Sangeethotsavam Day Two

Day 2 of Sangeethotsavam.

Awoke early, coffees, mochas, teas, hot chocolates, grilled sandwiches done. Clothes thrown in the wash, altar set, mats rolled out all over the house, in the garage turned music room, living area, official entertaining hall area. Cooked a quick potato brinjal tomatoey chilly satham, to be eaten with raita and chips. 

Incense lit, aromatic oils to do away with the smell of food and to invoke a semblance of peace and good vibes.

Classes. Classes. Classes.

Mridhangam in the music room.

Veena in the hall.

Vocal in the living room.

Quick lunch, dishwasher loaded.

Brief shut eye. 

Showered again, draped a deep dark pinkish magenta kanjivaram silk, with a lighter magenta and gold border and pallu. Mangoes in gold. I suspect this Saree had been gifted to my Anusha during a friend’s son’s Mridhangam arangetram 5 years ago and I had told her that it was an old lady’s Saree and not suited for her. Clever me, I’d thought then. Well, now, sarees that come my way, somehow find their way into her cupboard. Truce, I declare, let’s compromise.1 Saree, 3 blouses – for Anusha, Vindhya and me. 

The Kutcheri that evening was that of Sri Ranjani Santhanagopalan’s. A brilliant, young, enthralling vocal artiste, she kept me at the edge of my seat, hanging onto her every note, her melodious voice scaling to unimaginable heights, descending to lower octaves, Brihas at such speed, thala calculations, I could wax lyrical..eternal..

Her choice of compositions, her deep intelligent understanding of the lyrics, meanings, her ability to attune her voice, her music to a given word, to draw out the meaning, the symbolism, held me spellbound. I was drawn into a coma like state, a good coma, if there be such a state. I found my eyes closing, and in my mind’s eye, I saw explosions of colour, and with every explosion, utter bliss wrapped itself around me like a welcoming warm, mohair wool throw. 

Violin virtuoso Vittal Rangan had such soul in his emotive innovative handling of the ragas and kalpanaswarams, while Mridhangam artist KV Prasad’s nimble deft fingers played havoc on heart strings. 

Her final piece, the Thillana was in raga Niroshta and my husband, on being asked to say a few words, summed up the Kutcheri saying he was Niroshtified by the concert, meaning he was rendered Speechless by the Jaw dropping concert. Niroshta means no lips, as the ascending and descending scales of the raga are sa ri ga da ni Sa; Sa ni da ga ri sa; ie. the omission of Ma or Pa means when one sings, the lips do not meet. 

When I attend Kutcheris, a jumble of conflicting emotions surface – sweet sadness, bitter joy. Sadness because I wonder when I would get to a minuscule fraction of the artiste’s level of proficiency. Joy because the music envelops every cell, every fibre of my being. Once, this had prompted me to write an article for my students, published in a music souvenir program, on not getting discouraged, at where they stood in their level of music, but to plod on. Will reproduce this article in a future post.

That night, the artistes came home for a simple dinner. Lots of laughs, delightful conversation flowing over cheese, crackers, breads, dips, fruit, juices, pizzas.. 

Dropped artistes at their hosts’ homes, said Goodbyes, got home, content, and so happy. Got my daughter to click a few photos and here they are. Tired eyes bely the whirl of emotions within.