The encomiums and accolades have been pouring in. A child prodigy, a brilliant, multi- dimensional performer, a prodigious composer, and a controversial maverick to boot - Mangalampalli Balamurali Krishna passed away recently in Chennai at the age of 86. It would be fatuous and superfluous to add to the well researched milestones of his illustrious career that various sections of the media have so meticulously recorded, particularly the print media. Suffice it to say that his achievements and recorded works will stand eternal testimony to the genius of the man. The word genius is often used loosely, but the cap fits perfectly in the case of Balamurali - he was possessed of abundant inborn talent and a bundle of wayward eccentricities, qualities almost de rigueur for someone to be accorded that hallowed appellation.
What conspicuously caught the eye was the usual number of musicians and sundry others who filled the pages of our dailies with words of overweening appreciation, and invariably, copious references to their own association with the man. Not that there's anything particularly wrong with that, if it inconspicuously serves to make a point, but the whole purpose of these paeans of praise appeared to be to establish the writer's closeness and proximity to the deceased celebrity.
Some of our vidwans, after making the usual crocodile teary noises about 'what a great loss to the world of Carnatic music', would then focus entirely on a stream of trivia that tiresomely establishes the writers' special relationship with the deceased musician. The recent passing of Balamurali Krishna is only one example of this phenomenon. We have seen this consistently displayed, in varying degrees, over the years, be it G.N. Balasubramanian, Madurai Mani Iyer, Semmangudi Srinivasier, M.S. Subbulakshmi, D.K. Pattamal, Lalgudi Jayaraman and several others. It is almost as if the musician's passing is little more than a fleeting footnote. The essence of these personal obituaries appears to be to establish the writer's intimacy with the icon.
Without delving into who said precisely what, here are some examples of the general tenor of the tributes that one has observed over the years. They do not necessarily relate only to Balamurali Krishna, but could apply equally to any musician from the past, who has winged his way to sing or play with the heavenly gandharvas and apsaras. It is as if a template has been created for the delivery of obituaries, and one simply changes the copy to suit the particular musician one is, literally, praising to the skies. Let us amuse ourselves with some familiar and oft repeated samplers.
Senior mridanga vidwan — “What a genius he was. Whenever he performed a complicated pallavi, he would turn to me challengingly, as if to dare me into responding to the involved tala cycle. When I returned the compliment with equal felicity, he would applaud generously and tell the audience that only I could keep pace with him for such manoeuvres. In fact he used to completely ignore the violin vidwan whenever I accompanied him on the mridangam. What a man. What a musician!”
Senior lady vocalist — “Once a month, he would call me up and ask me to come to his home and sing to him. He requested me to render an alapana in the rare raga Sunadavinodini. He had a mischievous glint in his eye, as if to say, 'Let's see if you are up to the challenge'. When I comfortably sang the raga as if I was singing a familiar Kambodhi, he placed his hand on my head and said, 'You are blessed my child.' I offered him his favourite sakkarai pongal, which I had specially prepared for him with extra cashews, which he loves. His joy knew no bounds. What a man.”
A multi-talented instrumentalist — “You know, people hail me as a child prodigy. It is true that I could identify and play each and every raga in the 72 melakartha cycle when I was barely two years old. Even Mozart was six before he composed his first symphony. But our dear, departed genius could recognize my potential when he came to see me play at the Music Academy. After my performance, he removed his gold chain and put it round my neck. I am still wearing it. Wow. What a man”.
Famous film music composer — “When I first approached him to sing for a Tamil film, he was hesitant about it. But when I briefed him in detail about the cinematic context and the details of the composition, which I played for him on my Moog synthesizer, he was completely overwhelmed. He had tears in his eyes as he accepted, 'I will do it for you, my friend, and I will do it for free. One condition. In the ragamalika, instead of Bhairavi, Kalyani, Todi and Karaharapriya, I will change them to Sumaresaranjani, Pilu, Divyamani and Pahadi. OK?' I was rendered speechless. What a man”.
Young and promising (upstart) musician — “He was a real cool dude, brother. Whenever he traveled to the US, he would stay at our place in San Diego. I was heavily into Carnatic music, learning from my Guru in Chennai through Skype. In fact, I've bagged a 12pm slot at the Academy this year. I sang Vatapi for him and he was, like, blown away, man. He also came with me to a Hendrix retrospective in 'Frisco, where I was playing bass guitar. I invited him on stage and introduced him to the audience. He even jammed with us. He was, like, real cool in his silk veshti and all. Can't believe he's dead, dude. He even presented me his 1932 Favre- Leuba wrist watch, which is not working. What a man”.
91-year-old tambura player — “I have accompanied him in exactly 187 concerts, including his arangetram when he was only 4 years and 7 months old. I was hoping to live till he completed 200 concerts with me, but sadly, he went before me. Only 13 concerts to go, which was a bad omen. In one concert, he suddenly snatched the tambura from me, and played the entire Bhairavi ata tala varnam on it! The audience was flabbergasted. Sadly, there is no recording of it. I can show you the tambura though, if you don't believe me. He has scratched his name on it. What a man!”
And so it goes on!
(The writer is a brand consultant and music lover)
