A master’s class on AIR

It must have been 1979 or 1980. My colours of distinction in the state-level tenth standard examination propelled me into uncharted territories. Among the few felicitations I received, one stood out: presenting a summary of my favourite Kannada novel on a Mysore All India Radio (AIR) programme for children.

I chose Hamsageethe for several reasons. Firstly, the story is set in the historical town of Chitradurga, and secondly, the novel had received critical acclaim. Both aspects resonated deeply with me, given my family’s connection to Chitradurga—my father, Somanna, hailed from there—and his involvement in several Kannada films. The novel’s emphasis on music as an art form also appealed to our family’s appreciation for the arts.

However, I was taken aback when my father suggested, “Once you’ve finished your manuscript, have it reviewed by the renowned author TaRaSu (Talukina Ramaswamayya Subba Rao) here in Mysuru.” This posed a significant challenge for the novice writer I was. I revisited
the book, which I found in our family library, and dedicated the next 8-10 days to reading it meticulously, taking copious notes, and crafting a coherent summary and narration.

The day had arrived. Not the AIR recording session, but a 10:30 am appointment my father had set up for me to meet the literary giant at his residence. As I cycled up the inclined roads of Yadavagiri, I wondered whether the challenge lay in navigating the terrain or my trepidation at meeting the celebrated author. Probably the latter, given my father’s advice to savour the moment alone with the writer.

TaRaSu welcomed me warmly. I sat on a wooden stool across from him with the manuscript on my lap. He jumped straight to reviewing my work, reading some parts and asking me to read others, given the prominence narration gets in an AIR recording. A few corrections ensued. I vividly recall my voice trembling. He patted me on my back for a job well done, as I took his blessings and left.

After the meeting, my father called TaRaSu to enquire about my performance. He later shared TaRaSu’s feedback verbatim: “Your son’s summary reads better than my writing; his style is quite unique, and his narration is quite compelling. Inform me when this piece is aired. All the best to your young son.”

My father’s words were matter-of-fact yet infused with paternal warmth and pride. I completed the task with aplomb. The rest of the experience has faded from my memory.

This year incidentally marks five decades of this G V Iyer-directed national award-winning movie considered
a landmark in Kannada cinema. The engrossing book facilitated my tête-à-tête with the celebrated author, a memory I treasure.

PS: To this day, I’ve searched for the manuscript in my father’s meticulously kept files, but with his passing away in 2020, my efforts have been in vain.