Wit and Wisdom: A detailed analysis of Manivannan's Amaidhi Padai

The Tamil Nadu assembly election results are due in May.  That seemed like a good enough excuse – not that I need one! – to revisit the best political film ever made in Tamil Cinema, Manivannan’s Amaidhi Padai (1994).  There have been strong contenders like Mudhalvan and Makkal Aatchi.  But Amaidhi Padai remains the pinnacle.  The film is an amazing blend of trenchant wit and solid drama.  The laughs, the tears, the thrills and the chills are all woven seamlessly into an astonishingly fluid narrative.  As opposed to my other reviews, I have chosen to analyze this movie in more detail.  So, please stay with me through this attempt at a detailed dissection of an important film.

The context

Manivannan was going through a rather lean patch in the early 90s.  Though there were the occasional marginal successes like Therku Theru Matchan, Manivannan’s films were a pale shadow of some of the powerful dramas that he made in the 80s.  I attribute it to two reasons.  One was that Sathyaraj had become a bona fide hero.  So, Manivannan could write neither character roles for him nor villainous parts.  And there were very few other actors that could truly do justice to Manivannan’s direction style.  Though he had made some undisputed classics like Ini Oru Sudhandhiram (with Sivakumar in the lead), Manivannan seemed to reserve his best for Sathyaraj and vice versa.  The two of them shared an unparalleled personal and professional chemistry.  But with the trappings of a ‘hero’, Sathyaraj had become limited in what he could offer Manivannan.  And the second reason was that Ilayaraja had – I am unsure of the reason(s) – not scored the music for any of Manivannan’s films between the late 80s and early 90s.  Manivannan himself confessed to packing his scenes with way too many dialogues because he felt that he did not have the luxury of impactful background scores with other music directors.  But with Sathyaraj agreeing to play a villainous character and Raja scoring the music, Manivannan could rely on the two big pillars that rested on the foundation of his script, lifting the film to great heights.  And thus, Amaidhi Padai was born.

The plot of Amaidhi Padai

A son sets out to avenge the cruel injustice that his biological father had meted out to his mother.  In an interview Sathyaraj once observed that the underlying plot of Mr. Bharath and Amaidhi Padai were fundamentally same but that the treatments were so different that one can hardly spot a similarity between these two films.  It is as much a chalk and cheese observation like the claim that some people make around Minsara Kanna and Parasite!  As mentioned earlier, Amaidhi Padai takes the loose ‘revenge’ template but uses it just as an excuse to chart the arc of its antagonist, right from his humble beginnings to his meteoric rise and the inevitable downfall.

The initial portions

The first 20 odd minutes of the film focus on the son (also played by Sathyaraj) and his upcoming engagement with a sweet, innocent girl (Ranjitha).  These portions remind one of Bhagyaraj’s antics with Sulakshana in Thooral Ninnu Poachu.  The light romance leads to the important engagement scene where Sathyaraj is insulted for being an ‘illegitimate’ child.  That, in turn, paves way for the flashback where his grandpa explains the unfortunate circumstances surrounding his birth. 

The Sathyaraj-Ranjitha romance is not especially noteworthy.  But a word about the title song, “Vetri Varudhu.”  It is a rousing number, no doubt.  But paying close attention to the lyrics that Manivannan obtained from poet Ponnadiyan, one instantly recognizes his socialist ideals – Enakum unakum thalaivan thondan naamada… - and his love for his fellow Tamils.  The lines, vaethu manidhan namadhu inathai ozhikkiran…nam naatu manidhan ivanum uyirai edukiraan…” are a terrific one-two punch.

The title song:

The transformation of Ammavasai

The introduction of the Ammavasai character is where Amaidhi Padai begins to truly set itself apart.  From his very first scene, the viewer realizes what the ink of Manivannan’s pen had been yearning for the years prior – a powerful antagonist.  The scenes that depict the gradual rise of the ambitious, cunning Ammavasai are a character establishment tour de force.  We don’t see just a one-dimensional personification of evil.  We witness the growth of a man who is driven by greed and covetous of power, loyalties and gratitude be damned!  Manivannan’s lines that drip with sarcasm and intelligence play no small part in establishing the shrewdness of the Ammavasai character.  And Sathyaraj begins to show us exactly what we had missed in some of his traditional hero roles – the sheer casualness of his body language and dialogue delivery.  Effortlessness is something that is very difficult to achieve on screen.  It requires an actor to completely trust himself and act seemingly oblivious of a camera or a need to ‘perform’.  But Sathyaraj, the villain, was a master at this.  Note the way he delivers lines such as this -  “Mudiyum-nu nenachuthunalathan vellakaran poayi nilavula kaal vechutange. Mudiyadhu-nu nenachathunalathan naama innum nela soaru ootikitrukom!”  There is a certain rhythm to Manivannan’s lines that is done full justice to by Sathyaraj. 

Arguably the film’s most vaunted sequence is the election scene.  Manivannan’s conception of this scene is truly ingenious.  The striking visual of Sathyaraj easing into the chair (with his steadily increasing lead over his opponent) is accompanied by a score that similarly increases in intensity, to culminate in a majestic saxophone piece.  In what is a stamp of true genius, Raja uses the same tune with more beats and trumpets when Sathyaraj Senior is reintroduced as the ageing MLA.  The man is a lot more powerful at that juncture and the grand, scintillating background music underscores that.

The election scene:  

The background score for the Sathyaraj Senior introduction:

The handful of scenes that portray Kasthuri falling for Sathyaraj don’t feel nearly as convincing, but the gullibility of her character does serve its purpose in advancing a key plot point – that of her carrying his child out of wedlock.  Amidst such powerful dramatic scenes such as the panchayat scene where Sathyaraj denies any association with Kasthuri, the ‘item’ number with Vichitra seems to be a completely unnecessary commercial compromise, the kind of which have thankfully made their way out of Tamil Cinema.

The Son Rises…So does the Father

Once the grandpa narrates the story of his evil father, the son decides to avenge his mother’s death.  While he assures his grandparents that he will not do anything foolhardy, we do see the stage set for a battle of the son against his father.  The scene with SS Chandran features one of my favorite lines in this film.  As he talks about the death of this daughter (during childbirth) he says, “Naan peththa pillaya selavu kanakula ezhudhittu…ava peththa pillaya varavu kanakula vechutu andha oora vittey kilambiten.”  He could have just said, “Once my daughter died, I just left my hometown with you, my grandson.”  But it is a testament to Manivannan’s felicity with words that such a simple scene is elevated by some sharp dialogue.

In what is another example of economy of scenes to establish a character, Sathyaraj Senior’s feisty wife Sujatha gets just two scenes that show us the depth of her character and her role in the conflict in the second half.  One is the scene where a party worker asks them to name his newborn – she names the girl child, Thaayama after the woman that her husband cheated!  And the second is the short flashback scene the night of their wedding.  When Sathyaraj threatens to chop her leg, she wryly observes, “Oru kaalathula enge veetu watchman, ulla kaal eduthu vecha vettiduven-nu ungala paathu sonnan.  VeLeela kaal eduthu vecha vettiduven-nu neenga enna paathu solreenge!”  In scenes such as this and many others in the second half, Sujatha shows us what a fantastic yet underutilized character actress she could be.  It is a measure of Sathyaraj’s towering presence as the villain that it is easy to forget that it is the Sujatha character that is a worthy adversary to him more than the character of the son.

The seeds of the riot are sown

The first half concludes with a riveting scene featuring an astrologer who pays for his astrology consultation with his own life!  The foundation for the second half is laid with the caste-based riot connived by Sathyaraj.  He hatches a devious plan to distract the voting public away from his own failings as a leader.  In what is a trope that was utilized by Shankar years later in Mudhalvan, the self-serving politician engages in the kind of brinksmanship that would result in huge loss of life and property to advance his own agenda.  This is where the satirical element of Amaidhi Padai shines brightly.  Be it tossing off throwaway lines such as, “Mael jaadhi naaynge…andha naaynge-ngaratha azhuthi sollanum” or casually evoking the demolition of Babri Masjid, the writing is in top gear in these scenes.  For a satire to truly work, the writer has to get to the depths of the target that he has set out to skewer.  Amidst all the laughs that the director-actor duo serve us here, it is imperative to not miss the serious issues that they bring to the fore such as the futility of caste-based violence. 

The conflicts – both personal and political – escalate

The son reenters the picture as part of the reserve police that is tasked with controlling the riots.  The father – son meeting scene is a memorable one.  This is a scene where father and son engage in a verbal duel, one sincerely expressing his idealism and the other brazenly verbalizing the realpolitik that he stands for.  But before they start conversing, there is a stupendous background score that accompanies the visuals where the son ‘introduces’ himself to his father.  Sathyaraj Senior’s expressions are delightfully nuanced, as is his shrieking, “Junior!”  

The father-son verbal duel:

The conflict escalates and Sathyaraj Senior decides to eliminate every obstacle in his path of political glory.  As heartless a person as he is in this movie, he realizes that he is committing a grave sin by ordering his henchman to kill his own wife.  There is a beautifully acted scene where Sathyaraj realizes that it will be his final goodbye to Sujatha.  He knows that she doesn’t deserve to die.  But he is so intoxicated with political power that he just cannot stop himself.  The manner in which Sathyaraj pauses and turns towards Sujatha to see her one last time is strangely moving.  It is a shade of this evil incarnate that adds a human dimension to the character.  It is moments like these that should not be overlooked as we celebrate the humor and satire of Amaidhi Padai.  It is as much a powerful drama with three-dimensional characters as it is a political film.

Sujatha's final scene:

For how superb the conflicts are built up, the dénouement of Amaidhi Padai remains a crushing disappointment.  Seemingly unable to decide whether he wants to let the villain or the hero deliver the coup de grace, Manivannan wrongly opts for the latter.  I have always wondered why the villain didn’t deliver on his earlier words that if he realizes that he is about to fail politically, he will commit suicide.  Was it because that kind of a climax would have reminded us too strongly of Pagal Nilavu?  Or, was it because Sathyaraj, still a leading hero in Tamil Cinema, had to be the one to deliver the knockout punch to the villain (also played by him)?  Whatever the origins of this climax are, it is just not a fitting end to this classic.  But the impact of the prior 2 ½ hours is so strong that the film has stood the test of time and continues to rightfully be regarded as a classic.

Manivannan is no more.  He died way too young.  But with films like Amaidhi Padai, he has left behind a body of work that may have had its share of misses.  But when he got into his zone, there were very few that could match his level of razor-sharp writing or surehanded direction.  And with creative collaborators like Sathyaraj and Ilayaraja, he knew exactly how to bring his vision to life.  It is the sort of ‘life’ in a creation that makes its creator immortal even after he passes on.

Miss you, Manivannan Sir.  My sincere thanks for Amaidhi Padai.

Shot Stories – A compilation of 10 unbroken takes in Tamil Cinema

Having just finished reading Glenn Kenny’s intricately detailed book, “Made Men” on the creation and enduring impact of The Goodfellas, I revisited key sequences from the film.  One of which was the stunningly shot Copacabana sequence.  It is a bravura 3-minute sequence filmed as a single “shot.” (In case you didn't know already, according to Wikipedia, a shot is “continuous footage or sequence between two edits or cuts.”)  This set me thinking about Tamil cinema sequences where I felt very little or no little ‘cuts’ between shots.  And as I began compiling a list of shots of considerable length, I was amazed at the dazzling array of performances or feats of cinematography that Tamil Cinema can boast of.  Without further ado, here is a list of 10 examples that I have compiled.

1.  Sivaji Ganesan in Parasakthi (1952)

The granddaddy of all Tamil cinema monologues, this court sequence is not shot in one shot.  But there are very limited cuts.  As a result, we get to relish the power and rhythm of Karunanidhi’s lines - the “thadaagam” line takes my breath away every time I watch this – and the diction and intonation of Sivaji Ganesan’s dialogue delivery.  To think that this was Ganesan’s on-screen debut gives me goose bumps.

2.  Nagesh and Baalaiyya in Kadhalika Neramillai (1964)

As with Parasakthi, this rib-tickling sequence is not filmed in one shot.  But again, there is very little cutting.  The manner in which Nagesh tees up his story, replete with his sound effects, and the gradual escalation in tension on Baalaiyya’s face is so delightful that any more cuts would have robbed this sequence off its charm.

3.  Saritha in Achamillai…Achamillai…(1984)

Saritha’s eyes - that’s the shot.  This shot is the actress' showcase, to display a gamut of expressions with her large, powerful eyes.  The sound design, for a film made in 1984, is exceptional.  You can ‘see’ all the off-screen events in your mind’s eye.

4.  Kamal in Gunaa (1991)

If there was ever a character establishment scene where the cinematography (Venu) and writing (Balakumaran), not to mention the scintillating performance, came together seamlessly, this is it.  Thanks to Kamal’s ability to deliver his lines with exquisite modulation while walking in a circular motion, the emotional wallop of Gunaa is unsurpassed.  The circular motion is not just a gimmick.  It purposefully takes us into the disturbed mind of the protagonist instantly.  

5.  Rajni in Annamalai (1992)

The book, “My Days with Baasha” co-written by director Suresh Krissna and Malathi Rangarajan is a truly illuminating read.  We tend to take starry vehicles for granted, not always valuing the decisions taken by the behind-the-scenes unsung heroes.  In the Annamalai portions of the book, the director details how, in the crucial confrontation sequence, instead of cutting too much or moving in a more conventional round trolley fashion, the camera first moves from right to left (starting from behind NizhalgaL Ravi) gradually zooming in and out of Rajni, drawing a neat triangle.  PS Prakash’s camera movements are smooth, unobtrusively but palpably enhancing the intensity of the searing Rajni monologue.

6.   The route to the hideout in Roja (1992)

This is the earliest instance I remember of a steadycam shot.  As Santhosh Sivan's camera moves steadily on the rocky path (Rahman’s background score is superb) towards the hideout, we experience not just a dazzling display of cinematography but a gradual build-up of tension as we get to see where Aravind Swamy is held hostage.

1:09:08 min point in the video below:

7.  Parthiban in Swarnamukhi (1998)

There is an unforgettable scene in this film where Fathima Babu visits Parthiban to request him to gracefully exit her daughter Devyani’s life.  A flurry of emotions from shock to anger to indignation to devastation envelops Parthiban.  This is where the actor summons all his acting chops.  The manner in which he implodes with grief (once Fathima Babu leaves the house) is deeply moving – the way he collapses to the floor is just about the perfect finish to this scene.  Click ‘Play’ to go to the part of this scene that happens in one unbroken shot. (While you are at it, check out the next scene in Devyani's house as well. Parthiban is stupendous in that scene too.)

8.   Raghuvaran in Mugavari (2000)

When Raghuvaran tells a story, you don’t cut away. You just sit and listen.  That’s exactly what director Durai did with this lovely story that he narrates.  Balakumaran’s lines are profound – inga jeikala-na makku-nu solluvange…jeichitta luck-nu solluvange.  And PC Sreeram’s camera lovingly captures a master character actor at work.

9.   Prabhu Deva – Raju Sundaram in Pennin Manadhai Thottu (2000)

One of India’s finest dancers and his brother, an equally brilliant choreographer, come together for this foot-tapping number.  For a little over a minute, they move together in perfect sync, perfectly utilizing the props in the slum.  None of the dance steps are particularly noteworthy but the gay abandon with which they dance as a duo makes this song rather irresistible.

2:39 min point in the video below:

10. The birthday scene in Kannathil Muthamittaal (2002)

One of my favorite character establishment sequences, this scene is captured all in one shot, focusing on Keerthana and her family members, quickly establishing the impishness of the kids, the pragmatism of the mother and the impulsive nature of the Dad. This scene is especially effective as a prelude to the adoption scene.   The camera movements are gradual and the actors ‘behave’ on screen in such a way that it does not look staged at all.  It is no wonder Mani Ratnam’s craft is admired as much as it is!

I could not get the Tamil version of this scene. Click on "Play" to go directly to this scene.

Smiles and Levity: Thoughts on Sathi Leelavathi

From time to time, I revisit at least bits and pieces of films that resulted from the legendary combination of Kamal Hassan and Crazy Mohan.  Tamil Cinema has had its share of immensely symbiotic pairings of actors with writers or directors such as Karunanidhi – Sivaji Ganesan, Manivannan – Sathyaraj and, most recently, Vetri Maaran and Dhanush.  In that pantheon lies, without a doubt, the partnership of Kamal Hassan with Crazy Mohan.  Just counting the credited ventures, starting with Aboorva SahodharargaL until Vasool Raja, they had a 15-year period where they were at the peak of their powers, individually and combined. (I am ignoring the fact that Kamal played a cameo in Mohan’s big-screen debut, Poikaal Kuthirai.) Helmed by Balu Mahendra, a filmmaker with his own stamp, the team weaves a tale that earns all its hearty laughs with elegant, healthy, intelligent humor.  That it also has emotional moments that work supremely well is a reason I chose to revisit this movie.

Sathi Leelavathi is the tale of a happy family that is torn apart by a man’s infidelity.  The couple in question are Ramesh Aravind and Kalpana.  Heera plays the other woman in Aravind’s life.  Kamal Hassan is his friend who catches him at an inopportune time, yet struggles to balance his loyalty to his friend and his respect for and responsibility towards his friend’s wife.  If you read that synopsis with no knowledge of this film, you will be forgiven for wondering where exactly the ‘comedy’ in all this is, given the seriousness of the plot.  Tone is something is that is difficult to achieve when a film tries to make shifts from serious to comedy or vice versa.  But Sathi… manages to achieve a superb balance throughout, expertly juggling different tones, never a shift coming across as jarring.  The restaurant scene with Kamal and Heera is a case in point.  Kamal makes some thoughtful observations about the complications and implications of an extramarital affair.  But the laughs are there too, especially with how he has a cheat sheet on his lap for reference! 

Another reason Sathi… is a rarity in Tamil cinema is that it is a true ensemble drama.  There has been the odd Mudhal Vasantham or Aaha.  But it is creditable that even with stars like Kamal in the mix, all of the main cast get opportunities to shine in the serious and comic moments.  Ramesh Aravind, Kalpana, Heera all have their moments.  Chokalinga Bagavathar has a couple of rib-tickling moments too, his comparison of an underwear (“wear and tear”) and a loin cloth (“tear and wear!”) vying for the second funniest line in the film.  But it is the pairing of Kamal Hassan and Kovai Sarala that is sheer comic gold.  Speaking a flawless kongu dialect, the two of them are an unlikely pairing – full credit to Kamal for making a case for her casting despite Balu Mahendra’s initial, vehement objection.  But they make it work and how!  Right from the “Marugo marugo” song to the rip-roaring climax, the two of them share crackling chemistry.  They have some of the best lines in the film.  Sample this – when Kamal says to her, “Brake pudikala” she shoots back, “Ennaye pudikala…brake pudikala-na yenna poachu!”  They also bring to life a couple that shares an easy chemistry, with moments such as Sarala grabbing Kamal’s glasses to prevent him from fidgeting with it.   

While Kamal and Sarala hog the honors for the comic portions of the movie, Kalpana is the anchor that ensures that the emotional moments are on solid ground.  She is magnificent in the scene where she asks Ramesh Aravind an array of tough but fair questions.  She is equally adept in the enormously entertaining scene in Kamal’s house where she orchestrates the slightly chaotic climax.  Did I tell you that the Thatha’s line took second place for the line of the film?  That’s because the funniest exchange belongs to Kalpana and Kamal:

“Andha Priya-va oruthan bayngarama love panraan nu vechukunga…”

“Adheyn ondra purusan…”

“Ondra purushan aavadhu, rendra purushan aavadhu, kandraavi!”

That is the master of puns Mohan in his element, aided ably by the actors delivering the lines!  (It is sad that neither Mohan nor Kalpana is alive, both going way too early.)

There may be other films in the Kamal Hassan – Crazy Mohan combination that might be loaded with bigger laughs.  But Sathi Leelavathi is an undisputed comedy classic that makes us feel for its characters too.  That is because this film is not just full of laughs but is also full of heart.

Guest Post by Nand Kumar: Maestro's Gambit

A seismic event in tennis is about to happen this week. I am exaggerating of course, but when Roger Federer is primed to step on the tennis court again after being away for what seems an eternity, hyperbole to some degree is justified, perhaps even warranted. It is no accident that Federer’s much anticipated return to tennis coincides with the return of good weather. You could not ask for a better metaphor than flowers and sunshine, considering we just endured several months of the most horrendous global health crisis in living memory, not to mention the brutal winter that followed. It is prophetic that the year when an unyielding pandemic forced all of humanity to take an indefinite timeout from life and living was also the year that forced Federer to step away from the game he loves so very much.

Federer in Doha

The question now on everyone’s mind is whether Federer’s tennis will return to Spring mode, with all of his fantasmagorical shot-making brilliance and balletic movement intact. His adoring fans will want nothing less of course, and the more optimistic ones among them might even hope they will see a new and improved version of the old Federer. What better way after all for the crafty magician with the racket to have whiled away his free time retooling his considerable arsenal and adding a glorious twist or two to his game.

Far fetched? Perhaps. Improbable? More likely. Impossible? The jury is still out on that one knowing that at least destiny if not age was firmly on Federer’s side not too long ago. While his detractors might scoff at the very idea that he will simply waltz back into his winning ways, Federer’s remarkable resurgence in 2017 — when he returned from a four-month hiatus and won the Australian Open title in a classic come-from-behind fifth-set victory against his legendary Spanish nemesis Rafael Nadal — is a stark reminder of why he remains the game’s favorite dark horse, even at age 39 (and counting). For Federer age is but a number, and when he steps on the tennis court this week in Doha, his first foray into competition in thirteen months, all bets are off. He still plays to win.

But nothing in all of sport is a sure thing, and even for Federer deja vu is anything but a sure thing. Competition in the men’s game has become a lot tougher in the last few years and a rusty Federer will have to deal with the Old as well as the New. The Spanish Bull and that Serb Machine Novak Djokovic (I use the monikers in appreciation) took the last two grand slam titles, so the Old is not only going strong, it is encroaching into Federer’s once exclusive domain. The indefatigable Spaniard is now on par with Federer on the grand slam titles count, while the relentless Serb is lurking two titles behind and has just taken the lead on the coveted total-weeks-at-number-one sweepstakes. Meanwhile the Young and Restless — there are too many of them to count — are huffing and puffing and closing in rapidly. One of them won the year-end contest last November in emphatic fashion and there is surefire optimism that the days of the old guard are numbered.

What comes out loud and clear from all of this is that the old Federer, however great or godly he appears, might not find it easy anymore to get past the first week in the majors, let alone win the big trophy. The year 2021 is not 2017, age 39 is not 35, and history will not always be so kind as to repeat itself. Which is why that retooling idea is gaining traction in Federer’s fandom…for therein lies their hope and his salvation. Remember the aptly named SABR (Sneak Attack by Roger) which Federer conjured up a few years ago to alarm, rattle and unsettle opponents? Word on the tour is that Federer hasn’t been twiddling his thumbs during the long break, that he has in fact added a few more trademark Federesque moves to shorten the rallies, gain the advantage, and maybe, just maybe, finally convert some of those darn match points. Will that prove to be the proverbial clincher for a guy who has earned and squandered more break and match point opportunities especially on the big stage than any other player in history (including two which literally cost him his ninth Wimbledon title in 2019)? For Federer fans, hope is eternal, and their faith in his ability to garner more glory is deep. That said, if things still don’t pan out on the tennis court and there is no last hurrah on the horizon, no worries. The ultimate thrill of tennis for the Roger Federer fan is just watching him play.

One final thing…2021 could be the year when the GOAT (Greatest of All Time) debate takes center stage with each of the Big Three laying compelling claim for the top honor. The Spaniard and the Serb will take the conventional wisdom route and rest their case on uniformly accepted relative measures — number of grand slam titles, weeks-at-number-one, head-to-head competition and so on. But for the imperial Swiss numbers tell only half the story. How he plays the game is the rest of the story. He has his very own meticulously cultivated yardstick wherein greatness is measured in absolute terms. William Skidelsky in his book Federer and Me makes the startling point that “there is nothing old school, nothing pre-graphite” about Nadal and Djokovic, where as the Swiss’ appeal is both a throw-back and a catch-all, a perfect amalgam of the past, present and future that evokes wonder and leaves giddy fans asking for more. “One way to think of Federer is as a palimpsest,” writes Skidelsky, “a text on which the various stages of tennis’ development have been successfully inscribed.”

The GOAT debate will linger on forever, which is not a bad thing for us mere mortals. For now however we should leave philosophical and arbitrary arguments aside and focus on the tennis that will be served up this year. The terrible pandemic will soon be relegated to the rear-view mirror, touch wood. Spring is almost here — with the birds and the bees and the flowers — to remind us to replace fear with faith. Rafael Nadal and Novak Djokovic are all set to resume their dogged single-minded pursuit of GOAT-hood, while an army of young tennis hopefuls — from Theim to Medvedev to Kyrgios and Rublev — are salivating at the gateway, eager and ready to uproot an established old order. And last but not least, Roger Federer is back…to play tennis and enthrall us as only he can.

Let the matches begin!

Missed Spotlights #7: Chokkalinga Bagavathar in Veedu

“Are Tamil indies finally having a moment?” tweeted film critic Baradwaj Rangan.  Looking at his tweet, I was feeling rather wistful thinking of fabulous filmmakers such as Balu Mahendra and Mahendran.  And how they would have thrived and been even more prolific had a funding system been in place for low budget, honest, non-mainstream films.  I wonder if Balu Mahendra would have ever felt the need to make ‘commercial compromises’ such as item numbers in any of his films.  I would like to think that even some of the subjects (freemakes such as Julie Ganapathy and Rettai Vaal Kuruvi) that he would have chosen would have been better.  Most importantly, we would have gotten to see more films that showcased artistes who were superb talents yet didn’t quite fit into the commercial mold.  An artiste like, say Chokkalinga Bagavathar. 

Thanks to Balu Mahendra, we got the opportunity to see him in two classic films, Veedu and Sandhya Raagam and in a hilarious avatar in the comedy classic, Sathi Leelavathi. (You have not lived till you have seen him contrast an underwear and a loin cloth.  The former is “wear and tear” and the latter is “tear and wear!”)  But the film where I fell hook, line and sinker for his spontaneous, measured acting style was Veedu. 

In Veedu, he does not just portray a grandpa who is affectionate.  Balu Mahendra writes his Thatha as a three-dimensional human being who is funny, caustic, even angry in a couple of instances.  When Archana suggests to him that her partner (a delightfully casual Bhanu Chander) will aid her in her efforts to build their house, he scoffs at her.  When she wants to sell jewelry, he chides her and barks that he will hear the proposal no further.  But best of all are the scenes where he mixes sagacity with humor.  When the kid sister, in the middle of the road, stops walking because her older sister refuses her a room for herself, he gently ribs her, “Baaga Pirivinai elaam apram paathukalaam.  Mudhal-la veedu kedaikkatum!” 

They say that one’s eyes are the windows to the soul.  It is one thing to, in real life, feel for something and reflect it in our eyes.  It is another matter altogether for an actor to internalize the emotions in a character that they are essaying and project it in their eyes.  And Bagavathar was an expert at it.  And one has to look no further than his final sequence where he visits the house as it is being built.  As he is about to step into the house, he quickly stops himself and steps in with his right leg first (for auspicious reasons).  It is such a common practice that it makes one smile.  His smile as he walks the house is so gentle and so moving because we have seen the travails of the family till then.  The way he expresses his gratitude to the construction worker Manga (Pasi Sathya) is deeply affecting.  Notice the way he exclaims, “Manga!”  And the way he thanks her is devoid of the artificiality that is unfortunately too well known to mainstream Tamil Cinema.  This entire sequence is such an acting tour de force whose impact lingers indelibly.  When he passes on, it is impossible to not sob along with Archana (who turns in a stellar performance, herself).

Click on 'Play' to go to the house entry sequence:

Actors like Chokkalinga Bagavathar were rarely given their due in Tamil Cinema.  Plum roles eluded them somehow.  We can only rue the fact that they didn’t have the luxury of an indie film environment or an active parallel cinema movement to provide fodder for their enormous talents.  But I suppose we can look at the cup (of joy, offered by their works) half-full and be thankful for at least a limited set of films that stand the test of time.  And Veedu certainly is a timeless arthouse classic.  While the Bagavathar character never got to live in the house built in this film, it is his presence that fills Veedu and our hearts permanently.

Wrists and Risks: A fanboy's perspective on Mohammad Azharuddin

Feb 8^th, 1993.  I was supposed to have been in a cheerful mood, but I was feeling and acting rather crabby.  It was my Mom’s birthday.  And my Dad had promised to take us to dinner at a restaurant at Park Sheraton.  I loved the food there but neither the birthday celebrations nor the promise of a sumptuous dinner had remote appeal.  The reason for my irritability?  I couldn’t get to see the Indian cricket team in person!  What exactly made me feel that sense of privilege and entitlement despite having no personal or professional connections to the team?  Blame my grandpa’s brother, whom I referred to as CT.

After returning from school at around 3 pm, I had called CT to get his thoughts on India’s prospects in the upcoming Test at Madras.  After all, India had won the first Test in Calcutta handsomely.  The man whose captaincy – and arguably, his place in the team – was in jeopardy, had flicked, caressed and driven the hapless bowling attack for a glorious innings of 182.  That man, of course, was Mohammad Azharuddin.  CT casually said to me that a friend had mentioned that the Indian cricket team was at the Chola Sheraton hotel and that Azhar and others were making themselves quite accessible to fans.  In a rather hurried, impolite manner, I said, “Seri CT, phone-a vei!” (“Okay CT, hang up!”)  I looked up Chola Sheraton in the telephone directory and called the hotel reception desk.  The receptionist ensured that I received prompt karmic comeuppance – “They are not here.”  I just barked, “Hello, hello!”  The guy had long hung up! 

I now had the rather onerous burden of accompanying my parents to dinner, for my Mom's birthday, at a fancy restaurant.  As I walked into the hotel, I saw a tall, rather familiar-looking gentleman clad in a cream-colored shirt, his khakis neatly tucked in.  It was Javagal Srinath!  Shrieking like a kid (I suppose I was a kid; I was 11 then) I screamed, “Appa, adhu Srinath pa!”  Never one to be shy, I just went up to him and said that I was a huge fan of his. (Looking at my rotund structure, I am sure he was left with no doubt.)  Less than 22 yards ahead, I saw The Indian Cricket Team gathered around a table next to the pool.  Zero security, I might add.  In the middle was a cake and the captain who was celebrating his birthday.  Amidst this euphoric feeling, I also had the time to think, “CT, it was Park Sheraton, not Chola Sheraton!” 

I was overjoyed to get the autographs of Srinath, Sachin Tendulkar, manager Ajit Wadekar (who gently asked me if I bowled or batted.  Thank heavens, he didn’t ask me if I did either well!) and of course, Azhar.  I wished him a happy birthday with 182 times as much as excitement than I wished my Mum.  In that typically rushed manner, he thanked me and obliged me with an autograph, even indulging me in my request to make out the autograph to my name.  Suffice to say that I had trouble sleeping that night.

Years later, in 2000, I had trouble sleeping one day too.  In 1993, I was so wired.  In 2000, I felt electrocuted.  When I read in the papers that Azhar had been found guilty of match-fixing, the cricketing part of my heart crumbled into 182 pieces.  The man whose wristy strokes had given me much pleasure gave me so much pain now that my own wrists would have shown no pulse.  Of course, I was not foolish enough to think that every game that India had lost was thrown by Azhar.  But the innocence of my cricket had been demolished irreversibly.  I felt cheated, not out of money but of pure emotion and unbridled passion that I had for the game.  Suddenly cricket didn’t matter anymore.  At least not that day.  It took a combination of the old guard of Srinath, Sachin and Kumble along with the younger lot of Ganguly, Dravid and Laxman to gradually restore faith and joy in the game for me.

I am neither a legal expert nor someone with inside information on the match-fixing scandal.  I choose to believe, based on what I have read and heard, that Azhar indeed had indulged in match fixing.  I may be wrong, I don’t know.  But I would rather not let affection for the sport or joy that he gave me as a batsman cloud my judgement.  I choose to believe that he had fixed matches.  And for that, I felt – and continue to feel in a residual manner- hurt, angry and let down in equal measure.  The Indian cricket fan of the 90s was already used to the disappointment of the team faring badly and unpredictably especially when the team traveled overseas.  When we went through defeats, there was a sense that sooner or later this team of clearly talented individuals would click as a unit rather than rely unreasonably on the genius of Sachin Tendulkar.  Azhar the batsman, was someone who would surprise me, frustrate me and infuriate me all at the most unexpected of times.  Even Eden Gardens, his favorite ground, was not immune to this unpredictability.  To me, the fateful 1996 semi-final was not lost when Sachin got out for a masterful 65.  It was when Azhar got out for a duck.  Nevertheless, hope never sank for true-blue fans like me until 2000.

The Azhar who had scored a scintillating 93 in a losing cause against the Aussies in the 1992 World Cup.  The Azhar who had set the Hooghly river on fire with his 109 against the Proteas in 1996.  The Azhar who had brilliantly caught Cummins off Sachin's bowling to seal a tie against the West Indies in 1991.  The same Azhar who gave the ball to Sachin two years later to steal the Hero Cup semi-final.  Above all, the Azhar whose autograph I treasured more than those money bills that swayed him towards match-fixing.  When he took risks as a batsman, sometimes he failed.  Many a time, he succeeded in demoralizing the opposition attack and delighting cricket connoisseurs.  When he took those morally repugnant risks in the world of match-fixing, the means were not to an end that served anyone besides himself.  But the pain that he ended up projecting onto cricket fans spread far more aggressively than any virus that could cause a pandemic.  These thoughts all co-exist uncomfortably in my mind.  And that is because both the ecstasy and the despair were real.  

Happy birthday, dear Azhar.  It was nice to have met you in 1993.  Thank you for the autograph.  I just wish some memories hurt less.

Rainbows are rare

A few days ago, I happened upon a tweet from an online friend.  I could tell that his cup of contentment was brimming, and unexpectedly so.  Did he win a cash prize?  Did an underdog team that he rooted for, win a game?  Did he bump into a celebrity?  No, no, no.  Someone close to him had shared something deeply personal and sensitive with him and he felt honored as a result.  His tweet made me smile.  Sometimes that is all it takes to make us feel good about this world, right?  That we matter to someone in a way that they matter to us.  As I reflected more on his tweet, I realized that the feeling that he described was an important one.  That the sentiment he expressed was something I felt the urge to dwell on.  Why was that so?

Be it technological innovations or tools that enable increased connectivity, they are only what we make of them.  They ‘enable’ connectivity, they don’t make the connections.  I could have access to a friend at the touch of a button on my phone.  But it is up to me to make time to chat or talk, to send a message or place a call.  Bleedingly obvious?  Yes.  Do we think about it enough?  I don’t know, you tell me.  This is a fast-paced world, no doubt.  As director Cheran beautifully expressed in a scene with Sneha in Autograph, we spend an overwhelming majority of our waking hours to earn for our sustenance.  As work hours expand, as commitments increase, as distances grow, it becomes triply difficult to truly make the time to talk with and listen to people that had once been a much more integral part of our lives.  When we shared a school, college, workplace or at least a reasonably proximal place of existence, the amount of time spent was something that we didn’t have to work towards with much difficulty.  Circumstances favored us. 

As distances grow, the heart is supposed to grow fonder.  In reality, the mind becomes busier.  Noble intentions notwithstanding, our actions seem to focus on the present, our roles and responsibilities personally and professionally.  The people that once formed a part of our core might still feel very important to us but the reality is, they are in a concentric, outer circle.  Even if for simple reasons such as logistics and distance, they are in an outer circle even if we convince ourselves otherwise.  But here is the silver lining.  At the center of these concentric circles is our core, our character and the values that we stand for.  For those people physically distanced from us, if we truly care for them and genuinely want them to feel a sense of belonging, we can indeed do it.  It requires time and commitment but it is not impossible. 

What I am about to say now is not meant to be a one-size-fits-all pronouncement.  It is what I believe in.  For me, to not have a shared present is a gaping lacuna that cannot be filled by once-in-a-blue moon meetings.  I know of a lot of people that say that even if they meet someone after five years, they can pick up from where they left off.  I don’t think I have ever been able to develop that mindset.  I agree that chemistry of a strong relationship can be rekindled in one special moment – a laugh, an anecdote, a hug.  But when the transience of that colorful rainbow is preceded and succeeded by periods of darkness, it is hard for me to just bask in the fleeting beauty of the moment.  I prefer the constancy of a sky- as nondescript as it may be, it has more permanence. 

So, how do we evoke the feeling of being there for a person when we are not there, physically?  The answer is in my question.  It is by being there.  It is by sharing meaningful moments – thank you, technology; you have a role here – inclusive of some highs, some lows, some laughs, some memories.  Just something that is beyond a mere show reel of highlights of our lives, the kind of which floods social media platforms.  By sharing meaningful moments from our lives, we do two things – we give the other person a sense of importance.  And by sharing, we might, in fact, spur the other person to open up about something, whatever that may be, that they might not have otherwise shared.  For someone to speak up, they must have the unconscious assurance that the other person is listening with their ears and their heart.  I will hasten to add that I do believe in the saying that “there are certain chapters in our life that we don’t want to read aloud.”  There will be “chapters” that we hold private for a variety of reasons.  That goes without saying and that is why I said, "some" highs and lows, not 'all'.  But if the other person has no access to any meaningful chapters in our ‘book’, then I wonder whether what is shared is a book or merely a cover.

As I reflect on my dear friend who passed away unexpectedly three weeks ago, I am grateful that in his short life, he gave me the strong sense that I mattered.  It is the same feeling that made my online friend tweet about someone who had just shared something personal with him.  These are the relationships to cherish, to savor, to salute.  Because, at times, life feels short.  Literally so.  In the case of my friend, he was never the rarity in my life that was a rainbow.  He was the sky that watched over me during times of sunshine and gloom.  Now that he has left the earth, I can continue to look up at the sky, knowing that he is continuing to watch me from up above.