O S Arun, the Raja of Talvi

The bespectacled, lissome lady, looking 45-ish, apparently of a nature that has bestowed upon her a nonchalant disregard for everything and everyone around her, did something that all the rest of us there were itching to do, but could not, fettered as we were by a misplaced sense of antipathy towards public display of emotion. She danced. Bending to her left, clapping, bending to her right, clapping, again bending to her left this time almost to the point of a stoop, and clapping…..not a dance that was a product of years of strict training into an art, but much higher in worth, the dance of a woman in trance, held in a spell by the mind-buoying music of a master-of-the-game, a master musician called O S Arun, the Raja of Talvi.

The photographer rushed to her vicinity to get a close shot of the unusual spectacle. Click-flash. The lady didn’t care. She continued her bend-stoop-clap gyrations regardless, apparently in a grip of bhakti. From the stage sprang forth the spell. “vittala, vittala-vittal, vitol-vitol-vitol-vitol,” sang O S Arun putting his hands together, and the audience, half of them with an eye on the dancing lady, clapped in perfect sync, resulting in a discrete thunder. Presently, Arun increased the speed of his ‘vittal-vittal’, the words pouring fast, and faster still, until it became talvi-talvi-talvi-talvi.

That the lady did not collapse in a swoon was a testimony of the mercy of Lord Vittal.

Wah, Arun! Wah, Ustaad! What music he produced today, the 22^nd day of January, 2012, at the Krishna Gana Sabha auditorium!

It is a pointer to how well Arun connects with his audience that even before the bhajan concert began, began the stream of request-slips. A smile at the contents of the slip, a nod of acknowledgement to the requestor, Arun would accede to the demand and plunge into business. A little into the concert, they began shouting their requests. “Panduranga, Panduranga…please” screamed a voice from the rear. “Ha Raghava”, shouted another from the front rows.

The concert began with a chant of Jaya Ram, Krishna Hare—practically a niraval of the four words in Behag.The next treat was a brief alapana that rode over the word 'shyam'. One could make out ri-ma-pa-ni sequences. What would it be? Brindavana Saranga? Hindi lyrics flowed: aaj aayo shyam mohana. The rendition was so soothing, so mellifluous, notes wafting in the air gently, leisurely. Aaj aayo shyam mohana.

I admit it. I could not place the raga. It left me nonplussed. I asked Arun the next day what it was. Shyam Kalyan, he says. Wow! Where had you been hiding all this while, Ms Shyam Kalyan (a raga is supposed to be feminine, right?). I google up Shyam Kalyan, and a surprise springs on me like a wily gorilla warrior from the bushes. From the time of Thyagaraja, I jump to the time of Ilayaraja. Movie: Kamala Hassan's immortal 'Nayagan'. Singers: Chitra and Mano. Song: Nee oru kaadal sangeetham. Pure Shyam Kalyan, yes, unmistakably. Turns out that Aaj Aayo Shyam Mohana is not some avadhi composer of yore, but our own Swathi Thirunal. If I had my way, I'll ask Arun to sing this every single time he sits on the stage across an audience that includes me. Wow! Incredibly wow!

Soon after came another name-chant, “Govinda Gopala” in Sahana. Arun is a trained carnatic music (and son of Mr O V Subramanian, a reputed carnatic teacher) and not surprisingly, it was a great Sahana, slow and peaceful, very, very carnatic, in contrast with many other elements of the concert. Then came an equally superb Maand, a rare kriti of Vadhiraja Swami, a saint who lived half a millennium ago in Karnataka. ‘Bhega baro, bhega baro neele megha varna’ is a song that one has heard in bhajana paddhati in raga Madhyamavathi, and therefore the Maand was a welcome surprise. Maand has a folk appeal, and Arun’s handling of it sounded like a cheery farmer singing his heart out in thanks-giving at harvest. The bouncy, springy Maand made for a nice contrast with the previous mellifluous Shyam Kalyan and Sahana and if there was one thing that was common between them, it was the spirit of bhakti.

Then came IT. The devilishly beautiful Ha Raghava. This, as mentioned before, was at a request, as had been the case in a previous concert a couple of weeks earlier, reviewed by me for The Hindu and reproduced in this blog. The Abang in Mohanam is simply out of the world, and here is where the Vittala-Vittala-Vittal-vitol-vitol, occurs, the devotion-dripping words that impelled the lady to dance. It was a mesmerizing Mohanam, as in the previous concert, Mohanam with a light and Hindustani touch, taking one back to the Golden days of Hindi film music – to Latha Mangeshkar’s Pankh hoti to udu aati re (Sehra, 1963), and the relatively more recent Bhupen Hazarika soul-stealer, Dil Bhoom-bhoom kare (Rudali, 1995). The Marathi Abhang Ha Raghava flowed on these lines, but suddenly, as though reminded by a pinch, Arun let forth a mighty brikha, starting from the upper notes and swirling all the way down, in a very very carnatic manner. Not only did the rendition transcend from Hindustani to Carnatic, and back, but it had that transcendental meditative quality, that mystic calm. Ha Raghava ! Wah Raghava ! Wah Ustaad !!

This was followed by a Panduranga, Panduranga rendition, and presently someone wanted Vishamakaara Kannan. It was the only Tamil piece of the concert. Somewhere here, Arun sang the immortal Yamuna Kalyani piece, Krishna Nee Bhegane Baro, and it was the second ‘bhega baro’ of the concert, it was as though that the singer had made the entreating of Lord Krishna to “come soon” as the leitmotif of the concert. Another brilliant piece, that. Arun ended the 2-hour concert with another vittala-vittala chat in Bindu Malini.

Music apart, what is worthy of note in Arun’s concert is his endearing demeanor, pleasing stage manners, a smile for everyone, a waving encouragement of the audience to join-in, become one, for in a bhajana, matters such as musical prowess become mundane and redundant, like the remnants of the ore after the gold has been taken out, and the only thing that matters is the bhakti.

Well done, Arun, the Maharaja of Talvi.