Ashna Butani

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The sounds of
Carnatic music on the radio fill a cramped room painted blue in a small lane of
Mylapore. Photos of Hindu deities adorn the walls, and pieces of jackfruit wood
and leather are strewn on the floor. Jesudas Anthony and his son Edwin Jesudas
are working in this room, sitting amid hammers, nails, a wooden peg for tuning and
castor oil for polishing. Outside, temple bells resound in this old residential
neighbourhood of central Chennai.  

The two master craftsmen make the mridangam, a drum used as an accompaniment in
Carnatic (south Indian classical) music. “My grandfather’s father started making mridangams in Thanjavur,” says Edwin, referring to the old town 350 kilometres from Chennai.
His father looks up and smiles, then continues punching holes around the edges of
two circular leather cutouts. He then stretches the two pieces and binds them
to the open ends of a hollow frame with thin leather strips. Thicker leather
straps are also stretched and twined from one end to the other, across the
instrument’s ‘body’ or resonator. The entire process of making a mridangam (they work on more than one at the
same time) takes around seven days.

The family purchases the frames from a woodworker in Kamuthi town, around 520 kilometres away; it is made using dried jackfruit wood, whose fibrousness and small pores ensure that the instrument’s pitch doesn’t alter even with changes in the weather. The cow leather is bought from Ambur town in Vellore district.When we meet him, Edwin is crushing the stone found on the riverbed of the Cauvery in Thanjavur district. The crushed stone, along with powdered rice and water, is applied to the leather at the two ends of the kappi mridangam. It makes a tabla-like sound and Edwin’s family is known in Chennai’s Carnatic music circles for their craftsmanship of the kappi. (The kutchi mridangam has a a thicker wooden frame with small strips of bamboo placed near its right end to produce a more prolonged sound.)

The right head of the instrument, karanai, is made of three layers of different kinds of leather – an outer ring, an inner ring and a portion that contains the black circle in the centre. The left head, known as thoppi, is always half an inch bigger than the right side. Jesudas, 64, and Edwin 31, make 3 to 7 mridangams every week during the annual Margazhi music festival in December-January, and around 3 to 4 a week the rest of the year, in addition to repairing other instruments. They earn between Rs. 7,000 and Rs. 10,000 for each mridangam. Both work seven days a week – Jesudas from 9 a.m. to 8 p.m.  and Edwin in the evenings after he returns from work (he prefers we don’t mention any details of his job). The family workshop is a 15-minute walk from their house.

“We are continuing this legacy though we are Dalit Christians,” Edwin says. His grandfather, Antony Sebastian, a well-known mridangam maker, was praised for his work by Carnatic musicians, but not given respect as a person, he recalls. “My grandfather made and sold mridangams, but when he would visit the homes of clients to deliver the instrument, they would refuse to touch him and leave the payment on the floor.&quot; Edwin feels the caste problem &quot;is not as bad as it used to be 50 years ago,” but adds, without elaborating much, that discrimination does persist. When he tunes one of the mridangams he has made with his father, his keen sense of sound is evident. But, Edwin says, he was denied training in playing the instrument because of his caste and religion. “Maestros used to tell me that I have a musical sense. They said my hands are fit to play. But when I asked them to teach me, they refused. Some societal barriers are still present…”

Edwin’s family works with a predominantly Hindu upper-caste clientele of distinguished Carnatic musicians and this is reflected on the walls of their workshop, which are adorned with images of Hindu deities, though the mridangam makers are members of the Luz Church of Our Lady of Light, Mylapore. “I know that my grandfather and his father were Christians. Before them, the family was Hindu,” Edwin says.  Despite being denied training by the maestros to play the mridangam, he is hopeful the future will be different. “I might not be able to play the instrument,” he says. “but when I have children, I will make sure that they do.”

The mridangam makers of Mylapore

മൈലാപൂരിലെ മൃദംഗ നിർമ്മാതാക്കൾ

மயிலாப்பூரில் மிருதங்கம் தயாரிக்கும் தலித் கிறிஸ்துவ குடும்பம்

मयलापूर के मृदंग कारीगर

مایلاپور کے مردنگم ساز

মায়লাপুরের মৃদঙ্গ শিল্পীদের কথা

मायलापूरचे मृदंग कारागीर

ମାୟଲାପୁରର ମୃଦଙ୍ଗମ୍‌ ନିର୍ମାତା

Chennai

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The mridangam makers of Mylapore

Jesudas and his son Edwin are skilled craftsmen, known in the Carnatic music universe of Chennai and elsewhere for the mridangams they give life to, though they still face occasional communal biases

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