INSPIRATION

 

Yester evening I had been to a dance recital. It was at Kalakshetra,  at Rukmini auditorium.

The recital was by Dr.Vijayanthimala Bali.

I had seen her dance in so many films. But I had had never an opportunity to see a live performance.

Last year I had seen her amongst the audience, in a singing recital. She had turned up, sharp on time, and had taken her seat just in front of me, a few rows ahead.

She sat ram rod straight throughout the 2 hours performance, and had not got up even once to take a break. I was so impressed, by her fitness.

I checked on Google. She was born on August 13^th 1936. That made her 76 years old. She was elder to me by 18 years, and so much fitter. So this was what drove me to see her dance.

She had her knees perfectly half bent as is the demand of a perfect posture, bowed deep down and touched the floor with both hands in the typical salutation gesture. “So flexible, “the message went down to the audience who simply showered her with a round of respectful applause.   She began her recital with a medium paced piece. The song was executed with a simplicity that comes to, thinking aged dancers. She was intelligent in choosing all the moves which she could do well and avoided all those tricky ones which could embarrass her.  She compensated with grace and fluidity of movements.

She had her expression well within control, and just had the optimal levels of emotions displayed: Neither more nor less.

She did not tire throughout the performance, there was no heavy breathing, even when a number lasted for 40 minutes. She took no short breaks and performed like it was a part of her daily routine.

I was seated 100 feet away from the stage. From that distance, I could appreciate the reason for heavy make up of the eyes, which could deliver expressions to those seated far away.

From here it looked as though a 35 year young extremely beautiful graceful woman was performing.  

It was thrilling to see what someone could do, with a life time of discipline. She sat on the stage and sprang to the next standing position, whirled around without loosing balance, half reclined in a movement, to shift gracefully to the next posture, and stood steady on one leg.   

The performance was met with, repeated applause, from an audience, who were art lovers, who had to sit on the floor, and stand in-between small spaces for 2 hours without complaining, as every seat was taken.

She was a brand, worth watching, delighting and emulating.

At the end of the performance, I came out inspired.

I had given up many of my loved activities; because I was growing old and could not do many things as well as I could do it when I was younger.

Now she had changed my perspective.

It is important to keep in touch with all those things which add joy to your life.

Be it knitting, singing, and painting, playing games, friends or relatives. You might not be able to give the best performance always. But if you stop, you will do much worse than you could, had you continued.  

So keep in touch with yourself and all the things you love. It adds happiness to life, shoos away boredom, brings peace within, and prevents us in interfering with others. Most importantly it makes you, your own source of joy.    

     

THE SONG OF THE NIGHTINGALE

As a couple, they were traveling in a bullock cart, on the narrow muddy road, from Tiruchirapalli to Srirangam.. She was pregnant and in her final trimester. They were going to meet, his elder brother, who was a music teacher in Srirangam. His elder brother had called him over, to assist in the music classes, and also manage the family agriculture.

The bullock cart was swaying with each pit in the road, and she was grimacing, with each jerk. He held her hands, and said comfortingly,” Please bear, it is only a question of few more hours.”  They stopped on the way, opened their cloth bags, and unpacked their lunches. They sat near a brook, on the green grass, under the shade of a tree. The Sun was hot , and they wiped the sweat with the end of her pallu. They ate curd rice with fried dried- brown chilies, and had tasty, small baby mangoes shrunken by being soaked in salt and chilies water. They drank fresh water from the brook, and proceeded on their way. It was late in the afternoon, when they arrived.

On hearing the sound of jingling bells tied around the bullock’s neck, the children of the house,  ran out shouting in delight, “chittappa and chitti have come.” [ father’s younger brother  and his wife ]. The elder brother came out of the house and gathered his younger brother in his arms.” Come, come Srinivasan, come in,” he said. He looked at Srini’s wife, he said , ”You too come my child.” Srnivasan’s wife got down from the bullock cart with difficulty as she was heavy with the child.

Srinivasan smiled at his elder brother, and he enquired, “How are you anna? And how is manni? “[ anna – elder brother, manni- elder brother’s wife]. His elder brother’s wife, Kamala came out , and welcomed Srinivasan’s wife. She smiled and said, “Come Lakshmi come in,” and held her hand to lead her in. Srinivasan picked up his elder brother’s two children, Gopal, and Mala, aged 5 and 2 years and kissed them fondly on the head, and said, “How are you, my little darlings?”

The children laughed in response, and Mala said, “Chitappa, Gopal, pinched me.” Srini laughed and said, “Do not worry, now that I am here. He will not pinch you here after.” All of them went in. Srini lowered the children to the ground, and unloaded his small luggage of one trunk box and few household utensils. The children insisted on helping him with the luggage, and though their role was more trouble than help, Srini let them believe that they were really of help.

Both Srini and Lakshmi, went to the backyard of the house, to wash their faces and feet, and came in to have hot upma and strong coffee. They also fed the children seated on both the laps. The elder brother and Kamala also had their early dinner.

After dining, all of them went to the Sri Ranganathar temple to pray. As they al went in, Kamala said, ‘Today we have the musical program of the famous singer Sarasa,  from Madras. All of them agreed to listen to the music. They went in to have the Darshan of  Ranganathar. The lord was lying on the serpent with his 2 consorts, seated, near his feet. They went to the Thayaar sannidhi, [ the temple of Mahalakshmi] and went around the  huge and spacious temple. The children were running and playing with each other, and the parents kept on warning them to be careful, lest they fall on the granite floors and get hurt.

The singer was already on the stage. Around 25 years of age, she was fair, beautiful, with a small plaited knot of hair, adorned with a string of fresh fragrant jasmine. With a beautiful red kumkum spot on her forehead, her eyes lined with kohl, and diamond nose and ear rings dazzling in the petromax light. She was clad in a deep blue silk sari with double crimson borders, with the traditional swans, woven in gold thread. Each of her hands had just one bangle set in red stones. She wore a sparkling diamond ring on slender long finger of her right hand .She wore a necklace, set with red stones and a few heavy chains to beautify her fair lean neck. She had herself well covered with the pallu of her sari. She was picture perfect. Beautiful, pleasant with a divine quality about her.

As the instrument players adjusted and fine tuned their tambura, mridangam and violin, she took a sip of water, form the water jug, know as the kooja. She cleared her throat, and united her voice in perfect harmony with the drone of the tambura.

She began the concert with the melodious Kambodi raga [ alapana ] delineation. Kambodi has many dimensions. When it is rendered slow and at the lower notes, it resembles, the majestic flow of a deep river – silent yet impressive. When the higher notes are sung in quick succession, it feels like the sound of a young gurgling brook.

She sang the raga in its completeness, with all the finishing touches, that sketched its brilliance, with its total characteristics.

The alapana was supported faithfully by the violinist, who followed the singer, like a shadow, always behind, never overtaking.

The violinist played the solo, of the raga, faithful to the original rendition. Then the singer started, the song with a verse from the Ranganathastakam, that served as a prologue, to the main song. 

   

Sa chithra sayi, bhujagendra sayi,

Nandanga sayi , kamalanka sayi,

Ksheerabdhi sayi , vata pathra sayi,

Sri Ranga sayi , ramatham mano mey. 

Let my mind revel in Him

As the one who sleeps in the city of Sri Ranga,

Who sleeps pretty as a picture,

Who sleeps on the king of serpents,

Who sleeps on the lap of Nanda,

Who sleeps on the lap of Lakshmi,

Who sleeps on the ocean of milk,

And who sleeps on the banyan leaf.

With this verse, the mood set in, for listening to the majestic popular composition of Saint Thyagaraja.

She began the wonderful song, O Rang shayee…

The audience clapped, and went into rapture.

She repeated each line of the song, with [sangathis] variations each time.

She then took up the line, Bholoka vaikutam for neraval [differentiation]. The neraval and the kalpana swaras [ notes] were tempered with knowledge, skill, the soul and the essential feel and beauty of  the composition. At no point of time the singer indulged in vulgar display of vocal acrobatics. She handled the song with the humility of a devout. The song was concluded with a solo performance of the mridangist. The total song lasted for one and half hours, which in realty felt like minutes.

The next song was a quick one in Kuntalavarali. Bhogeendra Shayinam, by Swathi Tirunal. Quick in tempo, it brought a lot of energy to the concert, after the medium paced first number.

Next was Yen Palli Kondeer Ayya, a Tamil composition of Arunaachala Kavirayar in raga Mohanam. It was a liltingly rendered by her. Most of the people in the audience were lip syncing the popular song.       

This was followed by Sri Ranga Gadyam, set in ragamalika, composed by the Saint Sri Ramanujacharya, who was embalmed in a separate shrine in the same temple. The hymn extolled the virtues of the Lord and beseeched him to save his devotees. She sang the verses fervently with such soulful feeling, that the audience was really moved.

The subsequent song was Sri Rangapura Vihara, by Sri Muthuswami Dikshitar. He had composed the song after his visit to Varanasi, where he had learnt the raga Brindavani Saranga. It was a North Indian raga, which was adopted by him into the Karnatic family. It was a lengthy song, fully in the upper octaves, difficult to deliver well. But she sang the song with the ease of a veteran performer. Delightful and pleasant. 

    

Then came 3 numbers in quick succession. Each brilliant and effervescent with energy and mirth.

Aazhi mazhai kanna – in Varali from the Aandal Tiruppavai

Vadavarayai mattaki – Ragamalika  by Ilango adigal from  the Tamil work  Silappadikaram

And finally the concluding song,  Pallaandu Pallaandu – from PeriyAzhwar’s pasurams.

The applause from the audience continued for a very long time.

The musicians were honored with flower garlands. The audience dispersed. One of the organizers, of the program, called the elder brother,” Varadan, please come here.” He went there, and was introduced, to the singer. They greeted each other with the traditional namasthe. The member said to her, Saraswathi madam, he is a very good music teachers, specializing in  Javalis. [Javalis are fast in pace and are love songs of a lighthearted manner]

Her eyes lit up with interest, as she had wanted to learn them. She asked Varadan, “Can you teach me some Javalis.”Varadan was very delighted. He said “ Of course, with pleasure. Please come to our residence tomorrow both for music and lunch.” So it was agreed upon that she would visit their home next day.

All the six of them were very much excited with the idea of the visiting dignitary, the next day. They went home and lay down on mats, each with the traditional visiri [hand fan]. Very soon all of them were fast asleep. Only one was awake, alert to the all the music the mother had heard. As the fetus floated in the amniotic fluid in Lakshmi’s uterus, it also had imbibed, from its mother the essence of music, along with the oxygen and nutrition that was reaching it through the umbilical cord.  

[To be continued ]

STOMACH ACHE

I

I am a philosophical freak. All my life I philosophize, acting so uppity. I always think I am a cut above the rest, with my so called  intellectualism and never miss an opportunity to give free gyan [ advice]. 

Last Saturday, at 3 PM my stomach started hurting very badly. For the first time in my life I had experienced such bad pain. The reason could have been canned mushroom soup. First I took an anti spasmodic, followed by drugs which reduce acidity and prevent vomiting. Slight relief came but the pain persisted, through Sunday. I topped the medicine list with antibiotics and the pain is still subsiding little by little. 

While I write this, I am still in discomfort, and from the morning I must have at least told my plight to 5 colleagues. 

When a real problem sets in, it makes all our other imaginary ones simply fade into insignificance. Problems like love not returned, talent not recognized, ego and emotional issues, are nothing before a real stomach ache.

When we crib and complain about all the inconsequential stuff it actually means we are in our comfort zone.

Moral - Do not complain about life - Life can really make you cry out loud by giving you real problems. Be happy while you still can be.

CAKE WITHIN THE ICING

The thulasi [ basil ] is  a revered plant in Vaishnava Sampradaya. It shot into popularity, thanks to Rukmini, Lord Krishna’s consort. The story goes like this.

Lord Krishna had two main wives. Bhama and Rukmini. They had to share Krishna. Bhama being possessive, did not like this. Sage Narada gave her an idea. It was to give Krishna’s weight in gold, purchase him and become the total owner of her husband. 

So Krishna was made to sit in one of the scales of a balance, and Bhama put all her gold and silver on the other. Krishna’s  scale did not even stir from the ground.

Bhama panicked as all her wealth was in the scale and she had nothing more to offer.

She sought Rukmini’s assistance. Rukmini asked Bhama to remove all the wealth from the scale and in the now empty space  simply put a single thulasi leaf.

And Lo! Krishna’s scale went up to match the level of the other scale which had but just   a single leaf of Thulasi.

That is how the Thulasi became famous. Sadly Rukmini did not.  People generally have a tendency to imbibe the action and not the intention. Because, anything subtle is generally beyond the comprehension.

Had Rukmini not put anything on the scale, the Lord would have still graced her. For the God does not value your presentation, but your intentions. When intentions are honorable, the result will be positive.

We cannot give God anything, for everything there is, is God’s. But we still make offerings, of many materials. It is like, taking money from Dad’s pocket to get him a present. And such things are not necessary.

We in our ignorance make a mockery of all things, not even sparing our creator. Only if  we could see the cake through the icing.    

GROWING UP

We were three children, in our family. I was the last and I had two elder sisters. Though we did help our parents, by going to the shop for getting things, or to the  ration for getting rice ,wheat and sugar, we hardly did any work in the house.

My mother did all the work, through out the day. On Sundays she had to cook something specials for us, which meant more work for her.

Those days, there was no fridge, gas, grinder, washing machine, mixer or TV. All work was manual. Then, there were the unannounced relatives, whose duration of stay  was at least a month. This was the lot of women those days.

My mother was taken for granted. She did all the work, but as we grew, we started washing our own clothes.

But for all women who are lone figures in the kitchen, there would be the unexpressed longing, “ will not a day come when someone else at least will partake a share of the daily grind? “

The feeling should have been in my mother, but it did not find expression, till that particular day.

It was my summer holiday. I was lazing in the house, doing nothing but hanging around with friends and became an expert in wasting time.

My sister’s  wedding was around the corner and mother had gone out to make some purchases. She returned home at 3 PM drained by the very humid and warm day. She dumped the shopping bags on the table and sat tiredly on the sofa in the hall.

I do not know why I did that. But I went into the kitchen and made tea for the two of  us. While she was sitting in the hall with her eyes closed, I put her hot cup of tea on the table and said, “ Mamma have it. “

My mother’s filled with tears, and she said, “finally  it has occurred to someone that I am also a human being. “

She thanked me, drank the tea with relish, and she said this was one gesture she would always remember.

Parents will give only clues. They might not be explicit. As children we have to catch the clues and pitch into more responsibilities.

Do not take parents for granted. As they grow older, we have to grow up.  

NATURAL TALENT

My sister-in law’s son was very talkative and active when he was young. Added to this was the innocence, which is possible only when you are young. When ever I called the  land-line, he ran to lift the receiver, insisted on talking to me  and refused to give the call to his parents. Mostly it was amusing, but in an urgent situation it was irritating. To overcome this issue, in case the matter to be communicated was urgent, I always used to announce myself as a POLICE from the police station. Then he immediately gave the receiver to his parents.

One afternoon, when he got tired of playing, he came running to me, his vest very wet, dripping sweat and asked for something. I could not understand what he wanted from me, and I told him, “Can you repeat it for me?” He did and I still could not catch what he was trying to say.

When I asked him to repeat it once again, he became irritated, and filled his little lungs with air and was about to shout his request. I told him, “do not get angry, and shout. Until you explain it in a way I understand I will not be able to comprehend what you are trying to tell me.”

I was surprised by the change my statement made on him. The air went off his lungs, the pitch lowered itself, when he set himself in an explaining mode.

He told “ I want satchpens. “ Then  seeing my perplexed expression, he further went on to explain, “those things people use to draw on paper.”

Oh! it dawned on me that he wanted sketch pens and paper. I gave those to him and the next half hour was silent, except for the whirring of the afternoon fan, as he scribbled colorful lines on the paper.

He had finished drawing. He looked at me with pride and asked, “ How is it?” 

I could not make out what he had drawn. I asked him “ what is it?”

He said “ How do I know, You are elder to me, You tell me.” So now the responsibility explaining modern art was mine. I do not remember the explanation I gave, but he was convinced and smiled, showing all of his caries teeth.

I gathered the budding artist on my lap and kissed his sweaty face. He too planted a kiss on my cheek and ran away for one more game with children of his age group.

Now, he is studying for bio-med in the USA. He has now become silent and mature. But he was still able to explain what bio-med is, to me, in a way, I could understand. Natural talent, will always be there.    

LANGUAGE NO BAR

I had studied in a convent, where the medium of instruction was English. English was my favorite subject, and I applied myself at learning it well. I used to read a lot of Novels by different Authors, and tried to use catchy phrases from these books in my routine conversations.

I seized each opportunity to improve my communication skills, in English. Though my Mother tongue was Tamil, I did not have it as my language in school. My love for English grew to such an extent that I considered all other languages less. So it was natural that all my friends were English speaking.

In fact one of my neighbors had commented that I was arrogant and condescending towards the speakers of other languages.

It was 1977. I had finished my graduation in economics and had joined a Biscuit Company as a representative. My posting was at Salem, which was a district dominated by Tamilians. There all were fluent in tamil, it being the mother tongue and very few could speak other languages.

It was my first day at work. I was taken around to some of the leading outlets by the distributor sales person.

My first outlet was Ajantha bakery. I was warmly received by the  owner and his sons, all of whom smelt of  a mixture of sweat and  freshly baked bread. With affection, they enquired about my past, and gave me a large portion of mouth watering cake and a cool milk shake, all the while speaking in courteous tamil.

It was the beginning of many such episodes of affection, from all the outlets across the different parts of the district. Warmth, genuineness, affection were in plenty with the tamil speaking lot.

Two years rolled by and slowly I spoke more in tamil than in English. Each day I discovered that the language we speak is of no importance, compared to the love and affection that speaks from the heart. When the heart speaks it communicates - It does not need a language. Love transcends all barriers.

Language is a means to communicate. That is all. It does not matter which language you choose.