A placard, Down Under, read - Commit all your crimes when Sachin is batting. They will go unnoticed for even the Lord is busy watching.
Another placard, ordained in Swiss colours, popular at every Grand Slam, read - Shh..! QUIET! Genius at work.
Let us do away with placards now. Words, however apt and riveting, will now have to give way to this modern-day alchemist. His bottomless, sonorous cauldron effervesces chaste melody. One who makes words swing to his seemingly ever-pervasive tunes. Annals of history await to embrace and immortalize him. Enter the tunesmith and his resonating columns.
Friedrich Chopin wrote almost exclusively for the piano. Our tunesmith is par excellence at the keyboard. And we dub him - The Chopin of Chennai...
But the great Wolfgang Amadius Mozart composed melodies in every conceivable form - concertos, operas, symphonies, requiems... It goes without saying that Chopin held Mozart in great esteem. And our tunesmith is promptly dubbed again - The Mozart of Madras.
Let us do away with dubbing, too. For, it is a rather arduous and pointless task to liken pure genius across different eras. However much the Bradmans and Lavers behold our Tendulkars and Federers in awe, we know it is but mutual admiration and respect. Each generation springs a surprise package. We ought to consider ourselves lucky to witness feats of talent sublime and orchestrated brilliance wherever the said package sets foot.
Our beloved tunesmith belongs to a different echelon - well beyond the archetypal melody tappers of today. Much like the artist and the warrior of sport lore, he is an elite excellence of symphonic execution. Needless to say, he is a composer with a staggering range - from raga to reggae to hip hop to Indian rustbelt folk to jungle rhythms to faux baroque, brewed with an unerring feel for melody, swing and soul.
Music, it is said, is food for the soul. An Earthly ambrosia for us mortals... We revel in reverie. When has his refulgent genius left us disappointed? Awarded or not, when have his compositions even seemed like an "also-ran" in front of a myriad others..?
That intrepid tunesmith, my brethren, is a beacon. A calibre of precious rarity, per se. It is rather unsurprising that we allow ourselves to remain entranced by this Pied Piper incarnate who, it has to be agreed, has been composing melodies of the future. To imagine that we are listening to it today, gives us much relief. A silent satisfaction. For, we have had the blessed fortune of tasting something that is futuristic. Moreover, we live to tell the tale and sing praises to his name.
After all, we were not made to wait for another Wellsian classic (a la The Time Machine) to ruefully read, imagining when-oh-when shall we see all this live... Soothsayers! No longer, are you required to read entrails to look at the future. Augurs! No longer do you need to observe the flight and appetite of birds to aid your prediction. Oracles! No longer shall incense-fantasized, beautiful lasses serve as mediums of your foretelling. Away with such charlatans who thrive on credulity, and their Sibylline books!
The enchanting alchemist is here, equipped with clandestine concoctions and potions that breathe futuristic vibes to those alluring compositions. Search his soulful notes for a taste of the future. Embrace. You may be lucky to spot a hint in those well-knit chords...
Vibrant notes, soulful chords,
The tarot decrees – King of Swords!
A sovereign over his domain, he is the khan.
Heavens thunder, as he faces the odds,
“Rahman! Rahman! Rahman!”
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Take a bow, OscAR Rahman, take a bow!
