Truth is manufactured said the French philosophical historian Foucault. Remembering him, I asked a friend: “Aren’t we at a similar historical juncture today?” My friend agreed. “It is a new ‘truth’ though. We are under the illusion that we are educated, developed, and informed. But the communication industry is manufacturing culture and truth. We have lost communitarianism, but are quick to communalism,” my friend pointed to the paradoxes. With all the furor about what this society must be, its role and function, we are highly atomized individuals in the present circumstance – we cannot in the real sense, be responsible for the world at large.
We can no longer listen to Ghulam Ali, Farida Khanum, Runa Laila in our part of the world -- they cannot move beyond the walls of the airport. Political vendetta just about clouds everything. We are combative nationalists who can violently destroy the ‘enemy’ – what’s a song, if trains full of human beings can be set on fire?
On the same trail of thought, my mind conjured up something another doting householder friend said – “When my child was small, I always sang ‘Ramana Avatara’ to him. There’s something about it.” What could be this ‘something’ – I wondered. “Ramana Avatara” is a song from the Kannada film (and Telugu) Bhookailasa (1958), and was sung by Sirkazhi Govindarajan, an extraordinary Tamil musician who went on to be conferred the Padmashri. The picturisation of the song is like a post card presentation of the life of Rama, similar to the illustrations of Amarchitra Katha. Sirkazhi sings the story with Bhakti, and as you listen to it, you wonder if Bhakti or Rama can have such a simple representation in our times. Maybe, my friend, was moved by the innocence of that rendition… it’s my surmise. What I know is that the song needs to be celebrated as we find Rama, religion, bhakti, language and music in fetters.
Sirkazhi sang around the same time as Ghantasala did, as Soolamangalam Rajalakshmi did – in the Fifties and Sixties. Ghantasala had the most beautiful voice – soft, mesmerizing and majestic. It carried in it the background that he came from – those heady days of the Telugu mythological, with a distinct un-urban character. His “Kuladalli Melyavudo” from Satya Harishchandra, and “Yaarige Yaaruntu” and “Namo Venkatesa” have his unique stamp on them. He was a musician of limited strengths, but his humility and piety left his renditions unparalleled. Ghantasala was among the most creative composers too, and they remain evergreen in the hearts of the Telugu song buff. During his time, matinee icons like NT Rama Rao and Akkineni Nageshwara Rao dominated the film industry. With his fine musical sensibility, Ghantasala managed to match the screen charisma of these super stars with his singing. Many Telugu critics feel that if one went by Ghantasala’s modest appearance it was hard to imagine that he was capable of such great music. However, it was probably his ability to remain ‘inward’ that kept his music so fresh.
Soolamangalam Rajalakshmi was a leading voice in Tamil films. She sang under almost all top music directors of the time, including Naushad. K.V. Mahadevan, etc: this mellifluous, versatile singer was T.G. Lingappa’s favourite. She sang the fantastic “Sevantige Chandinantha” from Chinnada Gombe (1964). The immortal “Bhameya Nodalu Taa Banda” from School Master (1958) was also sung by Rajalaksmi. The song has been composed in the Carnatic idiom (raga Hindola) with Rajalakshmi rendering it with the seriousness of a kriti. She sings to the accompaniment of mridangam, and lush violins for the background score. The singing is among the finest, and her diction perfect. “Innenu Ananda Bekagide”, reminiscent of a yesteryear Hindi song, is lively, happy, romantic and vibrant.
The film Subbashastry (1966) has Pu.Ti. Na’s radically beautiful poem “Krishnana Kolalina Kare”. The song was sung by Srirangam Gopalarathnam, a musician and professor of music from Vijayawada. The exquisite piece of music was composed by Doreswamy Iyengar and S. Krishnamurthy: the background score is elaborate and sophisticated, yet marked with a spiritual restraint. Srirangam perfectly captures the meaning and music in her music. The song is five decades old, but hasn’t faded in the minds of music lovers.
All these singers came to sing for Kannada films from Telugu and Tamil worlds. They came during that period when dubbing was a common practice between these languages. Films made in Tamil and Telugu were also made in Kannada. But what strikes as most charming is the ability of Kannada to indigenize the sensibilities of Tamil and Telugu music. It transformed an inherent Tamil tune or Telugu spirit to what was innately Kannada. For instance, if you listen to “Sevantige…” you can hear the Tamil earthy tones in it… but TG Lingappa with his master stroke transformed it for the Kannada temperament. It is also interesting to note that many of these music directors who became big names in Kannada worked for other languages as well, but the manner in which they composed for Kannada films remained starkly different. It is indeed remarkable how Kannadigas cherished each of these singers and composers as their own.
Our borders are now denser. When Ghantasala, Sirkazhi, Rajalakshmi and others walked towards us on the bridge of friendship, we met them there. We can no longer understand that Orissa born Upendra Kumar can become a renowned Kannada film composer and make music deeply influenced by the ghazal maestro Ghulam Ali. I don’t think we can understand the great love and respect M.S. Vishwanathan and Ilaiyaraja shared, and yet made their own kind of music. Our glasses now come with communal frames; a devotional song is now a frenzied composition with loud cymbals, temple bells and a body full of religious markers. Do we understand that music itself can be prayer?
Boundaries have been drawn and a new ‘truth’ is being forged through us. I remember Foucault: “What strikes me is the fact that in our society, art has become something which is only related to objects, and not to individuals, or to life.”
Inner Voice is a fortnightly column on film music
