Features: Magazine | Literary Review | Life | Metro Plus | Open Page | Education Plus | Book Review | Business | SciTech | Friday Review | Cinema Plus | Young World | Property Plus | Quest | Folio |

In the early years, it was important to impress. Now my approach is more inward looking.

Photo: Shiv Kumar Pushpakar

Unfettered Singing, for T.V. Sankaranarayanan, is about reaching out to God .

Ever noticed performing artistes laugh a lot? It might be because their frequent travels and stage-view expose them to the funnier side of life.

But veteran Carnatic vocalist T.V. Sankaranarayanan has another reason. He has read “all 90 books” of P.G. Wodehouse. “I really wanted to meet him when I went on my first tour to the U.S.,” he recalls, and still regrets keenly that the author’s demise cruelly deprived him of the opportunity.

Sankaranarayanan sweeps audiences off their feet with his stentorian vocals, cascading note patterns and the devotional ecstasy of his renderings. His alaps often end with the word ‘Hari’. “It has become a habit. I picked it up from my uncle,” notes the nephew and disciple of the legendary Madurai Mani Iyer. Sankaranarayanan is humbly analytical. “Perhaps it is too much, but anyway it has become a practice,” he admits.

Born in 1945 in Mayavaram, Sankaranarayanan grew up surrounded by music.

“We were in a joint family. I started learning music under my father T.S Vembu Iyer,” he recalls. “He was mama’s (Madurai Mani Iyer’s) prime disciple and gave vocal support in his concerts. He was more or less my uncle’s alter ego.”

The young Raman, as he was known, would repeat snatches of song that he heard. “And I had a natural ability to convert phrases into ragas when I was four or five. But my uncle believed very small children should not be put into a strict regime. So he gave me time. In my ninth year I started saralivarasai (basic music exercises).” Two years later the family shifted to Madras. “Even now we live in the same house,” he says fondly. “We shifted there in 1958. It’s a heritage place, where I sat at the feet of my guru and learnt. He was never strict. He was like a god to us.”

But there was an unalterable compact. “In the morning I would read him The Hindu. This was when his eyesight had failed. I would read the editorial, letters to the editor and the political news. Singing was a priority for me, but he made it [newspaper reading] a habit too,” he laughs.

“After reading he would teach me the song. I learnt more than 600 Tyagaraja kritis. Before he passed away I had learnt about a thousand songs from him. Everyone would ask him to sing ‘Taye Yashoda in [raga] Todi, or ‘Chakkani Raja’ in Kharaharapriya, but he taught me so many songs he didn’t [normally] sing in kacheris.” The text would be open in front of Raman in case the guru forgot something. “But that never happened.”

Besides music and the news of the day, cricket was a major preoccupation. “Test cricketer Venkataraghavan was my classmate. So there was a dispersal of interest,” he chuckles. “Till I was in class 11. Then my uncle said, decide one of the two. It was the only time he was strict with me.”

It was curtains for cricket. From then on his musical training became more intense. Over the past four decades he has sung across the world. Early days were tough. The stalwarts were in their prime.

“But I was lucky. The great names have all accompanied me, even from my first year. T.N. Krishnan, Vellur Ramabhadran, they all played for me. I got that blessing from my uncle. They all knew me from the family.”

While life was not a bed of petals, some of the thorns were of his own choosing. “I wanted to rough it out. When I started on my own I decided I would not travel first class till I was 40.”

He was 23 then, and a Law graduate, a rare music professional with academic credentials. He nevertheless felt “a misfit in both law and music”.

He had studied Law on his guru’s recommendation, “as part of a liberal education”, and because “Mama had a fascination for law”. While he never considered law as a profession, he remarks. “But actually I didn’t think of tomorrow.” If he could be so unfettered in his flight as a young man, he is even more so today.

Singing for him is communicating the joy he feels to the audience. “That is great anandam. It is reaching out to God. We are all doing it together. It gives great solace.”

As he looks back, the 63-year-old vocalist, whose birthday passed recently with a concert in the Capital, remarks, “In the early years, it was important to impress. Now it is more inward looking. Of course I still pray that I may sing well.”

He feels his zodiac sign Pisces contributes to the lack of “that professional competitive spirit”. “I would rather loll about”, he adds amusingly. With what? You guessed it — P.G. Wodehouse.

Printer friendly page  
Send this article to Friends by E-Mail