure, followed by the Churchgate headquarters of the B.B. & C.I. Railways (now Western Railways). But there was no hotel worthy of the growing city.

Being an ardent fan of Mark Twain, Jamsetji Tata may have read of the writer’s fate in the so-called ‘best’ Watson’s Hotel: Mark Twain and his family were roused every morning at dawn by doors slamming, servants shouting, and “fiendish bursts of laughter, explosions of dynamite.” The Irish chef at the hotel was apparently more conversant with the French language that with French cooking, “serving up Irish stew on 14 occasions under 14 different French names.” Sir Stanley Reed, Editor of The Times of India, said Jamsetji had an intense pride and affection for the city of his birth, and when a friend protested against the intense discomforts of hotel life in Bombay, he growled: “I will build one.”

One day without consulting anybody, not even his sons or partners, he announced his plan to build a grand hotel. It was his personal contribution and money he was putting in — not that of Tata & Sons. Along the present Yacht Club at Apollo Bunder was a little bay where yachts used to scull. The British were reclaiming the land and he bought a substantial site of two-and-a-half acres on November 1, 1898 on a 99-year lease. There was no formal laying of a foundation stone but a traditional coconut was broken and a Parsi diva (oil lamp) was lit, perhaps by the well or spring between the present swimming pool and the lifts. This ceremony took place in 1900.

Many an interesting story is invented round the Taj being designed by an Italian/French architect who, after his exertions, went home and returned to find the building was put the wrong way around — what should have been in the rear was in front and vise versa. Heartbroken he went to the top floor of the Taj and flung himself out of the window. Dramatic! Touching! But not true. As anyone who stayed at the then-non-air-conditioned Taj in the summer would attest, the late afternoon breezes that blow across Colaba do not spring up from the harbour but sweep in from across Back Bay. The U-shaped wings of the hotel were positioned to trap this breeze and extract the most benefit.

Indeed, the necessity to draw whatever relief there might be from the torrid heat of western India was certainly the inspiration behind the hotel’s two most original features. At the time, the clientele Jamsetji expected was from abroad and his endeavour was to make the hotel as cool as possible. Thus it had high ceilings and wide corridors, which would be conducive to air circulation. Furthermore, the Wellington Mews — another property Jamsetji bought — behind the hotel site was where the horses and carriages were housed and these could roll in directly from the west side.

One convincing explanation comes from the daughter of a Goan customs officer, Francis Xavier D’Mello, who was stationed in the customs shed at Apollo Bunder and witnessed the Taj rising stone by stone: “Jamsetji Tata came regularly to watch his great hotel being built. The customs shed provided the only shelter from the blazing sun, so Mr. Tata used to come there and have long chats with my father. Once my father asked him why he had put the entrance to the Taj at the back, and Jamsetji told him that he wanted the majority of his hotel guests to have rooms overlooking the sea. Jamsetji surely had some hand in his broad instructions to the architect.”

Sadly, having designed the Taj along with a Parsi architect under Jamsetji’s instructions, Sitaram died of malaria. The dome designed on the model of the Victoria Terminus (now Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus) had not been built. W.A. Chambers was called to help. Khansahib Sorabji Contractor built the solid structure.

The prospectus for the hotel to be underlined some salient features: “The Hotel, when completed, will be five storeys high, and will accommodate, beside hotel boarders to the number of 500, a number of permanent residents. Immense cellars, below the ground floor level will contain the refrigeration plant, which will cool the rooms of the inmates, and will also enable their food to be stored in a manner foreign to India. The ground floor will be occupied by the offices, first-class restaurants, and shops for the sale of articles generally desired by travellers. The first floor will be mostly taken up with a grand dining room, drawing room, reading rooms, billiard room, and a few grand suites, all provided with electric fans. The second, third, fourth and fifth floors will contain bedrooms, mostly double and furnished in the Continental style with sofa, tables and chairs, and other furniture, and on each floor bathrooms and lavatories. The kitchens etc., will be on the top of the house with a roof garden. The Hotel will be lighted throughout with electric lights, and many lifts, also worked by electricity, will convey residents from floor to floor with comfort. A Turkish bath will also be fitted up in the Hotel.”

Jamsetji personally went to order the electrical machinery from Dusseldorf and chandeliers from Berlin. Furthermore, he made sure that if by chance electricity failed, a back up system of gas lights was at hand. There was the in-house soda bottling plant, an electric laundry, fans from the USA — and the first spun-steel pillars from the Paris Exhibition where the Eiffel Tower was then the latest wonder of the world. These pillars, a hundred years later, hold up the ceiling of the Banquet Hall.

For all his projects Jamsetji got the costing done thoroughly but not for the Taj. It was his gift to the city he loved — as the Taj Mahal of Agra was Shah Jahan’s memorial to the woman he loved. It cost about Rs. 25 lakh. When the hotel opened, it had a large staff of waiters but only seven guests. It was Bombay’s first public building to be lit by electricity and when it happened, those present outside clapped as they saw it lit.

As if such a grand edifice was not enough, he purchased two small islands near Uran called Panjoo and Dongri so that the guests at the Taj could go on picnics.

Jamsetji wanted to lease out the Taj to an experienced European hotelier. The plans fell through and finding the staff and running the hotel was to fall initially on him in 1902 and later on his partners and colleagues. The Gateway of India came up only in 1924 to commemorate the visit of King Emperor George V and Queen Mary in 1911. Before that at the Gateway site, sahibs used to sit at tables sipping burra and chotta pegs.

Perhaps, says Allen and Dwivedi (who have done research on the Taj), Jamsetji believed in starting a new venture on an auspicious date, Muhurat as it is called. It was decided to open the hotel on December 16, 1903, before the building was complete. Only one wing was ready and the dome had not been completed. A study of Jamsetji’s medical reports of the late-1903 shows his health was deteriorating. His sons and colleagues may have decided to speed up the opening so he could have the satisfaction of seeing at least one of his dreams come true. Steel, the hydro-electric venture, and the Indian Institute of Science came up after his death.

Five months after the Muhurat, when Jamsetji died, a leading journal of Calcutta, The Empress, wrote in the obituary: “The new hotel represented, to Mr. Tata, something more than a mere commercial venture, and he had determined that the Taj Mahal Hotel should set an example, which should re-act throughout India, in removing one of the greatest hindrances to agreeable travel in this country. The plans were drawn with the sole purpose of securing an entirely worthy building, and he looked for no immediate financial returns. There is something peculiarly saddening in the coincidence that the fixing of the key-stone of the noble dome should have preceded, but only a few days, the death of the man who inspired it.”

The lives of the clientele, which was mainly British, revolved round news from home. The P. & O. brought the mail every Friday morning and left every Saturday evening. The London GPO’s largest single destination was mail for India. It was rushed from London, sorted out between Aden and Bombay and special bags delivered within an hour of the arrival of the steamer. Saturday was spent in answering letters. The Sea Lounge at the Taj was created as a letter-writing room and by special arrangement mail from the Taj was directly delivered to the ship.

In years to come, world-renowned personalities have stayed there, from Somerset Maugham and Duke Ellington to Lord Mountbatten and Bill Clinton. The hotel was featured in a hundred books, including Louis Bromfield’s One Night in Bombay, which is centred on the Taj.

The maharajas become the great patrons of the Taj and invited the hotel to do special catering in their states. The Chamber of Princes was to meet there regularly every January — hence the ‘Princes’ Room’ at the southern end of the Taj. The business maharajas were to follow next; today the Taj is the most sought after venue for wedding receptions, and one can frequently see fire crackers being let off at the gate as the bridegroom’s party dances merrily away.

As there was no Gateway of India for 20 years after the Taj came up, the hotel offered the first view of the city to ships sailing into the harbour until 1924. Even now, with many more tall buildings on the skyline, the hotel engages immediate attention. It is a symbol of Mumbai.

(Russi M. Lala is the author of For the Love of India — The Life and Times of Jamsetji Tata. He lives near the Taj Mahal and even closer to Nariman House.)

MSV

SOUCE

Grand rendezvous

MALATHI RANGARAJAN

IN CONVERSATION A not too well known facet of veteran composer M.S. Viswanathan will come to the fore this weekend.

Photo: S. S. Kumar

IN TUNE: M.S. Viswanathan.

The quiet Tuesday morning at Musee Musicals on Anna Salai turns vibrant as M.S. Viswanathan enters the premises. Seeing the maestro at the music showroom is a pleasant surprise for the aficionados present. As he is led to the piano on which he would play this Sunday, at the programme, ‘Vaarthaigal Sollum Vaadhiyangal’ (VSV), organised by www. msvtimes.com and presented by Aircel, his eyes reveal the joy of a toddler who is given a freehand with his favourite toy!

An impromptu treat comes your way as the musician’s fingers dance on the keys of the piano with gay abandon. He pauses for a moment to say: “Decades ago I would come to this shop to check out various instruments. The ambience is still the same. It makes me nostalgic.” Getting back to his keys he plays some of his evergreen hits, looks up after a while at the group gathered around him and with a smile asks, “Is it enough for now.”

Amidst posing for pictures and signing autographs, the chat begins. Composer, singer, harmonium player, MSV is all these and much more. He is a seasoned pianist too. “Please! I’ve not mastered it. You can’t accomplish it in one lifetime,” is his typical, modest refrain. But you know that he’s an ace on the instrument.

Why the sudden idea of showcasing his prowess on the piano? “I’ve always wanted to do such a show. So when my friends, Vaidy, Sabesan and Ramki suggested a programme on these lines, I grabbed it. They even have a website, some dom-com they call it, in my name,” he guffaws.

The piano has been an integral part of many an MSV hit, and most of the pieces — such as ‘Ellorum Nalam Vazha,’ ‘Paaduvor Paadinaal’ and ‘Andru Vandhadhum’ — each a fascinating bit, have been played by the composer himself.

“As a boy when I began playing the harmonium my master would give me a whack if the notes didn’t spell out the lyric used,” he recalls and gives a demo on the piano as an explanation. Words are vital. It is the composer’s job to cull out the music hidden within them is his contention. “Just watch this. If I play ‘Kaanilae Enna Undu’ instead of ‘Kannilae’ the word gets distorted and so does the tune. It’s ‘Tha na na’ not ‘Thaa na na.’ Do you follow me?”

So ‘Vaarthaigal Sollum Vaadhiyangal’ will have many instruments such as the flute, accordion, sax and guitar, each of which will be used instead of the voice, with the rest of the orchestra offering the score. What about the piano? “I’ll be there on it throughout. I prefer being in the background,” he laughs. The stage will have singers too, including MSV. But they will be part of the chorus.

Crowning glory

Of the 32 songs that have been selected for the evening, the troupe will have time to play about 25 pieces — the crowning glory will be a medley with the entire orchestra in action. “The crowd should pardon me if I take off on my own on the piano for a while,” he chuckles. Most of the numbers will be those in which piano is the mainstay. “We’ve also planned compositions where I’ve not used the piano. ‘Ullathil Nalla Ullam’ from ‘Karnan’ for example,” says MSV.

Is the programme a pioneering effort? “Way back in 1958 I recorded instrumental mood pieces for HMV. ‘Pongum Poompunal,’ as it was called, had Kannadasan giving his voice to explain the segments. For example the ‘East West Wedding’ piece in the collection had religious mantras chanted alongside a church choir, with a blend of nagaswaram and western instruments,” he remembers. But VSV will be the first entirely instrumental music show on stage by MSV.

Knowledge of Classical music is a prerequisite for any endeavour in the art, he feels. “I’ve composed a variety of numbers to convey various emotions. Proper use of the ragas, be it Hindustani or Carnatic can enhance their beauty. ‘Kannuku Kulamedhu’ (‘Karnan’) in Pahadi is the song that comes to my mind now,” he says.

MSV wishes to present off beat music-based programmes on television to highlight the beauty of classical music, ghazals in particular. The veteran is still smarting from the lukewarm response his album ‘Sangeetham Santhosham’ met with. “The tunes were melodious and Kamakotiyan’s lyrics were remarkable. Only the publicity wasn’t enough.”

For the first time in the interview he becomes wistful. But the next moment he is back to being his cheerful self. “I’m planning to work on another soon,” he says, and gets up to return to the rehearsals that are on in full swing for the show that’s round the corner.

“I’m thankful that I have the drive to keep trying out new things and the heart to appreciate good music wherever it comes from. Today’s youngsters are very talented,” he smiles. The zest is incredible. “You are as old as you think you are. I’m just 22,” he winks.

Sridhar- Trend-setter

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Trend-setter

RANDOR GUY

Filmmaking got a new definition with the arrival of Sridhar.

Photos: Chitrakala Sundararajan, Kalaniketan Balu and Special Arrangement.

NUGGETS: (Clockwise from top) At the puja for ‘Uthama Puthiran.’ The group (from left): V.C. Shanmugam, Ratnam Iyer, T. Govindarajan, A. Vincent, M.N. Nambiar, A.V. Subramaniam, Kamal Gosh, C.V. Sridhar, Tiruchi Arunachalam, Venus K. Murthi, T. Prakash Rao, K.A. Thangavelu, K.R. Shanmugam, Chitralaya Gopu, K.S. Gopalakrishnan and P.V. Sathyam. Raj Kapoor was a guest at the marriage reception of Sridhar and Devasena, Sridhar as chief guest in a stage show of Policekaran Magal presented by Kala Nilayam, a scene from the film.

“Nenjil Oru Alayam” was shot in a record time of four weeks. Sridhar thus proved that movies could be made with new faces, limited sets and low budgets if one had an interesting, emotionally rich story, tautly narrated on screen with pleasing music. The cast had Muthuraman, Kalyan Kumar (from Kannada cinema), Devika, ( not yet a star) and Nagesh then struggling for recognition. Besides the triangular love story it had excellent music by Viswanathan-Ramamurthi and the innovative cinematography of Aloysius Vincent who had a penchant for unusual angles, then a novelty in South Indian cinema.

This film was remade in Hindi, Telugu (“Manase Mandiram”) and also in Kannada (“Kunkuma Rakshe,” Rajinikanth in one of his early roles, directed by S.K.A. Chari).

Inspired by the success and innovative features of this film Sridhar wanted to enter it at the Cannes Film Festival and had the screenplay translated into French at great cost and sent his administrative manager, Sarma to Europe.

Not many are aware that a few years ago, California-based Indian filmmaker Jag Mundhra was keen on remaking “Dil Ek Mandir” in English and also Hindi, making some marginal changes in the film treatment. This writer took Jag to Sridhar and learnt that Sridhar had assigned it to a film financier for a paltry sum, for eternity. The assignee demanded an exorbitant fee for giving up the rights, which was almost 75 per cent of Jag’s budget!

Moving to Madras (from Maduranthakam, where he worked as a government servant) Sridhar made a name as a dialogue writer and worked on scripts for movies like “Maheswari” (1955, T.R. Sundaram- T.R. Raghunath), “Amara Deepam” (1956, T. Prakasha Rao), “Maadhar Kula Maanikkam” (1956, T. Prakasha Rao), “Enga Veetu Mahalakshmi” (1957, Adurthi Subba Rao) and “Uthama Puthiran” (1958, T. Prakasha Rao. A Venus Picture production in which Sridhar was also a partner).

Disciplined life

Somewhat shy and retiring by nature, Sridhar had no airs and led a disciplined life with his regular evening Marina Beach drives in his open maroon Standard Herald car with ‘Chithralaya’ Gopu seated beside him. He ran his office on systematic lines something unheard of in film companies of that era. Files were maintained meticulously and he had Film News Anandan as his PRO and no letter addressed to him or his company went without a reply.

Not many are aware that he launched a film with MGR, “Andru Sindhiya Ratham” and after some reels were shot, differences of opinion arose and the production was closed. Soon it took a fresh avatar as “Sivandha Mann’ with Sivaji Ganesan in the lead. It was mainly shot abroad and a major success, remade in Hindi as “Dharthi” with Rajendra Kumar in the lead.

As star maker he gave breaks to many aspiring and talented new faces which include Muthuraman, Jayalalithaa, Srikkanth, Major Sundararajan, ‘Vennira Aadai’ Murthi, ‘Vennira Aadai’ Nirmala and brought talented actors, such as Kalyana Kumar from Kannada.

What was his impression of working with top stars, MGR, Sivaji Ganesan and Gemini Ganesh? He told this writer that he loved working with Gemini Ganesh because of the top star’s sophisticated, educated middle class background, whereas he did not enjoy that freedom with the other stars for whom, of course, he had great respect. GG was his favourite hero and worked with him in many films.

Sridhar’s wife Devasena is from the famed political family of Nellore district and closely related to the Congress leader Bezawada Gopala Reddi and much respected Justice Party leader Bezawada Ramachandra Reddi.

Tamil Cinema has never witnessed a multitalented filmmaker like Sridhar and the void is most unlikely to be filled in the years to come.

Forgotten link

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Forgotten link

MINI KRISHNAN

Dara Shikoh, whose death anniversary fell on August 30, was more than a Sufi-prince, scholar and translator. He was also a hands-on editor-publisher of translations

Every Indian who has ever translated a text into English owes something to a Mughal prince who lies buried in the compound of Humayun’s tomb in Delhi. The anniversary of his death, August 30, is a date we should remember with national melanchol y. The school-room facts are well known: in the struggle for the Mughal throne 350 years ago, Shah Jahan’s eldest son Prince Dara Shikoh was defeated, and brought to Delhi where he was led through the city in a disgrace-parade on an old and unwashed elephant.

Chief charge

What is significant for us today is not that there was a war for kingship — in itself nothing unusual — but that one of the chief charges Aurangzeb brought against the rightful heir was that in publishing the Majma-‘ul-Bahrain (The Mingling of the Two Oceans) Dara had openly committed to the truth in Hinduism. Like his great-grandfather, Dara tried to bridge the gap between Hinduism and Islam. The Emperor Akbar had strongly believed that his Mughal nobles needed to understand their Hindu subjects and had set up a translation bureau to render the Ramayana, the Mahabharata and the Bhagavata into Persian. Prince Dara Shikoh went much further.

Dara Shikoh, whose name means “the glory of Darius”, was born to Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal in 1615. He was the heir apparent and his father’s favourite son. As he grew up, and began to display very special qualities of scholarship and a deep interest in mysticism, which he researched relentlessly, it became clear that he was no ordinary man. In 1640 he was introduced to Lahore’s famous Qadri Sufi saint, Hazrat Mian Mir who had urged both Jehangir and Shah Jahan to be kind to all their subjects. In the same year, Dara published his first book, Sakinatul Auliya, a collection of biographical sketches of Muslim saints. His interests took a steep turn when he met Baba Lal Bairagi, a Hindu gnostic, conversations with whom he recorded in a little book entitled Mukalama Baba Lal wa Dara Shikoh.

He befriended Hindus, Sikhs and Christians and his spiritual explorations led him to a great cross-language venture. In seeking to find a common mystical language between Islam and Hinduism, Dara Shikoh commissioned the translation of many Upanishads from Sanskrit into Persian and even personally participated in some of these renderings. He believed in joint scholarship and, amazing though it sounds, encouraged by Dara, learned men both Hindu and Muslim, worked together. His translation is called the Sirr-e-Akbar (The Greatest Mystery) and in his Introduction he boldly states that the work referred to in the Holy Quran as the Kitab al-maknun or the “hidden book” is none other than the Upanishads. If his brother needed evidence against him, it is easy to see how Dara himself gave Aurangzeb sufficient material.

Famous work

Dara’s most famous work, Majma-ul-Bahrain (The Mingling of the Two Oceans) was also devoted to finding the common links between Sufism and Hindu monotheism. When it was published, the book sealed his doom and Aurangzeb used the conviction of religious groups and the ambition of political ones to overcome Dara, making out a strong case that he was unfit to rule. In June 1659, for his work in translating Sanskrit texts, Aurangzeb had Dara declared a heretic who deserved to die. Dara had already been defeated in battle and was Aurangzeb’s prisoner. In the end when his killers came for him, Dara was cooking a meal for himself and his young son. The deposed prince fought like a king, using a kitchen knife against the swords of his assassins. Just as the translators of the Bible into German and English met with fatal opposition, so too did the first translator of the Upanishads. He was buried without ceremony, his headless body dumped in a hastily dug grave.

A hundred and forty years after Dara Shikoh was murdered, his translation of the Upanishads, which had lain forgotten and unread, were translated into a mix of Latin, Greek and Persian by the French traveller Anquetill Duperon (1801) and was the very text that caught the attention of Schopenhauer who wrote those unforgettable words nine years later, “In the whole world there is no study so beneficial and so elevating as that of the Upanishads. It has been the solace of my life. It will be the solace of my death”. This sudden discovery of a vast body of literature in a sophisticated and advanced language that had remained unknown for so many centuries sent a tremor through the libraries of Europe and scholars there began to view India with new eyes.

In being the first to make the link between two entirely different — even hostile — traditions, it was the ideals and work of this Mughal prince that launched Indian thought in the Western world. The motives behind his linguistic border-breaches led to Dara’s ruin; but eventually, the translation of his translation formed the road to cultural ties between civilisations. The distinguished historian Sathyanath Iyer wrote, “He is to be reckoned among the great Seekers of Truth who can appeal to the modern mind.”

E-mail: minik@satyam.net.in

Radiance far and wide

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Radiance far and wide

LAKSHMI DEVNATH

Sanskrit scholar par excellence and a sensitive teacher, Dr. Raghavan wore many hats with ease.

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Sourcing of manuscripts was Dr. Raghavan’s passion.

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MULTI-FACETED: Dr. Raghavan with Dr. S. Radhakrishnan

The nine-year old faced the Tiruvarur Tyagaraja temple and commanded his sister, “Sivakamu, repeat this Sanskrit sloka after me.” That was Dr. Raghavan’s maiden composition. And he never looked back. The foundation had been laid for an association that enriched the language and put the scholar on a high pedestal.

Young Raghavan’s cognitive development was on different lines. That was because he was different. Schooling was not sufficient to quench his intellectual thirst. Leisure hours were voluntarily devoted to learning Sanskrit, memorising verses, compiling Sanskrit sayings and putting together a glossary of plants, trees and creepers with corresponding Sanskrit names. Botany whetted his intellectual appetite and music his aesthetic thirst. But it was Sanskrit that consumed him. Raghavan feasted on them all.

Academic journey

Raghavan’s arduous academic journey at the Presidency College started off in 1925. He was short of funds even to buy notebooks. Nevertheless, Raghavan’s hunger for knowledge sustained him and the awards that he graduated with satiated him. As crowning glory came this certificate from the Sanskrit scholar Kuppuswami Sastri: “Raghavan is one of the best students whom I have had the good fortune to teach in my whole service…” In 1935, Raghavan was awarded a doctorate for his masterly thesis on Bhoja’s Sringara Prakasa, an encyclopaedic work on Sanskrit aesthetics. The Hindu acclaimed the publication of this thesis as “A great work sees the light…”

Dr. Rajendra Prasad

Raghavan went on to join the Madras University as a Research Scholar and retired as Professor and Head of the Department of Sanskrit in 1968. As a teacher, he was brilliant and inspiring; uncompromising and strict. This period also saw him engage in yet another monumental task.

Simon Theodore Aufrecht, German Indologist, had published an alphabetical catalogue of all known Sanskrit manuscripts, titled Catalogus Catalogorum. From 1935, the University of Madras began working on an updated catalogue called the New Catalogus Catalogorum. On Raghavan’s contribution to this, Dr. S. Radhakrishnan observed, “Raghavan’s great work on Catalogus Catalogorum will continue for a long time to come, as an authoritative reference book of Sanskrit literature.”

The Maharajah of Mysore

It was in making original contributions to the existing corpus that Raghavan revelled in. Sourcing of manuscripts was his passion. And his efforts to garner them provide material for a real-life novella. An exemplar was the inventory of 20,000 uncatalogued manuscripts in Europe that he prepared. Prof M. Hiriyanna lauded, “Raghavan is almost as familiar with unpublished manuscripts as he is with the printed works on them… he has successfully identified the author of an old and important commentary on the Vedanta Sutras, and has thereby settled once and for all a question which has long remained unsettled.”

Learned articles

The radiance of Raghavan’s scholarship spread far and wide. It earned him ingress to international Indology conferences. Raghavan’s contributions to Sanskrit Studies were varied. Prof. D.H. Ingalls, Harvard University opined, “Poetry, theatre, epic, criticism, philosophy, music, science; there is scarcely a field of Sanskrit Studies that Raghavan has not enriched with his learned articles.”

Raghavan’s quest for fine arts competed with his quest for Panini’s Sanskrit. He explored the avenues of music, dance and theatre. Even as a youth he had begun reviewing music and dance performances in various magazines under pseudonyms such as Bhavuka and Adityan. In 1932, Raghavan’s article “Some early names in Sangita literature” was published in the Journal of the Madras Music Academy. He soon rose to become its editor and in 1942 became secretary of the august organisation.

While his articles in the journals were often considered the last word on the subject, his introductions to works by other authors, as it was in the book “Spiritual Heritage of Tyagaraja,” were acclaimed as theses. His Mahakavya on Muthuswami Dikshitar is an example of sterling Sanskrit poetry. He was a songsmith too. A verse on Saint Tyagaraja, a kriti on Syama Sastri can be found amongst other kritis, varnams and kavadi chindus that he created. As it twirled through the domains of Bharatanatyam, Kathakali, Kudiyattam, Yaksha Gana, Bhagavata Mela, Vithi Bhagavatam… Raghavan’s pen created many new compositions as well. In 1958, the dramatist in Raghavan founded Samskrita Ranga, to popularise Sanskrit drama on stage. The founder himself could carry off mono-acting portrayals with aplomb.

The sheer volume of Dr. Raghavan’s works is mind boggling — 120 works, 1,200 papers, short stories… the bibliography of Raghavan’s writings form a 300 page book. In recognition came scores of awards right up to Padma Bhushan; editorship of multiple literary journals and official positions in many prestigious literary and cultural organisations such as the Sangeet Natak Akademi and the Sahitya Akademi.

Born on August 22, 1908, Dr. Raghavan passed away on April 5, 1979. He would have liked to live more and complete the works on his jottings list. Among those are these words, “I have always placed public matters and scholarly works before personal matters and domestic work.” Thus goes the Sanskrit verse: “Authoring of great works results in everlasting fame.”

* * *

Some of Dr. V. Raghavan’s books published by Dr. V. Raghavan Centre for Performing Arts.

•Sanskrit Drama-Its Aesthetics and Production

•The Indian Heritage

•Sanskrit Ramayanas other than Valmiki

•Splendours of Indian Dance

•Collected Writings on Indian Music

•Kavikokila Manjari (Audio CD of compositions)

•An Anthology on Aspects of Indian Culture

•Vanna Malargal (short stories)

Patnam Temples of Madras

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Temples for the Town

The origins of the name Chennai are shrouded in mystery. And yet, two of the oldest temples of the George Town area bear it as a prefix leading to one theory that these temples gave the city its name. They are referred to as ‘Patnam’ (Town) Temples by the locals thereby giving credence to the belief.

The Chenna Kesava and the Chenna Malleeswara Swami Temples of George Town originally stood where the High Court is today. Records speak of their existence even in the 1640s and associate two of the city’s founders Beri Thimmappa and Nagabathan with the construction. The old Black Town (native quarter as opposed to the White Town of Fort St George) being in that area, the complex was used for public meetings as well. However post the French occupation of and subsequent eviction from the city between 1746 and 49, the British felt that Black Town ought to be shifted inwards and it moved to the present location which later became George Town.

The Patnam Temple complex was therefore razed to the ground in 1757 and the debris was used to construct a protective wall for the city. Realising that religious sentiments were being ruffled, the British in 1762 allotted space of 25000 sq ft in the new Black Town, on Devaraja Mudali Street for the construction of the temples. Manali Muttukrishna Mudaliar, the Chief Merchant of the East India Company and dubash (agent) of Governor Pigot, opened a subscription list for the building of the temples and donated 5000 pagodas (the then currency). The East India Company gave 1173 pagodas. Donations amounted to 15000 pagodas and construction began in 1766 and continued till 1780. The temples have close connections with members of the Manali family, one of the oldest lineages of the city, even today. Till recently, until congestion prevented it, it was customary for Chenna Kesava Perumal to be taken in procession to Manali Hostel on Govindappa Naicken Street for the annual spring festival. Now this is celebrated within the temple precincts.

This twin complex is unique for it has the Vishnu and Siva temples together, sharing a common compound wall. The Chenna Malleeswara Swami temple had a number of Devadasis attached to it till the dancing girl tradition was abolished in 1947. The Chenna Kesava Perumal Temple was known for the patronage it gave nagaswaram artistes, a festival of music in the month of July, exclusively dedicated to nagaswaram performances continuing even now, a good 300 years after it was initiated.

Chidambaram Kovil

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By Anupama Bhattacharya
Photographs: Gireesh G.V.

I saw cascades of energy coming down from outer space, in which particles were destroyed and created in rhythmic pulses; I saw the atoms of the elements and those of my body participating in this cosmic dance of energy; I felt its rhythm and I heard its sound, and at that moment I knew that this was the Dance of Shiva, the Lord of Dancers.
—Fritjof Capra, Tao of Physics

Chidambaram, the heart of the universe (chit-heart, ambaram-universe), is where Shiva, manifesting as Nataraja, one of the trinity of Hindu deities, performs the cosmic dance. It is also the heart of a world that is a manifestation of purusha, the eternal, cosmic man.

As you approach the Nataraja temple in this quaint town of Tamil Nadu, 250 km south of Chennai in southern India, you are taken aback by four gigantic towers (135 ft) with seven storeys that guard it on four sides. The architecture inside is no less fascinating. Rows after rows of pillars with intricate carvings, surrounded by 10 sacred pools, seem to create an ambiance of space—vast, limitless. You are drawn in, deeper and deeper, until you stand at the center of the universe, facing Nataraja, the creator, the destroyer, the keeper.

The shrine is spread over an area of 51 acres and houses a rare crystal lingam. There is also a Ratnasabhapati Nataraja made of gems, rubies, emerald and stone. The main shrine or the Chitrambalam (also known as Chit Sabha) is the place where Nataraja dances the tandava of creation, destruction, grace, dissolution and blessing.

According to mythology, Shiva first performed Ananda Tandava (the dance of bliss), to enlighten some sages who had been so immersed in their scholasticism that they had forgotten the existence of God. This Ananda Tandava was later revealed at the Jnana Sabha, one of the shrines of Chidambaram. Myth has it that, at a particular time every year, Shiva still performs the dance here. At first glance, the statue of Nataraja is like any other classic piece of art—graceful and eye-catching. The beauty begins to unfold, layer by layer, as the magnificence of creation and the wonder of destruction are understood. Nataraja symbolizes the ultimate reality that is eternally molding this world of maya or illusion, creating myriad nebulae with the beat of a drum and destroying a mega-universe with a graceful turn of the finger. The dance of Shiva is the dancing universe, the ceaseless flow of energy that mingles and meanders into the infinite cosmic soul. It is the dance of sub-atomic particles—the building blocks of creation. Here, the Ardhanarishwar Shiva, symbolized by a male earring in the left and a female earring in the right ear, blends the yin and the yang and transcends them.

This transcendence is mirrored in the ultimate balance of Nataraja. As the upper right hand, holding a drum, strikes the primal sound, nebulae after nebulae shoot out from the dancing form, stars are born and shaped, and the first seeds of life germinate in the cosmic cradle, waiting to bloom. The right lower hand showers blessings on the blossoming creation, asking it to arise and understand its purpose. With knowledge comes truth and Nataraja crushes Mulayaka, ignorance manifest, with his right foot—his left lower hand pointing at his raised left foot, defying the law of gravity, symbolic of liberation, moksha. With life, death can't be far behind. The awakening is now symbolized by a deluge of fire leaping out from his left upper hand, devouring the trembling cosmos with licking tongues of flame. One by one stars die, burning suns extinguish their lights. In the eternal darkness, Shiva unties his matted hair and dances the tandava, trampling upon the entire universe—a raging, raving force demolishing existence. Destruction was never so beautiful.

In the final silence, when there is neither existence nor non-existence, enlightenment dawns. Free at last from the fetters of delusion, Nataraja dances the Ananda Tanndava, the ultimate dance of joy. The primal sound of the drum echoes again, a tiny spark bursts into a star. Another universe is born. The cycle repeats itself. And Nataraja, blissful in the ecstasy of existence, dances to eternity.

Shades of truth

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Shades of truth

Koodiyattom On Margi Madhu’s interpretation of Ravana’s love. Soudhamini

Photo: K.K. Mustafah

Margi Madhu.

Between August 16 and September 2, 2008, in the small sleepy village of Moozhikulam in Kerala, an epic unfolded. Margi Madhu performed ‘Ashokavanikankam’ for students of Hebrew University, Jerusalem. In accepting this commission, he and his small band of performers at Nepathya, including wife and co-performer, G. Indu, have been able to realise their dream of building a traditional Koothambalam full of light and air.

For the six students, two teachers – of Sanskrit and Malayalam – and for David Shulman, Head of the Department of Indology, this was a chance to experience the language they know intimately from books, as a living tongue capable of endless elaboration and interpretation.

As for me, I have been working with Madhu on a film based on the Ekalavya myth for the Prince Claus Fund in the Netherlands, and it was a thrilling experience to witness the range of this quiet, unassuming artiste.

Final overture

As I could only attend for a day, it was suggested I watch the performance on August 31, the 14th day and first evening of the ‘Udhayanapravesam,’ Ravana’s entry into the Ashoka grove to make his final overture to Sita. Every day until then, the performance had begun with the ‘Kesadipadam’ – the head to foot description of Sita. Today was the culmination. Set to Dhruva tala, Ravana, for the first time, pulling rank with all his royal accoutrements, enters the stage and glides forward over the next half hour or so with a barely perceptible movement, describing and savouring each exquisite feature of Sita’s.

Madhu, speaking of it the next morning, said that from about the third day onwards Ravana’s entire relation to Sita had changed in his mind. She was not just a pretty woman he was looking at erotically. She was now an integral part of Ravana. He felt it was because Ravana’s character was capable of such unconditional passion.

Has he portrayed any other hero in love, I asked. Yes, Arjuna in ‘Subhadra Dhananjayam.’ In the light of Ravana’s love, that is very superficial, quite male chauvinist. Even Rama never really expresses or explores the various dimensions of love the way Ravana does. The fact that Sita is never on stage, only represented by a flame, further heightens the abstraction.

A repeated refrain over the 15-day performance, as I saw from the Attaprakaram – the performance manual – was Ravana’s boast about his valour and his perplexity regarding Sita’s power over him. As his relationship with Sita changes, explained Madhu, it is not the fact that she is another man’s wife; it is not even her innate chastity, that binds Ravana.

It is because he has begun to acknowledge her individuality that he cannot reach out and touch her as a mere object of his desire. Through an inner conflict, which is honestly faced, Ravana overcomes his lust to reach true love – and it is this that stays his hand. Madhu’s own conflict lay in admitting that both the dictates of Koodiyattam grammar, regarding how a character is to be portrayed, and many of the original verses themselves, seriously limit this interpretation. Yet as a contemporary traditional artist this is his insight and he must express it.

Many thoughts pass through my mind. How it would be interesting to explore Sita’s state of mind during this same period? How our perception of others – men, women, rakshasas heroes – are all conditioned and politically implicated, even politically manipulated. And how as a thinking artiste Madhu was able to gently unhinge my set notions even about chauvinism and love.

Meanwhile life’s lessons seem very precious and need to be cherished and reflected upon, even as the actor looks deep into the undying flame and shares with us the eternal truths he sees reflected in it.

(The writer is a documentary filmmaker)

Poornam Vishwanathan

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In love with grease paint

SUGANTHY KRISHNAMACHARI

A stickler for perfection, Poornam Viswanathan’s passion for the stage never diminished.

MANY DIMENSIONS: Poornam Viswanathan.

A profile on Poornam Viswanathan (his 88th birthday falls on November 15) presents a difficulty. Where does one begin? Should one begin with Poornam as a newsreader of All India Radio, announcing India’s Independence? Or should one begin with Poornam as a writer? As an actor? As a director of plays? Or look at him as a human being, simple and unassuming, who preferred to travel by public transport? It should be mentioned here that he always insisted that all members of the troupe be provided the same kind of accommodation?

Perhaps Poornam, the romantic, will be apt. Poornam Viswanathan’s was a traditional, arranged marriage, and when he returned to Delhi after ‘seeing’ the girl, he sent her a telegram that said, “Returned safe, and dreaming.” In 1950, this certainly qualified to be called romantic!

While in Delhi, Poornam acted in the plays of South Indian Theatre. One of the members was music critic Subbudu. They staged many plays including Kalki’s ‘Kalvanin Kadhali’ and Devan’s ‘Gomathiyin Kadhalan.’ When Poornam was transferred to Madras in 1964, he began to act in the plays of Triplicane Fine Arts and later in those of Kala Nilayam. One of the most popular plays he acted in was Savi’s ‘Washingtonil Thirumanam.’ While in Delhi, Poornam had translated Ramesh Mehta’s Hindi play, ‘Under Secretary,’ and YGP’s UAA staged it with Jayalalitha, her mother Sandhya and Cho in the cast.

At Kala Nilayam, Poornam acted in Marina’s plays — ‘Oor Vambu,’ ‘Thani Kudithanam’ and ‘Kaal Kattu,’ and Sujatha’s ‘Oru Kolai Oru Prayaanam’ and ‘Kadavul Vandirundaar.’ Koothapiran, who played the role of Koda Naidu in Thani Kudithanam, says, “I learnt how to act only by watching Poornam.”

Forming a troupe

Scenes from Oru Kolai Oru Prayanam and Oor Vambu.

In 1979, Poornam left Kala Nilayam and started his own troupe ‘Poornam New Theater.’ Ever on the look out for fresh talent, he welcomed into his fold many youngsters.

The first play they did was Sujatha’s ‘Adimaigal.’ It was a dicey theme about a lecherous patriarch, who tyrannises his nephews. But Sujatha and Poornam handled the subject adroitly, so that there was not a trace of vulgarity in the presentation.

Baldev, who acted with Poornam in Kala Nilayam and had left when Poornam did, played the role of Sundaram, the wronged, cowardly nephew. Venu Arvind, whose real name is Tyagarajan, made his debut in this play. ‘Adimaigal’ marked the beginning of a long association between Poornam and Sujatha, who wrote a succession of plays for Poornam.

Actor Sivakumar says, “I was moved by the play Oonjal. And ‘Dr. Narendranin Vinodha Vazahakku’ was amazing.” Dr. Narendranin Vinodha Vazhakku was staged 175 times. When this writer met Sujatha a couple of years before his death, he said, “I will continue to write plays, if Poornam is willing to act.”

Poornam, was a hard taskmaster, but never failed to compliment talent. He admired troupe member Gowrishankar’s hand gestures. Poornam paid attention to every detail, so that there was never a jarring note or incongruity in any play. “He didn’t like an orchestra in the pit, and would only play taped music,” says M.B. Moorthy. “For Adimaigal, the only music he used was the veena playing of Gayatri,” says Baldev.

Poornam also had definite ideas about make-up. “For the role of Dr. Narendran, he wanted to be made up to resemble Dr. Schweitzer,” says Poornam’s daughter Uma.

Poornam would wince at the slightest mispronunciation, and during rehearsals for the play “Fifty-Fifty,” Viswanathan Ramesh had to say his lines over and over, because he seemed incapable of getting the ‘zha’ right. On the day of the show, his pronunciation was perfect.

Sense of humour

Poornam could always see the humour in a situation. Once during the staging of “Anbulla Appa,” troupe member Malathi Sampath was in the audience with her three year old niece. Poornam had just done an emotional scene, and with his hands on his cheeks, struck a note of despair with his words, “Enna Pannuvaen?” The little girl, who had been quiet until then, walked up to the aisle, put her hands on her cheeks, and in close imitation of Poornam, repeated his words! The audience burst out laughing. Malathi made a hasty exit, niece in tow. At the end of the show, she approached Poornam with an apology, but he said, “I hope this little Poornam will act in my plays, when she grows up.”

“Poornam did many one-act plays, one of which ‘Vandavan’ was enacted on the terrace in Sankara Netralaya,” recalls Baldev.

Poornam last acted in 2000, before passing on the mantle to Gurukulam, a troupe that consists of those he trained. However, he could never bring himself to say that he would no longer act in plays. Wife Susheela, who has seen every single show of Poornam’s, recalls how a few months before his death, he said to his relatives, “I’ll be doing a play soon.” That is perhaps why Susheela wanted make-up to be applied on his face as he made his last journey from home. And that was how Poornam left, with pancake on his face, in death, as in life.