One Raga, Many Lives: How Natabhairavi (Asavari) Sings Through Dhanush’s Films

Some melodies carry within them a hidden signature; a scent of wet earth, a hue of twilight, something unique that makes them linger in the heart even when dressed in different words. One of my recent fascinations, or rather obsessions, or perhaps politely put hobbies, is reading about ragas in Indian traditional music and finding modern pop songs from Indian films that were made in the same raga. It’s like making a bridge between ancient times and modern days, and I am all for it. In contemporary Tamil cinema, the Natabhairavi raga in Carnatic (South Indian) raga system, also known as Asavari raga in Hindustani (or North Indian) system, is one such quiet traveller from old times now wearing modern robes. It slips into different films and serves as a background for certain moments, but each time you hear it, there’s the faint echo of having met before. The symbolic role of raga is both the aesthetic indulgence and the spiritual purifying of one’s mind, and I think these songs succeed in both aims.

My whimsical raga-journey took me through these four songs from two different films; firstly the songs ‘Kannazhaga’ and ‘Nee Partha Vizhigal’ from the film “3” (2012) starring Dhanush and Shruti Hassan, and the songs ‘Megham Karukatha’ and ‘Thenmozhi’ from the film ‘Thiruchitrambalam’ (2022) starring Dhanush again, and Nitya Menen in main roles. The music for both films, interestingly, was composed by Anirudh Ravichander. A whole decade separates these films, two different stories, and yet the Natabhairavi raga connects them in music and mood. To give a little introduction to both films; “3” is a romantic-psychological thriller directed by Aishwarya Rajinikanth (Dhanush’s then wife). The film follows Ram (Dhanush) and Janani (Haasan) who are first childhood sweethearts and end up marrying, despite the disapproval of Janani’s parents who have bigger dreams for her. What makes things so infinitely sad but poetic is that Ram commits suicide, after struggling with bipolar disorder, and Janani is left alone..with his memory. “Thiruchitrambalam” is a romantic comedy-drama directed by Mithran R. Jawahar. In the film Dhanush plays the role of Pazham, a food delivery agent with a comically unsuccessful love life. His best friend is Shobana, played by Nithya Menen, who lives in the same apartment complex, she is always there to listen to his love woes but is secretly in love with him all the while. The song ‘Megham Karukatha’ comes after a scene which Pazham sees as a succesful date and he is happy, dancing in the rain, on top of the world, only to realise later that what he saw as a date was just an amusement for this girl. In the end he realises his true love was Shobana all the while.

And so Natabhairavi travels; in ‘Kannazhaga’ the melody is as sweet as the first letter of love written in a school notebook margin, in ‘Nee Partha Vizhigal’ it carries a softer weight, the sweetness of the raga here now speaks of distance, of looking across a crowded rooma and knowing you can no longer reach the one you love; the moood here is one of haunting nostalgia and aching devotion. The love was lived, and then lost. In ‘Megham Karukatha’ it is danging in the monsoon, it is playful, teasing, brimming with the promise of future romance, when the love is just opening up like a blossom, not yet spoken but felt and the heart is dancing – truly the most wonderful feeling. The mood of the song is like the first flutter of monsoon wind through the jasmine-scented air, teasing and full of promise, intoxicatingly sweet. And sung by Dhanush Sir himself, what a delight! In ‘Thenmozhi’ the raga becomes a gentle hand on the cheek, a tender confession, the warm hush between two people.

Carnatic musicians often describe Natabhairavi as a raga that expresses longing, tenderness, sweetness mixed with pain, and has a pensive and wistful nature. In cinema, it reveals its chameleon soul; the same rage is capable of holding the cheerful laughter of the drizzling of the rain, the longing for shared moments which will never return and the silence after goodbye within the same framework of notes. Perhaps that is why these songs stay with me. They remind me that love’s story is never written in a single colour, in a single shade. The same raga can hold the first touch of rain and the last echo of thunder; just as the same heart can hold the memory of joy as well as the ache of its loss.