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He is perhaps the most polarising mridangist of current times, and K. Arun Prakash is well aware of it. “What I am doing is unprecedented and anything unprecedented takes time to get accepted,” he says, in the unflustered manner typical of him. He is a keen observer – not only of music and many types of it, but everything around him too, including human nature and its foibles. Arun Prakash is known for his candour and is unafraid to speak his mind, though only when asked. Arun, son of L. Krishnan and Vasantha, was born at the then home of his maternal grandparents in Kumbakonam on 3 May 1968, arriving even before the midwife’s entry! His birth, he says, was in Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer’s former home and just a few hours before Tyagaraja’s birthday, which, that year, coincided with the vaggeyakara’s janma nakshatram. Between those facts and Kumbakonam itself being a historic seat for Carnatic music, many musical stars seem to have congregated in his birth. Arun’s father was an early student of G.N. Balasubramaniam. Besides accompanying GNB in several concerts, Krishnan himself sang many kutcheris where he was accompanied by well-known artists. He spent two decades working with movie directors as well and subsequently joined All India Radio as a composer. He composed more than 2000 devotional albums for CDs, for leading musicians. Arun grew up listening to many styles of music – ghazals, Hindustani, film music, Vivid Bharati. “It was never just a Carnatic-only home,” he says. From the early days, Arun recollects trying to dissect any music he heard—layer by layer, examining what followed what, and how lyric, melody, rhythm went together. Arun would sing anything he heard casually at home but has never learned vocal to date. He was part of a children’s group that sang at All India Radio at the age of six/seven. His tryst with mridangam began almost by accident. “I had gone to the AIR office to give my father a packed lunch from home. While waiting for him, I peeked into a room full of mridangams. There was one on the floor, which I just started tapping on. A gentleman came in and asked me who I was. Right then, my father entered and apologised for my touching the instruments. The gentleman asked my father if I was his son and was learning to play. My father said no and then, most unexpectedly, said, “I wanted to bring him to you for training.” Arun had no idea until then that his father had had any such intention. It was 13 May 1977, and the gentleman was Ramanathapuram M.N. Kandasamy Pillai.” going to school and returning to his own home in the evenings. He never wanted to go home, he says, and eagerly looked forward to his next class. Besides a lot of learning, Arun also helped around the house happily, like the son of the family. “Gurukulavaasam has come up for a lot of criticism in recent times, but I sincerely believe my service to my guru is the reason I am who I am now,” he says.
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Kandasamy Pillai, who passed away in 1995, never took a paisa from Arun and his family to impart the art of percussion. Arun, who is left-handed, performed his first concert towards the end of 1980, then played periodically for musicians in his age group. He recollects the Children’s Academy run by Nalini Ramprasad, which featured 30-minute programmes by children and especially one where he played for S. Sowmya with Suresh Babu, grandson of Govindaswamy Naicker, on violin. Then barely twelve, Sowmya informed them she would sing a varnam in Surati and Sree Balasubramanya in Bilahari. “We were not even aware then that there was a varnam in Surati!” says Arun with a smile. Arun vividly recollects his first visit, two days later, with his father, to Kandasamy Pillai’s home. A practitioner of mridangam and khanjira, Kandasamy Pillai was an All India Radio staff artist and a dedicated student of Palani Subramania Pillai, having looked after the latter’s family since his demise. Sitting in that space, by a mandapam that reverently housed Palani Subramania Pillai’s garlanded photo decorated with incense, kumkum, etc., Arun says, “I immediately felt I could learn an art there.” Formalities concluded, Arun began what was effectively a gurukulavasam, but for Arun’s father, who was looking for an opportunity to formally honour the teacher—Arun’s sole guru, requested an arangetram for Arun. Kandasamy Pillai was surprised as Arun had already been playing concerts for over three years. However, he agreed. Thus, on 22 February 1984, Arun shared the stage with august artists Chingleput Ranganathan (vocal) and T. Keshavulu (violin), with M.V. Surya Narayana, another student of Kandasamy Pillai, playing the khanjira. Arun’s 45-minute tani avartanam was in khanda Chapu tala – unusual as most arangetram tanis are in Adi tala. As an art form anchored in spontaneous improvisation, it is crucial to foster the ability to think within the broad framework of the music. Kandasamy Pillai did this by encouraging his students to come up with and try out their ideas while challenging them to achieve beyond their expectations. Arun adds that his guru never insisted on students playing only what was taught by him. “Observe from all schools and take the good from each”—was his suggestion, says Arun. A rare expansiveness of mind.
By Lakshmi Anand
(The writer’s interests lie in music, food, travel and life-at-large. She is a Kalpalata Fellow for Classical Music Writings for 2022 and blogs at LakshmiAnand.com.)
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