A Song for Anyone at Anytime

Home is the first abode of learning and imperatively, the mother becomes the first teacher for a child.  As it is well said, if a woman is educated, then the whole family and the generation will be educated.  So did my mother, Ambujabai, who inspired me to sing all the traditional compositions from my early childhood.  Let me also concede that academically, we can brand her as “illiterate”?  But she would sing the compositions of Shivasharanas of the 12^th century and the Haridasas of Karnataka of the 16^th century with enormous authority and intent.  My father, Shri Ramarao, who also came from a very humble socioeconomic background, was very passionate about theater and music.  He served in the State Government Revenue department.  But, as an amateur artiste, he would take the lead roles in plays like Yechhamanayaka and Sangeetasubhadra which commanded an enormous intuitive knowledge of music. 

My mother, who studied up to third grade at school, is a walking encyclopedia of traditional songs, arathi songs, folk songs, and so on.  She would sing an arathi song for the goddess Gauri which I too learnt at the very young age of four.  The song would end with a line praying that, “Oh goddess, make me an eternal happiest Sumangali [Muttaide].”  As a young boy, I didn’t know that the last line was exclusively meant for women.  But as a part of the song, I too would repeat it every time.  As I look back at those songs, the lyrics of those traditional songs, they would pray for the well-being of the entire undivided joint family which would involve at least fifteen people under one roof as against the nuclear families of present day.  What a magnanimous concept of co-living imbibed and propagated through these traditional songs!

My parents Ramarao Havaldar and Ambuja Bai Havaldar being felicitated on a Gurupoornima Day.

As my mother says, I made my debut as a child singer at the age of four!  It was a school day celebration in our village Sandur and one of my teachers, Sri Gurunath Rao, lifted me up in his arms so that I could reach the microphone and I sang a song “Kannadada Kuladevi” originally sung by the famous playback singer P. B. Srinivas for a Kannada movie “Postmaster”.  Now I realize that the song is based on Raag Jinjoti.

Thus began my journey of singing.  I was an integral part of all interschool music competitions and would inevitably get a first prize.  I would sing a few select devotional and film songs, but the sense of sur and taalas was impeccable as it comes by birth.  Therefore, I also had the privilege of conducting the prayer in my high school.  I would sing each line and the entire school assembly would repeat it. 

In the ninth grade, after the midterm break, our school reopened.  As usual, I started off the prayer.  After the initial songs, I was about to begin the national anthem.  Suddenly, a voice came from the teacher’s row asking me to stop and give a command to the school assembly to stand at ease.  The teacher came closer to the microphone and asked me, “Are you Mr. Nagaraj who also sings film songs, etc.?”  I politely said, “Yes, sir.”  He raised his voice and shouted into the microphone so that the whole school could hear him, “You may have to sing in front of the railway station and the bus station in future.”  [Singing in those places meant begging]  I politely asked, “Why is it so, my dear Sir?”  He again raised his voice and shouted, “You have scored zero in mathematics in the midterm exams.  Are you happy with this?”

Well, let me confess, I had a genetic weakness for mathematics.  My skull was so strong that it would not let any principles of arithmetic and algebra to enter my brain.  I thought I was reasonably good at geometry, but coming from a very humble socioeconomic background, I didn’t have a geometry box of my own.  I had borrowed an old geometry box from my friend which was all worn out.  Therefore, whatever measurements I had taken from the compass went wrong.  I had not attempted a single question from the arithmetic and algebra sections.  Hence, I ended up getting a zero.  But, after leaving that school in 1974, I went to Hampi Utsav, a national music festival near my hometown, in 1996 as the main classical musician and that very Mathematics teacher attended the event and was very proud of the fact that by then, I had sung in all major music concerts across the country, reflecting the application of very subtle as well as complex aesthetic and intuitive mathematical skills .

As musicians, we all get so engrossed in our music no matter where we are.  People laugh at me at the traffic signals when I suddenly start singing a complex taan and they find it amusing and disturbing at the same time.  Notwithstanding such small pinpricks and admiration , I continue to grab every opportunity that comes my way to sing in order to derive happiness to myself and give pleasure to my listeners.

Devudu Narasimha Shastri is a big name in Kannada literature.  His son, Shri Gangadhar is my close friend.  His wife, Kusumaji, was a great fan of my music.  My disciple, Sri M.G. Prabhakar, had organized a home concert in Gangadhar’s place at the request of Smt. Kusuma.  A day before the concert, we wanted to check the seating and mike arrangements in their house.  We reached their house at about 7:30 in the evening.  We were discussing the details about how many people would come, where they would be seated, where the mike and speaker would be positioned, and so on.  Smt. Kusuma offered us a nice cup of coffee and also kindly requested me to sing one devotional song.  As it was already 8:30 by the time we had finalized all these details for the next day’s event, I politely said, “Kusumaji, tomorrow I am going to sing for several hours in your house. You can keep ready the entire list of songs.  I will sing all of them.”  After the coffee, we left the house.  Let me remind you friends that I had never denied an invitation to sing anywhere, anytime, be it a concert or an informal visit to someone’s house.  But it so happened the next morning, Mr. Gangadhar called me over the phone and told me that the evening concert scheduled for that same day would have to be canceled because his wife Smt. Kusuma had died of cardiac arrest in the middle of the night.  I still regret that I could never sing for her again.

For artistes, each concert, every occasion, every listener, every organization, is a new challenge and a new learning experience.  A senior couple in Bangalore by name Dr. Krishna and his wife Sumitra were very fond of my music.  The elderly and knowledgeable couple that they were, they had heard very many great musicians of yester years in live concerts.  Smt. Sumitra had arthritis and she could never climb the stairs in our apartment to listen to me whenever she wanted, since our apartment does not have an elevator. 

I don’t remember the exact date, but on that day, actually in the middle of the night, Dr. Krishna called me over the phone, “Dear Nagaraj, can I request you to kindly come to my house because my wife Sumitra was listening to your cassette and the song “Dari Yavoodaiya Vaikuntake” [which is the path to the abode of the Lord] and she breathed her last.”   A few hours from now, I need to go ahead with the cremation and other formalities.  I would appreciate it if you could come and sing that very song in front of her dead body.  Imagine, in the middle of the night, the motionless body of Sumitraji, a highly emotive Dr. Krishna, and my charged voice singing “Dari Yavoodaiya.”