Remembering Smt. Rajeshwari Padmanabhan

The Yajnavalkya Smriti mentions:

“Veena vadhana tathvangna sruti, jathi, visartha talanjaaprayasena moksha margam niyachathi”
(”The one who is well versed in veena, one who has the knowledge of srutis and one who is adept in tala, attains salvation without doubt.”)

Well it is exactly one year since Smt. Rajeshwari Padmanabhan, the veena maestro and my Guru, passed away. It had been a day filled with listening to her veena pieces. While the day went by, I felt a celebration of music.

Yes, I would like to remember her as a great maestro, a warm motherly figure and someone whose talent was not commercialized. She was a musician of par excellence.

Nostalgic memories of her classes rushed back to my thoughts. While playing one of the pieces – Vinayaka in Hamsadvani, a surge of emotions overwhelmed me and I found myself crying for a while. Then composing myself, I decided that her life should be celebrated in her remembrance. I found this short video of her taking classes by Raghunath Manet on youtube.

Farewell Michael Jackson!

Music is like an ocean and Michael Jackson was one of her greatest waves to rise high. – Michael was a true gift indeed. All controversies aside, as a true musician, he was someone who brought so much joy to the people who came in touch with his music.

Watching the memorial service for Michael Jackson was truly emotional. There was joy and sorrow joined together. It was a befitting memorial for a wonderful human being. The ceremony was somber, peaceful and filled with so much of contained emotions. The eulogies by those who spoke about him were indeed touching and genuine.

To me music is something very special. All her musicians are special gifts. Few can have the talent that MJ had. Watching him perform as a child, in fact puts one in awe of his talent and versatility. Where did he get this enormous ability from? He never failed to amaze millions around the world.

The memorial made me smile, cry and laugh. Remembering his songs and watching people come out to give tributes to this person who tried in his own ways to bring people together. He spoke about the unity and reminded us that we are the world, we are the children. We are no different from each other. Such profound message which I hope would be adapted in our lives.

While MJ the wave was in his splendor, the world witnessed such joy and love from his music. Now the wave has gone back to the ocean to rest. May he rest in peace, knowing that he did break some barriers and in his own ways did bring the world a little closer.

REMEMBERING MICHAEL JACKSON

Though it has been a few days since MJ passed away, I find it hard to put into words what I am feeling. It is still surreal and somehow feels dreamlike. I have not listened to his songs for some time and when this shocking news was conveyed to me by my son at 5 am, it did not register immediately. He was watching the news and the first thing I did was rush down to confirm it.

Michael Jackson's sudden death somewhat overshadowed the death of Actress Farrah Fawcett. Not that she was a lesser person but rather because MJ was so huge that we can't help but get facinated with him. Somehow people were obsessed with him while he was alive and remain obsessed with him in his death.

MJ's music would have had an impact on most of us. He was the King of Pop. His music moved both young and old. It is a very tragic ending to a person who could have had everything but ultimately did not have any peace of mind.

Michael Jackson's death brought back memories of Princess Diana's passing away. I was not able to do anything else other than sit in front of the television the whole day trying to get to terms with her death and trying desperately to hold on to the images of someone I had admired so much. I am sure many would be completely shaken and devastated by this heartbreaking news.

Even though we may not know these people personally, our hearts rush out to them and their families. This reminds me of the human family that Maya Angelou speaks about in her poem. We are ultimately bonded to each other, whether we like it or not and when someone else feels the pain and loss, it feels like our very own loss and pain.

I pray that he gets the rest and peace that he was desperately looking for in his life. He has given so much of himself to his music and promoted unity beyond the differences we see, in his songs. His legacy will live on.

May God give him the peace that he did not find while he was alive.

RIP Michael Jackson. We will miss you!

Remembrance

I woke up this morning with the remembrance of my grandfather. For the first time in my life, I shed tears in his memory and symbolically touched his feet with my heart. I have not thought of him often, because I have only met him once. He fell ill and wanted to see us all, his son’s children. He was in India and we had to fly immediately to meet him.

I was about twelve years old on my first flight with my brother who was ten then, traveling all by ourselves. The journey was unforgettable. All the air hostesses looked alike to us and we kept counting them again and again adding up to more than one hundred as they kept walking up and down the airplane. It was exciting for us kids to travel unchaperoned for the first time.

The village was slow moving. My memory of my grandfather is still quite vague. He was already of advanced age and his eye sight was failing. As children were, we were more interested in rushing out to see the place rather than staying to talk to him. I was fascinated with seeing the cows behind the house and the padi fields nearby. The mornings started with me running to the fields close by. The water from the dam was used to water the rice fields. It rushed out from the dam with such force that I could not wait to stand under the gush, for my morning bath. The green fields were a refreshing sight to the eyes too.

After the bath, I would come back to the house to see my grandmother ready with freshly made South Indian coffee, which is the best coffee you could find anywhere. I can still remember the aroma which is so tantalizing.
The fresh cow’s milk and filtered coffee’s combination is truly heavenly! After breakfast with Idlis , sambar and chutney, I would rush out to walk the streets of the idyllic Indian village with a girl who used to live close by.

I remember watching the children reciting the time tables, sitting on the verandah of the classrooms. These were the children from that village and surrounding villages, who had come to study there. This was one of the small villages surrounded by many other villages with no schools around.

Grandpa was inspired to start this school, to bring about education to the children of the village. Throughout his life, he dedicated himself to the education of children. He believed that, education was the only key to bring people out of poverty and ignorance. He pursed his dream till his last breath.

People at that time were so much into the caste system, and children of lower castes were not allowed to go to school then. But grandpa stood against those policies and stubbornly went about accepting any child, regardless of his or her caste or background. There was a time when the people from his community, started to alienate him too for allowing the children of other classes to study in his school. This kept him unperturbed and he carried on with his work religiously. He fought for equality and was a staunch Gandhi follower. He preached and lived a life of simplicity, not spending much on him but in the building of the school and later a college which is still being taken care by one of his other sons.

Some years later, I had gone to do my visa at the immigrations. I met the officer, who on finding out about who I was, wanted to speak to me. He told me that he was sitting on that chair because of grandpa. There were no schools in his village, so he walked to this school from his village nearby everyday, for his primary and secondary education. Now he holds a position as an immigration officer. He felt such gratitude and told me what a great man grandpa was. Though his words made me feel proud of him then, it did not register too long in my thoughts.

An incident took place recently, which ties it with the memories of grandfather. A woman related to me, her story of how she was treated as an untouchable by her employer, which was heart wrenching to listen to. I do not want to judge the employer, but it reminds me of how corrupt this whole class and caste system is. Since she came from such an upbringing, she brought with her the system which has become engrained in her.

This is not about a particular individual. This is about the whole system. This system of class and caste can degrade a human being. Without giving an iota of consideration to the feelings of the affected person, the system eats away the self worth of a human being. The person looses all self-respect and feels utter humiliation and dejection. The woman's deepest pain and cry shook me to my core. She moved me to weep with her. At that moment her pain became mine too .

I have never really thought much about this system of class differentiation, which is still practiced in India widely though not so openly now. But remembering grandfather who was already opposing this system more than fifty years ago and fighting to eradicate it brought those tears to me.

What a noble hearted human being he was. I felt sad that I do not even remember his face clearly. But this morning, my heart prostrated at the feet of this wonderful gentle man, who lived with his principles of equality and died with them.


“But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate — we can not consecrate — we can not hallow — this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.” -

Abraham Lincoln, Gettysburg Address, November 19, 1863.

Down Memory Lane - Pt.4

Under the Banyan Tree

Thanks to facebook, I have been able to contact a few of my friends after 30 years ! Yes incredible isn’t it? I used to wonder all these years, whether I will be able to meet these people, since I did not know their whereabouts other than remembering their names.

It was so exciting to know that they too remembered me. Exchanging some messages, I find that, I may be able to get in touch with some of the other girls too. I am excited to know that they are around somewhere, and I have another chance to catch up with the people that I thought, I had passed by in this journey of my life. I thought that I may never be able to meet them in this lifetime. Sounds huge but isn’t that the reality? We sometimes end up never meeting some people who made an impact on us.

Memories of us being a little naughty runs through my thoughts. Can you imagine, going for a movie was taboo, back then. We would literally spin some stories to the wardens, to able to go out of the hostel on Saturday afternoons. A 20 to 25 minutes walk, depending on our pace, would take us to the bus stand close by. From there we used to go to the city to go to some theatre there for a movie. After the movie, we may go for an ice-cream before returning to the hostel. Coming back was a little difficult sometimes and we used to sneak in quietly without Padhu teacher’s knowledge.





Classrooms










She was some disciplinarian. There was always the worry, that someone might catch us rushing back late from our outings. Sometimes we had to hush them and rush in time for dinner at the dining hall. Exhausted but feeling happy and at the same time a little relieved, to be able to come back without any problems, we will go to bed to prepare for the next day. Imagine that was the level of mischief we were allowed!

There were times we were a litte bolder than that, but somehow it had to be within the limits. Sarees were the only attires allowed. Anything else was unacceptable. Some found difficulty in adhering to such strictness, but since it was a part of the culture there, we had to dress accordingly. I was not too experimental like some of the girls, who would wear pants beneath a saree and remove the saree on their way out during their jaunts !





The dining hall does look better now. There were no fans then.








That was Kalakshetra then, a different time, a different generation. Nevertheless it was fun. Sweet memories of coming together with students from all over the world. We gathered at this idyllic place, which also happened to be the place we had come to learn the arts. The pace was slow moving with ample space to be in tune with the natural setting of the environment.

Lying in bed at night, I would sometimes listen to the winds howling when the night was quiet and if it was going to rain. When the sea was rough we could hear the sounds of the waves on the beach close by. In retrospect, what a beautiful environment to be in. Walking on the sands of the campus was cumbersome at that time. Sometimes I wonder if given another chance, would I have looked at the place in the same way? I guess, I would have greater appreciation now.

I was too busy with my classes and practices. Getting up at 4 or 5 in the morning to practice my music. Bathing in cold water and having to only be in a saree was quite a challenge, but the fun was there too. We were not allowed to listen to any other music other than classical music. It took me some years later to be able to get used to listening to other genres of music. But it was fun to be able to come together from different parts of the world and living in the same environment and learning to adapt to the time and place there.

We had to adhere to the strict discipline, not to the extent of a monastery though! But I remember meeting Padhu teacher a few years later, when she told me that the place was not the same now. Times had changed and they could not expect the girls to follow their strictness as we would!

Wow! What a compliment coming from her. Yes dear Dr. Padmasini who was also a doctor of homeopathy, was in here sixties when I met her. She was a slim lady with silver hair and was always seen in a white cotton saree with the pallu wraped around her shoulders most of the time. She would have been a beauty in her younger days. You could see from her features. We used to fear her for her strictness. She was the doctor we would have to see when we fell ill.

Nostalgic memories of my times in Kalakshetra. Though the years have gone by so swiftly, the memories are still fresh like the jasmine flowers. I always consider it as one of my greatest gifts amongst other gifts, to have been given the opportunity to be in such a wonderful and beautiful place.

Down Memory Lane - Pt.3

My first memory of enjoying watching the rainfall was when I was about 4 years old. It was a beautiful afternoon and seeing the clouds gathering in the sky, I rushed in to bring my small mattress and started to lay it on the ground at the doorstep of my home.I was excited and did not want to miss the rainfall.

The front door was left ajar so that I could look at the scene outside the house. I lay on the mattress with my hands on my cheeks and began to watch the little drops of water falling from the sky. They seemed magical while I felt safe and protected in my home. Rainfall has always fascinated me and when it started to grow heavier; I quickly got up to fold my mattress and ran into my room. The weather was cold and I was starting to get wet.

Years later, as I lay on my cot on the verandah of my hostel, I watched the rain again. This time it was a sunday afternoon and some of the girls had gone out. The hostel was quiet and peaceful. The building was located close to the beach. As beaches are, one can imagine the sand everywhere. The winds had blown very strongly earlier and picked up the sand to fly with them. Dark clouds were already gathering over the horizon. The trees were doing their own dance and bending ever so gracefully to touch the ground. They reminded me of how nature was prostrating to mother earth.

What a beautiful afternoon! I was feeling drowsy after lunch, but the scene outside the french window was too beautiful to turn away from. Slowly the rain started to fall, gently at first and then it grew heavier and heavier.








Oh Raindrops
Tears of the sky
or of the heart!







There were no tears in my eyes. I was happy, other than feeling homesick once in awhile. Many people love to take a nap when it rains, where else I have the tendency to feel all energized and excited. Here was a beautiful weekend and I had no cares in the world. I was lazing around relaxing and watching nature do its beautiful dance once more. Yes the dance of the rain with the earth.

The trees were swaying gently with the wind and the chirping of the birds nearby sounded like musical notes to my ears. I was blissfully enjoying the beauty of nature and all of a sudden images of the fishing folks living close by crossed my mind. The fishing village was situated very near our hostel ground. I felt a sadness overcome me. Here, I was enjoying the comfort of a roof over me and a safe place to stay. I felt protected and was kept warm by my blanket. I started thinking of them, living in their small huts on the beach very much nearer to the sea.

Ever so often we will hear of winds blowing off their roofs away. For some, the rain will fall through their broken roofs and they would be cold and wet inside. My eyes started to moisten with tears and I began to say a prayer for them.

Since then, every time it rained, a surge of gratitude would rise in my heart. I felt blessed that I had a roof over my head to protect me from the rain. My thoughts would go to all those who were homeless and were getting wet in the rain. I will remember the fishing folks living by the ocean. They would have to deal with the rain and the waves which might come to wash their huts away ......




Oh Raindrops…….
Tears of the Sky -
Or of the Heart!

Down Memory Lane - Pt.2

Kalakshetra is synonymous with Rukmini Arundale. Fondly called athai by every one around her, one cannot imagine Kalakshetra without her. We used to be in awe of her. She set up Kalakshetra which provided an institutional setting for the students of music and dance. Here she retained the positive aspects of the system and persuaded outstanding musicians and dance gurus to join the faculty and created for them an ambience devoid of commercial considerations. I still remember there was so much of excitement in the college, when the then prime minister Morarji Desai offered the chair of the President of India to Rukmini Devi Arundale in 1977. She declined, preferring to dedicate herself to the arts .

I could say that I had the greatest honor of coming across some great legendary figures who have amazed and inspired me. Some of them were in Kalakshetra. I was young and quite naïve then. I had no idea that these were some of the greatest musicians, dancers and artists of our time.



I remember going to MD Ramanathan sir's classroom whenever I found some free time to listen to him singing. Ramanathan Sir is known for his unique style of singing. He had a fabulously deep and resonant voice which used to keep us all in awe. He would be with his students teaching them and sometimes singing all by himself.

Another legendary figure I have to mention is the maestro Shri Bhoodalur Sastrigal who used to play the gottuvadhyam. He used to look so fragile yet so magestic since he was of advanced age during that time. A sweet natured person who was always lost in his music. Such a blessing to have been able to sit before him when he was free, and he used to demonstrate the gottuvadhyam to my friends and me.

I also have to say about my vocal master, Mr. Mani Iyer who was a disciple of Shri Papanasam Sivan. A gentle soul with so much of simplicity. I remember him walking with his black umbrella in his hand. An unassuming man, Mani Sir was a patient and genuine teacher. When he was not teaching he could be found in his class with his tambura all by himself singing. I had the privilege of learning a number of Papanasam Sivan’s kritis under him.

Down Memory Lane - Pt.1

Just the other day someone I know asked me about the great maestro, MD Ramanathan and immediately memories of many great legends who have left an indelible mark in my life rushed in. I suppose as we grow older we have the privilege of going down memory lane often. If not for anything else, it is because we have the time to sit and ponder. When we are young we are always rushing to get things done and miss out on the valuable experiences and relationships that we come by. The passage of time teaches us to value and cherish the wonderful journey we have taken.

Yes , today this journey of mine when I look back has been above all a sweet one. Everyone’s journey is beautiful if we only know how to appreciate all that we have experienced. Time is a wonderful gift to us. It teaches us patience. Time soothes us and heals all the wounds.

So, my journey too has been with it’s ups and downs. However insignificant one may seem to the rest of the world, we as an individual are in our own world. I realize that I came to this beautiful land called earth – to experience all the joy that it has to offer. How strange that I have mistaken it to be a mixture of pain and joy. It is only pure joy if I only know how to embrace it. I have been given this beautiful gift of appreciation and when I can learn to use this tool , what a journey this can become !




Yes , who can forget this banyan tree? This is where our mornings started off. Our daily prayers accompanied to the sounds of the tambura .
We would gather every morning under this beautiful tree. Students from every where came to this beautiful place to learn the arts. The peaceful atmosphere and holistic approach was the secret to it’s attraction. Remembering this banyan tree brings calmness to me. I am back 30 years ago, sitting under this beautiful tree. We would start off with the shlokas in Sanskrit followed by songs dedicated to the various gods.