Even ages ago, music was segregated as makkal isai, mann isai and mel isai, after all. Gaana, that was born in Tamil Nadu, has only now found a wide audience,” remarks Gaana Pa Julie Kumar. For a population that grew up on dav dav dav da, dav naati die da, gaana might be a ubiquitous part of mirth and entertainment. While even that seems to be the effect of the hard work of a lucky few, there are fewer still trying to put gaana back where it was — a ubiquitous part of one’s life, as an art no less than its classical counterparts. For the second year, Neelam Panpaattu Maiyam — under the aegis of director Pa Ranjith — will feature gaana artistes at Margazhiyil Makkal Isai. The road to this stage has not been all that easy, says Julie Kumar.
“I’ve been a gaana singer for 35 years now. Before then, we used to sing and use the anna koodai or thavalai or other utensils for the music. Now, we’ve progressed to the big stage, singing with a number of instruments at our disposal,” he points out. He has many people to thank for this transition, particularly Pa Ranjith. The Pa in his name is also a homage to the director who made way for this. “When I started, there was a lot of hesitation in inviting us to sing at events. We were seen as the people who sing at funerals; we were kept away. But people like Gaana Bala have managed to sing so much (in the commercial space). This has given us much encouragement. Now, we get invited to weddings, temple festivals and more,” he narrates.
Today, Julie Kumar is a veteran in the field. He is also on the way to becoming a familiar face amidst the Tamil movie audience, having acted in eight movies so far. Unlike Rangan Vaathiyar’s right hand Saamiyar, however, Julie Kumar has a resting sage face that’s far too calm and composed.
On the other hand, Gaana Balachander of Vaathi Coming fame is a bundle of nervous energy. He skips and bounces more than walks and speaks in bursts of passion after a few seconds of quiet deliberation. Though he made his way into the field years after Julie Kumar, Balachander, too, had to pass through the funeral singing rites. “My mother used to listen to gaana songs when I was a kid. Sinthai Muniverappa was famous then. His songs were ones that stuck to me immediately. I started singing because of that. From there, I was asked to sing at an erangal kaanal (funeral),” he recounts.
But what began there went to the next level of progression only because of Balachander’s thirst to dive into the works of his ancestors. How they lived, where they sang, what they sang about… “They sang without mics but they could be heard 10 kilometres away. That was the wealth of their voice, their work and pain. We’ve had singers like that here. Particularly, Sintharapettai Naathan, Aayiramvilakku Selvam, Kunnakudi, Gaana Pazhani, Gaana Bala, Kuchi Kumar, Rave Ravi, Ulaganathan and more,” he details.
Julie Kumar calls himself the thalai sishyan (top student) of Naathan. He credits the latter for creating a whole generation of gaana singers. But Kumar and Balachander find themselves grateful to Gaana Bala for speaking up for their rights in the commercial space. The singer/songwriter, who doubles as a lawyer and social worker, ensured that his songs and lyrics were credited to him, wherever they may be used in the movie industry. A radical development when gaana singers often get called in only for track recording (and another singer would be made to do the song), they point out.
Thus, the fight for creative independence and assertion began in small ways, they say. First with the insistence of a sound system at performances, spending on equipment themselves, and then finding spaces that offered a purpose. Balachander’s entry into the Casteless Collective offered him just that. “Irulilirunthu velichathai nokkiya payanam dhan ithu. And literally so. Gaana was once only performed in the night. Some say it was to help people stay up all night (at the funeral). But it’s not like you cannot express emotions in daylight. Even before Casteless Collective, Ranjith managed to show that in Madras, where Gaana Bala sings Irandhidavaa,” he points out.
Balachander’s first song with the Collective was about manual scavenging, penned by Therukkural Arivu. It let him channel his own learnings of Ambedkar, his perceptions of the struggles of the working people. In that way, gaana has always been a work of revolution. “If things are not the way they should be, we have to inform the people right? It questions everyone. We are being boxed into what we should be and what we should sing about. But that’s not the case…we should be independent,” opines Balachander.
“Gaana padal la ella vithamana karuthum iruku,” chips in Julie Kumar. “Not to harass women, not to fall prey to intoxication, to respect our parents, to live in harmony with the siblings, to not covet wealth and more. People find room to change after listening to the songs. We’ve seen it happen,” he shares.
Beyond the pursuit of revolution and change, there is a quieter kind of gaana. One that resides in the remembrance of a loved one, in the activity-less hours of the afternoon, in family gatherings, and children’s amusement. Muniyammal is of this songline. The Housing Board apartment in Vysarpadi is a regular audience to her numbers. Her children and their children take after her effortlessly, bumbling a line or two absentmindedly as they go through their affairs. Moving from this to the big stage of Makkal Isai had been quite an experience for her last year. “I had never been to such events. If people were singing gaana somewhere, I would join in. My brother’s son Muthu (Gaana Muthu of Casteless Collective) started taking me to events. They applauded me, they even hugged me. I was very happy,” she narrates.
Muniyammal was born in a family of cobblers who worked in the High Court complex. But it was also a family of music; her father played the jamak — strings of wire stretched over a tin. The coconut shell was another favoured instrument; he would wear his wife’s metti on his fingers and wrap against the shell to produce a beat, she recounts. Here is where she picked it up. One of her sons, Muthukrishnan, says that his father enjoyed watching her sing. It’s no wonder that many of her songs have now been about her late husband. “Thanneer illame thathalikka meenaattum, enna vittu nee pona ethanayo porattam,” she belts out.
Ask her if she would like any of her children taking up the art of gaana too, she says that her daughter was really good at it but gave it up after she got married; the husband did not like it. Even in the face of all this glory, gaana is not without its pitfalls. Like any other realm of art, women struggle to find their place on the big stage. Muniayammal is one of the few who have made it there. “We are not without our prejudices, are we?” says Balachander. “But, we are headed in the right direction. Isaivani making it big will certainly help others who follow her. But changes do not happen overnight, do they?” he says. Without Makkal Isai, Muniyammal’s charm might have been lost to you and me.
Yet, for more people to follow in their footsteps, to pick up the art and democratise it further, the question remains — is it worth it? “In the search for truth, we should be prepared to face whatever comes our way, feast on whatever is made available. When you begin a journey, you have to see it through to the end. That’s an artiste, this is how we can live,” declares Balachander, suggesting that returns isn’t the way to look at art.
For Julie Kumar, it is simpler still. “I know many other work – I play the dholak, I can drive cars, I do painting work, tinkering work. But none of that satisfies me. Till today, it’s gaana that has fed me. The food I eat with my family after I’ve done a kacheri is what fills me. That’s all I need. We’ve brought gaana to this level; now, it’s up to the people to take it further,” he concludes.