"Tiger" Varadacharya
About the Commentator
MYSORE VASUDEVACHARYA (1865-1961) is the most widely
performed Karnatik music composer of this century. His
compositions, such as Brochevarevarura, Bhajare Manasa and
Devadideva Sri Vasudeva, are very popular with performing
musicians. But very few know that he was a writer too. Infact,
he wrote two books in Kannada, Naa Kanda Kalavidaru (The
artistes I knew) and Nenapugalu (Memories). The first is a
collection of essays on fellow artistes, while the second describes
his experiences as a musician in the Mysore court.
Vasudevacharya's prose is laced with gentle humour. He assesses
the music of some of our greatest artistes without being
overwhelmed by their greatness. At the same time, he is generous
in praising their genius. His simple and lively style makes his
essays interesting reading even today.
SPECTRUM takes pleasure in presenting extracts from
Naa Kanda Kalavidaru for the first time in English translation.
Vasudevacharya's grandson and retired AIR Station Director
S KRISHNAMURTHY has translated the essays for this series.
In Short...
GREAT MASTERS: Not everyone could appreciate Tiger Varadacharya's
music. The famous vocalist had a stubborn voice which refused to obey
his imagination, but whatever music it did yield was divine, recalls
MYSORE VASUDEVACHARYA.
TIGER TIGER BURNING BRIGHT
WOLVES in sheep's clothing are not uncommon among us, but
sheep in wolves' garb are indeed rare!
Varadacharya was known as "Tiger",
possibly because of his appearance, the
way in which he carried himself and
the manner in which he gesticulated
while singing. He received the nickname
with a sense of humour. To "Tiger" he added "Lion" and
had his name
printed on his letterhead as Tiger-Lion
Varadacharya. In fact, there was a
manly, tiger-like grandeur and dignity
about his music and from that point of
view it was appropriate to call him Tiger. But the
simile ended there. He was
as innocent as a child, open-hearted,
outspoken and extremely generous. He
had, of course, the shrewdness to detect
mischief or deceit in others but he was
himself guiltless of such ignoble traits.
He had no jealousies. In fact, he had
the nobility to seek and find greatness
even in his rivals.
Varadacharya did not have a pliant
voice which could be exploited to advantage. The result
was that though his
creative imagination was as expansive
as the very seas, his voice could reveal
only a few glimpses of that richness;
and those few glimpses were, indeed,
precious pearls. The rag as and swaras
he sang were marked by artistic excellence. He cursed
his voice as it blocked
the free expression of his prolffic imagination. He used
to gulp down boiling
water before commencing a concert,
but it was of little use. His voice never
proved adequate. He would curse himself and say,
"Well! This is the harvest
of my past sins. I seldom sang to the
tamboora sruthi. My habit was to sing
whatever occurred to me, wherever I
was. And the consequence is that instead of my adjusting
my voice to the
tamboora, the instrument has to be
adjusted to my voice!"
It was not given to everyone to
appreciate the beauty of his music, which
was like a capricious river. If one listened to him
patiently in a number of
concerts, one could come across an
opportunity to experience the unsurpassed
brilliance of his art; that would
indeed be divine. That was why people
at large couldn't appreciate the greatness
of his music; and for a long time,
Varadacharya had to remain a little
known musician, scarcely in demand.
"Have you taken a vow that you will
not stir out of Mysore? Why don't you
come and stay in Madras for a few days
for my sake at least?", Varadacharya
used to ask me often. He got fed up with
me in the end. He lost his temper and
shouted: "It is your fate I suppose!"
Some years ago, I was invited to take
part in a music festival at Kalakshetra
in Madras. I knew at once that it was
Varadacharya who was responsible for
my getting the invitation. He was pleasantly surprised when
I accepted and
went to Madras.
It was about four in the afternoon
when I called at Kalakshetra to meet
Varadacharya. He was illustrating for
the benefit of Rukmini Devi the
characteristics of certain ragas. Somebody whispered in his ear
that I had
come. He at once stopped the lesson,
came up to me and prostrated at my
feet. Hugging me fondly, he exclaimed:
"Luck has favoured us after all! I am
happy that at long last you have taken
pity on this poor soul and come." His
words left me Speechless, I was overcome with emotion.
My eyes were wet
with tears of gratitude.
Tiger turned to Rukmini Devi and
said: "After years of effort, I am placing
before you this treasure. It is up to you
now; hold on to it fast or let it go." He
summoned the students and staff of
Kalakshetra and by way of introduction paid me rich
tributes. Ignoring my
protests, he praised me using the most
extravagant metaphors. I returned
home very embarrassed.
The music festival began the very
next day. The inaugural concert was by
Tiger. Arrangements in the concert hall
were excellent. The hall was packed to
capacity but there was absolute silence.
The students sat right in front of the
dais. There was a desk and some writing material before each of them.
"What is this for?" I asked someone,
and he told me that it was the practice
there for the students to make notes at
every concert. They jotted down what
appeared special to them. They got the
artiste to clear whatever doubts they
had at the end of the concert. I have
given hundreds of concerts and attended hundreds of others
but nowhere
have I come across such a disciplined
and dignified atmosphere.
The grandeur of Varadacharya's performance that day could
only be experienced; it defied description. His voice
was in an unusually good form that
day. As though he possessed some
magic charm, whatever swara or
sangati he sang came out like an exquisite jewel. He sang Mukhari for
about an hour or so and presented
us the very cream of the raga. When
he sang the Tyagaraja kriti Entaninne
sabaribhagyamu, one was transported
to a different world altogether. Tiger,
who invariably sang the tana in his
concerts, took up a pallavi in
Kambhodi immediately after the
alapana.
The audience was surprised and one
or two in the hall appealed to him:
"Please sing the tana." Pointing to me
Tiger said: "Another Vidwan has been
specially invited to entertain you with
his tana. You can listen to him till you
feel satiated with tana. It is his forte."
"I beg you not to embarrass me with
such praise. Please sing the tana for a
while and then proceed to the pallavi"
I said. "You must permit me to overrule
your word on this one issue," replied
Tiger and continued with his pallavi.
Even today I remember with gratitude
the honour he showered on me in that
scholarly gathering. Such generous
praise of another is rather uncommon
in an artiste.
Whenever I went to Madras, I used
to call on my friend Sangeeta Kalanidhi
T.V. Subba Rao. Once, after tea in the
evening, Subba Rao and I were chatting
in the veranda. We happened to be discussing the individual
styles of Patnam
Subramanya Iyer, Mahavaidyanatha
Iyer and Tirukkodikaval Krishna Iyer.
At Subba Rao's request, I wwas trying to
demonstrate their different styles. The
conversation gradually drifted to
Varadacharya's manner of singing. As
I had attended and enjoyed several of
his concerts, I tried to imitate his style
too. Subba Rao was laughing within
himself. Suddenly, Varadacharya
emerged from inside, with a rolled mat
and pillow under his arm and tears in
his eyes! Thrusting his head out of the
bed sheet which he was wearing like a
gown, he said: "Subba Rao! I now have
no place in Madras. This thief has robbed me of all my belongings.
I have
to run away and seek refuge elsewhere!" Both Subba Rao and Tiger
had a hearty laugh. "Forgive me, it
was only for fun. I was trying to imitate your way of singing,"
I said. Tiger
was all smiles; he persuaded
me to continue and enjoyed
the fun thoroughly.
Just as Tiger was eager to
have me over in Madras, I
was anxious to see that he
came down to Mysore and
enjoyed the patronage of the
Durbar. When Jayachamaraja Wodeyar, a musician
himself and a great patron
of art and culture, invited
Tiger to become an Asthana
Vidwan in his court, my joy
knew no bounds. When His
Highness conferred on the
two of us the same title of
Sangita Shastra Visharada,
we hugged each other and
said: "We must have been
brothers in some previous
birth!"
Tiger paid little attention
to his dress. At times he
would wear his shirt inside
out or with the pocket at the
back! He would put on a
long black coat on several
occasions without a shirt inside! He never learnt to tie
a turban properly. He
squashed down on his head
some turban, several sizes
too small for him. Looking
into a mirror, he would laugh at himself and say:
"Anjaneyaswamine namaha."
"The profuse proportions of the body
adds to this unique personality," he
would lightly remark about himself It
was his habit to exclaim, "Appane!
Adimoolane!" whenever he sat down or
stood up. What after all did his physical
appearance matter? His bright face
proclaimed that he was indeed a blessed
child of goddess Sharada who could
command the respect of everyone.
I have no intimate knowledge of
Tiger's childhood. He did not talk about
it at any time either. He was born in
1876 at a place called Kolathurin
Sriperambur taluk in Chengalput district in Tamil Nadu.
Srinivasa Iyengar,
who is known to all lovers of music
through his book Tyagaraja Hridaya,
was Tiger's elder brother. The well-known veena
vidwan Krishnamachari
was his younger brother.
Tiger worked for a time as a clerk in
some government office at
Kaveripattinam. Whenever I asked him
how he switched over from a government job to music,
he used to say, "It
is a long story. I'll tell you about it some
other time," and change the subject.
Kaladipettai Masilamani Mudaliar, it is
said, was a famous violinist
and critic. "It was he," Tiger
used to say, "who initiated
me into music."
Varadacharya is said to
have received his preliminary training under
Neelakantha Sastri. My
guru Patnam Subramanya
Iyer often went to visit a
musician by the name of
Techchur Singalachar. Tiger used to tell me that on
these occasions he did his
shishyavritti under my guru
and enriched his knowledge
of music.
Varadacharya rendered
good service to the cause of
music as the first Principal
of the Teachers' College of
Music run by the Madras
Music Academy and later as
the Principal of the Music
College attached to Annamalai University at
Chidambaram.
His last days were spent
at Kalakshetra. He had
great respect and affection
for Rukmini Devi. He was
grateful to her for the way
she had arranged for his
care in his old age and given
him a place of honour in Kalakshetra.
At peace and without worries, Tiger
was able to devote himself to his art
wholeheartedly. He composed several
varnas, kirtanas and tillanas which
have added to his fame.
Varadacharya left this world on January 31,1951.
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