When the strings stopped singing..

Cursing the sms sound that disturbed my afternoon nap, I got out of the couch and moved towards the phone, without much curiosity. The sms showed, “TS Babu sir expired”. I wasn’t startled. I just took a moment to adjust myself to my senses and the physical world. I rung up Narayanaprakash (a mridangist and usually the source of reliable information) and confirmed. Yes, Babu sir is dead. He was taken to the nearby clinic, in the morning out of uneasiness in breathing. Anyway he, a chronic asthma patient attained an easy death and an easy death is sometimes a great boon, than anything else.

I went to his home, a small, congested two storied house near the Poonthanam Junction. Yes, this house is quite famous among the artists. It is a halting place for all the artists visiting Calicut. It was midway between the bus stand and Thali, the musical capital of Calicut. A small crowd had assembled in front of his house, comprising of professional musicians and his lifelong comrades. Nodding my head out of respect, I curiously went inside the home, and stood still in front of his body, which was enclosed in a mobile mortuary. His eyes were partly open. Was he looking at all of us?

Sivakumar (his younger son) smiled at me. What an irony! But I could easily sense the deep valley of solitude he was in. Yes, his father was everything for him. His mother had expired long back. I didn’t know what to speak to him; was perplexed whether my words intended to console might go showy for him. I just patted on his back and came out of the house. The sangeetha sabhas of Calicut and the AIR Calicut had already paid their respects to this Vidwan.

I sat on the corridor, and slowly got into mild talks with the artists and my friends assembled there. Narayanan (a musicologist and a concert organizer) said, “you wont believe, I was listening to BV Raman & Lakshmanan, kutcheri with Babu sir accompanying them, today morning…they just finished RTP Hamirkalyani, when I saw the news in the TV”.

Before leaving I went inside again. SVS Viswanathan (the ghatom, Mridangam artist and son of SVS Narayanan) was weeping loudly.Yes, Babu Sir was like a father for him. He was telling Sivakumar, “Ennathum samshayam irunthunna ippo kettukko, cholli tharuvar…Konjam kazhinjal poyiduvar..” (If you have any doubts ask andlearn now itself, he will clarify, after sometime he will leave)

Hearing this, my heart started weeping.

The great teacher is dead. Outside the house I talked to Mr Krishnan, an old student of Babu Sir, and an admirer of his music. We talked a lot,..

Yes Babu sir was more a teacher than a performer. The term violinist is something that underestimates his credentials and yeoman service he rendered to music throughout his life. He was simply a great teacher. I haven’t learnt directly from him. Nor had I enouh chances to interact with him much. But I have been seeing and observing him a lot since my childhood. A small lean man, with humility encrypted in his innocent smile, poignantly radiating from his face like the notes of Poorvikalyani.

I wont describe him with the number of awards he got for his service or the grand appraisals he received in his concerts. It is meaningless and sinful to describe so, the great teacher who had structured his own life into a great lesson for his students. He would talk to me with dynamism and passion about his admiration for Palghat Mani Iyer (the emperor of the art of Mridangam), whom he always regarded as his Manaseeka guru. He would talk about Madurai Mani Iyer, whom he earnestly considered as his role model for a teacher.

The greatest failure (if ever it is one) in Babu sir’s life was that he didn’t sell his art. He didn’t earn accolades. He didn’t earn money. His life is nothing more than a silent epitome of the difference between a performer and a teacher.

A performer’s watch word is perfection. Constant practice and perseverance are alone the slogans of a performer’s life. His knowledge is limited, but he knows well whatever little he knows. He knows to present it well for the rasikas. His only feedback is that from the rasikas. Whatever they feel good, becomes his philosophy and style.

A teacher’s primary desire is in enlightening his students. To fully transfer to them whatever he has learnt from his guru. To enable them to judge between right and wrong. To show the right way for his shishyas to learn from nature and other musicians. To inspire their souls towards right learning, to enable them to step into the path of knowledge and wisdom. In the process, the teacher, forgets to sell his art. His livelihood out of music is not a matter for him. He has little time to rest or practice while his students are stepping up through the ladder of his life. His concerts are just unconscious efforts; his experience simply drives him on the stage, and his devotion simply produces the music, from him on the dias. Everything that he produces on the stage are instantaneous and innovative. There is nothing preplanned or programmed. Everything is subtle. He is not afraid of a new innovation going imperfect. Nor is he afraid of mistakes. He is not shy to commit mistakes. He is not worried over an ignorant man questioning his credibility. He makes beauty out of informality.

His comrades and students confer glory upon him. While the rasikas feel his music to be unpleasant, but pleasing them is not his goal. So in the concert, he plays the silent part and walks away with the small remuneration, if he gets any, to teach his disciples waiting for him at his home.

Babu sir was simply a great teacher.

Once he told me, “Playing for ‘arangetrams’ of students are the most joyous events of my life. If you play for Semmangudi, he may not remember you after a month. But if you play for the first concert of a budding artist, he will cherish you forever. And that gives me the real pleasure…” He was a man lucky enough to be born with absolutely no ego.

Once during his childhood, while he was practicing Ranjani at his home in Madurai, Madurai Mani Iyer who happened to come to his home then, benevolently advised, “Ri Ga Ri Sa-nu vashikathe da, Sa Ri Ga Sa-nu vashi….Ranjani-la appdi thaan varum”.

Babu sir was then amazed by the simplicity of Mani Iyer. Inspite of being the senior most Vidwan of his times, Mani Iyer, was humble and interested enough to correct even a small boy playing a wrong sangathi in the violin. Such was their dedication to the cause of teaching.

Once in a chamber concert in Calicut, Thiruvengad Jayaraman Sir happily exclaimed in between the concert, “Parungo, babuva..Njan enga paddi mudicheno, angenthu thooki eduthirukaar avar. Athan athodu seri, Appdi potta thaan enakke padarthukku inspiration kedaikum. Innaiku antha dharmatha kaapatheendu yaarathum ippdi vaasikarala?”

(“See Babu, he started from where I stopped. And he embellished whatever I sang to a better fashion, so that I get inspiration to sing more and more and there’s a mutual rapport between us. That is what is the dharma of the violinist. Is there anybody in the new generation who accompany like that?”)

It is meaningless to talk more about him, because his life itself was the message he conveyed and observing his life is more important than talking about him. He hasn’t left anything physical. I am stopping with a regret in my mind, “If I could spend one more day with that mahanubhavulu, …entharo mahanubhavulu anthariki vandanamu…”. May his soul rest in peace.