When I opened today's newspaper, the news that Viji Manuel "the keyboard player par excellence" is dead hit me rather badly. After reading the news item, tears rolled down my cheeks. Somehow, his death struck a raw chord in me.
It is not as if Viji Sir (as he is respectfully referred by his fans) is a complete stranger. Given his popularity and his association with Maestro Ilayaraja, Viji Manuel is a household name in many Madras homes, including mine. I first met - rather watched Viji Manuel in action at a concert at Music Academy. There he was, with his long flowing hair, french beard, colourful suspenders in complete contrast to the crisp white shirt he wore. What struck me at that moment was the energy and confidence, almost bordering on arrogance that he exuded on stage. It is the kind of aggression that you associate with the swagger of Sir Vivian Isaac Richards as he scattered the cricket balls and fast bowler reputations out of the park or the audacious precision of Michael Schumacher in winning race after race after race...
Viji Manuel literally took centre stage on that day. Surrounded by a jamboree of keyboards which he took turns in attacking at will. A jab here, a tap there, a twirl again and sometimes playing all two key boards simultaneously. I could not remember him sitting and playing any of those assorted instruments. He was constantly moving, jumping even and toying with the keyboard creating variations after variations. The music he generated was mesmerizing. I had then thought, this guy plays the piano like he is possessed - and indeed possessed he was with immense talent and blessed with strong musical genes.
Whenever somebody talks about Viji Manuel, it is inevitable not to draw parallels with his late father Mr. Handel Manuel - the legendary classical pianist who dedicated his life to gospel and church music.
A very powerful image of Mr; Handel Manuel that is etched in my memory apart from his effortless rendering of western classical compositions is during a Christmas concert at MCC school in Chetpet in the early 90s. To avoid the milling crowd and to find a parking slot, we all left early and as our car turned into the school's gates, we saw a man gently cycling past us into the cheering crowds. It took me a few moments to realize that the gentleman dressed in impeccable suit and riding the relaxed bicycle is indeed Mr. Handel Manuel himself!
When I juxtaposed that mundane image with that of the flamboyant Viji Manuel on stage that day, the contrast was complete. Father and son duo, identically talented, yet two completely different personalities!
But alas, his flamboyance and nonchalant rendering of complex music scores was cut short abruptly. At the peak of his career when he had conquered the hearts and minds of even the toughest music critic and after playing remarkable preludes and interludes in over 850 films, fate struck a discordant note. The accident in the year 2006 rendered him immobile. Doctors had given up hope. For seven long years he struggled - almost lonely, perhaps only an even lonelier keyboard his sole companion during those dark years.
It is not clear how he managed without a steady income all those years. How those magical fingers laid motionless for so many years, how much he would have yearned to caress those ivory and ebony keys...
The second time I saw Viji Manuel was last year in the Vijay TV Super Singer programme. He was invited as a special guest in the episode celebrating Illayaraja's music. A fragile old man now walked up to the stage with two people holding him upright. He could not walk, the man who revolved on the stage on tip toes and spun magic with his fingers and his feet - hardly could walk.
When he was requested to play the key board by the judges of the event, he mumbled he was 'out of touch for more than 7 years", but could not resist the invitation. Helped by two people again, he moved to the key board ..and his now feeble fingers touched the keys...perhaps after years of immobility . As he started playing, I could feel the magic was intact, the music had not changed, but the man had - changed, beyond recognition. I cried then perhaps more than I did today.
I could not continue reading the newspaper after that page, but I forced myself to scan the obituary pages in the hope of finding out some details about his untimely demise. There was no mention in the obituary column! A man who had given so much music and entertained generations, has not elicited even a single mention. A simple black and white photograph with the cursory 'slept in Jesus" epitaph would have sufficed. But it was not to be.
Today, I want to shed a tear, or two or perhaps more for Viji Manuel the man, not the musician. and hope by the time you finish reading this, you too would shed a tear for that lonely man...
As for his music, you need not cry, for the keys may have fallen silent, but the magic lives on.
It is not as if Viji Sir (as he is respectfully referred by his fans) is a complete stranger. Given his popularity and his association with Maestro Ilayaraja, Viji Manuel is a household name in many Madras homes, including mine. I first met - rather watched Viji Manuel in action at a concert at Music Academy. There he was, with his long flowing hair, french beard, colourful suspenders in complete contrast to the crisp white shirt he wore. What struck me at that moment was the energy and confidence, almost bordering on arrogance that he exuded on stage. It is the kind of aggression that you associate with the swagger of Sir Vivian Isaac Richards as he scattered the cricket balls and fast bowler reputations out of the park or the audacious precision of Michael Schumacher in winning race after race after race...
Viji Manuel literally took centre stage on that day. Surrounded by a jamboree of keyboards which he took turns in attacking at will. A jab here, a tap there, a twirl again and sometimes playing all two key boards simultaneously. I could not remember him sitting and playing any of those assorted instruments. He was constantly moving, jumping even and toying with the keyboard creating variations after variations. The music he generated was mesmerizing. I had then thought, this guy plays the piano like he is possessed - and indeed possessed he was with immense talent and blessed with strong musical genes.
Whenever somebody talks about Viji Manuel, it is inevitable not to draw parallels with his late father Mr. Handel Manuel - the legendary classical pianist who dedicated his life to gospel and church music.
A very powerful image of Mr; Handel Manuel that is etched in my memory apart from his effortless rendering of western classical compositions is during a Christmas concert at MCC school in Chetpet in the early 90s. To avoid the milling crowd and to find a parking slot, we all left early and as our car turned into the school's gates, we saw a man gently cycling past us into the cheering crowds. It took me a few moments to realize that the gentleman dressed in impeccable suit and riding the relaxed bicycle is indeed Mr. Handel Manuel himself!
When I juxtaposed that mundane image with that of the flamboyant Viji Manuel on stage that day, the contrast was complete. Father and son duo, identically talented, yet two completely different personalities!
But alas, his flamboyance and nonchalant rendering of complex music scores was cut short abruptly. At the peak of his career when he had conquered the hearts and minds of even the toughest music critic and after playing remarkable preludes and interludes in over 850 films, fate struck a discordant note. The accident in the year 2006 rendered him immobile. Doctors had given up hope. For seven long years he struggled - almost lonely, perhaps only an even lonelier keyboard his sole companion during those dark years.
It is not clear how he managed without a steady income all those years. How those magical fingers laid motionless for so many years, how much he would have yearned to caress those ivory and ebony keys...
The second time I saw Viji Manuel was last year in the Vijay TV Super Singer programme. He was invited as a special guest in the episode celebrating Illayaraja's music. A fragile old man now walked up to the stage with two people holding him upright. He could not walk, the man who revolved on the stage on tip toes and spun magic with his fingers and his feet - hardly could walk.
When he was requested to play the key board by the judges of the event, he mumbled he was 'out of touch for more than 7 years", but could not resist the invitation. Helped by two people again, he moved to the key board ..and his now feeble fingers touched the keys...perhaps after years of immobility . As he started playing, I could feel the magic was intact, the music had not changed, but the man had - changed, beyond recognition. I cried then perhaps more than I did today.
I could not continue reading the newspaper after that page, but I forced myself to scan the obituary pages in the hope of finding out some details about his untimely demise. There was no mention in the obituary column! A man who had given so much music and entertained generations, has not elicited even a single mention. A simple black and white photograph with the cursory 'slept in Jesus" epitaph would have sufficed. But it was not to be.
Today, I want to shed a tear, or two or perhaps more for Viji Manuel the man, not the musician. and hope by the time you finish reading this, you too would shed a tear for that lonely man...
As for his music, you need not cry, for the keys may have fallen silent, but the magic lives on.
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