Remembering Tyagaraja

It is funny that the average modern Indian isn't big on aesthetics, given our artistic history. But again, I might be ascribing the ornamental indulgences of the monarchs of yore, the architectural show-offiness of a few, to the entire population. Who knows, the average Indian might have always been of the jugaad variety - functionality over art.

The Tyagaraja Aradhana is on television as I blog (just heard TM Krishna's Kedaragowla) and the physical feature that dominates the scenery is the microphones. Four to an artiste - one screams 'Sekaran' in white lettering on a harsh, blue background, two have AIR written on them (why does the radio need two?) and one is nameless, but presumably not orphaned (I wonder if it will sing in Jingala. Please excuse, it is my Tyagaraja joke for the day). And from behind these microphones, bits of artistes peek out - it is like an unfinished jigsaw puzzle, or one of those game-shows where you guess the celebrity from the pieces on the grid revealed. This is a fallout of the jugaad - the different people who need the feed don't bother with the co-ordination in advance, and so they bombard the stage with their equipment. All this happens under a shamiana dominated by plastic chairs.

The background isn't easy on the eye. It is a mesh of raucous lettering in English and Tamil, a gaudy Tyagaraja portrait and a Vodafone banner incongruously meshed in on the right. As usual, the sabha takes it upon itself to make it clear to the world that they are registered. Really, I don't think anyone doubted that. City Union Bank hollers at you from below the stage, complete with region and branch details along with pin code. (Then again, sponsors are unavoidable - Tyagaraja himself practiced uncha vritti!)

The concerts happen on the banks of the Cauvery, in a town that comes to life only once a year, and you can't help but wonder: so much more can be done with that setting.

Still, it is Tyagaraja's melodic, rhythmic, lyrical and devotional genius - handed down to us through two centuries of interpretation by artistes of all varieties, from art musicians to bhakti musicians, from ace reproducers to ace innovators, from laya exponents to raga past masters, from the oral tradition to obscure manuscripts - that occupies centre-stage, making us forget, for as long as the songs last, the jarring environment in which it is sung.