A place where they grew up…
Palghat, a quiet and unassuming district, is the granary of
Kerala. An uncomplicated and uncluttered place on the Western side of the Sahyadri
range, this was where a gap in the mountains opened out for the artisans of the
Tamilakam, allowing them to trade and communicate with the developing domains
of the Malayalam culture, near the coast. As a border town of sorts, it became
home to many diverse communities and resulted in an admixture of Tamil and
Kerala lifestyles, art, and culture. The language, the food, and the outlook of
Palghat are, therefore, somewhat unique. As an important railway junction in the
British rail network, it later connected travelers coming in from the North and
the Eastern cities to Kerala, a junction diverting them North towards Calicut
or South, onwards to the metropolises of Cochin and Trivandrum.
Not only was it a locale peopled by all kinds of Hindu
religions and castes, but it was also a place where many Rawuthers and Muslims settled
down, especially near Puthunagaram and Palghat, these people having filtered in
from Coimbatore and other palayams where Haider and Tipu used to camp once upon
a time. After all, this was the principality where the Achan rulers once invited
the Mysore Sultans, to help them ward off the invasions of the Zamorin.
Primarily an agricultural district even today, you come across temple towns and
paddy fields along the way. Not much happened in these places, other than temple
festivities. When occasion permitted or when one got truly bored, the
adventurous would in the old days, board a clackety bus to Palghat to either to
see a film, buy some clothes or to eat some tiffin at the Ashoka Bhavan or chomp
a biryani at Noorjehan.
Bullock carts hogged the road and the occasional bus would creak
and growl along behind them till the road opened out and allowed them to pass,
with a frustrated roar. Cherumar workers walking in a row carrying hay and
paddy on their head to the granary of the landlord’s house was a perineal sight,
and some could be seen crouched or hunched over the paddy fields, planting or
harvesting, much like you saw in the old black & white movies, while the
Nair landlord clad in a dhoti would walk by, head held up, taking in the scene
and the situation of the crops, calculating the returns. Over yonder, behind
the many coconut trees or the occasional iconic palmyra palm, jack fruit and
mango trees, you could hear faintly, music being played through the temple
speakers, typically a Carnatic kirtana – perhaps even an MS Subbalakshmi
offering.
Walk towards that noise and you would cross an Agraharam
with row houses on both sides facing a lovely temple pond ringed with coconut
trees, all starkly spartan, where you would see ladies of the house wearing
their sarees the Tamilian way and drawing kolams or a rare child at play. The
bathhouse still has a few semi-clad women, washing clothes, with the sound of
the pounding – of cloth hitting the granite stones, just to get the dirt out,
sounding rat a tat, akin to gunshots, splitting the silence, sans a croaking
frog or a bird's call from the distance. The ambi pattar uncle sitting on the
easy chair on the Kolayi of the home, angling his Hindu newspaper to catch the morning
light would be muttering about the state of the affairs, the government and
what not, and how Madras was going to the dogs, cursing the political parties.
Siva Siva. Today, there are no children or youngsters in those agraharams, they
are all gone, with their parents to Chennai or Mumbai or Bangaluru. But come
vacations or Navaratri, the homes will be buzzing with activity, children on the
street and animated chatter all the way through the row houses.
Anyway, for some obtuse reason, I don’t really know why, the
place, perhaps due to its serenity and quietness, resulted in the creation of so
many great personalities who not only graced the administrative corridors of
New Delhi and its politics, but also the armed forces and the railways, many a
corporate office and of course much later, the IT industry. Add to that a vast
number of incredibly talented artists - Carnatic or light music, there were
vocalists, instrumentalists, and there were so many performers (actors) and writers.
But I am not going to be general anymore, I will be specific and simply
introduce two of the greatest exponents of their art forms, one a wonderfully
talented Carnatic music singer, another a brilliant actress, both of great
renown, favorites across generations. The actress was never of Palghat origin,
but just stayed there for a while, but they remembered this little town years
later and talked about it. That’s all the connection.
An uncle of mine called Kichetta, who used to work in the
estates and a great buddy of my dad, had settled down for good in a place called
Vandazhi, upon retirement, this place being just a few miles away from our
village at Pallavur. The last time I visited him at Vandazhi was a couple of years
ago, but this uncle passed away last year, sad to say. I still recall the last
visit, and of Ammayi taking all the pains to make fresh unniappams and many
other delicacies to welcome us on that occasion.
Like many other villages in Palghat, Vandazhi too is
surrounded by fields and has a couple of temples, and in the 80’s boasted a
school or two, perhaps a dispensary or a primary health care center, a few grocery
shops and a tea kada or two. Like most other villages, a few buses which plied the
bus route between Palghat in the North or Trichur in the West touched at
Vandazhi, and well, it also had a post office where people would congregate and
chit chat.
This was the village where our young lady spent her
vacations, where she heard temple music wafting over loudspeakers and
perfected her Carnatic music and her mastery over its ragas, talas and swaras
with each visit. I was not aware of her connections to Palghat, as her name led
most astray. When I listened to her speak on this specific subject, Vandazhi I
was surprised to say the least - now remember, I have heard her voice so often
as a music enthusiast and my skin tingled when I listened to her podcast of her
younger days at Vandazhi, and how it got her interested in music, how the songs
of Baburaj, Yesudas and other music directors enthralled her.
She was a Tambram (Tamil brahmin) too and a PI (Palghat
Iyer) whose family had flown the coop long ago and one who realized many years
later – that this was where she wished to settle down - By the water, with
lush coconut groves around. The air filled with a few voices speaking
Malayalam. And in the distance, the quiet sound of a temple bell. She added
that she would always remember her vacations at Vandazhi and long to go back
there, again and again.
That person is Jayshri Ramnath, who was born in Calcutta and
grew up at Bombay to become a Maestra in the field of music, earning many awards,
much recognition and numerous laurels along the way, a Padma Shri lately. For
those still a bit confused, that is none other than the well-known singer Bombay
Jaishri, granddaughter of Palghat Narayana Iyer.
Along the way she would pick up many awards and grace the
Carnatic music field, also gracing the light music arena with an occasional
film song. These days she is popular in the Carnatic performance circuit and
is a philanthropist to boot. Not only is she well known in India, but is also
much-traveled, giving performances all over the world. Some years ago, she won
an Oscar nomination for her composition in ‘The life of Pi”. But we will come
to some highlights of her career a little later, let us get back to her
memories.
Those interested should listen to her 7-minute podcast about
those school summer vacation trips to Vandazhi in Palghat and how the music she
heard there, as well as the daily extempore group singing sessions by the
entire family taking turns, during the evenings, instilled the essence of
Carnatic music into her soul. Her grandfather was the headmaster of the CVM
school at Vandazhi, and every vacation (just like many of us did) she, her
mother Seetha and her two brothers took the train from Bombay to Olavakot
station in Palghat, then the bus to Vandazhi, to spend all of two months, in
that blissful world away from the hustle, bustle, smell, noise, grime and dust
of Bombay. Jaishri mentions her thatha’s house had a thatched roof, but that
sounded a little incongruous to me, for a headmaster in the early 80’s would
have surely merited a tiled house, even if it were rented.
Nevertheless, her descriptions match the typical Palghat
scene I mentioned earlier, a house surrounded by coconut, mango and jack fruit
trees, a temple nearby, with the temple pond and of course temple music wafting
from the loudspeakers early in the morning, from 4AM as Jaishri sates, and that
daily infusion was according to her, what influenced her music deeply, even
before she learned music and its structure and grammar. The music of Vandazhi
remained with her, and came back often, bringing nostalgia, gratitude and many
good memories. She recalls the magical voice of Yesudas from the temple
speakers and she recalls the days when they partook more in music than
conversation, at home. The scenery, the sounds of the rain and the music of the
insects hovering around the dimly lit bulbs, always remained with her.
She starts the podcast singing an evergreen Malayalam song
popularized by Yesudas – Sumangali nee orkumo. Though her Malayalam accent is
typical of a Tamilian, she narrates the story magically. While the rest of the
episodes are as good though short, the one about Vandazhi, is of course dear to
me. Her narration is splendid and tinged with nostalgia, and she tells us about her uncle who always purchased two extra bulbs so that no evening would go
dark due to a blub failing with the voltage constantly fluctuating, and her grandpa would tell
them stories of his childhood, lounged supine on his easy chair. This maternal
grandpa was the Headmaster at CVM Vandazhi, and she refers to him as Vicha
Thata.
Her paternal grandfather Palghat Narayana Iyer, who used to offer
music tuitions at Bombay, must have originated from another Palghat agraharam, Jaishri
does not mention those details in this podcast. Anyway, she says it was that
temple music she heard between 4-630AM which got deeply imprinted in her mind
as she grew up, this helping her internalize and connect to serious Carnatic
music, later on.
A few highlights from her life and career would help you
understand her journey - Both her father Subramaniam and mother Seetha were
quite proficient in Carnatic music, and her father used to perform in concerts.
He died young when Jaishri was just 6 but her mother Seetha ensured that her music
lessons continued. Initially, she learned Carnatic music under TR Balamani
(Shankar Mahadevan, another PI was also part of the group) at Matunga. After
usual rounds in the light music and Geet, bhajan, ghazal performance scenes, she
became a jingle and track singer in Bombay. She was then chosen as a disciple
of the violin maestro Lalgudi Jayaraman and was trained in the nuances of
Carnatic vocals by that great performer. That was when she moved to Chennai. Also
proficient on the veena, Jaishri was trained on the instrument by G N
Dhandapani Iyer. Before she performed Carnatic concerts at the age of 28, she
was as I read, the voice behind many a jingle, notably Ponds dream flower, Bournvita,
Mealmaker and Rexona!
Somehow her connections to Kerala continued, and the one
song which blew her into the limelight had yet another Malayali connection. She
got a call to sing for a film, directed by one Jayraj. Thinking that it was the
Malayalam film director Jairaj whom she had previously sung for, she went to
the studio to see a young fella clad in shorts getting it all ready for her to
sing a seductive song. Alarmed and assuming that she was in the wrong place,
she was quickly convinced by this new music director that she was in the right
place and chosen for that very song due to her low pitch, that was how the
young Harris Jayraj, got her to sing that iconic song Vaseegara, the song which
catapulted her into the common man’s heart!
A commerce graduate, with a diploma in Indian music and also
trained in Hindustani classical music, Jaishri is very popular in the
performance circuit. I don’t need to say more, for she has achieved so much and
is at the pinnacle these days, so mellifluous to listen to. In fact, sometimes
when we pick up a kirtanam to learn in
our music class, most suggestions are to learn them from the Jaishri versions.
Jaishri has high regard for the Malayali music fan and she
once said “Kerala’s culture and tradition are quite different from
elsewhere. The people here love music
and enjoy music festivals. I performed here on the occasion of Vishu. People
appreciate music here”. But after she got nominated for the Oscars, things
got a bit complicated when she was accused of plagiarism, as some Malayali’s believed
she had borrowed heavily from Iryimman Thampi’s Omana Thingal Kidavo, to create
her version, without attribution. I am sure that matter has all been laid to
rest and forgotten, I feel there is nothing much to argue about, in this case.
There are so many other stars with Palghat origins who don’t
mention their Palghat connections, probably they have no lasting memories of
the town, or it could be that they prefer their karma Bhoomi to their Janma
bhumi, as I mentioned in my article on PI’s or Palghat Iyers some years ago.
So that was Jaishri Ramnath and her association with
Vandazhi, a place that inspires her to sing. How about the other person? Even
though she makes only a brief mention, I would like to add her to this little
article, because I thought it fits in here. She was a great actress of
yesteryears who regaled us with brilliant performances in the movie Guide, and
many Guru Dutt movies, such as Pyaasa and Kaagez Ki Phool. The actress is none
other than Waheeda Rahman, who spent a few of her childhood years in Palghat.
In the early days, Palghat was a little different. After the
Mysore Sultans arrived during the second half of the 18th century,
they decimated Malabar and also disrupted the entire structure in Palghat. Life
had taken a new turn, the Nairs were a hunted lot, so also the Brahmins (Nambuthiris
and Tamil brahmin settlers), after attacks and looting of the temples by the Mysore
soldiers. Camps were established for the soldiers near the border, at Palghat,
near Koduvayur and closer to Trichur.
After a while the British came in, to defeat the Mysorean army and with
it, the ownership of the entire region passed on to the East India Company. But
the magnificent fort which was constructed by Haider remained, as it does to
this day, and the Kotta Maidanam and the fort are basically rallying points at
Palghat. Families go there during holidays, while concerts, games and
processions, as well as meetings, are regularly held there.
As I had written before, I have always passed the fort, since
the road that takes me from Palakkad town to Pallavur, snakes by the Kotta
Maidanam (the ground by the fort) and is beside one of the ramparts of the
majestic fort. Sometimes it is dry and black, sometimes it is covered with
moss, but it has always stood there, hardly damaged by the years, the weather
or the many thousands who folk by every year to see it. The complex is square
in shape, situated on 15 acres of land, with walls of immense thickness and
strong bastions at all four corners and in the middle. The sober majesty of
those laterite walls of the fort quietly hides many tales of valor and courage.
My father was a district commissioner. His name was
Mohammed Abdur Rehman and my mother was Mumtaz Begum. Father passed the IAS
[Indian Administrative Service] exam and finally became a district commissioner
sometime in the 1930s. It was through his friends that his marriage was
arranged in the late 1920s. My father was posted all over south India, so we
managed to pick up some of the local languages. I am not very fluent in Tamil
and Telugu, but I can get by. You don’t easily forget what you learn in your
childhood.
I must have been about four or five years old. My father
was posted to Palghat, which is now called Palakkad. It’s in Kerala. During the
Onam festival we went to the Palghat Fort to watch the procession of decorated
elephants. We stood on the parapet and my father lifted me high in his arms so
I could see the elephants through the opening in the fort wall. The image of
those beautifully adorned elephants is still clear in my mind.
Like a fool I told my father that I wanted to own an
elephant. He said: ‘Darling, it’s not possible. An elephant is a big animal;
you can’t keep an elephant as a pet.’ ‘What about a baby elephant?’ He
patiently explained that the baby elephant would grow up into a big elephant.
A brilliant dancer, a popular actress and the quintessential
beauty of Bollywood, she hailed from the Madras presidency. From her teens, she
went on to act in scores of movies in numerous languages, winning a plethora of
awards including the Padma Bhushan and the Padma Shri.
Interestingly one of her favorite performances was for the only
Malayalam movie she acted in, one that never got released – she names it as the
1972’s film Trisandhya. The storyline is based on a short story by Uroob, and
the film was directed by Raj Marbros. Waheeda plays the character of Indu who
is in love with Bhasker, but gets married to his elder brother instead. In an
accident, the husband dies and a paralyzed Bhasker is bedridden, with Indu taking
care of him, donning the role of a Nurse. This film explores the
delicate relationship between a housewife and her young brother-in-law. Her
friends and produces were quite upset that she did this arty role at that time.
I read elsewhere that her experience with this film was also not so good,
following which she refused to regional themes, interestingly Benegal’s Ankur. That
was Waheeda Rehman and her little tryst with Palghat.
So many other luminaries had connections to Palghat, and I
will bring this to an and by mentioning some of those names. On the musical
side we can talk of Usha Uthup, Sreevalsan Menon, Shankar Mahadevan,
Haricharan, MS Viswanathan, Stephen Devassy, P Unnikrishnan, P Leela, Unni
Menon, Swarnalatha, Malaysia Vasudevan, the Ranjini - Gayatri sisters, the list
can go on and on. Add to them the many virtuosos from the past such as Mani
Iyer, Chembai, MD Ramanathan, and of course the pioneer of them all,
Parameswara Bhagavathar who graced Swati Tirunal’s court.
On the film side, we have examples such as Trisha, Vidya
Balan, Priyamani, Ajit (Thala), Gautam Menon. So many writers came from those
quite environs, some are OV Vijayan, VK Madhavan Kutty, Malayatoor
Ramakrishnan, Anita Nair and then again, we have administrators and politicians
namely CS Nair, VP Menon, KPK Menon, SS Menon, TN Sheshan etc. and not to forget,
our inimitable Shashi Tharoor.
But I will admit, few were as evocative as Jaishri when it came
to remembering those roots.…
References
Conversations with Waheeda Rahman – Nasreen Munni Kabeer
Vandazhi – A short video
An interview with Bombay Jaishri and a link to her podcasts
The Iyers Of Palghat - Historic Alleys
pics – Bombay Jaishri – Wikimedia courtesy – Kayaniv,
waheeda Bollywood Hungama (Wikimedia)
