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In the footsteps of a great Master
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Humble and simple, T. V. Sankaranarayanan has carved a niche for himself in the world of Carnatic music. VATSALA VEDANTAM profiles the artiste, who has been conferred the Padma Bhushan.
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T. V. Sankaranarayanan.
HE WAS standing alone outside the temple, a shawl around his shoulders, looking at a heavily overcast sky. The concert was over. The audience had melted into the night.
"Do you have a long way to go?" I asked.
"Just as far as the railway station after picking up my bags at the lodge." No fuss. No formality. He neither waited for a red carpet welcome from the organisers. Nor a grand send off. He came, he sang and departed in his characteristic style. A low profile performer, who expects no adulation and craves no publicity. Yet, he has carved a niche for himself in the hallowed world of Carnatic music as few artistes have done. A gentleman among musicians, he candidly admits: "I am a happy and contented man. As long as the rasikas enjoy my music, I ask for nothing more." That happiness and contentment permeate unmistakably through the music of T.V. Sankaranarayanan.
A lawyer turned musician, he is one of the few classical exponents of an art form that he has carefully nurtured and preserved in all its pristine beauty. His concerts, meticulously planned and modelled on the debonair style of his illustrious uncle and guru, Madurai Mani Iyer, have mesmerised audiences with their rhythm, grace and melody. It could be a raga alapana, neraval or swaraprastharam - they all have the special TVS stamp. An unaffected technique he has honed to perfection. After one such inspired concert, he was heard to remark: "How I enjoyed singing Kapi today." Maybe, there lies the secret of his success. He becomes so totally involved in his music that he forgets himself and his surroundings. It could be an open-air theatre; a 3,000-seat auditorium; or, a cosy hall with the audience spilling over onto his mat. He sings with the same zest and verve. Once, during a concert in this city, when the rain drove away many in the audience, he continued to sing for a handful of listeners without diluting the quality or cutting down the length of the concert. This again a lesson learnt from his guru who used to tell him: "When you sing, don't compete with others. Listen and judge your own music. And sing even if there are only ten listeners." These were lessons in humility that the young disciple learnt at the feet of his mentor.
"Be humble. Earn things and don't expect anything." Remember, adversity is a great teacher." Madurai Mani Iyer, who was his uncle, teacher and role model, practised what he preached to his young student. Humility personified, he dressed simply and sang sincerely.
"He would never know where his next concert would be," says TVS, reminiscing. "But that never bothered him. He truly believed that Todi was much bigger than himself." The teacher's philosophy rubbed off on the student as much as his musical dexterity. A deep respect for composers, rasikas and accompanying artistes is a special quality of T.V. Sankaranarayanan. I remember a Spic Macay concert in a college long ago when he consciously encouraged a young violinist - none other than Mysore Manjunath - by effacing himself completely. And this from a vidwan who had maestros like Lalgudi Jayaraman, T. N. Krishnan and Vellore Ramabhadran accompanying him! TVS has proved that it takes a little more than music to make a great musician. His extraordinary stage presence, combined with his pleasing manners, are as much crowd pullers as his unique mastery over handling swaras and ragas. When I mentioned to him Semmangudi's observation earlier in the day as to how TVS is one of those rare musicians who has not commercialised his art, but retained the courteous traits of his illustrious uncle, the latter's face lit up: "What other honours do I need after hearing that?"
Born in Mayavaram in 1945, Sankaranarayanan was blessed with a rich musical heritage. His father, T. S. Vembu Iyer, was a vocalist par excellence who tutored his son in the intricacies of classical music. His mother, Gomathy, and maternal uncle, Mani Iyer, had inherited a rich musical tradition from their illustrious parent, Madurai Pushpavanam Iyer.
Training his own two children, Amrutha Varshini and Sankara Mahadeva, to continue the family convention, TVS says: "I was blessed with great parents, and a greater guru in my uncle." "Enakku idhe periya bhagyam," he declares passionately. "To be the disciple of a deiva purusha..." He sang with him, learnt from him, sat at his feet and basked in an extraordinary musical ambience even as he pursued his education, first at the PES High School in Mayavaram, and later at the Vivekananda College in Madras where he graduated in Commerce. The young musician went on to study Law and even enrolled in the Madras High Court as an advocate in 1967. His tryst with the legal world, however, lasted exactly 15 days! He also dabbled in English Literature, reading almost every author he could lay hands on. "I was a gentleman of leisure in those days," laughs TVS.
It was T.N. Krishnan who suggested that the young lawyer should present a public concert. So, in February 1968, before performing at the Veera Anjaneya temple in Mylapore, he gave a full-fledged recital with accompanists before an exalted one-man audience - Madurai Mani Iyer himself. "Sing Todi!" commanded the teacher.
This, according to TVS, was the ultimate test. He was 23 and had arrived. He never looked back. His marriage to Vijayalakshmi, a music teacher of distinction, was an additional source of inspiration. Today, at the height of his splendid career, he feels he has achieved all that he could ever have hoped for.
When M. S. Subbulakshmi recently commented: "Raman, you should have been conferred the Sangeetha Kalanidhi," TVS was moved and answered: "I did, Amma - just now from you!" T.V. Sankaranarayanan has been honoured by the Government of India recently — the Padma Bhushan award and all the prestige that goes with it. But it sits lightly on him.
Like his great predecessor, this gentle musician has discovered the secret of an artiste's success.
That it does not lie in awards and honours, but in the enjoyment of the art itself. As in the Tyagaraja kriti, which he himself sings with such feeling: "Intha soukyamani ne chappa zaala Yentho, yemo, yevariki thelusuno ... "
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