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Mani Iyer's mesmerizing music
By T.M.Anantharaman
Memories of my musical journey take me back in time, more than
five decades ago in fact. I was in my teens and almost got thrown
out of a classical music concert of the inimitable Madurai Mani
Iyer, one of my favourite musicians. There is nothing apocryphal
about this. It happened in the early 1950s in Bombay at the
Shanmukhananda Hall, touted then as Asia’s biggest auditorium.
Strange as it may seem, I belong to a family where it was felt
that you were a musical “gnansoonyam” (loosely translated
this Tamil word means an ignoramous) if you didn’t like
Madurai Mani Iyer or simply Mani Iyer, as he
was generally known among our uncles and aunts. Yes, as a teenager
I was inculcated into the art of appreciating Mani Iyer’s
music, being dragged along unwillingly to many “thenga-moodi”
Kutcheris (meaning musicians who got paid in broken coconut
pieces as remuneration for concerts). And, Mani Iyer (and many
others of his ilk in those days, I guess) gave many such concerts
in temple precincts where he sang without any inhibitions or
time constraints. Oh yes, those were the golden days of music,
true creative music. Musicians then didn’t give concerts
marking time according to the remuneration
they got from the sabhas!
And Mani Iyer was popular among the oldies and the generation
next (to which I belonged then). His unique enunciation of kritis
or ragas or manodharma swaras (imaginative singing of solpha-note
phrases) was enshrined in the family with the phrase “appadiye
puttu puttu vachchiduvar vaadiyar” (impossible to translate
but loosely it means vaadiyar could split it in endearing portions,
“vaadiyar” being the respectful honorific to convey
the essence of a great master! ).
Some of the ever green ditties I recall from his concerts of
yesteryear include the cadence-full
eternal Hamsadwani gem “Vaataapi Ganapatim bhaje”,
the racy Kapinarayani piece “Sarasa sama dana beda danda
chathura”, the beautiful Kanndagowla kriti “Orajoopa
joo theli nyayama”, the enchanting Shanmukhapriya composition
“mariveradik evarayya rama”, the soulful Mohana
raga and Papanasam Sivan’s composition “Kapali”,
the magnificent Kambhoji raga and the composition “Kana
Kan Kodi Vendum” and the ever popular Bhimplasi ode to
Lord Muruga styled “Kandan Karunai purium vadivel”.
All glorious, soul-filling, uplifting and endearing music!
And, let us not forget the pioneering spirit of this great singer.
He was instrumental in introducing and popularizing ragas like
Ranjani, Vachaspati, Gowdamalhar, Latangi and Janaranjani—themes
which were not heard much before 1950s and which were sung truly
in an enchanting fashion capturing the imagination of the listeners
and becoming popular in concert circuits quickly.
A slight digression here into Mani Iyer’s style of rendering
kritis or ragas. Be it a soulful Sahana or a romanchak Ranjani,
he sang them in short staccato bursts, often rounding up the
phrases with sounds “aiye” “uiye” or
“ouiye” or sometimes with some gurgling, guttural
sounds. A classic example of this type of singing can be seen
in the Bhimpalasi kriti “Kandan Karunai puriyum vadivel”
where towards the end he sings the line “andamaadidum,
aadimagaltham, annaiParasakthi, arul puriVel”. Here he
splits the word “andamaadidum” a couple of times
with his trademark “andam aadiduii” or “andam
aadiduiyye”. We youngsters in the family loved the “uiis”
or “aiyyes” but I have heard some elders in the
family coming down hard on such “corruption” of
music. Once my father even termed his music as “vowel
sangeetham”.
Be that as it may, my own favourites were the `solpha’
notes, which he used to sing for the Kanada raga kriti “Sukhi
evaro” with some delectable phrasings like Ni pa ga ga,
ma ni pa ga ga,.ma da ni pa ga ga, ma da ni saa pa ga ga, ga
ma ri sa, ma dha ni saa ni pa ga ma ri sa etc, reminiscence
of which even now casts a spell and mesmerizes me.
But even more popular was the clamorous demand from one and
all in the audience for “notes”, Mani Iyer’s
patented style of singing the SA, ri ga ma notes of the Sankarabaranam
raga scale tuned to a western ditty. “Ni sa ri da ni ri
sa da pa, ga pa sa nii da sa pa…. ..ga pa ma ri ga ma
ri ga sa” he usually began and a thunderous applause would
greet him from all corners of the sabha. This was truly creative
singing with an appealing lilt and tilt to the nuances of what
the audience instinctively relished and hummed. Mani Iyer knew
this to the hilt and enjoyed exploiting the cadence with full
verve and melody. I believe Muthuswamy Dikshitar is the creator
of this solpha-note pattern. By singing this, Mani Iyer seems
to have paid homage to and reiterated his fondness for Dikshitar
and his compositions.
To this day when I hear this, I automatically start humming
a few lines of the solpha phrases. And, I believe whatever is
hummable is possibly the best in music because you start humming
that which you enjoy the most. Again, the true purpose of music
is to provide joyful fare to the listener. It is like you are
one with the eternal cosmic sound and if somebody can induce
you to be one with cosmos, well then, he has opened you out
to an extraordinary secret—that of submerging your soul
and being one with God! What I think our ancient rishis used
to describe as “naada bramham”!
Now to the very beginning when I mentioned about getting almost
thrown out of Mani Iyer’s concert. When the gatekeeper
was busy checking someone else’s ticket, I managed to
squeeze into the auditorium without a ticket. I was in my early
teens and was immensely hooked on to Mani Iyer’s music,
especially the tukdas (pieces sung almost towards the end of
the concert) and the “notes” and I didn’t
want to miss out come hell or high water! Well one sabha official
spotted me trying to squeeze into an already packed row of seats
and caught me and asked me for my ticket. When I blinked he
first caught me by my hand and then dragged me by the scruff
of my neck (to this day I am ashamed of this “scruff of
the neck” stuff) to the door.
I started whimpering and then pleaded with folded hands (in
namaste style as by then he had got a firm grip on only the
scruff of my neck): “Please sir, I will sit in one corner
at the end row by the aisle side. I am fond of Mani Iyer’s
music and came to hear the tukdas and the singing of “notes”.
Please sir, have pity on me.!” Wonder of wonders, the
hands which had a firm grip on my scruff then loosened and the
official gently took my hand and escorted me to a corner from
where I could listen to music without disturbing anyone.
This experience taught me some lessons. Music is a magnet. Mani
Iyer’s music was a strong magnet which gave me stupendous
courage to gate-crash into his concert. Although I was a little
nonplussed about the “scruff of the neck” part,
I still was able to enjoy the music when Mani Iyer sang “Kandan
karunai puriyum vadivel” and later the ever-hummable western
“notes”.
Lesson two: Officials of the sabha may look
grim and foreboding but have a soft corner for youngsters who
are interested in music and gate-crash into musical events.
Not all people in the world are hardened cops who thrash the
offenders. Some like this Shanmukhananda Hall official was truly
an evolved child psychologist who had a heart of gold and made
a youngster’s evening memorable. More than five decades
later the event is still etched sharp in my memory.
Whenever I listen to Mani Iyer’s music I recall this episode
with fondness and I remember this official although time has
blurred his features somewhat and I can only see a vague outline
of the burly, husky man who made my day with Madurai Mani Iyer
possible!
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