Bittersweet, I’ve always told. The news that I was going to put up on public platform in a few days from now got so effectively masked with the saddest news I’d heard in a long time. September, to me, in 2020 has become completely aware of itself and is just flexing it big time.
We all have certain memories associated with certain people, certain things from childhood. So much that we think that it’s the way of life. We get matured (sometimes) and then we realise that a lot of things have an expiry date. What makes it different with people is that, they don’t come printed with that date like the milk we buy. We know people expire, but we just don’t know when. That’s the reason most people keep telling us to live life to the fullest, like it was our last day, blah and blah.
Even before I was at a decent level in music to my own standards I had heard of Dr. SP Balasubramaniam (now listed with various spellings). Analysis of his voice in any form was kinda redundant, because it was the voice that created a standard. Of course, in my initial days, I wasn’t as multi lingual as today, but based on whatever I’d heard, it was how songs were to be delivered. Period. Nothing more said.
Cut to my engineering days when I was slowly diversifying, I discovered that it doesn’t matter if you could sing only difficult songs or only easy songs or whatever, but the voice quality that you’ve matters a lot. Technically is one thing, but emotionally surrendering to the song to render it in a way that makes for full justice for it.
Second year, when I cleared my auditions for Yedhe Thumbi Haaduvenu for ETV Kannada. Shooting was in April, 2004. We were at Kanteerava studios, with heavy make up on and waiting to see when the shoot would begin. It was the first time I was on a reality show and this was the first episode. After some delay, a white Ford Ikon pulled up. A man so tall, so big got out of the car. You’d naturally expect some degree of dominance with how he walked, right? Wrong. There were two of the contestants standing by the door, and the families - maybe some 15 people in all. Not a big crowd. The mere fact that SPB bowed down and did a namaste to all of us even before entering the studio had me floored.
We were on the stage, waiting for instructions when he walked in after getting dressed up and all that. He spoke to each of the 4 of us on stage, telling us that we have been trained in music and we are so talented and there is nothing to be nervous about. It was not required for him to say that. But such small gestures from such big stalwarts help small artists go a long way.
I remember each comment he made, I remember how much of his talk was axed during editing. I remember all the titbits he shared. I remember how difficult it was to control laughter when he was around. I remember getting goosebumps when he sang on stage at the end of the second episode - baanallu neene. There are not enough words to describe the feeling. And all this, for aspiring musicians, young inexperienced musicians. I can only imagine the pain people close to him are enduring now.
After that, I think over time as I started listening to more music, I discovered more about this voice. The ease of delivering any type of song. The antics on stage with fellow musicians, the soul stirring songs which had audiences crying like babies. From Oruvan oruvan to Chennai express. From Mettupodu to Kooraku kallikere. From Pavadisu paramaatma to Tazhuvudu. From Kathalikkum pennin to Shankarabharanam. It’s impossible to listen to even 50% of his work in one lifetime. If that’s not a rich legacy that one should aspire to create, I don’t know what is.
This news brought unfathomable grief, uncontrolled tears and so much of emotion. It almost felt like a part of me is never returning back. While I’m angry with myself for not pushing myself to finish a recording of the song we made for him, it seems like its all destiny’s plan.
16 years back, when a 20 year old aspiring singer went on stage and was fumbling with the mic to introduce himself, this legend put his hand on his shoulder and put him at ease, with a friendly comic. Gosh. I never thought I’d write a eulogy for him. Such is life. That’s how it works.
