A theme I come back to over and over in songs that I like is how easily they flit from one emotion to another. If you go back years on my social media feeds, you will see me praising one song or the other for this feature. Ruth aa gayi re. Rasathi unna kanaadha nenju.
Today, it’s Sowkiyama, from Sangamam. Obviously, I’ve heard this song hundreds of times, but somehow, this aspect of the song came to me one day when I was in a cab, waiting at the Chirag Dilli signal, anxiously clutching a bunch of test reports and wondering what my doctor’s appointment would yield. I was a nervous wreck – I was alone, and felt truly alone – and I was miserable, having had to miss a vacation that I was really looking forward to.
And into this melange of moods burst into song a bunch of girls accompanied by an enthusiastic veena.
Sowkiyama, kanne, sowkiyama?
Sadly, thinking or writing about this song evokes unnecessary imagery – of the punishment that it was to watch Vindhya play a Bharatanatyam dancer. I refuse to believe that there wasn’t another qualified woman they could cast.
I distinctly remember – sitting in that cab, Nithyashri’s words sent a surge of exhilaration through my body. I started observing every line, eager for the mind to stop thinking about doctors and hospitals. And nearly one year down the line, I’ve managed to write about it!
Barely two minutes into the song, I already have much to swoon over: the ghatam that comes in unexpectedly to take over from the mridangam for just a while. The control over her voice that Nithyashri has. It bends to her will. It brings to my mind a rivulet that’s playful, going steady for the most part but suddenly, just as you’d got used to its path, makes an unanticipated turn through a crevice in a rock – a navigation that you could expect from someone of her calibre, but is astonishing nevertheless.
I’m also stunned by the way the tune changes shape to accommodate the feeling in the lyrics, somewhat like a happy boggart, in this case.
… ena vizhigalil nadanamittai
pinbu idhayathil irangivittai
mella mella en uyirai parithukondai…
Only a few of Rahman’s songs stand out for me for the way the lyrics and tune glide hand in hand, like they do in this song.
The three sangathis of ‘Sooriyan vandhu vaa enumbodhu’ each convey a bloody different emotion:
– I have a simple question
– Do you still not know?
– It’s pointless – what can the pani thuli do, after all?
The next few lines are a mix of Nithyashri’s exceptional talent and the tune, and the master’s craft. As she goes from one line to another, she goes from expressing desire (kodi kaiyil ennai kollai idu) to a gentle warning (andha modhiram oddiyanamai aagum munname anbe azhaithen) to an outright cry of anguish (en kaatril swasam illai!)
If you had to visualise the way the tune jumps from the first ‘en kaatril’ to the next to the last, it’s like Nithyashri is guiding her voice along a veetu vaasapadi. A set of three steps flanking the porch. And it’s all wrapped up with a playful ‘adhu kidakattum vidu unakenna aachu?’ Don’t you worry, lover, I’m doing ok!
There’s more. The ethereal ‘pinbu idhayathil irangivittai’, sung so breezily that you can imagine someone stepping softly into another’s cloud-like, fluffy heart.
Not one to let up, Nithyashri gives us a parting gift with many moods of Sowkiyama towards the end – NINE, to be exact. Some of which are lucky enough to have chords lending gravity to their emotion.
I try to imagine the number of things that have come together to create this blessing of a song. I wonder about the people who lent their talent here – the kids, the divine saxophone player we’re all thankful for, the percussionists, the veenai player who makes you sit up and say towards the end ‘Did you hear that? Did you? Was it just me?!’, and so on. And at the risk of deifying, I try to map what might have been going on in the mind of the person who brought all this together. That’s a futile task – all I can do is thank him.