PART 1 OF 10 - THE BIRTH OF A GOD

Let us start from where it all began.

SP Balasubrahmanyam was born in Konetampet (present-day Tiruvallur district, Tamilnadu), a year before India’s independence, in an orthodox, Telugu brahmin family that hailed from Nellore in Andhra Pradesh. His father, SP Sambamurthy, was a Harikatha exponent and his mother, Sakunthalamma, looked after the bounteous family of three brothers and five sisters, that included SP Shailaja, who would go on to become a popular playback singer later in life.

A TWIST OF FATE

Growing up, in the early 60s, SPB had a typical Indian, sub-urban dream: to become an engineer, qualify to be a khaki-clad gazetted officer in his native Nellore, and ride around in an official Jeep eliciting salutes from his subordinates and the public. He was definitely artistically endowed. He sang and won prizes in music competitions, acted in school plays, and even formed a music band of his own, but had never taken his talents seriously.

He enrolled into Jawaharlal Nehru Technical University (JNTU), Anantapur to be an engineer. Unfortunately (and fortunately for his fans), he had to discontinue his studies as he contracted typhoid. He subsequently became an associate member of the Institute of Engineers (AMIE) - the poor man's engineering institute - in Madras (present-day Chennai), not willing to let go of his gazetted officer dream. This would prove to be the best move in his life.

A seed planted a few years ago by playback singer S Janaki, led SPB to be in the lookout for singing opportunities in Madras. These were the nineteen sixties. Till the early nineties, the four South Indian languages made all of their feature films out of the southern city. Madras churned out more processed film per capita than perhaps any other place in the world. Since Balu didn’t speak a word of Tamil or Kannada then, he must have sought out music directors especially in his native tongue. What songs did he sing for his auditions?

Yes! Rafi’s evergreen hits from ‘Dosti’ and ‘Kashmir ki Kali’ were what he sang to his prospective employers. So, what is the big deal? you may ask. Well, the southern film industry had a proud and rooted musical tradition that was as old as its Hindi counterpart. The Hindi composers of that time were widely admired in the South, but there were accomplished musicians in the South as well. Plus, Madras was the epicenter of the anti-Hindi agitation those days, and our guy unleashes 'Deewana hua paagal' on unsuspecting Tamil music directors and filmmakers. What? You still don't think it is a big deal? Just take my word for it. So, did the music composers consider it blasphemous? Did they give him dirty looks? I don't know. And I don't care. You could tar Hindi nameboards of railway stations and shops to send a message. But our man was undaunted by it all and sent his own subtle message out, singing Rafi's songs: one, that when it comes to music, it is its own language; and two, his love for Rafi surpassed all petty geo-political boundaries. (Impressed now?)

MEETING WITH THE GURU

During one of the competitions organized by the Madras Andhra Club, Balu met SP Kodandapani, who observing his singing talent, asked him if he was interested in singing for films. Mr Kodandapani was a reasonably accomplished music composer himself. Balu exchanged pleasantries and contact details and then forgot all about it.

A year or so later, SP Kodandapani reached out to Balu to offer him a chance to sing in a Telugu film. Balu was ecstatic. The very next day, he draped himself in a colorful "jiggu jiggu" shirt and a pair of gaudy trousers recently stitched by his asthana tailor, Altaf from Nellore, and waited with bated breath for the car that Mr Kodandapani had promised to send to him by “2 pm sharp” (as people generally promise in Madras). The car never showed up. By 4 pm, Balu lost all hope, sighed in resignation, changed over to his checkered lungi and sulked in his single cot by the window corner, and looked out forlornly (if you are wondering, how I am recounting such minutiae, as if I had been there, it is just me invoking my dramatic license to keep your interest). But, his friend and roommate, Murali, god bless him, coerced him into making a visit to Vijaya Studio, Madras and checking out what was going on. After a bit of haggling at the studio gate with the Malayali security guard, Balu finally went inside to encounter a livid Kodhandapani. 

"Yemi Balu idhi," he exclaimed in exasperation, "you have started behaving like a star already. Arriving late for your first song?"

"No no, sir. I can explain," Balu pleaded with folded palms and explained what had transpired. Matters were settled amicably and Balu was led into the recording studio, for the very first time, by the conductor, Mr Padmanabham to meet an army of musicians (Balu called them the “or-chest-traw”), and to record his first song on 15^th Dec, 1966 – with stalwarts P Susheela, PB Srinivas, and Raghunathayya. The lyrics for the song were penned by Veturi Sundararama Murthy, a life-long collaborator with Balu.

P.S. Just in case you are a stickler to knotting loose ends, the car that was supposed to pick up Balu had met with an accident on its way to his home. The driver arrived at the studio late in the evening, well after the recording for Balu's first song was done.

TIME (1.29 - 3.02) FOR SPB's PART

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