Thillaisthanam

My goodness, it’s been a long while since I wrote anything in my blog! Needless to say, it’s been an incredibly hectic (and ultimately wonderful) couple of weeks. First it was a week with three lectures (ouch!) and not much sleep followed by a trip to read a paper at the OSLE-India International Conference, and then there was a good six days spent in Tiruvaiyaru (near Thanjavur) and Madurai. There’s no way I can get everything into just one entry, so I’ll go with highlights and fill in other details in later entries. And do I have some pictures! I’ll get some of those up as soon as I can, but first the blog!

I have to start in Tiruvaiyaru (actually Thillaisthanam, a small rural village 2 km. to the west), the real emotional heart of my journey south. I met Dr. Kausalya in 2006 when she was still principal of the Government Music College in Tiruvaiyaru. I had traveled there to see the place where St. Tyagaraja (south India’s Beethoven) had lived, composed his great music, and died. I was also keen on arranging a visit with my students to the Tyagaraja Aradhana, one of the most important and most sacred music festivals in this part of the world. At that time she welcomed me at the college, a venerable old building on the banks of the Kaveri River. She saw to it that I visited the Tyagaraja shrine, the temple, the art gallery, etc.; she prevailed upon a younger colleague to give me a complete tour of the college; she invited me to observe her veena class; and following a conversation about the joys and trials of running the college for so many years, she invited me to her home to see the work she was doing with children in her neighborhood, a project she was hoping to continue and expand after her impending retirement (mandatory at age 58 here!). I was deeply impressed by such hospitality, but I also came away feeling a deep sense of connection with a woman who only a few days earlier had been a total stranger. And when I brought my students to Tiruvaiyaru in 2007, she was magnificent! She got us into the inner sanctum of the Saraswati Mahal Library where the curator showed us some of the rarest treasures from the library of Serfoji II (1777-1832, last of the sovereign Maratha maharajahs). Over the protests of security guards who said it was full, she walked us into an evening concert at the festival. She brought one of Thanjavur’s best hereditary veena makers to do a demonstration. She arranged a concert at the resort done by a folk singer who is now a very big star. She even got us into the press box on the holy day itself, sitting right next to the musicians (hundreds of them) as they sang Tyagaraja’s Five Jewels—right after the procession arrived from the site of Tyagaraja’s home (torn down in 2006, sadly). But perhaps most impressive of all, we got to see the children she works with, singing and dancing in beautiful costumes, looking much different than the motley bunch I had seen the previous summer. Her hard work was paying off in visible, tangible ways.

Fast-forward to September 2009. I have not seen Kausalya since January 2007. Over the past year, I had sent a letter twice asking about our 2010 course, but had not heard back. Once I arrived in India in August, good friend Joseph provided me with her email address. She’s now online! We were able to set up a visit following my conference in Tiruchi, just an hour and a half away from her home. But then she reads an announcement about the conference (and my talk!) in the newspaper, and she writes that she would like to hear the paper, too! So sure enough, as I’m sitting on the platform waiting to give my paper, in walks Kausalya. Same as we saw in Thanjavur in January 2007, she is immediately recognized as a guest of importance and is escorted to a seat in the front row. After I finish my talk, the principal of National College in Tiruchi (our conference host) walks down and sits next to Kausalya—clearly he knows her well, too! We have a few minutes to chat, and I tell her I can leave earlier than expected, so I will be there for her students’ gathering that evening after all. She warns me there will be no A/C in her guest room, but can arrange for that in Thanjavur if I absolutely, positively must have it. We agree to decide that once I arrive, and she is off to make preparations!

After some warm farewells from my OSLE friends Dr. Nirmal, Susan, and Rayson, I’m off for a car ride cross-country from Tiruchi to Tiruvaiyaru. This is the Kaveri delta region, and there are many river channels to cross, small villages to pass through, and fields and rice patties to look at. A little rain on the way (always welcome here, both for the water it brings and the cooling effect it has), but finally we arrive. Keenly aware that I appear tired (and I am dog-tired after a couple of short nights and an overnight train to Tiruchi), she offers me a chance to lie down while. I come out almost too late to see the student gathering. They are there to celebrate Navaratri (the doll festival), gathered around a stair-like arrangement of shelves with dolls representing various gods, goddesses, etc. from the Hindu pantheon. There are dances and songs, similar to what I remembered from 2007, and while many of the children are new, a few remember me from 2007 (though at least one is no longer a child!). After some conversation and a simple dinner of idli and chutney, it’s off to bed.

Kausalya’s work with the children has definitely taken on new dimensions. She has created a foundation, Marabu, and acquired a house right across the street from her home in the village of Thillaisthanam. She has done significant work remodeling the place, adding Western toilets and an upstairs that will provide more guest rooms when finished. The foundation house of course provides space for her work with the children and the veena students she takes on, but she is also looking to provide accommodations and instruction for international students who wish to come and study veena in more-or-less traditional gurukulam fashion, where you live with your guru and devote your time to study. I hope this will catch on. She’s not going to charge the exorbitant fees a student would encounter in Chennai (in fact, there will likely be no tuition fee), and the calm, peaceful rural setting, wonderful home-cooked vegetarian meals, and the amazing musical heritage of this place could not fail to attract students looking for an authentic Indian experience. The trinity of Carnatic classical music—Tyagaraja, Sastri, and Dikshitar—all lived in this area in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, and one can still sense their presence here.

For three days and nights I managed to both survive the heat and get rested up for the trip to Madurai. Afternoon naps were a must, as it was too hot to do much else without the possibility of occasional retreats to air conditioning. Late afternoons and evenings were a time to observe her work with students or get out and poke around. One evening I took a walk down the street with a neighbor to visit the local school and schoolmaster and sit awhile with the neighbor and his son. This is a small rural village, and I’m not sure what I expected, but the people I met were very literate and well-educated, and many had good English skills as well. I was surprised, quite frankly. Another evening we visited the temple of the moon goddess, Chandran, another local temple in Thillaisthanam, and the Tyagaraja Samadhi on the Kaveri river (looking very different than it did during the festival in 2007!). On the way we were “delayed” by a street festival with musicians, and elephant, and a float in honor of a local poet-goddess. We got out of the car to look, and suddenly I was an honored guest decked with a shawl by one of the festival organizers!

Mornings were a time for poojas, or devotions. One must bathe beforehand, and on second morning we had to wait and do nothing between 7:30 and 9:00, when Saturn was in an inauspicious position! Poojas include chanting, gifts of fresh fruit and a broken coconut, floral garlands and flower petals to be sprinkled on objects in your home’s shrine, a camphor flame used to cense sacred objects, and kneeling and bowing (but never to the south). As the senior member of the household (I assume), her mother always took the role of chief ritualist. There’s almost a sense of a new year, or at least a new beginning, with the Navarathri festival. All of the tools of your trade must be presented as part of the pooja at the end of the festival, and so Kausalya’s veenas were also presented, beshawled, and sprinkled with petals. As I tossed petals on one of her veenas, the stem hit a string at exactly the right angle to make it ring. Her eyes got wide and she explained that this was a very auspicious, positive response from Saraswati (goddess of music, like St. Cecilia or one of the Greek muses), and that I would have a blessed year! The second morning she started dismantling the dolls, to be stored until next year (like Christmas ornaments and decorations). I did not see the pooja for her computer, but she invited me to see the pooja for the car, done by her driver. He censed the entire car—under the hood, inside the car, around and under each of the four tires. And when that was done, you had to go for a ritual drive, visit the local temple, and buy something auspicious. So off we went for a ride, and all the while she, the driver, and her brother (visiting from Chennai) were pointing out the numerous vehicles decorated with garlands, palm branches, etc. as part of the festival’s end. Also like New Year’s, once all the tools of the trade are blessed, it’s time to begin again: to take on new students, to start new courses of instruction, and so on.

Over the course of those three days, we had many conversations. Over meals I learned a great deal about rural Brahmin cooking and cuisine and how to eat these foods in the traditional way. I think the biggest laugh I got from Kausalya came when I asked what she would do for entertainment when I was no longer there to amuse them with my clumsy attempts at eating with my right hand! When I observed any activity, she was careful to explain what was going on to help me understand. In quiet moments between things or in the evening, we had some longer conversations that ranged through various topics. Of course, there were many conversations about January and the arrival of my students. She welcomes our plans to take video of her work with the children and to interview her about various aspects of the foundation’s work. But she also wants us to learn some songs and dances from her children, to take a beginning veena lesson with her (where there is interest), and eat some traditional home-cooked meals. And now that January is not so far away, she is brainstorming other possibilities around town—visits to the temple, the Aradhana, the art gallery, the newly-renovated Durbar Hall (magnificent, she say!), and maybe even a visit with the Prince (descendant of Serfoji II)! I suspect that whatever happens in January will be far beyond what I can imagine—even though I’ve been here three times now!

We also had opportunities to talk about our families, she about the many relatives in the photos hanging on her walls, I about my concerns for my father and sister and my plans to be home for Christmas, more important for my family than any other time of year. Early on, her mother asked if I was English or German, since they are often “stout,” and I had to tell her that while I am an American, she had it just about right. I’m German on both sides and English/British Isles on my father’s side. She only missed the Polish from my mother’s side!

On the last night Kausalya told me I was unlike any American she had ever met: soft-spoken, thoughtful, and even somewhat child-like. It is true that I am frequently in awe of her; she is a strong woman with a big heart and a big vision. In her presence (and on her turf) I also often felt like a student with much to learn, walking around with my eyes and ears wide open. Even after four previous visits, so much is still foreign and unfamiliar, and this was my first real experience spending this much time in a rural setting, so very different from the MCC college campus I have come to know so well. Still, I think we each know where the other’s heart is, and that night she called me her brother. Even now I cannot begin to explain the bond we have had since our first meeting, for it is something deeper than words. There may be an element of mutual curiosity, but there is certainly an abundance of genuine respect and affection. Whatever it is, it is something wonderful and touching. On the final morning, her mother said, “Please come back!” And as I waved goodbye to Kausalya and her driver while my bus to Madurai pulled out of the station, unexpected tears welled up in my eyes. If there is an emotional heart to my journey so far, this was it. In the meantime, I am instructed to give her warm greetings to my mother and father, to my brother and sisters, to my wife and children, and to my grandchildren. Virginia is already telling family members that I have a new sister, and I shall greet them all for Kausalya when I get home for Christmas.