Thursday, 31 December 2015

Packing in a gamut of emotions

Memorable and challenging: A year of deeply disturbing incidents alongside a surge in writers taking to Kannada
Memorable and challenging: A year of deeply disturbing incidents alongside a surge in writers taking to Kannada

The Kannada literary world has been polarised on various issues in 2015. The writer has also been forced to take on the role of the activist. With all this, there has also been a huge spurt in creative writing and the Kannada literary world has shown an increasing inclination towards the literary market, writes Praveen Shivashankar

As we take the leap into 2016, the tradition of revisiting the happenings in various fields has become the hallmark of ushering in the New Year! Kannada Literature in the past year received extensive coverage for various reasons. Here we bring to you eminent authors, critics, poets and editors who shared with The Hindu, their perspectives of what they felt was noteworthy, a memorable work they read, what excited them the most and also, the events that disappointed them the most in the year 2015.
Professor H.S. Raghavendra Rao - Critic, writer, and translator: In 2015, as always, literary works were relegated to the background and external realities that are crucial to literature occupied a lot of space in public debates as well as the media. The changing socio-cultural and artistic expressions along with the administration of related organizations have unleashed fundamentalist voices. While the brutal assassination of Prof. Kalburgi became the focal point leading to a confrontation with dissenting forces, in the aftermath of growing intolerance of the majority, the polarization acquired political hues and was exploited by interested parties.
While the process of literary creation has continued, superficial notions about the ‘political correctness’ of literature and the precedence of content over the nuances of the media have resulted in a confusion in evolving writers. Good works have emerged whenever the writers have succeeded in synthesizing their creativity and the demands of the reading public. Some writers have tried to challenge the readers by complex works that demand close reading.
Novels by Yogappanavar, Vivek Shanbhag, Chandrashekhara Kambar and Boluvar Mohammed Kunhi deserve involved reading. The collection of poems by S. Manjunatha and the collection of essays by K. Satyanarayana and S. Divakar are absorbing. A scholarly work on Bharatha’s ‘Natyashastra’ by B.N. Sumitra Bai deserves a special mention.
The fact the Akademi award for this year was conferred on K.V. Tirumalesh, one of our enduring writers and scholars, made me happy and excited.
Prathibha Nandakumar - renowned poet: I can unequivocally state that the year 2015 is one of the golden periods of Kannada literature. There have, of course, been deeply disturbing incidents such as the murder of M.M. Kalburgi, and the personalized attacks that the literary community itself has started to indulge in. But, I see a tremendous surge in the creation of Kannada literary forms on various platforms – be it on Facebook or blogs. The most delightful aspect for me is that people from all walks of life and backgrounds are now coming forward to write in Kannada. We have amazing creative works flowing from people who work in factories, who work in coffee shops, who are software engineers or technicians. People with varied sexual orientations are now writing about their lives and utilizing creative avenues to express their challenges and aspirations. There is no need for someone else to be narrating their stories, as they are capable of saying it themselves. They are deconstructing and redefining the literary styles breaking away from established norms. The established writers must encourage these budding writers and guide them suitably instead of criticizing and curbing their creativity.
While it is disheartening to see the degradation of debate and healthy discussions in Karnataka, I do hope that in the New Year, out of this chaos, there will be sensible creations in the world of Kannada literature.
D. S. Nagabhushan -- critic & editor of Hosa Manushya: The highlight of the year 2015 for me was the silence that the literary community displayed when Veerappa Moily’s “Sri Ramayana Mahaanweshanam” received the ‘Saraswati Samman’ award. I was relieved that despite the political assaults it was dealt with, the Kannada literary world had not lost its literary sensibilities. I was also very happy when writer Devanur Mahadeva called upon the leftist writers to introspect on how their divisive communicative skills have alienated them from the people. We’ll however have to wait and watch if it takes effect.
Of course, it was disappointing to see how a cultural protest against the assassination of Kalburgi was politically exploited and soon degenerated into a virtual bifurcation of the literary world into leftist-rightist writers.
Apart from few other works, the Kannada translation of Azgar Wajahat’s Hindi play, Gandhi@Godse.com titled “Gandhige Saavilla” by Hasan Nayeem Surkod is a very significant work. I believe this is one of the most comprehensive and best plays that has come to Kannada literature.
S. Manjunath, poet: As in the past few years, this year also, an uplifting fact about Kannada literature has been the involvement of young writers and especially an upsurge in the number of female writers. Writers belonging to various communities who were hitherto small in number are increasing their presence and through them there is a new form of Kannada literature that is developing. The progress of any literary format does not happen as much by acceding or idolizing the classic formats as it does by challenging the established norms. The generations of writers we are now seeing are progressive in that sense. Nevertheless this is a double-edged sword. In a bid to establish itself, this form of literary expression has become competitive and aggressive. This aggression has unfortunately taken over even some of the well-established writers. Literature, in the present, is being portrayed as an activism rather than means of broadening the horizons of one’s intellect. It has stopped the pursuit of collective humanistic wisdom and denigrated to groupism.
This is not the age of metaphors, but of theory. For a metaphor to take shape, there is need for silence, a quietude. Nobody seems to have the patience for it. Literature is now tailored to market demands – a consumable. Amidst the vanishing solitude and detachment pre-requisite for the creation of literature, it is heartening that we do see some instances of literary gems appearing, even though they do not get the requisite acclaim.
Dr. H.N. Muralidhara -- professor and writer: For me, the hallmark of the year 2015, as far as Kannada literature is concerned, has been the fact that writers have started to explore different avenues for their creative expression. As a reader, I would say that it is no more about classifying a work as good or bad. Such classifications have become redundant. There are newer forms through which writers are expressing their thoughts and feelings. There is a new wave of creativity that is on the rise in Kannada literature.
Among the works that I read in this year, Lakshmish Tolpadi’s “Ananda Lahari”, a philosophical exposition of Shankaracharya’s Soundarya Lahari stood out. I was touched by its deep philosophy and insight and would certainly recommend it to anyone interested in this field.
What was saddening was to see the literary world itself polarized and divided. Even intellectuals gave up the focus on the principles or contents of discussion and resorted to personalized criticisms and character assassinations.
Lakshmish Tolpadi – writer and philosopher: In the past year, I was really happy to feel a sense of new life in Kannada literature. I believe there are two categories of writers – those who try to write something that they believe will be pleasing to the readers in a manner that they believe will attract them. The other category of writers, however small in number, are those who experience what they want to express. For instance, they don’t merely write about pain, they experience pain and then express it! There have been such writers on the rise in Kannada literature.
I would strongly recommend people to read “Preetiyembudu Chandrana Daye” by S.F. Yogappanavar and also S. Manjunath’s anthology – “Bogase Jala Ondu Beejakkaagi”. You’ll notice that Manjunath’s style is devoid of any pretension and glamour. It is pristine and pure poetry steeped in simplicity.
The disappointments in the literary world are already known. But what deeply shook me was the plight of farmers and the increase in their suicides. The apathy of the government, its cosmetic remedies hold a mirror to our poor quality of empathy.

The effort paid off

  • Amrita Murali at Mylapore Fine Arts in Chennai on December 23, 2015. Photo: K. Pichumani
    Amrita Murali at Mylapore Fine Arts in Chennai on December 23, 2015. Photo: K. Pichumani                  Overall it was a good concert by Amritha Murali with violin support by Ganesh Prasad, mridangam by J. Vaidyanathan and ganjira by Alathur Raja Ganesh. Syama Sastri’s swarajati, ‘Raave Himagirikumari,’ in Thodi was soulful.
    A fast-paced ‘Deva Deva Jagadeeswara’ in Purvikalyani followed with niraval of the second line of anupallavi ‘Padmanabhavasa’; this was quite an unusual line taken for niraval and thus attractive; but the niraval and swarams were rather too long in proportion to the kriti.
    The elaboration of Ritigowla was quite spirited by Amritha. The chosen song was Thyagaraja’s ‘Badaligateera’ with swaras for the Pallavi. Muthuswami Dikshitar’s vibhakti kriti ‘Sri Guruguhasya Dasoham’ in Poorvi was sung in a proper reposeful tempo. The alapana of Khambodi was expansive .
    Amritha is intelligent, hard working, and has a clear voice, her brigas and sangathis came with every note occurring without ambiguity; nevertheless, when ideas appeared to chase each other, it wove an inextricable web around her.
    This is the trend among many young artists and she is no exception. Also, instead of hovering on the upper octave all the time, a little bit below panchamam would have made it more appealing. Ganesh Prasad’s essay was impressive.
    ‘Sri Raghuvara’ was rendered with swara-sahityam with second kaalam too; left without niraval and swaras it would have been neat. Vaidyanathan’s percussion support was, as always, a great asset, particularly during kalpanaswaras.
    The thani by him and Raja Ganesh enhanced the recital. She rounded off the concert with Purandara Dasa’s ‘Sharanu Sharanu’ in Behag followed by a Ragamalika, ‘Kumaragurupara’ and a Thiruppugazh.

  • Vocal concert by Amrita Murali at Mylapore Fine Arts in Chennai on December 23, 2015. Photo: K. Pichumani
    Vocal concert by Amrita Murali at Mylapore Fine Arts in Chennai on December 23, 2015. Photo: K. Pichumani


Befitting a Lalgudi scion

  • Lalgudi GJR Krishnan and Vijayalakshmi Photo: V. Ganesan
    Lalgudi GJR Krishnan and Vijayalakshmi Photo: V. Ganesan                                                                           Violinist Lalgudi GJR Krishnan glowered at the sound engineers’ cabin when the microphone let out a jarring screech soon after he began a Thodi alapana. Chances are it distracted him a lot, because the Thodi, built almost entirely of short and clipped phrases, remained inchoate till the end of the essay.
    This patchiness contrasted sharply with his later presentation, a superb Rasikapriya, where the phrases were longer and more karvai-based, making the listening experience much more enjoyable. With the exception of that Thodi, Krishnan’s play through the concert was very becoming of a ‘Lalgudi’ scion. In fact, in the Kalyana Vasantham filler, Thyagaraja’s ‘Nadaloludai’, you could almost hear the words from his violin.
    While the Thodi (Syama Sastri’s’ Ninne Namminanu’), nourished by the velvety strokes of mridangam maestro Trichy Sankaran, was the main piece, the highlight was the Rasikapriya RTP. This raga of two vivadi notes requires careful handling. Krishnan played it with ease and would have, no doubt, gone on full steam had it not been for the clock. The tanam and the pallavi set to kanda jati triputa talam were too brief, as were the forays into multi-raga swaras, illustrating the perils of the two-hour kutcheri format.
    Earlier, Krishnan’s sibling, Lalgudi Vijayalakshmi, played a long, leisurely Madhyamavati , after which the two violinists took up Thyagaraja’s ‘Evarinchirira’, Dikshitar’s ‘Panchamatanga mukha’ in Malahari, and Ponnayya Pillai’s ‘Amba Nilambari’ in the eponymous raga. The sister seemed to have an edge over the brother in some segments.
    Mridangist Sankaran and ganjira artist K.V. Gopalakrishnan played softly through the concert, but when their turn came, they produced an effervescent thani, with Sankaran’s metallic chapu sounds dominating the show.



Perfect notes of celebration

  • Sanjay Subrahmanyan. Photo: V.V.Krishnan
    Sanjay Subrahmanyan. Photo: V.V.Krishnan                                           

    Sanjay Subrahmanyan stuck firmly and impressively to a traditional construct for his Sangita Kalanidhi concert, writes Bala Shankar

    Awards come with responsibility. Responsibility towards the profession, to the fraternity and, from an artist’s point of view, to young aspirants. Sanjay Subrahmanyan has a large following that includes students. His style and substance on stage are observed and perhaps emulated. Therefore, his performance was along the lines expected from a Sangita Kalanidhi awardee.
    Shunning his reformist instincts, Sanjay opted for a traditional construct in all aspects, including compositions. It was like a well-crafted Ashes century played from the crease rather than an ODI knock from outside it. That is the lesson youngsters will take home from the concert.
    Kalyani, Ananda Bhairavi, Malayamarutham, Kanada, Sankarabharanam – that was the line-up. The composers were Thyagaraja, Dikshitar, Swati Tirunal, Arunachala Kavi. The emotive style backed the traditional mood. ‘Vanajakshi’ (Kalyani) in ata tala is a repository of the A to Z of the raga and Sanjay filled hearts and minds with his dedicated rendition.
    ‘Kamalamba samrakshatumam’ in Ananda Bhairavi was sung with the emphasis on the raga, and the lyrics helped him to iron out the vocal wrinkles. Malayamarutham was a good fit for Sanjay, as he unleashed his brand of brigas.
    The kriti ‘Anumane samikku intha’ follows the ‘Manasa etulo’ almost identically. With lyrical understanding, Sanjay brought out the beauty of the raga.
    Sanjay's Kanada was a rare attempt but the outcome was phenomenal. The alapana was chiselled from charted and bona fide sangathis. He sustained well in sensitive spots, which scored better than the dramatics.
    Many ragas have already been explored exhaustively in kritis and a clever musician will seek to assemble the choicest ones to string his or her own alapana, which is what Sanjay did. That is often the secret to being impressive.
    ‘Sukhi evvaro’ in a slower tempo was a master stroke, to confirm his traditional intent. The soul of the raga dazzled even more in the slow speed swara at ‘Sukhi evvaro.’
    ‘Vande sada Padmanabham’ of Swati Tirunal in Navarasa Kannada was another surprise filler.
    The magnum opus of Sankarabharanam unfolded in the raga alapana. There were many serene moments with soft syllables around the panchamam, a la Madurai Somu.
    Sanjay’s ideas sometimes raced ahead of what his voice could execute.
    Violinist Varadarajan’s raga alapana was a delight with precision, brevity and melody layering the rendition. The thanam was overshadowed by the raga alapanas, but was quickly rounded off.
    The pallavi in eight kalai chatusra jati rupaka tala, with an eduppu starting deep into the cycle and the sparse words in Sanskrit ‘Sri Saraswathi namostute, paradevathe varade’, offered great scope for an imaginative niraval, which Sanjay and Varadarajan exploited well.
    The rest of the pallavi turned technical, with the trikala versions and intelligent swara formations. The popular ragamalika option was eschewed, keeping to the more traditional track.
    At this point, ‘The Sanjay Subrahmanyan’ took over, with viruthams in Bimplasi, Begada, Sindhu Bhairavi and more following the emotionally charged lyrics such as ‘Paril uyarntha nilam’ and ‘En thai vazhi enum mandira namame inbathai oottuthamma’ in Patdeep.
    The support from Neyveli Venkatesh (mridangam) and K V Gopalakrishnan (ganjira) was competent with Venkatesh showing good adherence to the tempo and laya variations employed by the main artist, except for brief frenzies.



Wisely walking the bhava route

Papanasam Ashok Ramani. Photo: V.V.Krishnan
Papanasam Ashok Ramani. Photo: V.V.Krishnan

When an artist has to cope with a recalcitrant voice, it is always an uphill struggle to translate thought to articulation. But which vocalist hasn’t faced voice issues at some point?
Viewing a list that includes stalwarts, counting Sangita Kalanidhis, you find that such musicians fought with and at least partially overcame the problem with a never-say-die spirit.
For the listener, it’s a different ball game. The kutcheri interface teaches you that the core of classical music transcends a pleasing voice or the lack of it. You learn to look beyond voice to a concept called abhiprayam. You don’t merely listen, you discern.
As a reviewer, you do not harp on the shortcoming. Instead, what matters is whether an artist walks on the right side of the line of intention. Which Ashok Ramani did. Gamely filling in for absent artist M.S. Sheela, the seasoned musician chose to rise beyond long-time voice constraints by wisely treading the bhava route.
Warming up with Kothavasal Venkatrama Iyer’s varnam ‘Sarasuda’ (Saveri), the artist capitalised on the madhyamakala potential of ‘Jaya Jaya’ (Nattai), suffixing krithi with sarvalaghu kalpanaswaras enlivened by janta combinations and poruttams.
A graceful silhouette of Dhanyasi was sketched by engaging prayogas and brigas tailored for a gentle landing on the madhya sthayi shadja. Papanasam Sivan’s ‘Balakrishnan Padamalar’ is a bijou, aglow with nascent luminosity in the anupallavi and charanam sahitya. Sure enough, the artist homed in on ‘Neelamugil’ for swarakalpana in two kalais, dwelling on the oscillated nishadha, a repository of bhava.
Finely nuanced ravai sangathis lent light and shade to the rendition of ‘Amma Ravamma’ (Kalyani, Thyagaraja). The artist notched up his score in the main Kharaharapriya. The tier-by-tier construction of alapana reflected discipline, offset by vivid briga flights, drawing strength from Thyagaraja’s masterpiece
In ‘Chakkani Raja’, the niraval segments and sprightly kalpanaswaras with kuraippu at the dhaivatha impressed.
Ashok’s finest hour, however, came in the RTP. An unusual raga choice, Ganamurthi raised the bar. The vivadi feel was brought out with sensitivity. Handled in phases, the alapana formed distinct little islets with a skilfully manoeuvred tanam navigating calm waters.
The pallavi ‘Ganamurthe, Venu Ganamurthe …’ in mishra jati triputa tala (two-kalai) was delivered with panache, with niraval that came as bursts of anuswara-rich passages slipped in through tala interstices.
Vioinist Nalina Mohan’s raga essays on strings shone with astuteness, particularly the rich tonal variations in the mandra sthayi.
With Anoor Ananthakrishna Sharma (mridangam), Sukanya Ramgopal (ghatam) and Bhagyalakshmi N. Krishna (morsing), the thani avartanam crescendoed to a very satisfactory close.
Winning spontaneous applause for her crystal clear sollus and well-structured kuraippu, young Bhagyalakshmi on the morsing is an artist to watch.

Music, in unmusical surroundings

One of the finest recordings of Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer is known as the airport concert. This is because the take off and landing of aircrafts punctuate the recital every ten minutes or so.

Given that Carnatic music has flourished over so many centuries, you would expect that a certain discipline would exist in what defines performance space.
But that has never been so — classrooms, wedding halls, temple courtyards, auditoriums — most of them with dreadful acoustics, have served as venues. Is it despite this, or because of this, that the art form has had a successful run for so long?
Take temples or religious precincts as venues — there may have been a time when these were quiet, hallowed locations, the vast corridors perfect for great music, but today, they are cacophonous both within and without. The Ayodhya Mandapam in West Mambalam is an example. Who would believe that Madurai Somu once held huge audiences enthralled here, all of them indifferent to the noise of buses thundering down the road? The noise has only become worse since then.
Carnatic musicians today are, in general, resigned to performing at any odd place. This appears to have been so in the past also. One of the finest recordings of Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer is known to collectors as the airport concert. This is because the take off and landing of aircrafts punctuate the recital every ten minutes or so. The maestro comments on it himself mid-song, saying that the programme ought to have been held a week earlier when there was a pilots’ strike. There is a legend that the pitamaha actually sang it in an airport. But that is impossible. What is likely is that the concert took place at Nanganallur or Meenambakkam.
At least three concert recordings, one each of Alathur Brothers, Ariyakkudi Ramanuja Iyengar and Flute Mali, feature the sharp whistle and chugging of a train, mercifully just once. Some claim these were at Perambur, while others say the venue was somewhere in Dadar/Matunga, close to the railway line. In the Mali concert, he stops mid-alapana and reproduces the whistle perfectly on his flute, much to the delight of the audience. In his famed 1954 Khar concert, also in Bombay, Semmangudi in the midst of his Sankarabharanam alapana, reacts with appropriate musical phrases when a child lets out a sudden howl. Though no recordings of the performances exist, Chembai is known to have sung twice, once at a police station when young, and later as a star, in a bank branch, both times because officials expressed regret that they had missed the maestro’s concert of the previous evening.
The strangest experience of all was perhaps Salem Chellam Iyengar’s. Invited to perform at a certain house, he was happy that everyone applauded repeatedly during the concert. All except the much brocaded and garlanded patron who sat still in a chair. When he asked why the man was not reacting to his music, he was told that he could not, as he was dead and it was for his funeral wake that Chellam Iyengar was singing. This apparently was a custom peculiar to that community. It took quite a while for Iyengar to recover.

For a lighter thavil


  •   An artist playing the thavil
    An artist playing the thavil                                                                                                                              

    Veteran thavil artist Venugopala Pillai explains the changes he brought about in the making of the instrument

    The making of no other instrument has evolved as much as the thavil, the only percussion instrument without sruti. Every part of the instrument, barring the drum made of jackfruit wood, has changed with time and more importantly, according to the need of Porayar Venugopala Pillai, a nonagenarian, still playing and teaching the instrument.
    He adopted the technique used for making western percussion instruments, and in the process, made it easy for thavil players, who used to spend hours tightening the instrument with leather belts. Valayapatti A.R. Subramaniam, the only thavil player to receive the Sangita Kalanidhi , however, feels that 50 per cent of the original sound of the instrument has changed.
    “But I overcome it by not fully tightening the thattu (leather plate). Still I have succeeded in bringing back only 90 per cent of the original sound,” says Subramaniam.
    Today, different parts of the thavil, are made in various places and later assembled. The jackfruit drum comes from Panruti in Cuddalore, synonymous with jackfruit groves. The steel rings (valai) made of iron pipes, for attaching the leather is made at Thiruvaiyaru Valangaiman and Kattumannarkoil, the birth place of Vaishnava Acharya Nadhamunigal. Earlier, layers of bamboo were used to make the rings.
    Steel belts for fixing the valanthalai (rightside) and thoppi (left side) on the drum and the connecting rod in the middle of the drum are manufactured at Mayiladuthurai.
    Before Venugopala Pillai made the changes, leather belts were used to tighten the valanthalai and thoppi without which the performance of a thavil player would go haywire. It takes a minimum of one hour to tighten the instrument.
    Traditionally thavil players used the stick of thirvachi plant, known for its medicinal benefits, for playing the thoppi. Rice paste and cotton cloth were used to make the ‘koodu’ worn in the fingers for playing on the right side. Now water-sealing compound has replaced rice paste. But it was his physical discomfort that forced Pillai to bring about the change. “I was part of the nagaswaram troupe of Chidambaram Radhakrishna Pillai and developed high fever. I was shivering on the day I was performing with him, on the occasion of Aani Manjanam festival, at Chidambaram temple. As it is against sampradaya to remove the instrument till the concert is over, I played till I fainted,” recalls Pillai.
    He had hernia and doctors advised him not to strain too much. “I thought it was end of the road for my career as I was unable to tighten the thavil.” He spent days without playing the instrument till he happened to watch a western band playing in Mayiladuthurai, where he had gone to watch Sakunthala, starring M.S. and GNB.
    “The drummer played extremely well and when I went near him I noticed the nuts and bolts attached to the drum. I decided to adapt the technology for the thavil,” explains Pillai.
    He began his experiment by using thin metal belts used to pack textiles in wooden boxes. But the tensile strength was not adequate and the belts snapped when tightened beyond a point. He increased the thickness of the belts.
    “But I could produce the pleasing sound of thavil only on the thoppi and not on the right side. I constantly changed the place of the ring in the middle of the wooden drum where the belts will be attached. I could achieve the magic when I fixed it near the thoppi.”
    When asked whether he is happy with this achievement, Pillai says that he has reduced the weight of the thavil, but is unhappy that the original sound is lost.

  • A thavil artist uses plastic caps on fingers to play the instrument
    A thavil artist uses plastic caps on fingers to play the instrument
  • Iron strings used on the thavil
    Iron strings used on the thavil
  • The process of making the thavil. The Hindu Archives
    The Hindu
    The process of making the thavil. The Hindu Archives


Saying it with lights

Photo: Murali Kumar. K
Murali Kumar. K
Photo: Murali Kumar. K

Are aspects of light design and set design in theatre to be learnt on the job or is it important to make it a part of formal training? Archana Nathan speaks to a few lighting technicians and theatre directors to find out their views

When Vinay Chandra sits through a script reading session, “colours and lines appear in front of his eyes and occupy the contours of his mind,” he says. A lighting designer, Vinay, has been in the business and art of communicating words, scenes, emotions and ideologies entrenched in plays through the language of light.
Like most light designers in theatre, Vinay too stumbled into the field when he attended a theatre workshop and thereafter, began setting up lights and even designing it for theatre productions at National College in Bangalore, where he was a student. “I failed in my 12th standard and I did not know what to do. Then, I attended a theatre workshop and was immediately drawn towards it. I joined National College which has a history of histrionics and encouraged theatre a lot,” recalls Vinay. At college, he attended a number of workshops, spent hours at plays and gradually learnt the art of light design. His accidental tryst with the field then blossomed into love for the art of designing lights and soon, a couple of jobs later, he decided that he would take it up as a profession.
The story is not so different for Vinay’s teacher, Muddanna, a veteran lighting designer, who came to Bangalore in the 1970s in search of a livelihood. He joined Prabhath Kalavidaru, a theatre group and worked with them for a year. Then, he travelled with individual theatre troupes doing back stage work, lights, costumes etc. Gradually, his interest centred on light design and there was no looking back. Muddanna has designed lights for over 250 plays and around 3000 productions as of today.
Vinay and Muddanna are part of what we can now call a ‘lighting industry’ that largely comprises informal and unskilled workers. Despite the burgeoning count of theatre schools across the State, light design, say designers, is still not a part of the curriculum in these schools. In other words, there are not light design specialists emerging out of theatre schools. So, most light designers in the field are self-taught or have learnt on the job, with a little help from seniors. A graduate of Ninasam, Jagadeesh Nanjundappa’s knowledge in light design, for instance, is born out of his own interest in the field and his initiative to attend workshops, productions and to talk to other designers, architects etc. “When I graduated out of Ninasam in 2001, there were very few professional lighting designers in Kannada theatre. There were those who would multitask- sing, direct and along with that do some lighting too. Once, when I was performing in Ninasam, ‘Make-up’ Nani had told me that while in Marathi theatre, there were ample specialists- in costume, make-up, and lighting, the number of specialists in Kannada were far less. He had said that at least in the near future, if there are specialists in every field, it would be nice,” he recounts.
“Unfortunately, lighting is something that is usually taken for granted. That it is an art form is barely acknowledged. I agree that the actor is imperative for theatre but you have to see and hear him, right?” he asks.
He adds further that lighting, like music and dance, is a knowledge system whose learning is a continuous process. “The reason why it is not considered at par with other knowledge systems is partly because we hardly have any trainers or institutions that deem it important to focus, even partly on light design,” explains Jagadeesh.
What does the art of light design entail? Most designers say that ideally, light designers should be part of the script reading sessions either during the first or the second reading. The idea is to transform the verbal into the visual. “For this, the lighting designer, after hearing the director’s vision of the play and watching a few run-throughs, draws up sketches replete with line drawings and a colour scheme that captures the essence of the play. His design is then discussed, threshed out and finally, implemented. There are changes that take place even during the production. Especially then, the experience and training of the designer come into focus,” describes Vinay, who took a course at National School of Drama.
Academic grounding in both Vinay and Jagadeesh’s opinion, therefore, will root this art and practice of light design in theory and will couch it within a discipline, they say. Muddanna, on the other hand, doesn’t actually believe it is imperative to learn lighting in schools. “I have learnt on the job. And I’ve made a living in theatre. I may not have made money but I’ve not had a problem with life. What you really need in order to learn lighting is patience and interest,” he explains.
Kannada theatre director, Joseph, feels that the problem is not with theatre schools but what happens after. “Students learn light design in schools but many times, they barely get enough opportunities or avail of an infrastructure that helps them practice aspects of light design. There are so many people who claim to know lighting but they know nothing about light design,” he says.
In the wake of a dearth of light designers in Kannada theatre and the lack of curriculum support for the same, what has happened is that the field is saturated with ‘unprofessional’ people who take light design for granted, says Vinay. “Amateurs are fine. Especially in the 70s and 80s,  amateur theatre rose to its peak. But today, amateurs have a lackadaisical approach to theatre. They feel they know lighting and it need not be learnt,” he says. Muddanna too agrees that most youngsters who come into theatre come in with a desire to make money and not actually learn the art form.
Veteran theatre director Pramod Shiggaon says that many theatre students come to theatre schools like Ninasam with the intention of entering the film industry eventually. “They may be in Ninasam but their face is turned towards Gandhinagar. Back stage work, during our time, was far more selfless. We wanted to be a part of the process. We weren’t there for money or fame,” he explains.
Poor remuneration is another factor, say artists. “Kannada theatre especially can only afford Rs.1000 to lighting designers. It is difficult to make a living just through light design,” says Vinay.
The issue then goes back to formalising and cultivating a lighting designer through the education system. “There is a fundamental difference in learning on the job and in a school. On the job, there is always a deadline and learning may not always be comprehensive. But in a school, there is an eco-system created that fosters imagination and creativity. We need that. We need to generate lighting designers with a visual vocabulary that will transform theatre,” adds Vinay.
Pramod Shiggaon agrees. “Theatre is a complete art form. While it may be difficult to dedicate a year-long course to lighting design, because that’s how long it should take ideally to learn it, we need to create a breeding ground for more lighting artists just as we have done for actors and directors. Then, they will begin to be taken seriously in the field, they will be trained and can also command a remuneration that will help them grow. With new graduates coming out of theatre schools, things are already beginning to change in a few places,” he adds.

Music and Vallalar’s verses



Rama Kausalya. File Photo
The Hindu
Rama Kausalya. File Photo

Vallalar is known mainly as a philosopher and an inspirational spiritual leader, who has left behind thousands of poems. But if one looks closely at his literary output, it becomes evident that the musical potential in his verses is on an outstanding scale. Dr. Rama Kausalya took up the musical aspects of Vallalar’s works for analysis in a lec-dem for Sangeeth Sagar Cultural Trust.
Kausalya said the 19th century, in which Vallalar lived was a golden era for Tamil compositions, for it was the era that gave us composers such as Gopalakrishna Bharati, Mahavaidyanatha Iyer and the Thanjavur quartet. She said that Vallalar was a good singer and his voice was described askinnara saareeram- a celestial voice - by violinist Sirkazhi Narayanaswami Pillai, who was close to Vallalar. It is said that the arangetram of Vedanayagam Pillai’s Sarvasamaya kritis was in the presence of Vallalar.
Recently, Kausalya organised a workshop at Thillaisthanam on the singing of Vallalar’s poems, and students from all over Tamil Nadu were trained by Arimalam Padmanabhan, Tribhuvanam Atmanathan and Shyamala Venkateswaran. Thirty compositions were taught.
Kausalya said that it was hard to think of any other composer who had composed in so many literary and musical genres. Vallalar has to his credit padams, kritis (with pallavi, anupallavi and charanam), folk songs such as ‘Ananda Kalippu,’ songs for women such as kummi and akkacchi, Tiruppalliezhuchi, viruthams and Tamil verses that come under the category of ‘pa.’ Interestingly, even his folk songs and songs for children have a spiritual content. The songs may appear light and playful, but behind the superficial meaning there is a spiritual message hidden beautifully in the simple lines of poetry.
Vallalar has composed Kannis, which are similar to Thyagaraja’s Divyanama kirtanas, where there is a pallavi and many charanams. He even composed two songs to Western notes. Kausalya said that one of them goes – ‘Bhogam, Sukhabhogam, Sivabhogam Adhu Nityam.’ (There is only one joy that is everlasting- the joy of worshipping Siva).
Madhuvanthi Badri sang some of Vallalar’s compositions, to show the huge sweep that he had. ‘Varuvaar Azhaithu Vaadi’ (Begada) is a padam in Nayaki bhavam, but the more profound meaning is that the jivatma is aching for nearness to the Paramatma. ‘Dandanitten’ in Thodi is a song of supplication and surrender, and has seven charanams.
‘Enakkum Unakkum’ is usually sung in Charukesi, but Madhuvanthi sang it in a soul stirring Desh.
Vallalar has also composed a type of verse known as undi para, which one also finds in the Tiruvachagam. Although it isn’t exactly clear what undi para is, commentators are of the opinion that it is a folk dance for girls. Madhuvanthi sang a song of this genre composed by Vallalar - ‘Iravu Vidindhadhu,’ in Atana. ‘Ambalathil Adugindra,’ a chindu, was sung in a moving Abheri. The song chosen from the genre known as ‘Ananda Kalippu’ was sung in Kapi.
As to who tuned the songs, Kausalya said that since Vallalar was known to be a good singer and since many of the tunes are referred to as ‘traditional tunes’, and have been handed down over the years, it is probable that these are the original tunes, although subsequently latter day musicians also set some of Vallalar’s compositions to tune. The important thing is how every type of verse Vallalar wrote has the ease of adaptability to music and dance.

The faces of rhythm


  • Ariyakudi Ramanuja Iyengar
    Ariyakudi Ramanuja Iyengar                                                           

    Laya’, a tribute-exhibition to photojournalist Raghavendra Rao, captures the bhava of eminent artists.

    “The hours ticked past, unnoticed. My father was deep in conversation with vidwan Dwaram Venkataswamy Naidu. Gradually, Dwaram the person, emerged.
    Absolutely relaxed to the point where he casually lit his cheroot. And that is how the photo came about….Observe the use of bright sunlight in direct contrast to Dwaram’s world of visual darkness,” points out Nagesh Rao, son of the late Raghavendra Rao, ace photojournalist, whose brilliant black and white portraits of eminent South Indian classical musicians and dancers are showcased in the exhibition ‘Laya,’ at the Tag Digital Archives, The Music Academy.
    Born in 1932, Raghavendra Rao’s formative years were spent in Mandya, Karnataka. A rebellious streak led him to detrain at Nagpur on a whim, to study journalism at the city’s University.
    In an illustrious career spanning four decades, Rao related stories through photographs in The Indian Express and later, India Today and The Hindu Business Line.
    Subsequently, the artist in him sought out classical performers to discover the persons behind the personae, enabling him to capture their moods, moments and art through his lens.
    “My father passed away in 2014, leaving behind a body of remarkable work that represented what he stood for – passion, courage and commitment. To us, he was a photographer, artist and mentor who urged us to give our best. On the first anniversary of his demise, we felt that an exhibition of his works would be the most fitting tribute to his memory and his work,” says Nagesh.
    Shot entirely in natural light, at the artists’ homes, the frames include candid shots, maestros in communication with their muse, or refreshingly, just being.
    “He would draw out his camera only after putting them at ease, often becoming a friend in the process. D.K. Pattammal for instance, remained a family friend, to whom we looked up for wisdom and valuable advice.”
    The roster includes doyens whose awe-inspiring aura would intimidate the common man. But Rao’s portraits make them appear eminently approachable, even childlike, in their expressions of joy and unaffected laughter, exemplified by M.D. Ramanathan’s portrait.
    Dressed in a simple, slightly crumpled ‘at-home’ cotton sari, a smile of genuine pleasure lighting up her face, the legendary Balasaraswathi looks uncannily like your favourite aunt or the mami next door.
    S. Balachander’s gaze signals his immersion in cerebration, fingers poised above the veena frets.
    A study in elegance, the portrait of Malavika Sarukkai links the aesthete in the photographer to that of his subject. As remarkable for mood as for composition, the study views the celebrated dancer in profile, seated with a raised knee, the stark silhouette of an antique kuthuvilakku standing sentinel on the left and the soft arch of a wall niche above. Form and proportion achieve a perfect balance in this visual symphony.
    Vidwans Ariyakudi Ramanuja Iyengar, Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer, Maharajapuram Santhanam, B. Rajam Iyer, M. Balamuralikrishna, R. Keshavamurthy, R.K. Srikantan, Lalgudi G. Jayaraman, T. N. Krishnan, N. Ramani, N. Ravikiran, Mandolin U. Srinivas, vidushis T. Brinda, T. Mukta, M.S. Subbulakshmi, D.K. Pattammal, Mani Krishnaswami and natya acharyas Rukmini Devi Arundale, Kalanidhi Narayanan, Vyjayantimala Bali, Sudharani Raghupathy, Chitra Viswesvaran, Shanta and V.P. Dhananjayan, Leela Samson and Alarmel Valli are among those featured in the hall of fame.
    Rao’s profound imagery speaks as much about his sensitivity and perception as about his subjects who lived and breathed their craft. Many of these stalwarts are not with us today, but their creative spaces will always be inhabited by their brilliance and vision, discoveries and innovations, generosity and humility, laughter and humaneness, joys and passions.
    The exhibition is on till January 9, 2016. Timings: 11 a.m. – 7 p.m.

  • D.K.Pattammal
    D.K.Pattammal