Incalculable

 Last year around the month of December, the Tamizh Nadu government suddenly announced a proposal to charge entertainment tax on tickets for music concerts and dramas. Coming as it did just when the Margazhi Music Season was on in Chennai, one could easily read between the lines. Thankfully, it was not implemented during the season though the Bill was introduced in the Assembly.

The big question is – Is Music a form of entertainment?

Though some (or even many) would answer ‘yes’ to that question, I differ. In fact, I still remember the kind of arguments and debates I indulged in during my college days on this topic. Ah, yes, those were informal and not like the ‘Patti MandRam’ one would see on TV those days. Yet, there were heated arguments.

Let us get into the meaning of the word Entertainment. It means to ‘amuse’ people; that is, to make them laugh; to make them feel happy. While I do not have any dispute with regard to the happiness part, I disagree with that ‘amusement’ and ‘laughing’. Music does make one laugh, but it also makes one cry. That ‘laugh’ too is different and surely does not reflect the kind of happiness one gets from listening to music. Music enters our ears, pierces our heart, and stirs the soul. Well, I am talking about real and genuine music and not the ‘sound’ that masquerades as music!

The song I have taken up today is a classic example of genuine music. Before that, I must also tell you the background. In a recent interview to a Kannada channel, the Master himself referred to this song and narrated something about it (which is a rarity!). It seems an elephant calf in Thirussur refused to fall asleep. One day (or night), the mahout sang this song and the calf calmed down and fell asleep. Since then, it has become a habit for the mahout to sing this song for the calf to sleep.

AlliyiLampoovo from Mangalam Nerunnu (1984) is a very special song and the reason has to do not just with this incident. Generally, lullabies are composed in ragas like Neelambari, Yadukulakambhodi, Kurinji or even ShankarabharaNam. I have hardly come across a lullaby in Madhyamavati or Brindavana Saranga. If the former is considered to be a very auspicious raga, the latter- which in a way almost sounds like the former except for a subtle difference and variation- has contours of romance and love. But this composer who has time and again defied logic challenging the status quo without crossing the boundary, has composed this lullaby in Brindavana Saranga. It goes to show yet again that a raga is just a tool and that it is less important than the feelings it evokes by the way it is used.

With the keys producing that special sound (this sound was his trademark during the late ‘70s and the early ‘80s), and the flute joining in, the akaaram of Krishnachandran is as soothing as the breeze in a forest. The keys keep repeating the same melody- though it becomes subtle once the vocals start- until almost the end of the prelude, suggesting that certain things in life are repetitive and yet never tiring.

The breezy feel continues in the Pallavi with the percussion playing    1 2 3 4/ 1 2 3 4 giving the stress on the last two syllables in each part ( 3 4).

The reason for my mentioning ‘breeze’ will become more apparent and clearer if you listen to the first interlude. The flute which is the partner of the wind and without which it cannot exist musically, caresses us like how one’s father used to caress us while putting us to sleep when we were small. The special keys take over with glee and complement the flute in the second half of the interlude.

With the percussion following the same pattern, the lines in the CharaNams ooze with compassion and love. Without a doubt, the ‘between the lines’ sound towards the end, gives it a special complexion.

The special sound continues in the second interlude until yet another sound from the keys takes over. If I call this sound intriguing, I don’t think I will be exaggerating. The flute appears again, but this time it has a totally different shade. With a child-like enthusiasm, it moves, prances and even crawls.

Are you the young flower/or the sweet honey/ or the tender coconut/or the one with sweet words/ or the moon that has come to the earth? – says the Pallavi.

Doesn’t this apply to immortal music too? And can we imagine ‘taxing’ such music?

Hope the powers that be are listening. Oh, aren’t they busy with something else?