These minstrels still make music

Unaffected by the urban popular culture booming around them, the wandering entertainers sing for a living. Their voices are evocative and their stories timeless, writes LAKSHMI VISHWANATHAN.

AFTER A long gap I went to watch a Tamil movie. There was a spectacular song and dance sequence which mentioned Desingu Raja. I immediately thought of the folk singers, who visit the part of Chennai where I live, singing about the same Raja.

I have always enjoyed the visit of the minstrels to my doorstep. Humble nadaswaram players regale me with old and new film hits on Diwali, Pongal and other festive days. In the concrete jungle that our city has become, I feel grateful to these wandering entertainers, and try to show my appreciation by not shutting the gates on them.

Long ago, we used to see some of these players, coming with a festooned little bull, with jingling bells around its neck. These were called the boom boom maadus. Moving bent twigs on the stretched leather of their drums, these men produced a strange sound... boom, boom. They would speak loudly and clearly to the bull, which was trained and manipulated by them to shake its head in affirmation.

"Will the noble lord of this house be blessed by the gods? boom, boom, boom...?" and the bull would respond by shaking its head, as if to say, yes, yes, yes. Apparently, people when they were sick, took a vow to donate a bull to the boom boom man, when they recovered. And he went round using the animal to prophesise all good things to all people, while making a living out of his venture. To announce his arrival, he played the pipe and went at his drums merrily.

He is still around but without his bull. With two expertly made drums, a red turban adorning his head, wearing a saffron dhothi and shirt, he sings ditties in a loud and clear voice. His name is Ayyanar and there are about 30 of his clan living by the sea on the outskirts of Chennai.

They have learnt songs from their forebears...which they sing spiritedly. They trace their family roots to the Raja Desingu, who built the fort at Gingee. And their songs are a leaf from the scrap-book of our history. One of them is a ditty which is a dialogue between a mother and her valiant son who is preparing to go and fight for his master, the Raja, against the invading troops of the Nawab. With the blessings of the deity Ranganatha, who is enshrined in an ancient temple in Gingee, the youth assuages the fears of his mother and prepares to go forth in battle array.

These minstrels also sing on Lord Muruga of Thirupporur, and in the appropriate season, switch to songs on Amman, the goddess. They speak Telugu and Tamil fluently, while the songs for the most part are in clearly pronounced Tamil. Each of them has a different beat, and the infectious rhythms can compete with any that are being synthesised currently for the big screen.

The women in their families also sing at their community weddings, songs which send the bride with blessings to her husband's home. These are called "Nalla Thangai" songs and have been with them for a long, long time.

Unaffected by the urban popular culture booming around them, these wandering entertainers sing for their supper. Their voices are evocative, their stories timeless. They have not yet become anachronistic in our maze of flats. They seem to be proud of their profession and have even organised themselves into an association with identity cards.

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