1978 - 1. NINAIVAALE SILAI SEIDHU UNAKKAAGA VAITHEN

 1)    NINAIVAALE SILAI SEIDHU UNAKKAAGA VAITHEN (MOVIE: Andhaman Kaadhali (The Lover From Andaman), RELEASE DATE: 26 Jan, MUSIC: MS Viswanathan, LYRICS: Kannadasan)

We used to live in this small but idyllic “portion” of a colony in Appar Swami Koil street in Mylapore, Madras. In fact, this was the last home that we lived in Mylapore proper. We would move out to the then-outskirts of Madras, Adyar, six months after the release of ‘Andhaman Kadhali’. For all my claims of being a Mylapore boy, I have hardly lived there. Always a wannabe...

What is it about Mylapore, one may ask? I can't put a finger on it. But, I have to acknowledge that there was something to the place and its environs, even back then. The MEI School that I sprinted to after the first bell; the Chettiar shop where I bought my favorite “round mithai” and cone biscuits; Appar Swami temple right behind our home, to where I followed my mom like a shadow to listen to every Katha Kalakshebam; the pageant of street-side shops selling vegetables, fruits, sweetmeats, garlands, and archanai plates; the aroma of fresh flowers, basil leaves, camphor, vibhuti – kumkumam, and other religious accoutrement enveloping the main street full of temples and auspicious spots. These places, things, and experiences were a world in itself that made Mylapore my 'home away from home' for a lifetime. I don’t have tons of specific anecdotes from this house now, but one reason why I had started remembering songs and movies from 1978 was perhaps because, that’s when we acquired our most prized possession till then – a wonderful, 18-inch, “Solid State” Television (Brand: Televista). We were just collectively delighted as a family as we had never been before. We invited the whole colony home, distributed sweets, and watched a Telugu movie ‘Siri Siri Mua’, which none of us except my dad and mom understood (she begrudgingly, as she scorned the language of her in-laws).

‘Ninaivaale silai seidhu…’ ('A statue made of my thoughts...') is a lovely song sung by Yesudas and Vani Jairam. This is, what my son would characterize, as a “dad song”. There is no way I could have enjoyed it then; when I was all of 5 ½ years of age and in first standard. I must have started liking it much later. But I had seen the movie back then and had made my astute observations - like all children, I was a genius when I was five. For instance, I was left flustered by the reverence shown by everyone to Sivaji Ganesan, the hero of the film. He seemed to weigh a stone and looked as rotund as a ripe pumpkin. The bugger was really pushing his luck romancing girls half his age with a bad wig and a kilo of make-up. And man did he overact. I caught it even as child. To openly state all of this would have been blasphemous at my home (or in any Tamil household of that time).

Yesudas and Vani Jairam do a rollicking job delivering this number. The singing voice that conditioned all of us back then was SP Balasubramaniam aka Balu. But then Yesudas was this bolt from the blue. With a unique aural clarity and bass that immediately enamored anyone, he was a force to reckon with in any language that he sang. Vani was the female Yesudas – unique voice, brilliant tonal dexterity, and sound in her basics. She never got her due, some said, because she got caught in the North-South ether and the gigantic talents of the times: Lata / Asha and Susheela / Janaki. But these things didn't seem to perturb her. She was a self-assured musician and you can hear that in this song.

The lyrics were by the legendary Kannadasan: poet, lyricist, novelist, screen writer, revolutionary, and politician. A Sahitya Akademi winner and a multiple national award recipient, he wrote lyrics for over 5000 songs till he died in 1981 (his last song: ‘Kanne kalaimaane’, the Tamil version of ‘Surumai Akhiyon mein’). I am credentialing him because I generally ignore lyrics of songs – I consider them an excuse, and often an obstacle, to music. I know it’s an unfair characterization of a very important job in the creative process of music-making. But that’s how I am wired. Except for certain songs written by the likes of Ghalib, Gulzar, Vairamuthu, Pattukottai, Veturi, and Sahir Ludhianvi (name-dropping for effect), I don’t pay much attention to lyrics. Kannadasan stands at the front of that very short line for me.

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