As with Visvesvaraya, DVG enjoyed close contact with another Dewan of Mysore, Sir Mirza Ismail. DVG’s writings on him, too, present a wealth of insight rarely available elsewhere. Here is his assessment of Mirza’s tenure:
It cannot be claimed for Sir Mirza, and it need not be, that he brought original ideas or novel concepts to the art of government or the tasks of nation-building. Foundations for the building up of the State as a modern progressive community had been laid and consolidated since the days of Dewan Rangacharlu (1881) and Sir K. Seshadri Iyer. Sir M. Visvesvaraya added new programmes and blueprints on an unprecedented scale. They stood in need of an unwinking eye and an unwobbling hand for their fruition … The gift given to Sir Mirza was to bring realism and idealism together as a bridal pair. (p. 111)
Administration was to Sir Mirza an art, — a fine art. It called for the faculties of sensitivity and imagination, of improvisation and dramatic appeal. No manual or model could serve him there. It is here that politics ceases to be a science which has to do directly not with men, but with things. Men are minds and therefore, — unlike things, — inaccessible to exact measurement and logical prediction. It is not so much the thing done as finesse with which it is done that matters in human relations; and of this finesse Mirza had an unfailing gift. (p. 112)
In a brief note on T P Kailasam, the well-known Kannada playwright, DVG has described the uniqueness of his gifts and the novelty of his plays:
He brought to his chosen art boldness of innovation, raciness of expression and eye for comedy. He was at home with the current brogues of the Kannada tongue at various social levels, and he had acquired a large repertoire of English opera and song which he would declaim with great verve and vivacity. Pun and paradox, alliteration and epigram were as ready on his tongue as squints and shafts in his eye or twitches and twists on his lips. The result was a histrionic personality of irresistible fascination.
And encased in that tickler-box was an uplifting message, — a call to the serious significance of life. Kailasam was of the tribe of Diogenes, fitting out philosophy in the clothing of funniment. His work marked a departure from the past in Kannada dramaturgy on two points: in deriving the motif from the everyday life of society and in employing the idiom and intonation of colloquial speech. (pp. 91–92)
Incidentally, this piece is illustrative of DVG’s ability to go to the heart of an issue and verbalize it in well-chosen words. The cogent argument that emerges as a result readily convinces the readers and lingers in their memory for long.
DVG was a perceptive connoisseur of music. No less an exponent of Karṇāṭaka-saṅgīta than M S Subbulakshmi held DVG in high esteem; she never missed an opportunity to sing before him. Mysore Vasudevacharya, a veteran musician, thought highly of DVG’s opinions on the art. This tells us of DVG’s sound knowledge of music in its theoretical and practical sides. These are his views on the nature of poetry and music:
Poetry and music are just two phases of one and the same language, the language of the human heart. Music is the sonic continuum of poetry. Poetry is music through the word. The essence of both is the same: it is emotion. The function of both is the same: to stir life at the depths of emotion. They are thus complementary each to the other. To the subtle crevices and corners of the regions of heart where the word is not fine enough to seep into, sound can penetrate; and where sound is too insubstantial and elusive for the mind to grasp and retain, the word serves as a convenient hand-hold. Each is thus indispensable to the other. (p. 138)
On the role of emotion in music:
The essence of raga is emotion. If there is no stirring of some agreeable emotion inside the heart of the listener, there is no music in the sound that he hears. This brings me to the central point of my grievance: that in a great deal of the music that we hear today, the thrill of emotion is absent. It may be correct music. But it is not effective music. It satisfies all the technical rules of the shastra. But it does not touch the heart. It only engages the ear. (p. 140)
Aside from expounding on music in scholarly essays, DVG issued several memoranda, pleading for the inclusion of a larger number of Kannada compositions on the concert stage.
DVG was a prolific writer. He contributed to all the leading newspapers and periodicals of the day, apart from founding and editing a number of journals himself. His Independence Day Reflections that appeared in Deccan Herald in 1959 point at the paucity of positive action by the Government in the decade immediately following Independence:
To celebrate independence is to throw the mind back to what preceded it and provoke a contrast between what was and what is. Such a study would be bracing if we could be sure that the contrast would be flattering to us. If intentions could suffice, we have made no mean record these ten years. What is it that we have not, among things desirable, put on our programme — from theatres for villages to omnibuses for the Mars? But let us look at conditions in the bazaars inescapable to most of us: prices of food; prices of cloth; prices of fuel. It is these commonplace commodities that make up life for most of us. The contrast is not of the flattering kind here. (p. 155)
Action even though on an imperfectly formed policy is to be preferred to the best perfected policy-pronouncement unaccompanied by action. Action, please, not on the treasury and the treasury alone, but on things of the life of the community. The least a government owes itself is self-consistency between word and deed. It is the equivalent of what we call character in an individual. (p. 156)
Some stray jottings collected in this volume present DVG at his self-effacing best. When V P Menon described him as selfless, DVG protested and observed that he could not have achieved anything better if he had remained moral, even with active selfishness. These autobiographical reflections are invaluable to understand DVG fully and correctly. We learn that he had several opportunities to ‘branch out’ in life but he stayed put, unswerving in his dedication to ideals and his chosen profession. By his own admission, the opportunities to branch out included:
- Moving to Lahore to work as the Night Editor of Tribune (1910–1911)
- Relocating to Bombay to serve as the Assistant Editor of Bombay Chronicle (1918–1919)
- Working as the Public Affairs Secretary to Sir Vithaldas Thackersey, at the behest of Sir M Visvesvaraya (1920)
- Going abroad to study journalism, sponsored by the Government of Mysore
- Working as the Government Secretary during the Dewanship of Mirza Ismail.
Nadoja S R Ramaswamy introduced me to the nuances of editing and provided incredible insights into the personality and works of D V Gundappa. Shatavadhani R Ganesh breathes life into all my activities. Sandeep Balakrishna patiently polished my prose and offered valuable suggestions to shore up the observations in this essay. I owe an immense debt of gratitude to all of them.
To be continued.
