-- By Arulnambi K.
It was the year 1989. I had just started college. Mani Ratnam's Idhayathai ThirudAthe (இதயத்தை திருடாதே), dubbed into Tamil from his Telugu original, Geethanjali, was all the rage in Chennai, at least among the college-going crowd. Film composer Ilaiyaraaja, in the midst of an extraordinary series of creative and popular successes with his soundtracks for Mani Ratnam's movies, had another chartbuster with Idhayathai ThirudAthe. There is one song from that soundtrack, AthAdi AmmAdi (ஆத்தாடி அம்மாடி), which has an orchestral interlude that is my favorite piece of music from that film. Rustic percussion starts it off, followed by a dialogue between harmonium and flute. Then, the harmonium plays a brief melody, which is picked up and expanded in sweeping fashion by the full orchestra, led by Ilaiyaraaja's trademark strings. That transition from the harmonium to the string section is exhilarating and full of a lively zest that I feel to this day when I hear that music.
Amma heard that soundtrack, and seemed to like it. She had specific musical tastes, leaning more toward melody, and music that is soothing and soft-sounding. Once, while I was listening to the aforementioned song, she started listening to that interlude as well. She asked, "Who composed the music?" while raising an eyebrow to indicate that she was impressed by it. She asked that question almost exactly after the harmonium handed off the melody to the strings, obviously meaning that she noticed and appreciated those moments as I did. I realized that I had inherited even some of my discerning tastes from her. True to her favorite subject, genetics, even interests, tastes, and other traits of one's personality can be passed down to future generations.
After I came to the U.S., I used my understanding of Amma's interests to engage with her as frequently as I could, at least on the phone and by other electronic means, in attempts to close the geographic divide and make her feel connected. This became even more important after she fell ill and needed to be in good spirits to fight her illness as best as she could. As many of these interests and tastes were in my own blood, at least in some evolved form, it was not a difficult task but a very enjoyable one.
I made it a habit to call her during my lunchtime at work, or over the weekend when I had more time. We would get into some long conversations. She liked the latest TV version of the Indian epic, The Mahabharatha. Once, we debated Dronacharya's partiality towards Arjuna and how he went against all virtue in his treatment of Ekalaiva. After one such long conversation, she sent me this message: "Whenever we have a long talk, I feel the nearness, as if we sit together and converse or otherwise as if you are here."
I shared music that I knew Amma would like. Getting her an iPod Touch helped with sharing the music easily. Ilaiyaraaja's monumental "ThiruvAsagam" was a guaranteed hit with her. It offered her many of the things she loved - classical Tamil lyrics, divinity, soothing and mesmerizing music. Later, I made her playlists of other songs she had requested or ones that I thought she would enjoy. A couple years before she passed away, I presented her with an iPad mini, which enabled text and video chats, sharing photos, and playing multiplayer games online.
Recalling the memories of such interactions with her on things of mutual interest is like recalling the time one spent with a close friend. A mother can be many things to a child. If one is truly fortunate, a mother can be a best friend. This Mother's Day, I miss my best friend.
It was the year 1989. I had just started college. Mani Ratnam's Idhayathai ThirudAthe (இதயத்தை திருடாதே), dubbed into Tamil from his Telugu original, Geethanjali, was all the rage in Chennai, at least among the college-going crowd. Film composer Ilaiyaraaja, in the midst of an extraordinary series of creative and popular successes with his soundtracks for Mani Ratnam's movies, had another chartbuster with Idhayathai ThirudAthe. There is one song from that soundtrack, AthAdi AmmAdi (ஆத்தாடி அம்மாடி), which has an orchestral interlude that is my favorite piece of music from that film. Rustic percussion starts it off, followed by a dialogue between harmonium and flute. Then, the harmonium plays a brief melody, which is picked up and expanded in sweeping fashion by the full orchestra, led by Ilaiyaraaja's trademark strings. That transition from the harmonium to the string section is exhilarating and full of a lively zest that I feel to this day when I hear that music.
Amma heard that soundtrack, and seemed to like it. She had specific musical tastes, leaning more toward melody, and music that is soothing and soft-sounding. Once, while I was listening to the aforementioned song, she started listening to that interlude as well. She asked, "Who composed the music?" while raising an eyebrow to indicate that she was impressed by it. She asked that question almost exactly after the harmonium handed off the melody to the strings, obviously meaning that she noticed and appreciated those moments as I did. I realized that I had inherited even some of my discerning tastes from her. True to her favorite subject, genetics, even interests, tastes, and other traits of one's personality can be passed down to future generations.
After I came to the U.S., I used my understanding of Amma's interests to engage with her as frequently as I could, at least on the phone and by other electronic means, in attempts to close the geographic divide and make her feel connected. This became even more important after she fell ill and needed to be in good spirits to fight her illness as best as she could. As many of these interests and tastes were in my own blood, at least in some evolved form, it was not a difficult task but a very enjoyable one.
I made it a habit to call her during my lunchtime at work, or over the weekend when I had more time. We would get into some long conversations. She liked the latest TV version of the Indian epic, The Mahabharatha. Once, we debated Dronacharya's partiality towards Arjuna and how he went against all virtue in his treatment of Ekalaiva. After one such long conversation, she sent me this message: "Whenever we have a long talk, I feel the nearness, as if we sit together and converse or otherwise as if you are here."
I shared music that I knew Amma would like. Getting her an iPod Touch helped with sharing the music easily. Ilaiyaraaja's monumental "ThiruvAsagam" was a guaranteed hit with her. It offered her many of the things she loved - classical Tamil lyrics, divinity, soothing and mesmerizing music. Later, I made her playlists of other songs she had requested or ones that I thought she would enjoy. A couple years before she passed away, I presented her with an iPad mini, which enabled text and video chats, sharing photos, and playing multiplayer games online.
Recalling the memories of such interactions with her on things of mutual interest is like recalling the time one spent with a close friend. A mother can be many things to a child. If one is truly fortunate, a mother can be a best friend. This Mother's Day, I miss my best friend.
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