In 1987, Govindaraju Gangaraju, soon to be known as Hamsalekha, bought his first piece of land in Bangalore — in Basaveshwaranagar. He had just completed touring with a “semi-professional” theatre group that aimed to take its work to rural areas of Sirsi and Davangere.
“The area was completely empty — khaali ,” the 62-year-old composer reminisces. “It was like Cubbon Park then. Now it’s like Kolkata; one can’t even see the sun!”
Hamsalekha’s home is something of a landmark in Basaveshwaranagar, and for good reason: situated right next door is his school for Indian music, the Hamsalekha Desi Vidya Samsthe, established in 2004.
To the composer, the uniqueness of the school’s model is its integration of various skills across the spectrum of music and performance. Knowledge of folk music and performance is prioritised as much as the technical side. “There is a lot of demand for these multi-talented people,” he observes.
Hamsalekha is known for his multi-faceted tunes in Kannada, Telugu and Tamil films; his songs incorporate a variety of musical styles, such as ghazals and Western music. One of his innovations consists of notating Indian folk music onto Western staves. To him, no music is foreign. “If we widen our capacity to understand a little bit, we can use all music. There’s nothing new, it all exists in nature,” he says.
A curiously fundamental understanding of music — as, simply, sound — informs his composition. “Sound exists to carry the intention, and expression, of its creator, whether a bird, an animal, or a human being. If you understand this, you appreciate all music.”
Going strong
1987 was also the year that Premaloka released; his music for this film would catapult him to fame. Today, 25 years on, there’s no dimming of enthusiasm. “I feel all the coming 10 years are mine,” he states. “I can do very modern things…there is a need for a new trend.”
Hamsalekha is also deeply critical of the hero culture in the film industry, seeing a preoccupation with celebrity as affecting creativity, spawning endless remakes, for example. “We will now even watch a film with a common housefly as the hero!” he remarked, as proof of audiences’ fatigue with the cult of the hero. “They [heroes] dictate terms too much.” He directs us to draw a cartoon, with a large hero, a director at his feet, an eager producer at his ear, and a heroine in his palm.
Through it all, there’s a deep affection for Basaveshwaranagar that’s evident. Nobody wanted the land that was to eventually become his home as the vaastu was bad, he says. “I didn’t care! I wanted the park opposite,” he says, gesturing towards the Swami Vivekananda Park nearby.
The fact that the area has many parks is definitely one that pleases him. He also rattles off a long list of Basaveshwaranagar’s other positives: several educational institutions, a high level of civic awareness, and even skating rinks, he points out. And it’s set to get busier, he predicts, especially after the metro line becomes functional.
This is why he’s eager to move forward with his latest plan: a cultural centre, a rangamandira for Basaveshwaranagar, where folk traditions from around the world can be kept alive.
The project is currently awaiting allotment of land. “If it’s on the outskirts, it’s comfortable for us [organisers], but if in the city, it’s good for society,” he emphasises.
But he’s set on the plan, even showing us initial drawings. He sees it as a need for balance. “There should be a food chain, an ecology. If there is one lion, there should be four deer and so on,” he laughs.
