Maya Swell Press

The marriage of Kadri’s son, Mani, to Adhithi in Mangalore was one of the big social events of the year for this corner of the Tamil music scene. Many of Kadri’s family, friends and close connections are making the journey to Mangalore. Many more will be at the reception in Chennai in the first week of March (this event in itself will be a who’s who of the Carnatic music scene).

A floor of a hotel has been booked for special guests, cars have been hired … this is a no holds barred, lavish event.

After the odd confusion/tension of the past few weeks, this is magic … I’m booked into a lush hotel (soap, towel, hot water and television). After a rest, I call Kadri, and a driver is sent to pick me up for the pre-wedding evening dinner. Read the rest of this entry »

One long cross town auto journey, and I’m at Chennai central station, with what I hope is an Indian railways e-ticket booked in my name … bound for Mangalore, with only a fellow student knowing that I’ve packed everything, and am splitting from this tight assed school situation.

After talking with Kadri earlier in the week, ringing to send my apologies for not being able to make it, and Kadri convincing me that I could make Mani’s wedding if I caught the bus to Bangalore, and grabbbed a train from there, I’d decided that I’d roll a dice on Indian railways bookings to see whether I stayed in Chennai. This late it was unlikely I’d get a seat, so if a miracle happened, I’d follow it up.

As it happened, it was impossible to get to Bangalore in any class of train. It is a 10 hour bus journey … clearly hell. What to do? Check the obvious of course. Why yes, according to the Indian railways website, there is exactly one seat available bound for Mangalore in the next few days, leaving tomorrow night. Read the rest of this entry »

On the night before I was scheduled to leave Chennai for Mangalore, I had a fortunately timed call from Nagi, one of the ostentatiously gold draped film music producers I’d met within my first few days in India. Every time we’d tried to connect in the last two months we’d had to cancel, largely because of Nagi’s big gig of the moment, a major film soundtrack. By this stage, I’d given up much hope of Nagi being an interesting connection. Given that it was going to be a hectic day with an evening train to catch, and the thought of a several month break from Chennai in the back of my head, it was certainly odd timing.

But after a few confusing phone calls, and the fact that the driver didn’t speak English that well, the offered lift arrived in Adyar, and whisked me away to the surreal studios of Paul X in Santhome.

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My first major health crisis passed several weeks ago, and yes it was the obvious one. I had had a few hints of what it would be like after the occaisional meal at dodgy street stalls, but most of the street stalls were quite ok, and my passing (!) was solid and straightahead.

In any case the fluid affair lasted a good 3 days, and I was starting to worry whether it would always be that way. That was the worst part of it.

Paul, a queensland Enfield fanatic I’d met and had a great connection with is an old India hand. His words of wisdom …. you will backtrack in your head again and again to try and find out what caused it, but you’ll never work it out … and in any case it was probably water. (I think my Lassi the previous night had ice in it… oops).

I’m not sure weather Indian hotel owners have a wonderful sense of irony about the issue, or whether this all means something completely different. Either way, I wasn’t game to eat in this place.

You can’t visit India being hit by that religious assault on the senses, a hindu temple. Of what I have seen so far, the mosques are visually subdued (but noisy, they will do a loud call to prayer on bad loudspeakers at 5:30am) … the Jains are white and minimalist …but the Hindu temples … most of them have some sections in good repair, some bits that are falling apart, some bits that are garish, some that are just inexplicable. This is a shot of Kalareesana, one of the biggest and most active temples in Chennai. The original temple of Kalareesana dates back to about the 5th century or earlier, though it was demolished by the Portugese about 500 years ago, and most of the current temple is about 200 years old. But it is very much a work in progress, with new sections addded, and other parts falling over from neglect …. the main pyramid is decked out in neon tubes, and is really quite mindblowing at night.

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The first week and a half at TVG’s school flow by gently, or so it seems. TVG, and his daughter Acca are generally not around. I practice ragas for 3-4 hours in the morning. There is not a lot else to do. The girls sit around, watching movie channel on the idiot box, and sing along to film tunes. They’re quite good at that but it seems to be there only musical activity. And occaisionally TVG pops in for a minute or two and comments on what I’m doing wrong. We have the occaisional lesson.
There are annoying limitations on the amount of saxophone practise I can do here, because of issues with neighbours (before 8pm, not between 1 and 4). It seems however that if I go down to the beach or the no mans land leading down to the beach, my practise doesn’t bother anyone at all. In fact till all hours of the night.
But there is, of course, a curfew. 11pm. I resist that. Do these people think I’m a school kid? I’m even wearing the school uniform… I notice prakesh comes to classes in regular western pants while I’m wrapped in a hanky feeling like a total dork. It seems like I’m supposed to report on my exact whereabouts. I am suitably vague on this. I take long walks in the afternoon when I can’t play.
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The first few lessons with Kadri are alternately inspiring and frustrating. He is a wonderful musician, a great teacher, and a warm and funny human being … but saxophone in Carnatic music is very different to the traditional instruments of Carnatic music (voice in particular), and very different to saxophone in normal western jazz/pop/classical usage. It is a frustrating exercise, and means a solid stint back at basics, with most of my prior knowledge of Carnatic music not much use at all … perhaps even an impediment.

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India is not big on modern western graffiti yet, but they have a brilliant tradition of street art that was one of the first things that really touched me here. These are the rangoli, small chalk mandalas made by spreading fine chalk powder on the pavement. Sometimes they are colorful, sometimes just white. I’ve recently seen a street seller with a roll down tube of chalk that made pseudo rangoli. Sometimes they are quite plain, or even fairly crude. Sometimes they are almost figurative or a blend between figurative and geometric … usually they are at doorsteps, though over pongal, there were quite a few done in the beachside carpark. Either way, within a few hours they will be well on their way to erasure, walked on driven over, spilt water on.

Here are a few examples I’ve snatched …

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Last few days I’ve had the Bangalore IT blues. This is what you get when you are in a cramped sweaty cubicle in 100 degree heat, hoping that the power doesn’t cut out, thankful you are on a laptop with full batteries so that when the power does cut all that will happen is that the lights and the fan will turn off, cutting computer code for someone 5 timezones away, losing complete track of time, space, the fullness of your bladder and the emptiness of your stomach.

This all started with what might have been disasterous … or at least embarassing. Someone I’d built a site for last year had fairly urgent requests for a couple of changes/extensions/fixes, and emailed me four days ago.

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The debate is raging in my head. Raga-ing in my head, perhaps. What is the music of India that has such a strange and wonderful hold on me, and where is it headed, and where and how can I get an understanding of it?

Much of the clash between new India and old India is musical in nature, and as new and old India jockey for position and adapt to each other, so perhaps are their respective sounds.
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