Selvanadin

Selvanadin

A tutor who tooted the flute
Tried to teach two young tooters to toot.
Said the two to the tutor,
“Is it harder to toot, or
To tutor two tooters to toot?”

The Tutor, Carolyn Wells

There were, and there are, some very interesting people amongst us. Some are very well known, are very much in the limelight (for want of a better word). Some of them are remarkable but they are lost in the hubbub of everyday life. They are lost not only because they would not and needed not to step into any limelight, but also the rest could not (and needed not) to cast a keener glance at, or spend a precious thought on them. They were all seen as part of the general movement and noise, so in a way, lost to our memories.

I would just take them at random, as they occur to my mind. Not much can be said about them. But what little I can recollect is, I think, remarkable, interesting even precious or at the least an enjoyable trait that can break a smile on us when in an idle moment we spare that thought on them.

Selvanadin — He was never an “Ashramite” — did not probably consciously aspire to be one. I think he was caught in the “Mother’s mood”. He was a pakka Pondicherrian. Served in the erstwhile French Military (Inde Française). We first saw him at close quarters in our Playground. It was long, long ago when our JSASA was in its infancy. I do not think we had even got that title. It was simply the Physical Education part of our school. We had no band of our own. But we did celebrate the school’s Anniversary on the 2nd of December. In 1945 there were a few items, like Sukol drill or Wand drill etc. The movements went along with Biren-da’s or Pranab-da’s counts or whistle! There was even at intervals a crank-up type gramophone pouring out some western music (78 RPM records). In a year or two we got some sophistication. We called in the Police Brass Band to play for us. Selvanadin was a frequent visitor to Monsieur Benjamin’s house. (Now Children’s Dispensary — M. Benjamin was an interesting character, an Ashramite. He taught French in our school, repaired umbrellas and mattresses, was incharge of the drinking water filter and the six or seven bicyles that our Ashram possessed and lastly he was for a short while the “President” of the newly formed J.S.A.S.A. He was one of our best football referees. He bore the brunt of many pranks we played both in school and Playground.) On one such occasion Pranabda too happened to go there, and the topic turned to the 2nd of December Demonstration. Selvanadin suggested that we should approach Capt. Bouhard (the Military Chief here, also a friend of our institution) to allow us to invite the police band to play for our demonstration. Capt. Bouhard agreed. Selvanadin was glad. He said, “On joue pour quatre groupes ensemble.” (We will play music for four groups together.) It was arranged so. Three or four groups did simultaneously four drills accompanied by the same music (unthinkable now).

Selvanadin was the bandmaster of the Pondicherry Police and Military. He was of robust build, short and more than slightly bowlegged. Somewhat dark of complexion. He was well muscled, specially the legs. He had a pleasant face, quite neat handsome features. The eyes were bright and he had a very simple and innocent smile. His laughter was ready but it came out with a phlegmy gurgle, a result of smoking innumerable beedis and I dare say a habit of having a glass of some cheap wine (how much? how often? — enough for us to note, smile and let go and not enough to frown upon). He must have learned the music as a cadet in the military in Pondicherry and come up the ranks. He could play quite a few instruments but trumpet was the instrument of his choice. He was its master. He came along with his party for two or three years. Then it was, I feel, that the contact was made. He retired from service and immediately joined the Ashram’s newly born brass band.

In the late forties the JSASA joined the “Flambeau” on the evening of the 13th of July i.e. the eve of 14th July that marks the French National Day. Most of the sporting clubs of Pondicherry joined this Flambeau which was a long march through the main streets of Pondicherry. On one occasion they marched under the Old Balcony and the Mother along with M. Baron, the then French Governor of Pondicherry witnessed the March Past from the Balcony. The Mother took the “salute” presented by our contingent. This was incidentally the first time our mode of the salute was presented — the same that we do now. Actually Pranabda had suggested that we present the usual salute practiced by most militaries (bringing up the palm to the forehead). But M. Bouhard explained that it was not correct to salute that way when you don’t wear a cap. So this (our present) way of doing it was proposed. We participated may be for 2 or 3 years. Once our newly formed women’s group took part. I speak of this march past, because the first time we took part, there was great excitement. The ranks were formed in the Ashram for the Mother to see and a rudimentary (1st) band — if one can call it so — was in the lead. There were just three pieces — one bass drum and two kettledrums! Biren-da at the bass, Hriday-da and Debou at the kettledrums. The marchers must have been quite deafened and bored to death with just those three beating up the same ‘rote’ of a music through an hour or so of their march. Anyway that was our first band.

We got a few musical instruments. They were housed in a building that was actually one of our offices. The house was situated on Rue Lally Tollendal (in front of the house Promesse and his sisters live in now). In the afternoon our young musicians would take their instruments and walk to the Tennis Ground, and down to the beach they would go (there was quite a beach then, until men disturbed Nature’s rhythm. They are still trying to find if two “wrongs” can make one “right”) to blare out with lung power or beat the drums. Many joined the band. Along with the instruments came a Bengali bandmaster, to teach. I do not know what the conditions of the contract were but luckily for us Selvanadin’s arrival overlapped his tenure. I cannot remember the Bengali gentleman’s name. We quizzed him on one or two occasions and egged him on to speak a lot of hot air. He thought he had us enthralled. He even gave us to know that Selvanadin was ok, so-so, but not good enough to take charge. When we asked Selvanadin to comment on this Bengali bandmaster he smiled and said “Sais pas — peut être bon joueur.” (Don’t know — may be a good musician.) Selvanadin took over after the other left — and it was the best thing that could happen to the JSASA band. Selvanadin took to us even as we did to him. The beach was our practice place for we could not blast the public’s ears in town. Then we got the Sports Ground in 1951. The band shifted there and remains there in the band quarters. Selvanadin too moved in. He was for a time given a room in the white building there (the band quarters as they are now were built a few years later).

Selvanadin was a beautiful man. He, though military trained, at once fell into step with our (peculiar to Ashram) way of life. A mixture of tolerance and strictness, a elder-brotherliness in his approach to teaching, and last but not least — a devotion to the Mother (mixed may be with a sort of “military-obeisance” which last he paid to Pranab-da too). He took on any newcomer — no matter whether musically dead or innocent. If the student was sent to him he tried, with never a hint of “you would be better off trying some other art” or “do not waste your breath and my time” attitudes. He was a simple man. I joined the band sometime before 1959 without any music worth the mentioning in me. He started me off with the bugle. The effort was to blow out five notes from low to high. He explained that the higher the note you want out of the instrument, the harder you press it against your lips. One-two-three were easy enough. The fourth was a bit more reluctant. My lips were a bit tired and also slightly swollen. The air escaped from the sides of the mouthpiece. The fifth note was not yet attempted. I shifted the bugle a bit to a side (off the swollen part) held the bugle at a slant to a side (not straight ahead as any bugler would tell you is the right way to do it). Monsieur (as we addressed Selvanadin) left my side and went into his room. I did not wonder ‘why’. He came out with a mirror in his hand, held it in front of me and said, “Regarde, comment joue” (see, how play). That was his brand of French. For him it was a musical misdemeanour, for me it was an exigency. Anyway I had to shift it back to the swollen part — and try. Two or three days later as I tried for the fifth note, he stood behind me, I facing the wall, the bugle between me and the wall. He got me to place the mouth of the bugle against the wall and pressed my head forward from behind. The instrument was thus wedged firmly, as also I was between the wall and his helping hand. I blew for all I was worth — out squeaked the fifth note. I could not even break into a smile. Perhaps he was smiling all the time behind me. The way was easy after that. He soon promoted me to an “alto” — something like a horn.

We in the band were treated specially. We got an egg each, every day (may be to augment our lung power). I do not think the (present) general egg distribution was yet in vogue. Most of us band players were not very regular once we got over the preliminaries. There were some (experts) who came one day in the week and took home the seven eggs “due” to them. I once told Selvanadin “Monsieur, ne donnez pas l’oeuf — pas de pratique, pas d’oeuf.” (Monsieur, do not give the egg — no practice, no egg.) He smiled, shook his head, and said “Non, non, pas comme ça!” (no, that is not the correct way) I learned my lesson.

One day as I was entering the Sports Ground by the back door at about 2 p.m. I noticed the cherry tree in Annexe shaking heavily. Someone was up the tree. I quietly got off my bicycle and entered the ground to catch the thief. To my surprise I saw Monsieur plucking and eating the cherries. He saw me and gave a happy, half-guilty smile. I returned the smile and left. He used to feel hot at noon and the room on the first floor of the band quarters was an oven (made of hollow blocks, it retained the heat long after sundown). Monsieur found a very cool place for his daily siesta. The passage in the ladies bathroom of the swimming pool, was like AC — the south breeze was funnelled in and cooled by the usually wet floor. He asked me if he could have an hour’s nap there. I said “yes” and followed suit when I wanted to indulge in forty winks.

Once when I was still on the bugle, Monsieur was not satisfied with the power of the sound I was blowing out. He said “Comment joue? Avant quand je joue, le bugle devient droit!” (How you play? Before when I play, the bugle becomes straight! i.e the looped construction of the instrument would straighten out!) Then one day he showed me a unique skill he had developed — by which he had won some wagers — usually a bottle of Champagne. The skill was, he could blow a continuous note, without breaking, even for a second to draw in a fresh breath. It sounded quite weird to hear a long hiss or a sharp intake of air and at the same time the continuous “pooon” of the bugle!

Now for an appreciation of Monsieur’s French. He had I suppose picked it up in his “sipahi” days. It was a French without grammar (I wish it was more appreciated) with a Tamil intonation and pronunciation. He often missed out some word. It was interesting and one had to get used to it to understand. We Indians could do it. It was beyond French pundits. When and if Selvanadin had to speak to the Mother, or She to him, Pranab-da had to act as interpreter. He translated Selvanadin’s French into English for the Mother and translated into French Mother’s reply in English for the bandmaster. Pranab-da knew English and bandmaster’s French, and enough of the pukka French spoken by the Mother. Selvanadin knew no English. This trialogue worked well, must have, for we watched from afar all three in smiles!

Monsieur was not only a music teacher for us. He was a great friend too. He played, even in his past-middle-age, football with us. He was, understandably, slow, but tough and hard as nails. He kicked the ball with his toes, toes turned back upward i.e. the ball of the foot made contact with the ball. No dribbling or run with the ball. He just ran as fast as he could towards the ball and kicked it as hard as he could in the general direction of a team mate. In his younger days, when in service, he was often inducted into the military team just to contain our Sunil-da who was a strong and good player, nicknamed “Le Tigre” by some of the locals (two musicians clashed — one of brass, the other of silver).

Selvanadin was close neighbour of mine in Sports Ground (adjacent rooms above the band quarters). He was there the whole day — somewhere — down in the band quarters or in the field, ever ready for any student who could or would come to learn or practice music. More often none came — but he was there. He was a nice person to talk to, seemed to be well contented in life. A good wife, no children — one adopted son whom he managed to send to France (we had a send-off lunch which his wife cooked in my room). He worked on till he took ill and was admitted to a nursing home. I do not think it was a long illness. I visited him a couple of times there. Then we received news he had left us, crossed that threshold, to the sound of the final Bugle call — the Retreat.