AIR Early Days

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AIR’s early days

S. MUTHIAH

maiden home Of All India Radio, Madras

For long I’ve been trying to trace the house on Marshall’s Road that housed the first All India Radio station.

A note a reader has sent tells me it was called East Nook and was next to the house of Dr. George Zachariah, a leading ophthalmic surgeon of the time.

The note also tells me that the first Editor of Vanoli, the popular bi-monthly featuring the Station’s programmes, was T.C. Theetharappan, better known as Deepan, who was the son of Rasikamani T.K. Chidambaranatha Mudaliar.

And a third item in the note states that the first permanent artists of AIR Madras were advocate Sundaram Iyer’s children, S. Rajam, a nonagenarian now, whose paintings of the Trinity are still considered the best representations of the trio, his two sisters, Jayalakshmi and Sarasa, and their younger brother S. Balachander.

I don’t know whether the other two siblings were also involved with AIR, but is there any other radio station anywhere in the world that owed so much to four members of one family?

Andha Naal

BLAST FROM THE PAST

Andha Naal 1954

Sivaji Ganesan, Pandari Bai, ‘Javert’ Seetharaman, P. D. Sambandham, Suryakala and T. K. Balachandran

landmark in Tamil cinema Andha Naal

Andha Naal created history in Tamil cinema as the first movie sans song, dance or stunt sequence and is still being talked about. It is impossible for any producer to even dream of making such a movie today! The emerging Indian movie mogul AV. Meyyappan created history when he produced Andha Naal, which was less than 12,500 feet long, while most Tamil films of that day were 15,000 feet and above. The film was written and directed by the multi-faceted S. Balachandar who later attained fame as a veena player. The dialogue was written by ‘Javert’ Seetharaman and the film was photographed by talented lensman Maruthi Rao.

Many people to this day are under the impression that the film was an adaptation of the Akira Kurosawa classic Rashomon. Interestingly, the Japanese film was released in theatres in India soon after it created history in the international movie circuit and in the first international film festival held in India in 1952, thanks to the efforts of Pandit Nehru. The Japanese film was a brilliant narration of a single event seen through the eyes of the protagonists, each at variance with the other about what was the truth. However, Andha Naal, though bearing thematic resemblance to the Kurosawa classic, was actually an intelligent adaptation of a British movie Woman in Question made by Anthony Asquith (son of the British Prime Minister Lord Asquith), one of the three British movie maestros, the other two being Carol Reed and David Lean. Asquith’s film was a flashback on the murder of a woman with several people claiming to be the killer. Andha Naal was about the killing of Sivaji Ganesan by his wife (Pandari Bai, revealed to the audience) and many people claiming to be the killer. This film won a Central Government Award, and critical and public acclaim.

However, it did not fill the coffers of Meyyappan who understandably never thought of making a similar film later. Balachandar had an assistant in the directorial department, young and talented who later emerged as a successful filmmaker, Muktha V. Srinivasan.

The cast consisted of Sivaji Ganesan as a traitor, leaking secrets to the Japanese during the Second World War, Pandari Bai as his patriotic wife, ‘Javert’ Seetharaman, T. K. Balachandran, Suryakala, Menaka and P. V. Sambandam. Even today after five decades and more, this film sustains interest.

Balachandar, a brilliant technician had acquired vast knowledge of the art of cinema by watching movies from abroad, mostly from Hollywood. He put to good use his acquired skills and talents in this film, especially in the lighting to create mood and character. Sample this: in a sequence the anti-hero (Sivaji Ganesan) is totally in the dark while his abandoned sweetheart is brightly lit to bring about the contrast in the mood and the characters. In Hollywood lingo, it is known as ‘painting with light.’

Remembered for being the first Tamil film which had no dance, song or stunt sequence and for Balachandar’s impressive direction and fine performances by Sivaji Ganesan and Pandari Bai.

S. Balachander Veenai

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Balachandar revisited

V.BALASUBRAMANIAN

MASTERY Incredible visuals and veena recordings of the maestro left the audience pining for more.

Genius: S. Balachandar.

As part of their Veena Navarathri celebrations, Veena Foundation organised a multimedia presentation of maestro S. Balachandar (SB) at the Narada Gana Sabha Mini Hall on Monday last. S.B.S. Raman, son of the veena genius , was the presenter, and he made it crisp and interesting. Like father like son.

What S. Balachandar was not can be easily listed. The multi faceted personality looked for perfection in anything he did. He was a good chess player and one of his original problems was published in the sports column of this newspaper in 1937, which hailed him as a prodigy. SB was just 10 then. The paper cutting projected on screen was an eye opener for many.

Taken in by SB’s skill on the ganjira, legendary film director V. Shantharam presented him with a tabla and the boy mastered it no time. He travelled to Sri Lanka and Pakistan (where his chess tournaments were also scheduled then) as tabla accompanist to his elder brother, vocalist S. Rajam . During a concert at Karachi, a lady in the audience rushed home midway , brought a sitar which she had bought for her son, and gifted it to SB. He mastered the instrument within a year and started playing Carnatic music concerts on the sitar.

Multi-faceted mastery

In 1941 he decided to switch over to the veena and vowed never to play any other instrument again. But for the veena, with which he was seen in the photographs shown, the young SB with his sharp nose and wavy hair looked more like a Hollywood hero! Even at the age of 13 he began working for All India Radio. Raman recalled with a smile that as Balachandar was a minor then, his father had to go to AIR to sign for his son and receive his monthly salary.

The first audio clipping played was a fast paced swaraprastara for ‘Sarasa Sama Dhana’ (Kannadagowlai - Adi - Tyagaraja). The definition was perfect despite the jet-like speed with which swaras fell in place, throwing challenges to the mridangam and ganjira accompanists. That the crowd was in an exalted state could be gleaned from the constant ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ of elation heard in the background.

The audio clipping that followed was the penultimate line of the first charanam of the song ‘Maayamma’ (Syama Sastri) in Aahiri — ‘Karunajudaway Kaatyaayani Kaalika Bhavaani.’ More than 30 variations of the line, each distinctly different from the other, bore testimony to the fertile imagination combined with impeccable swarasthanams.

SB was a genius indeed! The next was an excerpt from a Subhapantuvarali raga alapana he had played at Tiruvaiyaru with the perfection of a funambulist. Practice sessions running to several hours had made him scale dizzy heights.

After an audio clip of ‘Bantureethi’ played rapidly, came the toast of the evening — a 40-minute video clipping from a live concert in which SB played ragas Hamir Kalyani, Behag and Kapi. It was like a simham playing the veena. Spuritams, soft tapping, heavy pulls and deft touches created magic and the result was sheer ecstasy. Many in the crowd were in tears — this writer included. The master’s playing of the raga in the pit (the open space near the yali) where there are no frets was absolutely breathtaking! Traversing the octaves with ease, he showed his firm belief in manodharma.

Then came Suratti as icing on the cake, typically SB. And it ended leaving one yearning for more.