First published in:

The Independent Journal of Politics &Business -The Arts- sat April 13, 1991 (A Times Of India Publication.)

COAXING THE VEENA TO SING

Renowned veena maestro Veena S. Balachander, who passed away on April 14 last year will not be remembered for the stir he created with his ’45 ragas’ concerts in which there was no percussion and his films Anda naal and Bommai, but even for his flashes of temper and his penchant for controversies.

Veena S. Balachander. You almost expect to hear a flourish of trumpets and a clash of cymbals, after you say his name. It is not easy to frame a tribute to him in mere words. His many- splendoured personality just overpowers you. Balachander passed away at dawn on Tamil New Year’s Day (April 14) last year after a massive heart attack at Bhilai. It was a cruel blow, especially in the present day bleak scenario of Carnatic music.

S. Balachander was like a pillar, a staunch votary of classicism in Carnatic music. He was one of a handful of exponents who have preserved the beauty of the rich gamaka-laden Carnatic music with passionate purity. He was virtuoso, non-pareil of the ancient Saraswati Veena, the hoary origins of which are in a melange of mysticism and divinity. The challenge of such an instrument lies in reproducing classical music without losing continuity of sound akin to vocal rendition. Balachander’s veena technique overcame the shortcomings of a plucked, 24, fixed-fret instrument with rare artistry. The genius of his unparalleled musicianship, his almost demoniacal obsession with perfection and aesthetic fulfillment, reserve for him the highest place among contemporary instrumentalists. His passing away has left a void, truly impossible to fill, because, like the Sarangi, the Saraswati Veena too, is in danger of becoming extinct.

An Aquarian, born in 1927, he was mercurial, irascible and tempestuous. Balachander was the fourth child in a Von Trapp-like family of six performing children. His elder brother S. Rajam was a singing star and in 1938, the pair of them toured India and neighbouring countries, billed as child prodigies. Master Balachander could sing, dance, play several instruments and was a chess champion to boot. He never had a teacher, but learnt music by observation and by the ear, so to say and developed it with sheer talent.

He entered films as a child artiste in 1933. His brother and sisters were already making waves as singing stars. Films were a forum to project his varied creative skills. He was ruggedly handsome as a romantic hero in some and produced, directed and scored brilliant music in several other Tamil films. Two unforgettable films that come immediately to mind are Anda Naal based on an Akira Kurosawa classic, which he made in 1954. At a time when practically every frame had a dance or song sequence, this one had none. Of course it failed at the box-office, but is nevertheless considered a historic milestone in the Indian film industry. In 1970, he adapted a Hitchcock thriller to make Bommai, in which newcomer Yesudas made his debut as a playback singer.

During this time, Balchander had also gained universal popularity and reputation as an artiste whose genius was probing the new and the unexplored in music. In 1962, he was the first Indian artiste to cut an LP, which he followed up by as many as 25 albums. Also in the same year, he toured USA giving recitals and demonstrations. He created a stir among the conservative southern cognoscenti with his ’45 Ragas’ concerts. These concerts in which there was no percussion became as popular as those in which he displayed his mastery of a Dikshitar or Syama Sastri Kriti, or when he touched emotional peaks in a Thyagaraja masterpiece.

He had developed a technique of pulling the main strings laterally to its utmost limit to sweep an entire octave on a single fret. His dexterous fingers could move with breathtaking speed, and during a leisurely alaap the mood of a raga was brought out with all its aching sensitivity. Despite the arrogant power of his presentation and the stunning vibrancy of his creative energy, there was an underlying pathos in his ‘raga’ rendition. Balachander could strum the ‘mandara shadja’ string and produce gamakas of deep emotion which would move his fans to tears.

His passionate involvement in a concert often led to a flash of temper, if an insensitive audience tittered, walked around casually or heaven forbid!, brought in babies that bawled. One recalls a morning session Bombay’s Birla theatre in the late 60’s when Balachander gave his first “45 Ragas’ concert in the city. The eagerly expectant audience spilled over the aisles and listened in pindrop silence for three hours. He seemed transported to another world. During the ecstatic under-the-breath grunts as he coaxed the Veena strings lovingly, we heard him soulfully summoning the raga-devatas!

Balachander had earned notoriety for an outsized ego, which had a knack of showing up in everything he did. A Padma Bhushan and Sangeet Natak Akademi awardee, Balachander’s name carried with it no less than 50 titles, some of which are alleged by the not so charitable, to be his own creation. His stylized signature proclaimed to the world, “Veena means Balachander”! His handwriting was reflective of his personality. They were heavily underlined, loudly coloured adjectives confined within inverted commas, scripted with bold type and curly capitals. Yet surprisingly Balachander could be spotted at concerts of other great  vidwans like Ariyakudi or Chembai relishing their music like an ardent rasika.He was a crusader-Don Quixote style, readily crossing swords with anyone who had the temerity to face him. Any assault or insult, real or fancied to Carnatic music got Balachander’s adrenalin flowing and he would then reveal a streak of eccentricity. His fans will also remember him for his penchant for controversies. Much of his creative energy was frittered away in wordy battles.

One such memorable issue, was the no-holds-barred war on what came to be known as the ‘Swati hoax’. Swati Tirunal the revered Travancore Raja is accepted as a prolific royal music composer. Balachander on the basis of his wide reading and research , alleged that the king is a fictional figure foisted on the music world (and thereby on history)”. The Veena maestro went to the High Court, against the National Book Trust, for the withdrawal of the monograph on Swati, penned by Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer. He wrote innumerable letters, printed brochures and booklets and advertised widely for support to his cause celebre. He drew considerable flak for his irreverence in seeking to demolish a cherished figure. The controversy remains unsolved. Yet some of Balachander’s evidence, remains unshattered.

 On April 11, 1990, he participated in a music festival held in Hyderabad. Significantly he played an hour-long Sahana Raga followed by the kriti Giripai Nelakonna. In this kriti Thyagaraja, the saint composer reveals that he had a premonition about his own impending death, which indeed came five days later.

Meeting Balachander for what was to be the last time on April 12^th 1990, in the lounge of a hotel where several artistes were staying, we saw him cradling the veena lovingly in his arms impatiently waiting for an escort to reach him to the airport. He was clad in an outlandish bright green cape, over a rust-coloured kurta.

 Two days later, Balachander died in Bhilai where he was staying with a dear friend Buddhaditya Mukherjee, the renowned sitarist. Did the veena maestro too have a premonition about his end? We will never know.

Note: Veena Balachander's family and my mother's family had a close friendship for many  years. My father-in-law P.A.Raman also knew him as a musician during his  Bharatiya Music and Fine Arts Sabha which ran successfully for many years. He was among the luminaries who travelled to Mumbai for my wedding. What an honour!