The boldness of yesteryear maestros in questioning political and other big shots surprises Thiruvarur Bakthavathsalam even today, as the middle-aged percussionist narrates that 27-year-old incident. “In 1983,” he recalls thumping the centre-table, “I was playing the mridangam for (renowned vocalist) Maharajapuram Santhanam at the Music Academy. Most of the audience was listening in rapt attention. Only a group of politicians, seated in the front row, were engaged in an animated discussion. A visibly upset Santhanam stopped singing and stared at the netas. ‘‘Sorry,’’ said Santhanam, ‘‘I notice my singing is disturbing your conversation. Please let me know when you are finished.’’ Irked, the leaders left the hall.”
Born in Thanjavur, Bhathavathsalam’s formative years were influenced by the family atmosphere, where, to quote him, “music ran in everyone’s blood”. He started singing and playing the instrument from the age of five. Later, he learnt under his maternal uncle Thiruvarur Krishnamurthy and gave his first public performance at the age of nine at Thanjavur, as an accompanying artiste for his vocalist-mother T R Anandavalli.
He continued to perform at various local and regional festivals in and around Thiruvarur for some time, after which it dawned upon him that it was time to set foot in Chennai. That was in the mid-1970s.
“No Carnatic music artiste can aspire to fame, money and recognition unless he performs in Chennai. It’s the cultural capital of India. One good performance here, and you get instant fame and recognition. Even those living abroad get to know all about you within no time.”
So, what is it like, performing abroad? “They (concerts) are more satisfying,” he says. Reason: “The audiences always listen with rapt attention, though they don’t understand the nuances of Carnatic music. Back home, it is generally not so.”
Like many artistes of his ilk, 55-year-old Bhakthavathsalam, a Sangeet Nataka Akademi award winner, has also trained many budding mridangam artistes in India and abroad through his Laya Madhura School of Music which also has a branch in Toronto, Canada. “In July, I conduct a summer learning camp for a group of Sri Lankan Tamil students being trained by Dr Gowri Shankar, a Sri Lankan Tamil who learnt from me for 10 years in India.” He also has a fan club in Madurai, which he calls his second home and where he was felicitated in 2001 for completing 25 years in Carnatic music.
Earlier this summer, on May 27, Bhakthavathsalam performed at Mysore in a special programme called Laya Madhura Mridanga Yagna. It was on the occasion of Sri Ganapati Sachidanda Swamiji’s 68th birthday, when 108 artistes led by him played the mridangam for over two hours. “It was a stupendous challenge… quite tough; I had to ensure that there was perfect synchronisation among all of us. Fortunately we did it well.”
He is peeved at the step-motherly treatment meted out to percussionists in the Deccan, unlike their counterparts up north, where they are as equally respected as the main artistes. And he blames lead vocalists — not the organisers — for the sorry state of affairs. “They are the ones who ensure that we don’t get prominence, probably out of an inferiority complex, though, without us, they can’t perform.” Bhakthavathsalam is also upset that the recent World Classical Tamil Conference missed an occasion to honour the contributions of Carnatic musicians. “Hasn’t classical music brought an extraordinary glory to Tamil Nadu?” asks the Kalaimamamani awardee.
He signs off by saying that he has a lot to reveal about the way the Carnatic music circuit functions. Then what he is waiting for? “I want to get my daughters married off. Once I’m done with it, I will put my mridangam in the loft and reveal all.”
— krishnamachari@expressbuzz.com