Opinion T M Krishna writes: Karaikudi Mani’s stroking of the mrdangam evoked the opening of a universe

“K” Mani had to just stroke the mrdangam during a mike check and we would have a lump in our throat. In that sound was the opening of a universe. We felt like we were in the high mountains watching the sky, land, and oceans merge, revealing to us a limitless expanse. There was also an indefatigable intensity to Mani. His eyes revealed a burning fire that was arresting. On stage, he was there in the moment; nothing and nobody mattered. He was consumed by the music, especially the mrdangam’s sound.

Many people mis-interpreted his bold style as over-powering and aggressive. Mani was never that. He was not on stage to vanquish music into submission; he only intended to shine a bright light on to Karnatik music’s percussive grandeur. There was another quality in him that went unnoticed because of his commanding exterior. Karaikudi Mani let doubt into his emotional space. Doubt is not indecisiveness. It is a beautiful possibility that reveals humility and the acceptance that one could be wrong, and things may not go exactly as we may want.

This made his music human and humane! Musically, Mani did not exude ugly machismo. There was continuity, explosions of rhythmic cadences, and uncertain retreats. His playing style was not soft in the traditional sense, but there was stunning sensuality that did not conform to conditioned musical gender norms.

There was also his musical activism that informed his aesthetic and professional choices. Though artists such as Palghat Mani Iyer and Palani Subramania Pillai had brought tremendous focus on the mrdangam, when Karaikudi Mani emerged on the scene, this instrument still operated in a subsidiary role, as an embellisher of raga music. Power ranking within Karnatik music placed vocalists right on top followed by melodic instrumentalists and then percussionists. Mani destabilised this hierarchical structure, prioritised solo mrdangam performances, successfully led a percussion-centric orchestra and consciously collaborated with innumerable international artists, all the while ensuring that he and his instrument were the centre of attention. Mani made mrdangam playing an incredibly dynamic stand-alone presentation. This made him an aesthetic and professional thought leader.

His approach to the arithmetic and pattern design involved in mrdangam playing was also foregrounded by his socio-aesthetic intentions. He formulated a new building block methodology to percussive arithmetics. Establishing a pattern, systematically adding elements to it, accenting them with lightning speed phrases, teasing the audience with dramatic sonic modulations and exaggerations and letting the final crescendo erupt with volcanic effervescence. His pattern structures were blocks of rhythmic ideas that were built one upon another like lego pieces. No individual block was independent. He seamlessly moved from one composite idea to another. This continuous, unrelenting systematic construction method left us breathless. This approach also meant Mani’s style was physically exhausting and demanded a great deal of advance planning and preparation. Some criticised the lack of onstage risk taking. Mani would have probably argued that his every idea was an original composition and the rehearsals were needed to give it the best possible mien.

Pictures of Karaikudi Mani give us an impression of a semi-saint. This was the Mani all of us saw. A person who spoke of his spiritual guru and the mystical ever so often. But there was a different Mani before this metamorphosis. One who had led a very colourful life. Unlike most classical musicians, he did not hide that past. He spoke of it openly with many younger musicians. Even after his makeover, Mani lived life on his own terms. He would accept a concert only if he really felt the place, organiser and artist suited his frame of mind and fitted into his scheme of living.

But he was not a recluse who shied away from people. He constantly created platforms for himself that established his individualism. Mani spoke about the value-less-ness of awards and the opaqueness in selection processes. At the same time, he loved adulation. When he walked in for a performance, an entire entourage of students and admirers flanked this long-haired superstar, clad in a white shirt, white dhoti, white slippers. His stance against award culture was a battle against the Karnatik ecosystem, but this moral position allowed him to occupy a high ground.

One professional decision of Karaikudi Mani is very difficult to reconcile with. After having been nurtured by artists such as DK Pattammal and MS Subbulakshmi, Mani decided to stop sharing the stage with women. A person who demanded respectability for the mrdangam artist did not recognise his own misogyny. Mani did have explanations, some anecdotal and others supposedly spiritual. But none of them satisfied me.

Karaikudi Mani was a complex human being with many shades, contradictions and complexities. But inspiration lies in the struggle between the profound and the ordinary. Mani’s extraordinary musical life exemplifies this truth.

The writer is a musician and author of A Southern Music, The Karnatik Story