Illaiyaraja – Padma Vibhushan

Back in my teens, in 1981, I was lying on the floor listening to VividhBharati on a  well-worn Murphy Transistor Radio that would fit in the palm of your hand. The 2A Eveready Battery was on life support. My brothers and I were praying that the battery would last, anxious to enjoy every second of what we could listen to on the radio at 9:30 at Saturday night.

It was well past bedtime in our household; it was an art to keep the transistor volume at the right level; enough to hear the radio above the sound of the fan. Just about the right volume to not disturb my father in the next room lest we would awaken him from his deep slumber (something which he would never take to pleasantly, especially in those days when his hearing was good!).

The much awaited sponsored programs (vilambara dhaarar alikkum nigazchigal) started; the second film presented that night was ‘Panneer Pushpangal’. I didn’t like the name; but my ears pricked up when the music director’s name was announced. Then came the strings ; soon after, the sound of Uma Ramanan’s voice cut through the night. I increased the volume on the little radio. It didn’t matter if it woke my father up. The scolding would be worth it. ‘Aananda raagam’ – she sang; I didnt know what to focus on; the voice, the singing, the tune, or the powerful strings. This was out of the world; like nothing I had ever heard before. Wait. Was it based on a Raga? There were no markings of kacheri-sangitam in the song, but the scale was unmistakably that of Simhendra Madhyamam. Yes, this was a different paradigm; a fully loaded orchestral construct based on the scale of a raga that I had not been too fond of until then.

“This music deserves every reward under the sun” – I thought then.

36 years later, people are still talking about this song. I saw a recent performance of this song with live string accompaniment; my mind playing back images that I had conjured in my mind – as I had heard this song, lying flat on a thin mattress on the floor on a warm late-summer night 3.5 decades ago, snapping back to reality as the emcee LR Narayanan cut the program short just as the penultimate bgm started.

Anandaragam is just one. There are tons of songs such as these that were part of my teenage years and early 20s.  Illayaraja was an integral part of growing up in Madras (now Chennai!); the man kept creating new vistas in music with the limited tools at disposal – in an age prior to the studio era of sequencing, digital recording, digital editing, auto tuning and pitch correction.

It is a delight to still use a palm size device – create a play list and play a seemingly never ending list of songs that transport me back to that era.  I had never imagined on that sultry summer night that such a playlist would be available in every corner of the world. And, as a teenager,  I hadn’t imagined that the effect of those songs would be the same, some 35 years later.

I think Illaiyaraja’s music and the impact that it had on society is beyond rewards and titles. Every song of his that has touched and moved people is a ‘Ratna’ in itself.

 

Kanniks Kannikeswaran

Illaiyaraja and Manikkavacagar’s ‘porchuNNam’

The Tamil month of Margazhi celebrates the work of the Saint Poet Manikkavacagar.  Reflecting on the legacy of the poet, with Tiruvadirai (the full moon night in the darkest month of the year) just coming up, I youtubed Manikkavacakar on my iphone and immediately ran into ‘Tiruvacakam in Symphony’ recorded  in 2005 by Illaiyaraja.

What is Tiruvaacakam?

Tiruvaacakam (Sacred Sayings) – or Tiruvasagam  is a collection of poems packed with devotion and alliteration written by the Saint Poet Manikkavaacagar expressing his bhakti to Shiva, several hundred years ago.

The tiruvaacakam consists of several thematic chapters such as Tiruvempavai, Tiru-Ammaanai, Achho patikam, porchunnam, Tirupponnoosal etc.

The chapter porchunnam’ contains 20 verses. Roughly translated ‘porchunnam’ means ‘songs sung to accompany the joyous ritual of preparing (pounding) incensed powder for the Lord’.

‘porchunnam’ is featured in the 5th Track in the album.

‘porchunnam’ is referred to as ‘aananda manOlayam’ i.e. transforming into a state of oneness through a joyous state of being. Illaiyarajas’ arrangement of these verses does reflect this state of joy.

From the standpoint of Tamil rules that govern classical poetry, the verse form is classified as an ‘aru seer kazhi nedil adi aasiriya viruttam’. Ignore the term if it fails to ring a bell from your 11th standard Tamil grammar lessons. Just remember the number 6.

The orchestral arrangement projects a brisk waltz like character for these verses (3+3). vocalizing the sense of joy seen in the poetry, based entirely on the scale of the Karnataka raga sarasangi.

What is sarasangi? It is a raga with a scale that differs from that of sankarabharanam by just one note, the dha. Illaiyaraja has dealt with this scale (with some minor variations) before in songs such as ‘meenamma meenamma’, ‘muthu muthu medai pottu’  (mostly sarasangi!) etc. some eighteen years ago.

The strophic hymns of Tiruvaacakam are usually sung in the mohana ragam. Typical musical arrangements would involve the repetition of the same melody for each of the verses. Illaiyaraja’s arrangement however brings out porchunnam with a difference.

Violins, violas, celli, basses, woodwinds, brass and various percussion instruments bring this track to life along with a western chorus and an Indian chorus singing characteristically tamil phrases such as ‘tandananna’. On top of all this, there is a galaxy of singers such as Unnikrishnan and Vijay Yesudoss.

Once the spirit of the scale of sarasangi falls in place (a minute or so into the track), the entire track sticks to it. There are several ‘charanams’, each in a different tune within the confines of the same scale. Even the background music leads to these charanams is different; one of them even gives a glimpse of the scale of hamsadhwani with a careful withholding of just two notes ma and dha for a few cycles. While it is cased in a symphonic setup there are moments where something tugs at your heart very much like the Illaiyaraja melodies of the yesteryears.

Apart from the refrain ‘Aada porchunnam idittum naame’ there is no repetition in melody anywhere. The first charanam ‘sundara neer’ starts on ‘pa’, the second one ‘vaal tadam’ on ni. ‘muttani’ and ‘mai ani’ start further higher up. The next two charanams ‘vatta malar’ and ‘vedamum’ start much lower down. (Only 7 out of the 20 verses written are featured in this rendition)

The words in the last stanza stand out.

vEdamum vELviyum AyinArkku – meimaiyum poimaiyum AyinArkku
sOdiyumAi iruL AyinArkku – tunbamumAi inbam AyinArkku
pAdiyumAi muRRum AyinArkku- bandamumAi vIDum AyinArkku
Adiyum antamum AyinArkku – Ada porchuNNam idittum name

“The One who is both the knowledge and the yajna – one who is both the wholesome truth and the illusion – the one who is the light and the dark at the same time – the one who is an embodiment of both pain and pleasure – the one who is ‘part and the whole’, the one who is bondage as well as liberation – the one who is both the beginning and the end – Shiva – enshrined in Tiruvaiyaru – for him we pound the incensed powder with much joy”.

Porchunnam is to be enjoyed at many levels; one is just by reading the lyrics and appreciating the alliteration; the next is just getting the purport and the meaning of the verse; the third is to actually sing it and feel the words sing ink into you, leaving you in awe of the centuries over which these words have survived; in awe of the classicism inherent in Tamil – a language that you take for granted as your mother tongue.

Illaiyaraja’s version of porchunnam, transports you to a different world. The words are cloaked with so many layers of ‘happenings’. Groupings of instruments such as woodwinds, brass, strings and percussion, voices weave layer after layer around the words; the scale of sarasangi is unleashed as a pravaha of notes in an 8 minute deluge as it gushes forth into finale with a ‘tandananna’ chorus and a strong punctuation by the timpani.

One of Illaiyaraja’s best creations ever.

kabAli it is and not kapAli

The word ‘kabAli’ is prime cannon fodder for my pseudo Tamil friends who don’t lose any opportunity to deride the “consonantal economy” (read ‘their perceived inadequacy’) of the Tamil language with a friendly yet condescending smug smirk.

‘KabAli’ is the most uttered/searched Tamil word this week thanks to our native kannada/marathi speaking superstar.

Probably one of the most ancient landmarks of Chennai (perhaps not the current one but the one supposedly demolished earlier by the Portugese) is the Kapalisvara temple in Tiru Mayilai; and the association between the skull kapala and Shiva is there all over Indian mythology. However, for all practical purpuses, Kapalisvara becomes Kabalisvara and the Kapali temple becomes the famous KabAli koyil. Not only devotees and temple priests, even rowdies are named Kabaali.(I am very sure no rowdy was born one to start with).

There is so much of interchangeability between pa and ba both represented by the Tamil letter ப.

The humble ப doubles up, nay quadruples into pa, pha, ba and bha as demanded by the situation. Thus we have the sanskrit word pAdam to denote a foot, paNi to denote a snake (phani in sanskrit), palam pronounced balam in Tamil to denote strength, and pasmam pronounced basmam to denote bhasma (ash).

The nature of the Tamil language is such that sometimes the pa in a sanskrit word morphs into a ba.

Thus, growing up in Chennai, I always thought Poories were Boories. And I have also heard the word Padmini pronounced Batmini. Even the tamil word palli becomes balli on occasion.

If ‘pa’ occurs in the middle of a word, it gets pronounced as pa only when prefixed with an ‘ip’, as in kappal, theppam, kappam etc. or an ‘it’ as in natpu, thatpam etc. Otherwise, ba takes over. shApam becomes sAbam but japam becomes jabam, tApam becomes tAbam, kapham becomes kabam; even Gopal becomes Gobal – perhaps thanks to the Tamil word tabal (postal services) and needless to say subham becomes subam.
(Note – tapas, tApam, kapham, gopal, subham are all shared between Tamil and Sanskrit).

 

Our Karnatic Musicians regardless of some of their misadventures with Telugu words faithfully render the Papanasam Sivam song ‘kapAli’ with the pA intact!

Regardless of the mohana raga classic, the film kabAli establishes the ba firmly in place.

Try saying ‘kapali da kapali’! See how wimpy it sounds. It is an emasculated version of the now powerful swagger ‘kabali da kabali’.

So, I swell with pride as I tell my pseudo Tamil speaking friends. Wipe away your smiles. Sanskrit or no sanskrit – kabAli it is. None other than our superstar has established it. Even the lexicon will change in order to honor him.