Jingle of the Jingala

Unknowingly, we internalised the nuances of Karnatic Music

With great pride, I promptly announced to my school friends that peppy songs sung by Kishore Kumar and Asha Bhonsle would soon be playing at our home. Our joint family was getting a brand-new Phillips Stereo player! Melodies from Yadoon ki Bharaat, Jawani Diwani and Hare Rama Hare Krishna were the toast of the season. We cousins had a long, dreamy chat about the possibilities. Gopal, my bench-mate in Class 5, asked whether Bangarada Manushya would also feature. I brushed him aside!

A sleek gramophone player did arrive, along with a set of six gleaming black records. Though she did not say much, Ajji was clearly pleased that the very first was M S Subbalakshmi’s Venkatesha Suprabhata. But our faces fell as the rest of the stack was unpacked. They were all Karnatic music albums--G N Balasubramaniam, M L Vasanthakumari, Chembai, Madurai Mani Iyer. No filmy songs at all.
We could not even pronounce the artiste’s names. Being children, we were disappointed, but quickly moved on. Mercifully, my classmates never asked for updates.

Over the next few years, the stereo became part of our home. Its speakers regularly filled the air with the music of artistes we boys never bothered to identify. New LPs and EPs arrived at regular intervals--most of them pure classical fare. Purandaradasa and the Trinity were all there.

Involuntarily, our ear absorbed this music, day in and day out. Unknowingly, we internalised the nuances of the songs and ragas. My father, a devoted listener, would repeatedly play the sonorous voice of M D Ramanatha’s Parapaalaya on AIR Geetharadhana. My paternal Uncle, a self-taught connoisseur, had a melodious voice and loved imitating the legendary singers of yore-- both their style and mannerism.

Thanks to this upbringing, my taste for quality music grew immensely. Today, my mind and body simply refuse to accept mediocre renditions of kritis. I can separate the wheat from the chaff in an instant. Concealing a frown Raagam24/7 broadcasts a poorly rendered Pantuvarali is now quite a challenge.

I sometimes wonder how life might have turned out if my uncle had, at the very start, brought records of Lata Mangeshkar, Md Rafi and P B Srinivas--all legendary playback singers. We did hear them outside but not at home. 

Somewhere along the way, I developed a strange addiction: my listening is incomplete until I have identified the singer, the raga, and the swara of any new song I hear. This compulsive habit still baffles me. Mining these little details enhances my joy many times over. Yet, it is humbling to realise that in this vast universe of Karnatic music, I now know less and less about more and more. 

At this moment, I am listening to a song in Jingala raga that had eluded me for years—Saint Thyagaraja’s AnaathuDanu Gaanu. Understanding its inner meaning may take a lifetime, or at least until the next song arrives. Till then, I assure myself, I will keep jingling the Jingala!