Perspective - Kanniks

This post is not about music. It is about people and memories.

Granted, there was a lot of good singing.  The hall swelled with people. People who had come to sing. People who had come to listen. The amount of awareness in music has grown over the years and there were entries needed to secure a place in the singing line. A hearty development indeed.

I am not going to write about who sang what or how they sang.

What struck me in particular was the spirit of rendition by a friend of ours.

I saw Asha auntie sitting quietly, enjoying the music. I greeted her during a break.

‘Hello Kannikeswaran, how are you’? , she asked.

‘Fine Asha’, I said with a smile.

I then paused for a second and said, ‘We miss Saranath’.

Saranath was her husband who had passed away over a year ago.

‘Yes’, she said. ‘I am here for his memory. He always used to insist that I sing. I am not a professionally trained person and am also out of practice, but I enjoy the spirit’.

My mind raced back to the past.

Without an exception, mama and mami used to attend all of the Tyagaraja/Purandaradasa Aradhanas in Cincinnati. They were not the organizers, they were not the key vocalists. But they have stood for the festival as silent supporters ever since the 1980s.

Mama had even presented a few sessions on air, on the then fledgeling Svaranjali Indian community program.

Well, they had even given me a ride to Columbus (2 hours away) to attend the Tyagaraja Aradhana there in the 80s.

‘You know Kannikeswaran, we used to drive to Columbus every year to attend the Aradhana there. He always loved it. And he wanted this to happen in Cincinnati’.

Mami sang two Purandaradasa Devarnamas that day.

My mother tongue is Tamil.

I could however follow most of what she sang in Kannada although I am not conversant in the language.

When you sing with expression, the purport of the lyrics somehow gets conveyed regardless of the language.

I silently greeted the late Saranath as I left the hall.