Rewind to the modest Chaya Building, nestled within the serene realms of Parsi Colony in Dadar, Mumbai. Each morning, as the first gentle rays of sunlight filtered through the window of our petite apartment, my gaze would inevitably fall upon the enchanting image of Kalinga Narthana Krishna, hanging above my bed. His divine form, capturing both power and playfulness, inundated the room with a spiritual presence that was both comforting and overwhelming. In those serene moments, I often found myself engaging in conversations with him, sharing my deepest fears and most profound joys. At times, his gaze felt penetrating and intense; at other times, he appeared as a mischievous child, joyfully entwined with a serpent.
Upon fully awakening, my attention would turn to the exquisite shrine in the corner of the room, where Radha and Krishna resided. Their forms, illuminated by the soft morning glow, exuded a tranquil beauty. My mother would bring a glass of milk, singing Mira’s bhajan, ‘Jago bansi wale, jago more pyare’. She performed this daily rite with love and devotion, offering the milk at Krishna’s feet. I was filled with wonder, often checking to see if he had miraculously drunk it. This nurturing led to my deep connection with music, culminating in Pt. Bhimsen Joshi’s powerful rendering of ‘Teertha Vithala Kshetra Vithala’ becoming my cherished abhang.
A momentous Sunday marked my first experience with abhang. The house pulsated with vibrant energy as we awaited Shri Mohan Pai and his abhang mandali. The evening transformed our humble abode with the divine sounds of Vithala, resonating with the spirit of Panduranga. The excitement of chanting ‘Vithala, Vithala’ in unison with fellow devotees was palpable. As dusk enveloped the room, the boundless energy of Vithala Nama unified us all, an experience that lingered, later making Pt. Bhimsen Joshi’s ‘Teertha Vithala Kshetra Vithala’ my favorite abhang.
In Chennai, a grand painting of Srinathji dominates a wall in my home, a testament to divine inspiration. The midweek melodies of the Meera Bhajan Mandali sessions are ingrained in my memory. It was a Wednesday ritual when my mother’s friends gathered to sing. Returning from school, the house resonated with their voices. My mother would gently beckon me to join, a tradition where I would ultimately perform ‘Maadu meikkum kanne’.
. Singing before Krishna’s form established an indescribable connection that transcended the music itself.
Another indelible memory involves Balasaraswati, or Balamma, whose mesmerizing performance of ‘Krishna Nee begane baro’ I witnessed during class five. Her gaze, unwavering at a point just above the stage, suggested a vision of little Krishna himself. Her dance was not merely a performance; it was a divine conversation, a vivid intersection of love, music, and dance that seared itself into my consciousness.
Guru T. Brinda, affectionately known as Brindamma, played an instrumental role in my musical journey. As a young enthusiast among seasoned singers, I felt privileged. Brindamma’s teaching of the intricate composition ‘Chetashree Balakrishnam Bhajare’ captivated me. Certain phrases eluded my grasp, but I was enchanted by the lyrics, especially ‘Nalina Patra Nayanam’. Upon inquiring about ‘Vata Patra Sayanam’, Brindamma beautifully explained it as Krishna floating on a banyan leaf in a vast, blue expanse, a vision both serene and majestic.
The festivities of Gokulashtami brought a kaleidoscope of Krishna’s leelas to life. Our little Radha Krishna shrine was adorned with pictures depicting Vasudeva carrying Krishna in a basket across the Yamuna. Songs like ‘Nalliravil pirandu, nadi kadandu, valiya pillai endru emmai aala vanda tavame’ enriched the atmosphere, culminating in the profound ‘Karuttil niraindai kannil maraindai Kanna’.
One profoundly serendipitous encounter occurred in 1994 during a visit to Tiruvarur, my father’s birthplace. At a day commemorating the Mummoorthigal Vizha, I received a precious cassette from a fellow devotee, Chandrashekhara Raja. It contained Needamangalam Krishnamurthy Bhagavatar’s rendition of Kalinga Narthana thillana. Listening to it back home moved me to tears. This was the melody that had lingered in my heart since my childhood. His narration and music evoked a sense of divine reminiscence.
Later that year, amid the serene Swiss landscape, I relearned the Kalinga Nartana thillana while surrounded by Swiss cows, a cassette player in hand. Performing it for the first time that weekend was transformative; the song now belonged to Krishna and all who adored him. The thillana, illuminated by Oothukkadu Venkata Subba Iyer’s vision of Krishna on Kaliya, represents pure sound born from an unconditional love for Krishna, encapsulating a life filled with Krishna’s enchanting melodies.
