‘The Many Lives of Mangalampalli Balamuralikrishna’ is all about the master’s art and craft

Sreevalsan Thiyyadi

Seventy years ago and just out of his teens, M Balamuralikrishna suffered a voice loss that depressed the Carnatic maestro as much as South Indian cultural circuits. An early burnout appeared imminent, forcing the 21-year-old to look for a job. Into a conventionally unlucky 13th year after his prodigious debut, Balamurali found refuge as a ‘light classical music supervisor’ at Vijayawada radio station, 175 km west of his native Sankaraguptam village in coastal Andhra Pradesh. That 1952 career-break also quickened the return of BMK’s stentorian throat steeped in sonority.

The happy ending apart, the rude episode might have taught BMK a big lesson: never overuse your larynx. A recent biography on BMK is tacit about this moral. Conjectures are laudably avoided even as understatements are a key feature of ‘The Many Lives of Mangalampalli Balamuralikrishna’. Penned by critic-translator Veejay Sai, the 320-page work delves into the minutest details of an array of incidents related to the protagonist (1930-2016) without obfuscating the big picture. BMK (as goes the general acronym, though the preface chooses MBK) comes across as a genius who led a royal life that contrasted with his materially modest beginnings.

The maverick did court public controversies, but ensured his victory every time — he’d even celebrate them with light-hearted throwbacks. Sai’s narrative is optimally hilarious, so the juicy ounces seldom tend to belittle BMK’s artistic eminence. In fact, the book continually goes deep into the meritorious contributions of Balamurali as a singer and lyricist-tunesmith. No tenets of the Carnatic idiom shackled him, notwithstanding BMK’s adherence to the devotee spirit of Telugu composer Tyagaraja (1767-1847).

The Dravidian language’s richness of Sanskrit has had a bearing on BMK’s brilliance as a vaggeyakara, the book suggests initially, albeit implicitly. Of its nine chapters, the first, ‘The Music of the Telugus’, gives clues to this point, which finds cue in the subsequent one, titled ‘God in the Form of a Guru’. Ramakrishnayya Pantulu (1883-1951) finds deserving spotlight, as BMK’s musician-father Mangalampalli Pattabhiramayya “felt the need for an outside, more vigilant eye that could look beyond compassion”.

The biographer seeks sources beyond BMK, quoting them directly or from hearsay, thus stringing together anecdotes that lend the feel of a solved jigsaw puzzle. For this, Sai searches not just BMK interviews by others, but uses print as well as Internet matter, blogs included. The multifaceted Balamurali’s engagements (instrumentalist, percussionist, author) extend to cinema (playback singer and, till a phase, actor) in all four major languages of the peninsula. Perhaps BMK got some hang of it in his twenties with Akashvani, conceiving special operas. An innovative ‘Bhakti Ranjani’ programme AIR relayed under BMK in the mid-1950s led him to travel and learn more about the region’s vast aural heritage. Reminding of Hindustani wizard Kumar Gandharva’s similar tryst upcountry, the drill expanded Balamurali’s aesthetics.

Not surprising, thus, BMK could easily befriend as well as win the admiration of popular singer Lata Mangeshkar at a time when his hardcore Carnatic experiments led to the emergence of a Krishna trio: violinist MS Gopalakrishnan and mridangist TV Gopalakrishnan accompanying Balamurali as an ace team. BMK’s malleable voice and open mindset lent him to become a pioneer in jugalbandis involving northerners, including ghazal masters. Kirana gharana stalwart Bhimsen Joshi and BMK developed a mutual admiration since their first meeting at Madras Music Academy’s festival in 1960, triggering an array of joint ventures on the dais. Even while conquering audiences, BMK was least finicky about his Carnatic co-artistes: he’d encourage talents, however young and raw. The book features 82 images, 55 of them black-and-white and no less colourful in content.

Icing every slice of his character was BMK’s sense of humour. Sometimes they can be amusing just because of the ways: for instance, rattling off all railway station names from Vijayawada (grooming ground) to Madras (residing city since 1964) at his 75th birthday concert. A decade later, while cutting the cake, “he was not doing very well”.

The family tales are at times labyrinthine, though minute details throw light on BMK’s personality. Even in the last chapter titled ‘The Twilight Years’, poignancy isn’t the prime mood. Twists are many, but never recounted melodramatically.