Valhalla and Ilayaraja

It's 11 in the night. I am about to make my bed. Mom and Dad are already asleep. I keep the TV volume to a nearly inaudible low. I go to my room to check if my laptop has been shut down. From the living room, the sound of guitar repeatedly strumming a set of notes emanates. From the Idiot Box. I know the tune. One whiff of the music and I know what's being played. I rush to the living room with the glee of a child rushing to meet its Christmas presents from Santa. The concern for my parent's need to catch some Z's vanishes in thin air as I accelerate the volume up. After all, even if they wake up, they wouldn't mind listening to this; I console the angel in me.

The Pallavi begins shyly, giving glimpses of the genius to come. Almost like a shy bride, singing for her in-laws and fiancee when they have come to her place to see her and judge her worthiness. Like how she starts coyly, but within that demure cantabile, she impresses them. The would-be groom expectantly looks at his father, who is overjoyed. The mother is unmoved, however is waiting to hear how the song unfolds.

The first line is simple. Has only 1 Swara. Anyone who randomly places the bow of a violin to a string in the middle would get the sound. 1 Swara. Only Sa. 1 Swara.

As the song plays out, the violin faithfully accompanies, giving an almost aching end to the otherwise cheerful lines of melody.

There is no fuss about the song. There are no layers of music. No fancy digital sampling. No unheard-of-instruments captured by a synthesizer. The beats don't beat down the lyrics. There are few instruments. The violin, the Veena, the flute, the keyboard and drums. Nothing fancy. For most of the song, they don't try to overshadow the singer. SPB. No one could have sung it better. Even if it were sung better, it wouldn't have sounded like SPB. And it wouldn't be the same song.

The interlude flows by. The Carnatic extends its hands to the Western in a dignified manner. Starting with the flute, it progresses to the keyboard till the violins take over. All the while, known only to the discerning listener, the background beats is provided by Drums! In an unassuming way, no grand Thani Avartanam for the drums here. And with that, a whole generation was introduced to the composer's brand of East-meets-West music in a subtle way.

In the semi-classical Charanams that follow, the music also pushes the lyrics into the frontstage. Few composers have been gracious enough to give an equal importance to lyrics in the song. As the Charanam reaches a crescendo towards the end, the lines become bolder :

"Kaigal idaithanil nuzhaigayil idaiveli kuraigaiyil
eriyum vilakku siriththu kangal moodum "

(As the hands clasp and the gap between the lovers reduces, the burning lamp laughs and closes its eyes in shame). Incidentally a similar imagery is used in the Charanams of "Nenjinile Nenjinile" from "Uyire".

Sample this in the next Charanam :

"Viyarviyin mazhailae payiraagum paruvamae"
(In the rain of sweat that arises out of sexual tension, the youth gets fructified and harvested)
Bold lines for 1982. And till date, our lyricists keep harping around similar ideas about love.

Probably the only sore note about the song is its picturization. The beautiful melody is reduced to an amateur gymming session in the garden between the hero (a young Karthik, who desperately tries his best to save the choreography gone horribly wrong) and the heroine (a deadpan Jikki, Gemini Ganesan's daughter who thankfully disappeared after this film) who seem content playing Catch-Catch with each other. And that this was directed by none other than Sridhar, who gave us great movies like "Kadhalikka Neramillai" and "Kalyana Parisu" with great songs picturized beautifully, just shows us how bad a swansong a great auteur can get.

The song is "Panivizhum Malarvanam" from "Ninaivellam Nithya (1982)". I always have loved Ilayaraja. My early childhood was spent astonishing relatives with renditions of "Sundari Kannal Oru Seithi" (Thalapathi) and "Innum Ennai Enna Seiyya Pogirai" (Singaravelan). All this before I was 5. When I was 5, "Roja" happened. A.R. Rahman became the rage of the day. I was swept off my feet. Ilayaraja faded away into the dark corners of my grey cells. When I was in 9th Std, I heard this song for the first time. But I was so mesmerized by its beauty that I could only half retain its tune and its lyrics. So I couldn't search the song out in the net. Then 2 years later, in my 11th Std, I heard it again. And this time I made sure to note the first lines. And I got the song. It was an eye-opener for me. It opened me to a world of music beyond Rahman. It introduced me to the beauty of Raja songs. The songs were a brilliant mix of light carnatic music with glimpses of western classical and contemporary pop. For a guy grounded in Carrnatic Music, but thankfully without any shackles preventing me from having a myopic vision towards other styles of music, this was perfect. With "Panivizhum Malarvanam" I had found my Valhalla in the music of Ilayaraja.