Category Archives: Nostalgia

Carnatic Music & I

It was not inherent.

As am listening to this beautiful rendition of Tunbham Nergayil by Sanjay Subramanian, I awe at the beauty of dEsh. This version is so incredible and indulgent that it has slowly transformed into a leitmotif for Sanjay himself. I can’t write about the intricacies of the composition like Brangan or spin an imagery on the swaras like Aparna. Like most arts, classical music and especially Carnatic, is an acquired taste over the years.

There was a time when I used to protest playing Carnatic songs in the car. It used to annoy me to no end, and mom would silently comply. As a kid though I was made to sit through the various Ram Navami celebration concerts during the month of March-April every year at Sri Ram Samaj, more popularly known as Ayodhya Mandapam in West Mambalam, Chennai. Bragging alert, kindly adjust: My late maternal grandfather was one of the founders of Ayodhya Mandapam back in the 1950s and it has now grown to be a major landmark in this part of Chennai. My grandad’s house was in the street right across, and they used to tie speakers to the coconut trees in the garden. The house is still there and they do it to this day. We didn’t even have to walk to the temple to listen to the performances but the worth of all that was quite lost on me back then. The only instances I remember back from those wonder years are going to pick up Mandolin Shrinivas for an evening concert, with my dad in a white Ambassador, hogging the tamarind rice and curd rice late into the night after the concert was over and other minor games we used to play in the sand(The place is all concrete now).

My mom and her elder sister have performed on the stage in the Samaj. Maybe if they had continued in the music line, things would have been different but that didn’t happen. I went to Bombay in 1996 and only the memories of the Ram Navami celebrations remained with me. That was till about 2003 when, not only did I return to Chennai, but returned to the house across Ayodhya Mandapam to live with my grandfather and aunt(mom’s elder sister mentioned before)  and do my engineering. Again the speakers were up on the tree trunks, Ram Navami celebrations happened like always, and my favorite spot was the swing in the balcony. I had a book in my hand, usually for the exams that came around the same time(or at least the Anna University preparatory holidays) but that was just a prop.

Some of the regulars there were Unni Krishnan, Sudha Raghunathan, T.N. Seshagopalan, Nithyashree, Ganesh-Kumaresh etc(post-1994-95). The 10-15 days of blissful carnatic music frustrated a college friend of mine living in the same street. He found it hard to study for the exams with the speakers blaring and I must admit he had a fair point. I never challenged his statement but used to quietly listen to his rants against the whole noise pollution, as he used to call it. But over the four years that I lived there, the birth of interest in Carnatic music came about, gradually developed into a hobby and I graduated from the swing in the balcony to the front row seats for selected concerts.

Once again, after three years, I find myself back in Chennai, with all these things accessible. It was T.M. Krishna yesterday at Sri Ram Samaj and I took that front seat, thanks to granddad’s legacy. As brilliant as he was, it was great to know that something like the Ayodhya Mandapam was a reason for nurturing interest in the classical arts, even though theoretical knowledge still eludes. Listening, obviously, is the first step.

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Filed under Music and Lyrics, Nostalgia

The Color of Fun

Knock. Knock. Knock.

V was knocking on my door. And M’s. V and C used to live on the fifth floor. S uncle on the sixth, and he usually started the proceedings. So, they start from flat 606, knocking on each door as they come down. I was put up on fourth.  And M was my immediate neighbor. As soon as I opened the door, I was green in my face. Quite literally. My dad and mom were red. Y’s mom on third floor wanted her son to be left alone. It was his board exams and I realized my mom would be speaking the same lines next year. All of us moved on.

We had a long corridor and it allowed us to form fine trajectories with our balloons. The ones filled previous night and the ones that survived their downfall from the 7th floor over the past one week. K’s throws on the second floor were the most lethal ones. K was never a sport. He used to be the only one to insist the kids call him bhaiyya. And the only one to yell at the kid when the poor thing wouldn’t take V’s wicket. The kid was 8 and V, 19  then.The P sisters lived on second floor too. The P sisters were the cutest and sweetest sisters. And turns out, they still are, as I found out last week.

The plan was to head to Decor after leaving the kids with their pichkaris. The way was filled with usual spotting. Got introduced to N’s sister, having no way to figure out how she actually looks. And meeting that girl from Mithibhai who was one of the serious victims of our balloons day before. M noted that she was considered to be the queen of Mithibai. Thank God, I did not go to Mithibai, I had said to myself.

The usual floor by floor visit happened in Decor too. There were the funny brothers with very interesting anecdotes, that deserve a post of their own, the maverick Aks and the little S, my nemesis A and couple of also rans. So A was the only one to join us in the next stop at Karthik. Now this was a long walk, through Lokhandwala Complex and, for A, the most interesting one. He would stop at Embassy to meet the queen of Bhavans(yeah, our neighborhood was cool like that), then a couple more at Ascot and Sunrise. On the way, the waiters at Mcdonalds and Dominos have to put up with our smearings and love.

The folks at Karthik had a lot of water. It used to gush out from the endless tubes running all across the dirty, wet concrete badminton court. You usually had no idea who was playing with you and who you were playing with. Whether it was the aunty or was it the daughter. Was it your dad’s manager or was it the watchman. These questions, though valid, never passed through your mind. It was Holi, and that’s all you cared about. And of course, it was time for revenge.

“Adi, that guy over there, seedha paanch balloons, aankh pe”, shouted C from the other end of the court. “Kaun Hai?”, I wanted to know the motive. “That’s R, jisne V ko caught and bowled kiya thaa. Yaad hai? Finals, Juhu wale tournament mein”, remembered C.

“Aah!”, I realized, picking up two balloons from the bucket and stood up. Whack! Pow! Thump! I was out cold, and there was a small fear, if I had just lost an eye.

V got married earlier this year. A is somewhere in Kolkata. I have no idea where M is. I think C does. C is in Hyderabad, designing graphics for films like Evan Almighty, The Hulk among others. I still have the picture of M, V, myself and our then watchman, Singh, that my mom clicked on the terrace. All of us in a collage of colors from head to toe, completely disfigured and unrecognizable. No wonder, Holi is the festival, I miss the most.

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Filed under Bombay, Nostalgia

The Transition

It’s overwhelming. The fact that you are parting ways with almost everyone that you spent last 18 months with, could put you off track. It is different in the sense that, the people going away are not only the ones you went to college with or went to movies and dinners with. Not only that, but they are people you lived with. It’s probably more difficult because you are the last one to leave. And it is probably more difficult because it had all worked out so well. They are just another additon to the annals of good times.

So here’s to all the maanga sessions, treats, night outs, summer of 2008, and the state where red means go:

Happy New Year!

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Filed under america, life, Nostalgia