Growing up with giants
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Continuing the series on accompanists, meet Karaikudi Krishnamurthy, a gentle genius.
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REMEMBERING THE DAYS OF YORE Karaikudi Krishnamurthy.
His stage debut was also his entry into the world of adult dressing. "I was 12 and still wore half trousers. The first person I accompanied on the mridangam was G.N. Balasubramaniam. For the sake of the performance, a dhoti and kurta were bought for me. It must have been 1950 or 51, I can't really remember," says Karaikudi Krishnamurthy. What he doesn't remember is not really worth remembering though. As he goes down memory lane, he stops at all the important twists and turns that helped mould him as an artiste, all the crossroads that decided his future.
"My grandfather (the legendary musician) Karaikudi Sambasiva Iyer was at Kalakshetra (founded by Rukmini Devi Arundale as the first institution in India to teach Bharatanatyam, Kathakali and Carnatic music). In those days, we did not talk freely to elders. My communication with him was through my grandmother. One day he told her that Rukmini Devi wanted me to start working at Kalakshetra. I told my grandmother, `I have just started getting opportunities to accompany musicians on stage. I feel that if I start playing for dance, my learning process might get disturbed.' My grandfather heard this and immediately told me, `That is fine. I thought as much, but I felt I should ask you too.' With that the matter was dropped."
Destined for Kalakshetra
But Krishnamurthy was destined to join Kalakshetra after all. Some years later, at a Chennai coffee shop frequented by artistes, he ran into vocalist and composer S. Rajaram, whose close association with Rukmini Devi went back to the days of his grandfather, Mysore Vasudevachariar. "He told me how his grandfather had been disappointed that I didn't join when Athai (as Rukmini Devi was fondly referred to) first asked."
It was not long before the young Krishnamurthy became a staff member of Kalakshetra, still in its pioneering years. The Kalakshetra troupe travelled to many countries of the world. The practice was rigorous, as was the personal discipline expected from each artiste. Rukmini Devi held all the artistes in loyal obedience like a matriarch. Though she had stopped dancing in the dance dramas she choreographed, she continued to direct and compose. She was stern and affectionate by turns. If she was likely to haul one over the coals for work below par, she was also lavish with praise for a job well done.
"Once we were touring Australia. After the programme she told me, `Krishnamurthy, I am satisfied with what I have accomplished in life. But I have one regret. When I heard you playing, I wished I could get up and dance. My body won't allow it though.' Such moments are truly satisfying for an artiste."
Krishnamurthy went on to a cosmopolitan career. Offered a position teaching and playing the mridangam in Singapore, he spent several years there before returning to India shortly, only to go on to England. Now white-haired and venerable, he continues to be based in the U.K., though his visits to India, especially during the performing season, are regular.
Like most of the giants of the art world, his words are gentle in direct proportion to his greatness.
"Bharatanatyam is team work. At the end of a programme, you should not feel, for example, the mridangam was good, or the flute sounded good. The feeling should be that the programme was good as a whole," he says. He should know. After 50 years of accompaniment. Fifty years of benevolence.
ANJANA RAJAN
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