The sun has set, but the radiance lingers
|
A meeting with M. S. Subbulakshmi was one to cherish. ANUP KUMAR PANDE narrates his experience here — the day he met her and the impact he felt.
|
M. S. Subbulakshmi ... all grace and dignity.
THERE ARE some events that etch themselves in one's memory and are perennial source of some inexplicable joy and sense of fulfilment. The morning of February 20, 2002 is one such event for me. On this day, I met M. S. Subbulakshmi at her residence at Kotturpuram, Chennai. Very few events or meetings are as memorable and precious for me as those 45 minutes spent with her. Such is her benign presence that it is bound to leave an indelible impression on anyone. I was no exception. The meeting for me was a fulfilment of a desire, which did not diminish even with the passage of three decades.
My first initiation into Carnatic music was through an audio-cassette of "Silapadikaram" of M.S. in 1971 when I was posted as Assistant Collector of Customs at Nagapattinam. The cassette was lying with me for some time, and I played it casually for a change from Hindustani music, after I had returned from a strenuous coastal patrolling. The very first hearing of this piece cast a spell on me instantly which has remained there ever since. This was later on followed by hearing of her renderings of Meera bhajans, "Vishnu Sahasranamam" and so on. The appetite grew by what it fed on. Listening to her music opened up a whole new world of music for me, exposed as I was still then, only to Hindustani music. Since then I have listened to some of her musical pieces hundreds of times and have been having a desire to meet her in person.
I had some official work in Chennai, in February 2002. I reached the city on February 19. A couple of days earlier, I had asked my colleague in Chennai to request for a brief meeting with "M.S." I was somewhat sceptical about her response, as I was told that since the demise of her husband — Shri Sadasivam — her friend, philosopher and guide for more than six decades — she had become more or less a recluse and made very few public appearances. On landing at Chennai, to my delight and surprise, I was informed that she had consented to meet me at 10.30 a.m. the next day at her residence. This was despite the fact that she had been indisposed for the previous three days.
My colleague — J. Sridharan — and I reached the house at 10.30 a.m. sharp. Atmanathan, her secretary, and one more person, were waiting to receive us at the gate of her house. Her house is a simple structure of modest size. The gate has two pillars, with two doors of iron grills. On top of one pillar on the left, words "Sivam" are engraved on a marble plaque, and on the pillar on the right, words "Subham" are etched on an identical plaque. These are the abbreviated first names of Subbulakshmi and her husband. These two words, to me, aptly sum up her life and music.
While walking in, I noticed the still undisturbed Kolam on the floor near the gate. After crossing the gate, we entered the short passage in the house which lead to an L-shaped room with each wing of the size of about 15'x10'. One wing was the drawing room, and the other was the room used for her `riyaz'. A veena, mridangam and some other musical accompaniments were kept on the floor in this area. The house was spotlessly clean. The drawing room portion had a three-piece cane sofa set with a middle table. `M.S.' and T. T. Vasu, a prominent figure in the cultural life of the city, and a close friend of the family for over several decades, were already seated in the sofa. `M.S.' was a picture of grace and simplicity. I greeted her with folded hands, and she responded with folded hands and a gentle smile. The impact of her personality, a perfect blend of simplicity, modesty and grace, was inescapable.
The drawing room, where we sat, had a spartan look. In the rack, images of Ganesha and a couple of other Gods, appeared to have been placed not so much for decoration but as guardian and protecting deities of the house. The walls of the room, however, were replete with memorabilia consisting of photographs, spanning nearly seven decades of the 20th century, of great people like Mahatma Gandhi, U. Thant, Chakravarti Rajagopalachary, T. T. Krishnamachari and many others, whom the great lady had met during her illustrious career.
A portrait of M. S. that adorns her Kotturpuram residence.
It took some time for me to come to terms with the fact that I was face to face with a living legend. I kept on marvelling as to how a sonorous yet a lilting voice which had gently found its way into millions of hearts, falling "softer than petals from blown roses on the grass," and then lingering on and echoing endlessly, had emanated from the frail frame of hers.
The greetings over, we settled for casual conversation. She mostly spoke in Tamil, which was then translated either by Mr. Vasu or by Mr. Atman. She, however, followed everything that I spoke in English. She was polite to a fault and her face seemed to emit a unique radiance.
While we were conversing, some hot South Indian snacks and chutney were served in stainless steel plates. This was followed by coffee. "M.S." was watching while my cup of coffee was filled from the pot and a spoon full of sugar was put in it, but was passed on to me without stirring. She, therefore, pointed out to the person, who had passed on the coffee to me, that he had not stirred the sugar in my cup.
During the conversation I mentioned to her how I had first listened to her rendering of "Silapadikaram" in 1971 at Nagapattinam and how I followed it up by listening to her Meera bhajans in Hindi, Vishnu Sahasranamam and Hanuman Chalisa, etc., and how I had listened to some of them hundreds of time since then. I also told her I liked most "Hari Tum Haro Janan Ki Pir" Her face lit up with a gentle smile on the mere mention of this bhajan. And then she narrated what turned out to be a gem of an anecdote from her life, which she appeared to be cherishing y and which perhaps, like one of the most precious of her jewels, she had displayed on selected occasions.
What she narrated was something like this — During the Forties, she had been invited to a function which the Mahatma was to attend, and his favourite bhajan "Hari Tum Haro Janan Ki Pir" was to be sung there. She was asked to sing it. However, she was diffident as she knew no Hindi and had not sung in Hindi till then, and thought that someone else could do it better. Gandhiji however, insisted that she alone should sing it, saying that even if she read it, it would be better than anyone else's singing.
PICTURE TO TREASURE:(From L to R) J. Sreedharan, Anup Kumar Pande, M. S. Subbulakshmi and T. T. Vasu. — Pic. by S. R. Raghunathan
She was overwhelmed by the words of the great man and sang the song. The rest is history.
M.S., in her voice, had been endowed with one of the greatest and priceless gifts from God. She nurtured His gift with utmost care and in all humbleness and had used it not as something which was hers but His.
And whatever she achieved through it, she placed it back at His feet. The list of charitable concerts, which started from the inception of her singing career, is endless.
Today, we can only imagine how Meera might have sung her own bhajans 500 years ago. What the posterity has inherited are her words in print.
To me, and many would agree with me, if there is one voice which can truthfully render that divine frenzy of Meera's love and fathom the depths of those soul-stirring thoughts it is `M.S.'.
With the sophisticated audio technology now available, one hopes that M.S.'s rendering of Meera can be heard by posterity 500 years hence, and more.
She has received the highest award that the State can confer on a citizen.
The ultimate award which came to her, however, is the instinctive outpouring of gratitude which has emanated from the souls of millions of people around the world cutting across the caste, creed or language divide, who have listened to her divine voice time and again and have found immense bliss and pleasure in it and have benefited from the numerous charities associated with her.
In the process, she has transited to a hallowed sphere of sainthood which admits very few great souls, in each era, who are blessed by God and "M.S." thus is "S.S." now.
The meeting over, I stood up to leave. I sought her permission to have a photograph with her. She readily agreed for this. After photographs, I again greeted her with folded hands. She stood up, slowly with some difficulty and effort, and responded with a namaskar and a smile.
Before leaving, Mr. Atman gave two gifts from her to me, a brochure of the Music Academy, Chennai, on her life, which she autographed on the spot for me, and two of her cassettes, recently brought out by HMV: "Guru, Guha Pani".
"My morning was full of songs let my sunset be full of colour." The sun has set but the divine radiance remains.
Printer friendly
page
Send this article to Friends by
E-Mail
Entertainment
