• The second part of a feature by RANJITHA ASHOK for The Season, based on the book Four Score & More – The ­History of the Music Academy, Madras, by Sriram V. and Malathi Rangaswami.

Good food and music seem to go together, and catering and the canteen have always been pivotal role players in the history of the Academy. Decades ago, traditional Madras “looked down on eating out.” So people brought their own food; the richer families had chauffeurs or family retainers bringing them their meal in “enormous tiffin carriers.” Vehicles became central to this practice, and ‘car-canteens’ also offered a tipple for those who felt the need for more fortification before being engulfed by the Arts. But once the “orthodox 1930s and 1940s” had come and gone, the canteen carved for itself a firm place in the social interaction scene at the Academy.

Balamuralikrishna enthralls the Executive Committee with a song in 1978.

The book carries some advertisements published over the years: The Tanjore Lodge opines that the “tongue and the stomach need good catering as much as the ear by music,” while others quaintly “solicit a trial”, offering “homely meals” and food “unexcelled in quality”… (you assume the advertiser means ‘unequalled’). Striking a demure note, one caterer states coyly that he has “separate accommodation for families and ladies”… putting the rowdy single male elements firmly in their collective place.

The canteen came into its own, say the authors, with Krishnamurthy, once the cook at M.S. Subbulakshmi’s house (a neat, even logical, connection there between two art forms). Krishnamurthy’s kashi halwa was so famous that no less a luminary than Semmangudi, the Pithamaha, himself would time “the main pieces in his concerts based on when the halwa would be prepared.” Over the years, earning the title ­‘Caterers to Music Academy’ became a much sought-after feather in a professional cook’s cap.

In time, the lobby of the Academy became a significant meeting ground, both for those who needed a break, and for those who would not buy tickets, but came here to hang out and to “soak in the music atmosphere.” Many among these were very real aficionados, going so far as to look down upon those who bought tickets and went to concerts because it was ‘the done thing.’ This group of ‘lobbyists’ soon came to be feared by the not-so-talented and those with pretentions to fame.

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Maali.

The photographs tell their own stories, and the striking silhouette of Mylapore Gowri Ammal stands out, especially as you read about the role the Academy played “ to induce respectable people to come forward to take to the art.”

The stories tumble forth – Dhanamma spontaneously embracing T.N. Rajarathinam Pillai, her dear ‘Thambi’, at the end of a performance by the latter; the clashes between Chowdiah and C.S. Iyer over the seven-stringed violin, when music turned into a weapon. Mali throwing a tantrum, insisting on a certain gentleman being removed… and the organisers later discovering that the hapless man was none other than Mali’s father. The ‘gargantuan’ Kum­ba­konam Raja­manikkam Pillai, helping the smaller Mali through the crowd by the simple expedience of hoisting the latter on to his large shoulders and barreling through; Bala­sara­s­wathi’s extraordinary performances – and the open arguments conducted on stage with mother Jayammal; the passionate debates over Tamil Isai, and Ariyakudi Ramanuja Iyengar’s now-on-now-off relationship with the Academy; a young GNB mischievously calling Chowdiah ‘Soundiah’ while the Dhanammal family, who seem to have been blessed with particularly sharp, sardonic tongues, taking it further and calling him ‘Sevud’iah’.

You then read the chapter on the Kalanidhi controversies with some awe, where one stalwart refused an offer to preside over the Annual Conference one year, wondering devasta­tingly: “Since when has a band of lawyers, doctors and businessmen had arrogated to themselves the task of honouring musicians.” Ouch! There were obviously many upsets over these awards, which show a rather human need for accolades, with one worthy going so far as to threaten to hang himself in the premises of the Academy if he wasn’t recog­nised. All’s fair in love, war and awards, it seems. And why not? Some even had running feuds with the Academy for not having been awarded the Sangita Kalanidhi.

The Academy goofed up at times too – like when it left maestros to fend for themselves during rainy days…a lack of sensitivity seen as ‘high-handedness’ on the part of the Academy. Well, the Academy was also ‘human’.

There are many such discordant notes, ironical in the ultimate place for music…but perhaps the pure and true shine even brighter at such times.

Creativity is a tough business, and even towering talent does not guarantee a smooth ride through life.

Like the free-for-all between M. Balamuralikrishna and S. Balachander, with the former suing Semmangudi for slander; or the Academy being accused of being only a ‘vocal academy’ by S. Balachander, as it only seemed to favour vocalists.

The 'Veena' Dhanam clan circa 1920.

Semmangudi, such a veteran musician, using “colourful language” to abuse the very caustic critic, Subbudu, on stage no less, with the Press having a field day.

For you, genius increases in fascination because it comes from the same stuff everyone is made of. They have egos – like you. They lose their tempers; suffer from jealousy, resentment, insecurity…some more obvious than others…like you.

And yet – they are special people. They’ve heard their soul’s voice, recognised it, had the courage to follow it; worked ceaselessly, sometimes under very tough circumstances – whether it was music or dance… and, in turn, people came to listen and watch, their own souls responding to this particular call.

And that’s what makes the difference.

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As you watch this very human story unfold, you realise it is true – the Lamb and the Tiger can co-exist in one persona. You suspect that the two writers know much more than has been allowed to go into print. And can’t help smiling at the thought. What a piece of work is Man, indeed – okay, let’s say ‘Human’ (the Bard lived in less politically correct times, after all). We really are the stuff that dreams are made of… and some have it in them to turn dreams into a reality that leaves an eternal impression in the fabric of a nation’s cultural history.

The authors say “many years ago, The Academy too, ‘made a tryst with destiny’.” Borrowing this phrase makes sense – the man who first said it laid the foundation stone, after all. It began really as a set of “high ideals in the hearts and minds of its founders,” and rose to the unique status it enjoys today. If the founders are watching, they are, you assume, a happy lot – possibly even a little bemused at how varied the cultural inputs are, and how global the Academy has become, while retaining its original form as the “home for classical music and dance.”

2.Balasaraswathi (left) and Mylapore Gowri Ammal.

Through it all runs the thread of the day-to-day rasika – one who has nothing to do with social or financial position, or even a founding father vision…just an overwhelming love of the arts. The Academy gives the humblest and quietest of rasika-s a place under that glossy umbrella.

And that’s what, for us clueless ones, keeps us firmly in our seats.

You may not understand – or know very much. But you watch, absorb and, sometimes, if you’re lucky, you will experience a epiphanic second that takes you out of yourself, gives you a glimpse of another world, however briefly... and you applaud, thankful for those who bring beauty into our lives; for those who bring artistes and audience together.

And for authors like Sriram V. and Malathi Rangaswami, who bring us their stories.

And you wish you hadn’t wriggled out of paattu class – even if it meant wearing that stupid green pavadai.

(Concluded)