Season Snippets - Mood Mridangam

A series of short posts on little things in and around kacheris this December Season.
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A joke from the last season. My uncle walked out of the toilet in the Music Academy and said, "I just witnessed a great cosmic phenomenon - a long line of Brahmins, all piddling!"
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"Hey. The counter for season tickets for Music Academy open tomorrow. Nine-thirty. I'm told there will be a big crowd. Be there by eight-thirty."

I was there. At eight-thirty-one and a few seconds. The first sight I see is of this elderly mami and mama opening their tiffin boxes and eating idlis coated with molaga podi. Chomp, chomp. In the lobby outside the mini-hall, there are these people drinking coffee from plastic cups and discussing some ticket issues loudly. Slurp, slurp. They've clearly been there for a while.

I enter the mini-hall, my initial self-righteousness about having turned up very early substantially eroded, and find a much larger crowd that I had imagined. All in hushed conversation with their neighbours on various issues. Chatter, chatter. A man, who realises I'm a newbie when it comes to season tickets directs me to a seat. He tells me, "Only 750 ticket available." I ask, "2000?". Not there. I try, "8000? 6000?" All over. Only 750. People sitting around me, all clearly newbies to this ticketing ritual, complain about the Academy's opaque ticketing system and favouritism. Grumble, grumble. After nearly an hour, a man announces, "Even the seven-fifty-rupee tickets are over. Those who do not have slips may kindly leave."

Peeved and hungry, I walk down to Woodlands and let my frustrations out on a blameless plate of upma-vada with hot filter coffee, while whining to my uncle on the phone about the tickets. Chomp, chomp, slurp, slurp, chatter, chatter, grumble, grumble.
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Arun Prakash's greatest skill is in setting the mood for any piece with his mridangam - he seems to read what the main artiste is trying and recreates that effect perfectly. I can still remember a chilling Hiranmayeem that TM Krishna sang at Odakathoor Mutt in Bangalore accompanied by him. The mridangam and the voice attained unity that day - you would think they came from the same source.

Yesterday, when Ravikiran announced, "I shall now play a Thyagaraja kriti in Raga Neelambari, 'Nike Dayaraka' in Mishrachapu taalam," I could almost see Arun Prakash licking his lips. After a most soothing alapana from Ravikiran and Lalgudi Vijayalakshmi on the violin, they started the kriti. The percussion side remained silent for about three lines. Then, they began punctuating the kriti with single beats. Slowly, they built up to just three touches at three-two-two. This was interspersed with very interesting, but very minimal, very delicate rhythms. Neelambari's lilt was given just the right pedestal to thrive on.

After the Neelambari, when the audience was suitably blissful, a Garudadhwani came. Tatvamerugatarama. And the mridangam was right on the button, exuberant and joyous!
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