 The Sruti alliance
Pattabhi Chitappa had always been one of the boys. Much younger than his elder siblings, he was quite a hero to his nephews and nieces. His long years in the US had made him a man of the world, at ease in the financial and fashion capitals of the world as much as he was at home in Mylapore, Madras, on his visits home. In turn, he liked to spend time with the youngsters of the extended family, regaling them with stories and his rather strange sense of humour, in which the clever pun played a large part. He also had this half Mylapore half American accent, no matter whether he spoke Tamil or English. Of course, beneath that playful exterior lay a wealth of expertise in his chosen field of activity of developmental economics, steely determination and fierce ambition.
The year was 1983. Chitappa had been back in Madras for a couple of years after his early retirement from the UNDP, which he had volunteered to take in order to pursue his artistic interests in his hometown. He had an enormous music collection, to listen to which he would years of concentrated effort, without the distraction of a full time job, so he continued as a consultant to his former employer but chose to spend some eight months a year at Chennai. He also intended to use his Music Academy and other sabha memberships by attending concerts regularly.
His first project was to build a home adjacent to The Hindu’s family estate. It took all of two years and once it was done, more, as he kept making alterations and giving heart attacks to the builders and architects. He knew exactly what he wanted and made sure the contractors delivered it to him, even if it meant redoing it several times.
Once the house project was completed, Chitappa was at a loose end. He regularly visited his friends and relatives, riding his scooter with a sidecar - essential, as he was a polio victim and had one deformed leg - through the chaotic Madras traffic. My house was a regular stop in his evening excursions. He found a captive audience in my family as our son was barely months old and we were housebound.
It was at one of these evening sessions that the prospect of Pattabhi Chitappa starting a magazine devoted to south Indian classical music and dance was discussed. Though an economist by profession, he had considerable journalistic experience, having contributed a column to the ‘Financial Express’ from Washington years ago, and run an amateur periodical called The Societarians during his student days from our ancestral Murrays Gate Road, Alwarpet home. What began as a half-playful conversation, with irreverent expressions of relief from me suggesting that he would now stop haunting my house, took a serious turn as Chitappa, with characteristic dedication and single-mindedness plunged headlong into his new project. He insisted that my wife, a scholar and teacher of English till then, join him full time in this mad pursuit of starting a magazine in English for music and dance. Though she was very hesitant in the beginning, Pattabhi managed to persuade her to overcome her initial misgivings.
What an unforgettable adventure that turned out to be! Chitappa had some wonderful ideas, but never failed to test them out through several brainstorming sessions, thanks no doubt to his training as a UN expert. Preserving tradition was important but so was encouraging innovation, he kept insisting. In keeping with that belief, the first issue had a profile of D K Pattammal by Gowri Ramnarayan, and her photograph on the cover, which carried the caption Trailblazing Traditionalist, but it also featured the child prodigy Mandolin U Srinivas, who, barely 13 then, was making waves in the Carnatic music circuit. The whole business of child prodigies and what made them tick was analysed threadbare, with a wide range of opinions including medical and psychological collected and published. Glimpses of other child prodigies featured in the issue included T R Mahalingam, S Balachandar, Ravi Kiran, E Gayathri, Bala Murali Krishna, even Mozart!
The magazine was launched in October 1983 at the Music Academy, an institution Sruti was not afraid of criticising or lampooning in subsequent months and years. Nowadays it is common for first issues of books, magazines or music CDs to be handed formally over to some worthy senior in the field. I believe it was Sruti that started this practice, honouring itself by making Semmangudi Srinivasier accept its invitation to receive the first copy of the monthly.
The magazine has come a long way since those magical, early days, when skeptics including the venerable Semmangudi gave it not more than a few months before it folded up. When Chitappa died a couple of years ago, the question uppermost on everyone’s lips was: Without Pattabhiraman, how long before the magazine dies a natural death?
The Sruti parivar has proved that it is made of sterner stuff. Its indefatigable team of Janaki, Narayanan, Sudha and Co. has carried on regardless, and with editor-in-chief K V Ramanathan quietly ensuring the continuity of the magazine with no fall in standards, Sruti continues to play a crucial role in the propagation and preservation of our endangered arts. It’s time for all lovers of these arts to not only salute Sruti but also subscribe and donate to keep it alive and kicking in the years to come.
V Ramnarayan
vramnarayan@gmail.com
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