A Strand of the Past, Almost

I don't think I was at Strand Book Stall on more than a handful of occasions, but it was a unique book shop. And Mr T N Shanbagh was a unique bookseller.

I remember once looking for Vikram Seth's An Equal Music when Mr Shanbagh came over and said, "Ah, you are interested in his books." I said yes, he was one of my favorite authors.

I had the Indian edition in my hand, when he said, "We also have a foreign edition," and called one of the assistants to get a copy. Then he told me, "You know, this is a better edition and is also cheaper! The paper is thicker and the print on the other side doesn't show through. I get better deals on foreign editions and I pass it on."

Then he pointed to the rough edges of the paper, saying, "Many people think this is a defect. Actually, these are special copies and are more expensive." I found out more later about deckling and its presence in an era of automated mass production.

On another occasion, I was browsing at Strand when I noticed a couple of shelves and a swivel rack of Western classical music CDs. My heart leaped, especially when I saw the ridiculously low prices. I turned, sensing someone behind me, and there was Mr Shanbagh again! He was curious about my interest. I told him I had been listening to Western classical for a few years but did not know much about it. He said he had a few friends, mostly elderly Parsis, who listened primarily to the genre.

I asked him how he could sell the CDs so cheap. "I visited a publisher friend when I had gone to the Hamburg book fair," he said. "I saw piles of CDs, and he told me he didn't know what to do with them and he would probably sell them as junk. I thought my friends would be interested, and told him I could buy the CDs if they weren't too expensive. He said I didn't have to pay him anything except all the transport costs. That's why they are so cheap." A CD was priced at ₹55 and a double CD pack at ₹85. I picked up all the CDs I could for the money I had on me.

I visited again a few weeks later and a lot of the CDs were still there. After I moved to Bangalore, I visited Strand at Manipal Centre and a found a stack of CDs from the same set, and ended up buying quite a few more.

At Strand Bangalore, I once got talking to Vidya Virkar, mentioning my literature background and being a journalist, and she gave me an additional 10% discount! If all this was silly, it was the best kind of silliness I've ever encountered. In Bangalore, I bought virtually all my books at Strand.

The closure of Strand Bangalore was sad. The impending closure of THE Strand is disturbing.

I am in the past....

(Balamurali passed away earlier today, 22 Nov 2016.)

I met and interacted with Dr M Balamuralikrishna only once. After talking to him over an hour-long interview, I was going to drop Balamurali off back at his hotel. I was driving and my colleague opened the rear door for him. With one of his winning smiles, Balamurali opened the front passenger door and slid in. That moment will remain etched in my mind for the amazing grace it embodied. How many people would have done that... particularly how many celebrities? In fact, even if they knew the social convention, how many of them would have had the presence of mind or the awareness of time and space to produce that act of easy grace?

Of course, this was just the moment that rounded the personality of Balamurali for me. I had been listening to his music for three decades then. I continue to. And I continue to be charmed by the man and his music.

There is much to say about the man. At the same time, there is nothing to say. His music speaks for him - in different ways for different people. It tells a story. It takes you on a journey.

Turn on his music, close your eyes, and listen. You don't just hear the music; you experience it. You relate on many levels. You experience a singular musical mind at work, but at the same time you understand the performer. High art and compelling entertainment existing beautifully together. You watch a video of his concert - again, you don't just listen to the music. You observe a gifted musician, sure, but you also observe the consummate performer, teasing you to respond to his music, a creative artiste always fully aware of the audience he so effortlessly takes on one of the most exhilaratingly sensuous rides of their lives.

I can safely - and emphatically - say that it is rarely that a personality like his comes around. The passing of Balamurali marks the end of an era. And this is one moment I do not want to listen to his music. The silence is more appropriate.

+ Paatti & Paattu Part 2

It's been two years since I wrote about Paatti's musical connection. It came about through some serendipitous browsing on the Net. After herpes intervened a year ago and almost halved an already reduced Paatti, and grated her vocal cords, it seemed Paatti's musical journey was at an end. Paatti kept getting intermittent bouts of ill health, each chipping away a little at her body and even her will. (Well, Paatti is nothing if not her will... and her won't!)

When I was at Trivandrum for Giri's engagement in June, Paatti's voice was a few semitones below her usual, but she was ok to talk. Perhaps inevitably, talk turned to music, but song was just a couple of lines long - tentative, even uninvolved. Maybe if her health improved....

So, when Radha posted "Paatti's first selfie" and Paatti looked fresh and bright, I smiled, even grinned. I would be at Ayikudi on December 16 with Giri & Radha and Mama & Mami. So I would be meeting Paatti in a couple of days.



I didn't plan anything, but it was no surprise when music quickly turned up in conversation. This time, I wanted to see how well Paatti could sing a few lines. She was dismissive, scoffing at the idea when I suggested it, but it was energetic protest; that was a good sign. She kept saying her herpes had taken her singing away for good. Much of it was just memory but the thought of the disease burning up her throat was horrific enough for her to not even consider singing. But, like I said, she was vehement in her refusal, which to me indicated perhaps the desire to try but for the thought of how badly she might fail at something she would absolutely hate to.

I kept goading her and so did Vijaya Mami. We kept coming up with her favourite songs, and it paid off. Paatti sang. Each failed attempt of hers to reach a note, execute a gamakam or negotiate a phrase, was a self-inflicted knock on the head, but Paatti was also getting into the groove. Vijaya Mami and I gave her "vocal support", and soon she finished her first song, exclaiming, "Looks like I might get it right..." "You have already got it right!!" Mami and I chorused.

Paatti forgot lines and stanzas, but kept going enthusiastically. I recorded the three songs, and here they are with a few unimportant edits that have donenothing to disguise Paatti's singing in any way.

Kaatriniley Varum Geetam. The pic, of course, is of MS, not a young Paatti!

Sri Chakra Raja. The photo is from April 2014 at Coimbatore.

Paatti told me this was the first time she was singing after her herpes. But that didn't see her taking the easy way out. She insisted on repeating a Sangati when it didn't come out right the first time. And she didn't skip the difficult ones, either. The phrase at 1:55" in Bruhi Mukundeti assured me that there was much music left in her.

Bruhi Mukundeti. The photo is from April 2014 at Coimbatore.

The highlight of the half-hour session of singing was Paatti successfully hitting the Taara Panchamam in the line கதறி மனம் உருகி நான் அழைக்கவோ in Oothukkadu's Kaanada song, Alai Paayudhe Kanna. In the end Paatti said with hope that she was wary of letting in too easily, "ஆமாம் டேய்!! வரும் போல இருக்கு. என்னிக்கும் கொஞ்சம் பாடணும்." Yes, indeed, Paatti.