S. Janaki – the Melody-Queen of South Indian Films

 

Smt S Janaki, the legendary playback singer of Telugu, Tamil, Kannada and Malayalam films, passed away on July 11, 2026, at the age of 88, at Apollo Hospital in Mysuru due to age-related complications and cardiac arrest.

Whenever I think of Smt Janaki, the first song that comes to mind is the one I heard as a school-going boy in the late 50s. On my way back from school to home, how often I heard that song, Nee Aasa adiyaasa (your desire a vain-desire) / Chei jarey manipuusa (a precious gem slipping out of hand) that was blared out of a speaker placed on a Rickshaw wrapped in cinema-posters advertising the release of a new movie! This melancholic song might have bugged the fellow in the rickshaw operating the gramophone; otherwise, why would he repeat it so often!

It was a duet sung by Ghantasala and Janaki from the film MLA. The pensive lyrics were penned by Arudra. The duet starts with a gloomy, swinging, jazzy clarinet prelude accompanied by a syncopated drumbeat. It is followed by Ghantasala and Janaki singing passively in a lifeless voice emoting sadness: Nee Aasa adiyaasa (your desire a vain-desire) / Chei jarey manipuusa (a precious gem slipping out of hand) / Bratukanta Amavaasa (Stygian darkness is the whole life ) / Lambaadolla Raamdaasaa (Raamdaasa of Lambadi clan!). 

The ingenuity of the music director, Pendyala, reflects in his choosing the clarinet for the prelude and the first interlude, for there is no better musical instrument to accompany Arudra’s stinging lyrics that cry out the distress that the singers are passing through. 

Then comes the interlude with clarinet, followed by a matching aalaap of Janaki that echoes anguish, and as her aalaap tapers, Ghantasala comes out in his baritone voice that booms with a hollow grief to sing: Talachinadi okatithe jariginidi veyrokati (thought of one / another is what happened), and as he repeats it, Janaki joins him in cooing talachinadi okatithe jariginidi veyrokati. 

Once that is done, Ghantasala drops out while Janaki continues in her rich, sombre voice delivering the lyrics, chitikinadee nee manasu atukutakuu leerevaruu (broken was your heart / none is around to mend it). She vocalizes these words at such a slower pace, in a lower pitch, and in quite a contemplative mood, echoing the palliative feeling for the male singer embedded in them, listening to which your heart quivers. 

Interestingly, in the second interlude, Pendyala uses clarinet for a short swing and immediately switches over to violin phrases. Following it, Ghantasala comes up in a slightly higher pitch, perhaps, in proportion to the strength of the lyrics: “Gundelalo gunapalu guchhare neevaallu (Pierced the heart your lot with crowbars). Janaki joins him in repeating the lines once again in a high pitch, and on its completion, as he drops out, Janaki carries on but in a low pitch, indeed in a quavering, empathetic tone mirroring his own broken spirit, she gives voice to his grief: Kannulalo godaari kaluvalee kattindi (Godavari River carved bitter canals in eyes). 

The vocal balancing by Janaki and Ghantasala is amazing in this song—the magic lies in how a seasoned giant and a fresh debutante matched each other’s emotional frequencies perfectly. Indeed, this track is known as Janaki’s debut recorded song in Telugu. Singing her lines that echo the broken reality of the male singer, she introduces a tiny, sharp drop in her modulation. Ghantasala’s deep baritone voice holds a wealth of unspoken grief, while Janaki keeps her tone light and conversational, hiding the underlying sorrow behind empathetic emotion. 

Unlike in a traditional duet, here the singers pass the lines back and forth and react to each other’s lines with vocal winks and gentle sighs, making it incredibly human, intimate and deeply relatable rather than theatrical. Hats off to Arudra, lyricist, Pendyala music director and the singers Ghantasala and Janaki! In those days, listening to this song, I invariably ended up in an indefinable melancholy. 

The second song of hers that I love to listen to most often is: Neeli meghaalalo gali kerataalalo / Neevu paade paata vinipinchu neeveela from ‘Baavamaradallu’, released in 1961. How longingly we – me, Sridhar, YSR and Ianumpudi – used to wait in the park every Wednesday evening for this song to be played in that most popular radio program, ‘Kalpataru’ in which this song was mostly played as the last song of the day. 

Ha! What a composition! How touchy the lyrics of Arudra are! The lyrics and the tune composed in raaga Aabheri simply overwhelm listeners with Karuna rasa. Or, should I say, it simply lodges us in the rolling clouds…indeed, tosses us into that gentle swirling summer breeze! 

This song, composed by Pendyala, interestingly starts with Janaki’s soulful aalaap humming as the prelude. She then vocalizes the lyrics Neeli meghaalalo gali kerataalalo / Neevu paade paata vinipinchu neeveela (Amidst the blue clouds, among the air waves / The song that you sang resonates today), with such a modulation that the listener can at once sense the protagonist’s ardrata yearning for the other. 

Then comes the beautiful and melodic interlude, structured with flute and violin phrases accompanied by veena, a soft tabla rhythm, and a subtle bass providing the underlying melody. The real beauty of the lyrics reflects in the next line, Ey purva punayamo nee pondugaa maari (gift of past good deeds turning into your closeness) / apuroopamai nilichee naa antarangaana (remaining precious in the deep recesses of my heart), which Janaki renders so ardently that one can feel her warmth radiating.   

The refrain of this song lies in the next line: Andukoo jaalani anandamee neevu (you are a joy that cannot be attained)/ Endukoo cheeruvai duuramoutaavu (a presence that draws close only to drift away). For it evokes the paradox of a joy that cannot be attained, and a presence that draws close only to drift away. Janaki sings this line with such a tender poignancy that the listener’s heart instantly softens with compassion.   

Then, in 1962, came the Tamil film Konjum Salangai in which she sang that immortal song: Singara velane deva. The same was dubbed into Telugu as Muripinche Muvvalu, and in it she sang the Telugu version Nee leela Paadeda Deva / Manavi aalincha vededa Deva / Nanu laalinchu maa muddhu Deva/ Nee leela…. Later, these two songs became Janaki’s all-time greats. They won her loads of accolades.

The song was set in raaga Abheri, which is known to evoke deep devotion and romantic yearning. The tune was composed by music director MS Subbaiah Naidu. In those days, music directors used to approach P Leela to sing such devotional numbers. So, director Raman approached Leela to sing the song. Going through the lyrics and the tune, she politely declined the offer, saying, “I cannot sing at such high pitch”. At Leela's suggestion, the director finally approached Janaki to sing the song, and the rest is history.   

The highlight of the tune is the note-for-note tandem and ‘call-and-response’ format between Janaki’s vocals and the Naadaswaram. It was set almost as a musical dialogue between the singer’s voice and the Nadaswaram played by the maestro, Karukurichi Arunachalam. Matching the complex, vibratory, and microtonal nuances of a traditional Naadaswaram (wind instrument) with the human voice is a big challenge, especially in sections where the tune ascends to a high pitch. Yet, Janaki rendered it flawlessly, say the Rasikas. While competing with Naadaswaram, she effortlessly scales upper octaves, lending the song an ethereal, divine fragrance. 

One could notice the magic of matching her modulation with the Nadaswara Vidwan’s typical phrasings and relish its beauty more if one attentively follows Janaki delivering the line, “Sindhuura Raagampu Devaa… aa.. aa.. aa aa.. aa .. aa aa. Aaaa … … ”. This magic is even more enjoyable towards the end of the song when Janaki plays with swaras, and that is what left the listeners wonder-struck.   

You would appreciate this magic more if you knew that Arunachalam’s nadaswaram was first recorded in the studio. Later, Janaki’s version of the song was recorded separately. Satisfied with Janaki’s performance, they wanted to record the song afresh with Arunachalam and Janaki together, but he could not turn up in Madras due to ill health. It is the ingenuity of the studio’s sound engineer, Raju, that ultimately brought out this song to the public. It seems he manually cut the tapes of both the nadaswaram and Janaki’s vocals into strips and pasted them back together to match the tune. It is this manually mixed and edited version that depicts Janaki’s singing in competition with the naadaswaram that ultimately left the audience awestruck. 

There is another sweet song –Pagale vennela jagame ooyala–from the film ‘Pooja Phalam’ (1964) rendered by Janaki, that is etched in my memory from the time I saw the movie in the 2^nd year summer holidays in Ratna Talkies along with Sridhar. The tune was composed by that great music director, Rajeswara Rao. 

The song starts with a soft prelude of a delicate but rhythmic piano beats and a magical alaap by that maestro of humming, Janaki. Though Pandits say that the tune is influenced by C Ramachandra’s song, Aadha hain chandrama from Navrang, there is a cadence in the song–the whole song in Janaki’s honey-laced vocalization, accompanied by soft rolling piano and the delicate flute gently flows like a brook rolling down along a hill slope. 

These brilliant lyrics penned by Narayana Reddy had engaged our utmost attention during the summer holidays of 1964 for, walking along the Bose Road in the mornings, how continually we discussed the wild imaginations steeped in contradictions—–Pagale Vennela Jagame ooyala" (Moonlit day, swinging universe) / Ningiloni Chandamama Tongi Chuse, Neetilona Kaluva Bhaama Pongi Puche (Moon peeped out through the sky, lotus in the pond bloomed in ecstasy);Kadali Piluva Kanne Vagu Parugu Teese, Murali Paata Vinna Naagu Sirasunupe(at the call of sea, the virgin stream rolled down, listening to flute the snake swayed its hood );Neeli Mabbu Needa Lechi Nemali Aade, Pula Rutuvu Saiga Chusi Pikamu Paade(Peacock danced under the shade of blue sky, at the guesture of spring cuckoo cooed);Manase Veenagaa Jhana Jhana Mroyagaa, Bratuke Punnamigaa Virisipodaa (As the mind rings Ghana Ghana as Veena, won’t life glow like the full moon?)—depicted in the song. And no one was prepared to listen to my pleadings that all this absurdity could turn real, could bloom in reality if only that free-flowing imagination—kadilee Uhalake Kannulunte—had eyes of its own.

Janaki sang these wild imaginings in a voice soaked in innocence. Her breath-controlled alaap and balanced landing were awesome. The cadence in lines like ee anubandhame, madhuraanandamai … highlights not just Janaki’s pitch perfection even at high octaves but also her brilliant ability to infuse deep emotion and innocence into the song. What an incredible song! 

Before closing the post on one of the most expressive singers, Janaki, I would like to showcase her brilliance in voice modulation by inviting you to the song, Ee pagalu reyiga pandu vennela ga marinemi cheli, from the film ‘Siri Sampadalu’, sung majestically by Ghantasala, in which you will notice her laughing, sensuous notes and aalap/humming adding beauty to the song.   

What an amazing singer!

 

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