tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3324913289394955142024-02-27T12:01:53.325-08:00Thinking Got LoudA collection of write-ups by Ram MuraliRam Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.comBlogger220125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-2271638710739224112024-02-27T11:47:00.000-08:002024-02-27T12:01:22.214-08:00Realistic Fantasy: A retro review of Shankar's Indian (1996)<div></div><span id="docs-internal-guid-9668cf3d-7fff-2366-4ba2-08e65012353d"><span id="docs-internal-guid-7823ce1c-7fff-c1d8-469e-5982c735ad72"><div style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><div style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">As a 90s kid growing up in Chennai, it was impossible to not notice the humungous splash that Director Shankar was creating with his initial films. </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Gentleman</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> (1993) and </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Kadhalan</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> (1994) were poles apart in terms of content – I dare say, quality too. (The latter is one of my least favorite films of Shankar.) But with the level of grandeur, be it in action, song sequences or just the canvas overall, Shankar was creating a unique brand for himself. It was in his third film where Shankar truly fired on all cylinders. </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Indian</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">, which I reckon as his best film till date, is not only a magnificent spectacle which made for a terrific theatre experience but also one of the best scripts ever written in service of commercial cinema. </span></div><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.6667px; text-align: left; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></div></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">A common aspect of </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Gentleman</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> and </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Indian</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> was the vigilante being hunted down by a committed officer. But where Charan Raj was a bit of a cinematic caricature, Nedumudi Venu is superb. Aided by Nasser’s voice, Venu is dignity personified. If you notice in lesser films, the intelligence of these officers never truly comes out. Even in a well-made film like </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Ramana</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">, the investigating officers were made to look like fools in order to make the Yugi Sethu character shine. Whereas here, Venu’s character is the law-enforcing counterpoint to the violent brand of justice meted out by the Indian Thatha character, essayed, of course, with great style and conviction by Kamal Hassan. Nowhere is this brought out better than the scene where Venu says that he, as a person, is an admirer of Indian Thatha but as a CBI officer, he is and will always be honesty personified. The scenes where he goes from “meticulous” to “meticulous, old man” to “meticulous, old terrorist” are among the finest investigation scenes in Tamil cinema. It is thanks to the sparkling intelligence of these sequences that the film acquires its seriousness amidst the commercial additions.</span></div><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.6667px; text-align: left; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></div></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The key difference between his earlier films like </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Indian</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> and </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Muthalvan</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> versus his most recent works was that he and writer Sujatha brought a lot of painstaking detailing to what were inherently scenes straight out of a fantasy. Take the TV station scene for instance. How a septuagenarian could break into a TV studio, film a murder and manage to get it telecast is, if you think about it, nonsensical. But the amount of details that are packed, the explanation given around the Philippines-based telecaster all point to one admirable trait – Shankar did not want the audience to feel that their intelligence was insulted. It was as if he set out to demonstrate that if at all an elderly gentleman were to go about making a razor-sharp (!) statement and telecast it during </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Oliyum OLiyum</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> time, this is probably how he would do it!</span></div><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.6667px; text-align: left; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></div></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Of the two flashbacks in the film, the Kasthuri portions are short but impactful. The actress too turns in a fine performance. But it is in the freedom fighter flashback where the magical mix of great writing and top-notch production values happens. Jeeva’s cinematography in the black and white scenes is masterful, especially the professionally shot war scene. The sets, the costumes, the purposeful use of graphics are all epic in nature. I love the little moment when Senapathi (a follower of Subhas Chandra Bose) shoots a puppet and later apologizes for it. It is a character-defining moment that shines light on the depth of his patriotic fervor. AR Rahman's "Kappal Yeri Poyaachu" in the flashback is a marvel. (The film, incidentally, also has one of his best background scores.)</span></div><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: italic; text-align: left; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></div></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Indian</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> is not a perfect film by any means. Shankar’s early films had some disgusting ‘male gaze’ scenes like the introduction of Manisha Koirala here. His characterization of the women in his films have rarely left an impact. The two heroines here are little more than eye candy. Only Sukanya has a meaty role. But even her character is subject to the gratuitous sensationalism in the riots scene. (Sukanya recollected in an interview that she had serious issues with how the sequence was shot.) Shankar’s weakness in writing romantic scenes is evident here too. He tries to obscure that weakness by making the scenes comic. But as a result, Manisha pleading with the senior Kamal to spare his son resonates purely because of Sujatha’s great dialogue, not due to her characterization or their romance. As an aside, that scene is one where Sujatha’s pen is sharper than Indian Thatha’s knife, especially the lines, “</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">avanuku valika koodathu-nu meesai-ya ezhandha Senapathi inaiki avana ezhaka mudivu pannittan. Unna vida enaku thaan ma ezhappu jaasthi</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">.” </span></div><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.6667px; text-align: left; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></div></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Weaknesses aside, </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Indian</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> remains an instance of a grand spectacle where style doesn’t trump substance. The trailer of </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Indian</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">-2 doesn’t look nearly as fresh or exciting as the original was. But let us hope that even if the film doesn’t live up to the exalted standards of the original, that it doesn’t diminish its legacy. Because Shankar’s films may have gotten bigger and grander in terms of visuals and graphics. But it was in </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Indian</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> where the expensive and exclusive fabric of the production was truly the by-product of a yarn that was ‘meticulously’ spun by its writing team.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.656; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></span>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/_EWdi-Ridbo?si=nK-bIYvJt6P-vMyu" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-76428428518509811882024-01-29T12:17:00.000-08:002024-01-29T18:02:01.501-08:00Sapta Sagaradache Ello - My reflections on the two films (Side A and Side B)<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have been a movie buff for a long time. And I have a pretty good memory of the initial impressions that films created on me when I was young. And how over time, the same films spoke differently to me. Even with classics, it would be the same product, of course. Still the same motion picture of stunning beauty. Just that the beholder changed, with age, maturity (I can only hope!) and experiences. Not that good films become bad or vice versa. They just seem different. My critical style has evolved too, I feel. I am not a film critic who looks at a film with a pure, non-judgemental eye, just looking to evaluate the worth of the craft and judge the film solely on the basis of whether the film did justice to the chosen content. I am just an aspiring writer who likes to write with honesty about what a film did to me, be it making me smile, laugh, cry or just making me ponder. As I think of Hemanth Rao’s two-film series, “Sapta Sagaradache Ello,” I have a plethora of thoughts and emotions.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First things first. The films are supremely well-made. Hemanth Rao’s handling of the actors and his staging of scenes, be it the dreamy moments at the beach, the raging conflicts (both physical and otherwise) or the tender moments, are all reflective of a director who is absolutely surefooted. The trio of lead actors - Rakshit Shetty, Rukmini Vasanth and Chaithra Achar - all have moments where they bring their characters to life, tearing asunder the screen and leaping into our subconscious. The three of them have mobile faces that revel in the minutiae of expression. It would be unfair to pick a favorite, for the three of them are very different as actors. Rakshit is endowed with a pair of eyes that allow him to convey pain without a single word uttered. Rukmini is fantastic during the quieter moments where she has to project the character’s quiet strength, yet leave us with no doubt on how she feels about life forcing her to satisfice. Chaithra is fantastic at delivering her lines, packing them with searing emotion. (There is a scene where she burns down something precious to the Rakshit character. The way Chaithra expresses her anger, anguish and helplessness all at once, is brilliant.) </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Side A, as a film, worked better for me than did Side B. The best kind of dramas are the ones where you get the feeling that the film just wrote itself. The character’s actions just drive the plot with inexorable momentum. In Manu (Rakshit) and Priya (Rukmini), we have a pair of lovers whom we root for from the get go. Every act of betrayal by the people they trust almost hurt us on a visceral level. We go from a light sense of unease to absolute desperation by the end, hoping for them to reunite. Even as the conclusion of Side A left us stunned speechless, we still anticipated Side B to see what kind of redemption, if there was one, was in store for them. Even if they did not marry each other, could they somehow find peace with their new normal, after Manu steps out of prison?<br /></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Side B is as well acted as Side A, if not better. Chaithra Achar as Surabhi, has the best of the roles and she turns in an incredibly honest performance as someone who lets the beats of her heart drown out all the rational words that her mind is trying to speak. To its credit, the film does full justice to the Surabhi character. And it shows how brutally unfair Manu is to her. Surabhi’s piercing lines, as she tries to guess Manu’s true motivations and her indignant tirade are all delivered with fiery passion. In doing so, the director ensures that not for a moment do we even remotely excuse Manu’s behavior towards her. <br /></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;">But that sense of a character’s actions feeling authentic to them, felt missing in the way Manu tries to create an impact on Priya’s life, but without being transparent about it. As this part of the plot of Side B unfolded, I felt a bit distant. Instead of being willingly sucked into - like I was in Side A - Manu’s chosen path to redemption and peace, I found myself observing from an arm’s length, the path he took. I am not a fan of characters following others without their knowledge, under the pretense of doing them good. Even the word “pretense” feels unfair because all Manu is trying to do is to somehow regain for Priya and for himself all that he lost in his years in prison. Even aside my prejudice and bias, just given how familiar we became with Manu in Side A, the road that he takes does not seem like a completely natural extension of the character. The invisible writing of Side A seemed missing here. The plot points and twists now seemed a little less organic and more deliberate. <br /></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The climax of Side B though feels just right on many levels. The desperation, as Manu searches for Surabhi, ensures that the acts of violence do not come across as gratuitous. The action sequence is tense because we feel like no one is invincible and the stakes are incredibly high. For the scene to shift from raw action to tender poetry is not a transition that is easy to pull off. But director Hemanth manages it supremely well. And by the time the film ended, I felt nearly as drained as I was at the end of Side A. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;">In Side B, I may not have felt as swept away by the wave of emotion as I did in Side A. But as a two-film series, "Sapta Sagaradache Ello" is akin to a ship that takes you through incredibly choppy waters, creating a purposefully intense experience. You might not always be aligned with the path that it takes. But it is also a journey that you willingly undertake since you know that the captain and his crew know exactly how to navigate through the storms and bring you safely home.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/hcJ1ZHHahMA?si=atAog-OphJD8DHCO" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/llKjFW1gv0M?si=cZDhNPFQBjhGSvU7" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-87753177735143724792023-12-21T11:16:00.000-08:002023-12-21T23:26:14.374-08:00Peace it Together<p><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“The truth is, something about you makes me feel calm, or more centered or something. And I could use that.”</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-dd3288d6-7fff-93ad-2a8e-8ab6e3ac7214"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">These lines were uttered by Anne Hathaway to Robert de Niro in the delightful movie, “The Intern.” The scene in which this exchange takes place is actually a rather casual one where Hathaway acknowledges the steadying influence of her “intern.” But revisiting this scene recently made me pause and reflect on the significance and relevance of the sentiment expressed. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">I am 42 years old. If I were to create a word cloud on what I sought as, say a 22-year old, words such as ‘excitement’ and ‘happiness’ would probably appear in font size 72. The rush of adrenaline felt when I sped away in my first car, only to receive a traffic ticket from a genial cop, was probably symptomatic of the rush of blood of youth in general. We all needed someone to slow us down! When we would talk about someone we had a crush on, we would use terms like, “oh, my heart skips a beat.” Poor thing that little heart, we taxed it to…our heart’s content! I was, by and large, responsible. (Those who have known me for a long time - please note, as you snicker, that I wrote, “by and large”!) So, I really do not have any regrets about that phase of life. But things change.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Flash forward to the present, I know that as I go through the ups and downs of adulthood, the quest is more for peace, inwardly felt, outwardly expressed. I have realized that I can have more control over peace than I can about happiness. But at least for me, I have to <i>work</i> towards it. As a non-believer, I am reliant on what is within and around me for that peace. Upon introspection, I could narrow down two things that can make or break that inner balance that I seek. The first is, giving ourselves the time and space to travel inward. And the second is, carefully choosing, thoughtfully nurturing and fiercely protecting our circle of trust. These two elements are not mutually exclusive. But they are distinctive enough to warrant separate mention.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">I firmly believe that it is vitally important to invest in our physical and mental health. As we grow older, as responsibilities increase, we need to be able to be in a physical shape and mental state to weather more storms than we did during the relatively shielded existence of our younger days. In order for us to be able to fulfill our responsibilities, be it personally or professionally, we truly need to be able to have strength of the mind and of the body. To do so, it is imperative that we focus on the things that keep our physical and mental health in check. This may vary from working out in the gym to going on a long drive, listening to melodious music. The means don't matter, the end does. Because if we let our mind atrophy and our shoulders droop, how can we be a shoulder for someone to lean on? Many a time, our self-preservation becomes a casualty in our desire to keep checking the never-ending to-do lists of our life. If this doesn’t get checked off, neither can other items be.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">And the second contributor to our peace is a carefully chosen circle of trust. As we grow older, we must ask ourselves the tough question whether we are spending time with and on the ones who have a positive or at least a neutral impact on our level of peace. If that is not the case, it is best to shield ourselves from the people who have a negative impact on us. The boundaries of our circle of trust cannot be so rigid that that immutability paralyzes us psychologically. We will, over time, have to be keenly aware of whom we trust our emotions with and who has stopped earning that trust. We need to be aware that the ones within our circle are the ones that may not necessarily make us skip a beat. Instead, they do the far more difficult job of actually ensuring that our hearts beat at a steady cadence. We must identify these people, treasure them, make them feel our gratitude and pay their generosity forward. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">At the same time, we have to force ourselves to have a very detached view towards anyone outside of that circle. That detachment helps in cases where a certain amount of exposure to them is unavoidable due to societal or professional obligations. In order to safeguard ourselves, we have to be doubly careful to not let anyone outside of our coveted circle feel like they have the privilege to hurt us. I remember telling a former colleague about creating a mock ballot for kids at the time of elections, to teach them the concept of voting. He wrote to them, “Choose wisely, kids.” That advice extends to adults too. If we don’t choose, we lose.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Now, at 42, I know exactly the words that will be conspicuous in that word cloud that describes what I seek. It may not be as exciting or adventurous as the one from 20 years ago. But the knowledge that I can, through my actions, have more control over it than the things that I sought in my younger days, is an immensely comforting, calming thought. And just like Anne Hathaway in “The Intern”, I could use that!</span></p><div><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></div></span>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-69029088925967756452023-10-28T14:14:00.001-07:002023-10-28T14:14:15.367-07:00Hearing the unspoken word<p><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;">It was heartbreaking to watch director Vikraman’s interview today. The filmmaker who once churned out blockbusters on a yearly basis, spoke with great pain - and one must say, with immense grace - about the plight of his wife. A dancer, she has been bedridden for five years. As a result, Vikraman took the decision to stay away from films or film union activities to be by his wife’s side. What was especially poignant was how he spoke about the distress with such equanimity. As was the case with his films, his words were filled with hope for a better tomorrow. But amidst this deeply moving conversation, one set of questions and Vikraman’s answers made me pause. It was the portion on the Tamil film fraternity.</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-5f2b2fa4-7fff-9db4-9336-d88ede00e39d"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">When the anchor asked him if people in the film world had reached out to him to offer support, he mentioned a few names. But you could see that the majority of the actors that he had worked with have not made him feel supported. Vikraman tried his best to be tactful and sensitive. But if you observe closely, you could feel his pain. He did not complain or sound resentful. It was just impossible though, to look past the apparent lack of care and concern from an industry that he had been such an important part of. Again, my intention is to not berate anyone in particular. I shall not engage in an exercise to take names. Because my intent is to go beyond the actual stars and directors to talk about something deeper. And that is the notion of reaching out.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The busyness of our lives is the reason that we mostly cite for not reaching out. But I am firmly convinced that we can make time for the things that we want. We make the mistake of assuming that the depth and meaning of every conversation are directly proportional to the time that it will take out of our schedule. Nothing could be farther from the truth. We only have to revisit in our mind those brief exchanges, on Whatsapp or the phone, to realize how someone’s words or gestures gave us a respite from our woes. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The other reason (excuse?) that I often hear is, “I wasn’t sure if you would be okay if I inquired about you.” If we break it down, there are just three scenarios here. One is, we had no idea that someone is going through a tough phase. Two is, we are not sure. And three, we know with absolute certainty that they are beset by some issue, personal or professional. The three scenarios have something in common. None of these scenarios prevents us from asking a simple question, “Are you doing okay?” Worst case, the other person might not be ready to open up. And that is fine. In the deeply thought-provoking book, “Option B”, authors Sheryl Sandberg and Adam Grant make a distinction between the golden rule of relationships and the platinum rule of grief. The golden rule is, treat others how <i>you</i> want to be treated. The platinum rule is, when someone is going through trying times, treat others how <i>they</i> want to be treated. So, if someone is not reciprocating your gesture of extending a hand to them, let them be. The knowledge that you care will, in most cases, make them open up to you eventually. But in my book, to not ask is to not care.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">I have been the recipient of great generosity and deep thoughtfulness from people in my little world who give me the impression that I matter. It is not something that I take for granted. For I have had relationships where I thought that I ceased to matter. I may be right. I may be wrong. But a sustained feeling of my unspoken words not being heard made me feel like the pain in my spoken words would not matter either. But that is okay. As we grow older, we learn. We get better at spotting who ignores, who hears, who listens with their ears and who cares with their heart. And it is so vitally important that we look inward to ensure that we can do our bit to make someone’s day brighter, smile wider and their burdens lighter. That is exactly what I hope the film fraternity does for Vikraman and his family. That is what I hope all of us do for one another. That is when the positivity and goodness of Vikraman’s films will be recreated in the real world.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></div></span>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-11166813162634152002023-09-27T10:55:00.001-07:002023-09-27T11:11:16.695-07:00The heartbreak of 1996<p> <span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;">We just refused to believe that it could go any other way. You really have to blame Sachin Tendulkar. We genuinely believed that through his individual brilliance, India could win the 1996 cricket world cup. He never said so. He just made us believe so. With him, he carried the hopes of a billion fans. Even before he had taken the world by (sand)storm in 1998, he still made us think that one individual alone could take the team to victory. Not that we had a dearth of talent really. Be it dependable batters like Mohammad Azharuddin and Navjot Sidhu, clean strikers of the ball like Ajay Jadeja and star bowlers like Anil Kumble and Javagal Srinath, the team was no slouch. But back then, two things were scarce in that team. It was not talent, it was self-belief. And it was leadership. Sure, there was a piece of batting or bowling magic here or there. But when it truly mattered, few rose to the challenge like the way Sachin did. That it was entirely unfair to him was something that we fans realized only when he had others like Virender Sehwag and Rahul Dravid lessen his burden in the second half of his career. But let’s stay in 1996.</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-ab5812c4-7fff-ce43-9714-d7cf02f878dd"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The teams were divided into two groups of six each. India were in a group with Sri Lanka, Australia, West Indies, Zimbabwe and Kenya. The warning signs were there in the group stage itself. We lost to Sri Lanka and Australia in a manner that exposed the team’s shortcomings brutally. Mind you, Sachin scored an incandescent century against the Lankans and a brilliant 90 against the Aussies. But the bowlers were leaking runs like cracked buckets. The batsmen were all looking patchy. As scores of anecdotes from players over the years confirm that in Azhar, we had a captain whose strategic abilities, enterprise and leadership were things that existed solely in our imagination. Azhar was struggling for runs himself. And just seemed incapable of trying anything out-of-the-box or even a tad different. (I am not counting the lame attempt to bowl Anil Kumble in the first 15 overs.) </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">I might sound harsh when talking about Azhar. But you only have to observe the power of the leaders in previous cups, especially Imran Khan. He had led the Pakistan team from out of nowhere to lift the cup in 1992. A consummate leader is an inspiration, a strategist, a tactician and someone who leads the way. Azhar in 1996 was none of this. But similar to 1992, we all saw a glimpse of what could happen when we cohered as a team, in the match against Pakistan. Unlike 1992, Sachin did not even make a significant contribution. (A scratchy 31 off 59.) But it all came together for a magical day. Sidhu’s anchor, Jadeja’s spark, Venkatesh Prasad’s gall. It was all heady (but as we were to discover later, transient). It was always a wonder to me why this team only rarely came together this powerfully and confidently. We won a high-octane quarter-final versus Pakistan with Sachin hardly contributing anything. Why was this an exception? Why did we fans have to resign to the capriciousness of this team? I have only questions, no easy answers.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><b>The highlight:</b></span></p>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Kp0bJg4sKh0?si=QWzCH2kIMouksoUD" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
<br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">I remember the heartbreak of the semi-final like it is happening in front of my eyes now! People mention Aravinda de Silva’s dazzling counterattack. Sure, it left us stunned. But when he was dismissed, SL was only 85/4. We just watched in silent horror as their middle-order calmly and coolly took them to 251. Did we try anything different? Couldn’t Srinath have been brought back for a quick burst instead of Jadeja bowling 5 expensive overs? (Srinath only completed 7 of his 10 overs.) Why the conservatism in going with an Ashish Kapoor who was tidy but rarely penetrative instead of Venkatapathi Raju who was a more attacking option? Sure, the SL side had plenty of left-handers but Raju was no slouch versus southpaws. (Remember him tying Brian Lara in knots in 1994?) And the batting that fell like a stack of dominoes after Sachin got out was, in retrospect, no big surprise. How often in the 1990s did we really win when he did not take us all the way? All of these painful recollections make Virat Kohli’s words post the 2011 win even sweeter - “He has lifted the burden of the nation for 21 years. It is time we carried him on our shoulders.” </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><b>The heartbreak:</b></span>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/d5ZesbNkgp8?si=WmXfkcdQZoIZmBiq" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
</p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">As we go back in time, sure, many world cup wins have been on the back of glittering individual performances. But if you observe keenly, the team coming together was what well and truly took the teams over the finish line. Sure, Wasim Akram’s magic deliveries swung the match Pakistan’s way in 1992. But what would he have had to bowl with if not for Imran Khan, Javed Miandad and Inzamam ul Haq, not to mention his own batting. In the 1996 final, Aravinda de Silva turned in an all-round performance for the ages. But remember that they were led by a man - Arjuna Ranatunga - who was willing to go any lengths to defend his bowler who had been accused of throwing. How can we measure the impact that such leadership has on a team’s spirit? In that final, remember that with Ranatunga expertly marshaling them, the other spinners choked the Aussies too. Remember that Asanka Gurusinha played a superb supporting knock of 65 to help Aravinda stabilize the innings. Many of us recollect Sanath Jayasurya and Romesh Kaluwitharana’s pyrotechnics in the 1996 world cup. But remember that </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">both</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> of them failed with the bat in the semi-final </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">and</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> final. And yet SL won. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">As I think about my own journey as an Indian cricket fan, I am filled with gratitude for a leader like MS Dhoni, batsmen like Yuvraj Singh and bowlers like Zaheer Khan who, through their sustained individual brilliance, also coalesced as a team, to win the world cup that Sachin wanted so badly. You might wonder why is it that for all my talk about the team being of paramount importance that my happiness of 2011 is associated with Sachin, when there were so many other heroes. It is because it was Sachin who made us hope against hope in the 1990s that India would win as long as he was there. It is because we 90s cricket fans fell in love with Sachin before we fell in love with India as a team. We knew but just didn’t realize that cricket is a sport of 11 players a side, not one champion and ten others. That for a team to practically rest on one shoulder was grave injustice to the man carrying the burden. That is why we see the 2011 world cup win as a sort of tribute to Sachin. But as I reflect on 1996 now, with the benefit of time and maturity, I can be a bit gracious and admit that the best team, not the best individual, won the 1996 world cup. And that team was Sri Lanka. It could not have gone any other way.</span></p><div><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></div></span>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-43631879519207846292023-09-04T14:05:00.002-07:002023-09-04T14:19:14.166-07:00Intermission<p> <span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“We expect such people to be around.” </span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-c433f4c9-7fff-4257-fe9d-e67f9c25c7ba"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Those were the succinct words of a friend when I shared how tough it was to swallow the untimely, premature passing on of my Aunt. That pithy response summarized what I had been struggling to verbalize. It made me dwell on the rather uncomfortable idea of mortality. As I clawed my way back from a rather downbeat state of mind, the fact that I am 42 and ‘middle aged’ made me feel more introspective and less anxious. Arguably a result of my being an Indian movie buff, my thoughts centered on the notion of </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">interval</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> - or its slightly more sophisticated-sounding synonym, </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">intermission</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">I began to think less about the longevity of my journey or that of my near and dear. Instead, I began to reflect on, in movie parlance again, the ‘first half’ of my life. This blog post is too limited and too public a platform for me to compile all the highs and lows of the life that I have lived till now. But there is one recurring theme in my life that I wish to shed light on. And that is a sense of belonging. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">To look one in the eye and make them feel like they matter is a trait in people that I am truly grateful for. As I think of the closest members in my family, the most respected mentors in my life (both personal and professional), the dearest friends who are a family of their own, one common trait that I observe is that they know exactly how and when to give me a sense that I matter. Whenever I crumble, they don’t piece me together. Instead, they stand by me, empowering me to stitch myself again. They are the ones that let my stream of tears flow while being acutely aware that the handful of droplets are actually symptomatic of a flood of emotion that they are refusing to let me get submerged in. That the apparent weightlessness of the tears is inversely proportional to the weight of emotion that is being lifted off me. They are the ones that celebrate my successes in a way where I know that their appreciation is genuine, sans jealousy or resentment. They are the ones that proffer sincere, timely advice whenever I err, constantly looking to make me strive to be the best version of myself. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">As heady as I feel about all these wonderful folks, I am readily aware that what I just captured is just about <i>receiving</i>. Receiving love, receiving concern, receiving advice. As I look at the 'first half' in an honest manner, I feel like I have received more than I have given. No, that is not a falsely modest statement, I assure you. I sincerely feel like the second half of my life should be about fostering a sense of belonging. Enabling people like I was empowered in the first half. Loving people in the selfless, giving ways in which I was and am loved. Sharing perspectives with people in a manner where they feel like I am sitting beside them, not preaching from a lofty pedestal.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">As I think about genuine, selfless people like my Aunt who are no more, I realize that they are still “around” even after they are gone. That is their legacy. In the second half of my life, I would like to ensure that I give my loved ones the feeling that I am always “around”, enveloping them in the warm manner in which I have been protected all along. That way, the ‘reviewer’ - be it God or one’s own conscience - looks at the picture and gives a verdict that both halves were coherent, feel-good and meaningful!</span></p><div><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></div></span>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-64177534239682629602023-07-25T12:37:00.005-07:002023-07-25T12:48:02.862-07:00"Whatever it is you wish for": A tribute to Padma Athai (1961-2023)<p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-0ea1cc4c-7fff-0747-72fa-e1ec0975fc58"></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">‘Bommathai’ - that is what I apparently used to call my Aunt Padma when I was a toddler. I honestly don’t remember much of that phase. But if I were to take a guess, Padma Athai probably relished the mispronunciation of her name as much as she enjoyed our interactions when I spoke to her as an adult in well-enunciated thamizh. The guess would not be too inaccurate, for Athai always believed in letting people be, as long as they were within the bounds of honesty and propriety. As I replay the vignettes of my shared moments with her through the years, the thing that strikes me is how she was, at every stage of my life, genuinely interested in learning about what made me happy in that phase. And how she was ever so gentle in expressing love, care and concern.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span id="gmail-docs-internal-guid-7bfa2173-7fff-41b5-35f6-7046347fcf50"></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rewind to June 1994. She was living in the US and was visiting India with her family. (A loving husband and two adorable kids. The kids were adorable and affectionate back then. They are adorable, affectionate and </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">responsible</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> role models now.) I lived in Chennai with my parents at that time. I was eagerly looking forward to spending time with them, especially my little cousins. And during that trip, while I bonded fabulously with her son, the younger one refused to come anywhere near me! What was worse for me was that the little one was extremely fond of our neighbors! I was genuinely upset about it. Padma Athai could have dubbed me childish or at least teased me gently. And that would not have been wrong per se. But as a recent favorite quote (attributed to Atul Chitnis) of mine goes, “You are never remembered for doing what is expected of you.” Athai actually sat me down and explained that sometimes little kids - her daughter was just 3 ½ at that time! - behave in ways that are not going to appear reasonable to older people. She assured me that my cousin would definitely bond with me over time. And that did happen, even if not during that trip! Years later, we used to joke about how my cousin gave preferential treatment to our neighbor. But as I reflect on Athai a little more, I see that she just let me be the 13-year old kid I was, while subtly making me see reason.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="gmail-tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><img height="320" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/5C3oZMwYiwVEPKTr7kx6XwAzozbj4qapxvrj7raDg6whgTJyQeiEn_LqKsd3PqDNZGpDmgIVqz8KOBeyT4UqiO_2M54pREadFY_Fa-UOKRiSyxSIHzZMF9OeTqvt-QhoxWIBCA-ZLiGQ24VLAvlX5aE" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px;" width="191" /></td></tr><tr><td class="gmail-tr-caption">Athai, at a family wedding in 2010</td></tr></tbody></table><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span id="gmail-docs-internal-guid-ae1f6a56-7fff-d838-1961-73f2c68ebda6"></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In 1998, when my parents and I moved to the US, I had more opportunities to visit and spend time with her. Another distinct memory that I have is of my maternal grandma from India calling us at Athai's home. Athai immediately told my Mother, “Manni, please tell Maami that you will call her right back from our number.” Kids of this generation will not quite comprehend what was so special about that gesture. But back in 1998, there were no free Whatsapp calls or Facetime. International calls to and from India were expensive. But Athai was spontaneous, generous and above all, unfussy about her spontaneity and generosity. She was a giver in the most understated, casual manner. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Athai was someone who derived happiness from the joy and success of others. I remember when I did well during my undergrad and graduate years, Athai’s notes of appreciation for any of my achievements, regardless of significance, would drip with genuineness. I could feel the genuineness not just in her exquisite choice of words or in the sweetness of her voice. Beyond all that, it came from the purity of her thought which is extremely hard to concretize but equally hard to miss if you care to look for it. I just re-listened to her voice note for my birthday this year where she wished me “the very, very best of health, peace of mind, happiness and whatever it is you wish for.” The “whatever it is you wish for” seems to perfectly exemplify who she was as a person. What mattered to her was whether we achieved happiness on our terms. She probably thought it was too presumptuous of her to assume that she knew exactly what made me happy. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span id="gmail-docs-internal-guid-cb859c8f-7fff-4fa7-1a8d-8d8dcfed0983"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As wonderful as she was at expressing genuine elation devoid of filters, biases, prejudices or jealousy, Athai was also extremely empathetic towards people when they were going through a low phase. She would expertly walk the tightrope walk, not being pushy or inquisitive, yet expressing her support in no uncertain terms. 10 years ago, I had to undergo a back surgery. She wrote me a mail as soon as she learned about it from my grandmother. In her note, she wished me well. While asking about the nature of the surgery, she prefaced her question with, “Hope I am not being intrusive if I ask you.” As my Aunt, she could have just asked me about the operation. But no, she seemed so instinctively respectful of people’s spaces and choices. Knowing her, she would have been perfectly okay had I chosen to not divulge the details of my surgery.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Another trait that I instantly associate with her is humility. An accomplished CPA, she never really spoke, unless asked, of the achievements of hers or her family. Before I had traveled to the US with my Mom in 1991, my Dad told me that Athai had cracked a tough exam and had scored "85%." During the trip, I duly congratulated her. She was probably surprised that I even knew about it. She smiled and asked, "</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yaaru, Murali sonnaana? 84 thaan, 85 illa!</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">" The reason I remember this detail 32 years later is because I was struck by the humility of her response. But then, that was who she was right through her life. Honest, humble and focused on her loved ones, not the self.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The last time I saw Athai was at a family wedding last year. I had not really been in a position to attend the wedding since things were hectic at work. But I attended since my Uncle urged me to attend and surprise everyone. It was so wonderful to see her after a long time. The care, the concern, the kindness were all intact as always. (Not that I expected it to be any different.) I just did not know that my goodbye at the end of the trip would be the last time I bid farewell in person. I suppose that I have to be grateful for the fact that my Uncle's prodding meant that I got the opportunity to see her one last time. Mysterious are the vagaries of fate and the ways of this world, I suppose.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Athai - you told me that I could get 'whatever it is I wished for.' </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wish that you are in a better place, sans any of the physical pain that you had to endure recently. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wish for Uncle and the kids to have the strength to lead life with their strong, indelible memories of you. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wish for the light of your spirit to glow brightly in our hearts for the rest of our lives. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wish this world would be a kinder place to pure, noble souls like you who deserved to live much longer lives. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.44; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Above all, I just wish you were here, Bommathai. I will miss you.</span></p>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-13257532363188416152023-06-03T22:04:00.003-07:002023-06-03T22:04:55.149-07:00What will I remember? - Thoughts on "Modern Love Chennai"<div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">It has been a few days since I watched “Modern Love Chennai.” There is one image that refuses to leave me. It is that of TJ Bhanu on the hospital bed, wordlessly checking on her newborn with a mix of anxiety, fear and hope that the child should not have the eye condition that she has. Of the six stories in this anthology, this episode - titled “ImaigaL” - is the best. On top of the stellar performances by the lead pair (Ashok Selvan plays Bhanu’s husband) and the beautiful writing, the reason I liked this story the most was because this was the one that felt most “modern” to me.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-e0950b26-7fff-9678-5e51-6abdb4499c9f"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That is because “ImaigaL” (directed by Balaji Sakthivel) is the episode that affirms my thought that modern is a way of thinking and acting. </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Modern</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> is not necessarily about the clothes you wear, the language you speak, the places you mingle in. In my book, something that shakes the status quo for the better is what is modern. And if I stick to that criterion, “ImaigaL” is unquestionably modern. A man marries a woman with the knowledge that she is going to gradually lose her vision. The fact that he would like to marry her despite this condition is presented matter-of-fact sans any overt emphasis. Even when he has a disagreement, he immediately realizes the error of his ways and is not hesitant to kneel down apologetically in the middle of the road. There is a small yet meaningful moment where we see him awake while his wife and kid are asleep. We get to know later that he was actually thinking of her passion for the ‘veeNa.’ How often have we seen a male character on screen so insistent on being a tool for genuine, abiding empowerment. If Bhanu sparkles in her author-backed role, Ashok Selvan too is wonderful in playing a foil. This pair of mature performances is the best thing about this anthology.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bharathiraja’s “Paravai Kootil Vaazhum MaangaL” is arguably the first time in Bharathiraja’s entire career where the creator is an invisible presence. Known for his emphatic style of narration and his signature touches, he has experimented with a style of narration that was his friend Balu Mahendra’s (whom he has dedicated this to) forte. This is the tale of a married man who falls out of love with his wife and falls for another woman. While the direct conversations and the philosophical lines do work, I wish the story had done more justice to the pain felt by the Ramya Nambeesan character. For instance, we hear her tell Vijayalakshmi (who plays the ‘other’ woman with remarkable dignity) that her initial reaction to Kishore breaking the news, was quite intense. A quick vignette would have had more impact than the line uttered by her. But I will remember this segment for the two contrasting selfies that dovetail seamlessly, to capture the arc of the three main leads.</span></div><span id="docs-internal-guid-e0950b26-7fff-9678-5e51-6abdb4499c9f"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Lalagunda BommaigaL” directed by Raju Murugan adopts a lightweight approach to some rather serious issues. I liked how the lead character is shown as shrugging off betrayals and disappointments and is looking to rebuild her life. The ending was unexpected but the quirky finish was in sync with the tone of the rest of this short.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Kadhal Enbadhu Kannula Heart Irukara Emoji” will work better for movie buffs than others. Ritu Varma is cast against type but she finds the right pitch for her performance, being perky without overdoing the ditziness. Varma plays a die-hard movie buff who sees a bit of the movies creep into every element of her life. I liked the fact that she is not shown as having to shed that bit of craziness in order to be happy. Sometimes one gets the sense that a filmmaker crafts zany characters to have laughs at their expense. That is not the case here. Thanks to the surefooted writing of Reshma Ghatala and the direction of Krishnakumar Ramakumar, we smile with her, not laugh at her. And that makes for a feel-good experience.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Margazhi” (directed by Akshay Sunder) is a lovely story of a high school girl who develops feelings for a boy in her class. Balaji Tharaneetharan’s writing is exquisite and captures the psyche of the adolescent kids in a dignified manner. Tamil Cinema has had its share of cheap, exploitative films set in the high school milieu. “Margazhi” is a class apart. The focus is on getting into the mind and heart of the girl who is going through a tricky period of her student life. The way the story concludes feels just right in its balance of closure and open-endedness. Something that is so symptomatic of the way things play out in that stage of life. Ilayaraja’s beautiful score captures the beats of the heart as well as it does the moments where the heart skips a beat!</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And finally Thiagarajan Kumararaja’s “Ninaivo Oru Paravai." His two full-length feature films “Aaranya Kaandam” and “Super Deluxe”, both splendid films, were as offbeat and bold as “Ninaivo Oru Paravai.” But they had two things that this segment does not have - a narrative flow that kept us hooked and characters (as unconventional as they were) that we were interested in. It is not necessary for lead characters to be likable per se. But they need to be interesting enough for us to be invested in their story. (Sri Priya from “AvaL Appadithan” comes to mind.) Here, the in-your-face lines and the supposedly ‘shocking’ moments left me completely unmoved and strangely disengaged.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I recently came across a thought-provoking quote attributed to Atul Chitnis - “You are never remembered for doing what is expected of you.” This applies to both filmmakers as well as the characters in their films. The most memorable love stories in this anthology are the ones where the surprises spring onto us in a pleasant way, gently setting aside mores and conventions and, in their place, ushering in fresh thinking. If that is not “modern”, then I do not know what is!</span></span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/LMkXdF-uVvI" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-80680564590534418522023-05-01T23:03:00.003-07:002023-05-03T16:41:46.565-07:00Two Diamonds in a Sea of Gems - My essay on Ponniyin Selvan (Part 2)<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Disclaimer</i>: I have not read Kalki’s <b>Ponniyin Selvan </b>as yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is my review of Mani Ratnam’s film, <b>Ponniyin
Selvan (Part 2)</b>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">This is it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>This</i> is the Vikram performance that we
have all been waiting for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The monstrously
talented actor who has acted in scores of forgettable films in the last two
decades, finally gets a role that is befitting his talents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We saw glimpses of what Mani Ratnam could do
with Vikram in <b>Raavanan</b> and in <b>Ponniyin Selvan-1</b> (PS-1).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But those feel like appetizers to what he serves us in <b>Ponniyin Selvan-2</b> (PS-2).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though the actor did not feature in the <i>Navarasa</i>
series, his performance is an exhibition of all the <i>rasas</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His eyes do much of the work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether he expresses anguish over his lost
love, relief in hearing good news about his brother, disappointment in seeing
his friend seemingly turn against him, arrogance in entering a palace or disdain
when seeing his lover’s husband, Vikram’s powerful eyes tell their own
story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Coupled with his fantastic
diction and assured body language – you have not lived as a movie buff till you have seen him in his final scene – his performance is one for the ages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Aishwarya Rai Bachchan, pitted
against the powerhouse that Vikram is, manages to hold her own in bringing to life
a character that has more than a few shades of gray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mani Ratnam has always been a master at
ensuring that the human side of antagonistic characters are fleshed out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That even when we may not quite agree with
them or root for them, that we understand their psychological motivations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks to the balanced writing and Aishwarya
Rai’s superbly controlled performance – the quiet, internalized intensity is a riveting contrast to Vikram’s raw, unhinged portrayal - <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>what we see is a person driven by rage
and fury of her own but one who knows fully well that she is not doing right by
the ones that truly love her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a
slew of minute expressions, firm but measured delivery of the lines and a regal
presence overall, Aishwarya Rai turns in her best performance yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the end of the day, it is the scenes
featuring Vikram and Aishwarya Rai that give the film true emotional depth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Depth that is sadly missing in the rest of
the film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/EnhS3matIoU" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The machinations, the political intrigue and the battle
for power were all set up perfectly in <b>PS-1</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went into <b>PS-2</b> hoping that the plot
would unravel in a way that would do justice to the central themes and the seemingly
powerful characters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But in my estimation, <b>PS-2
</b>flatters to deceive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mani Ratnam, along with his co-writers Jeyamohan and Kumaravel, had established the core traits of the key characters in <b>PS-1.</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But apart from Vikram and Aishwarya Rai, none
of the other characters truly get their due.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They appear when the plot needs them to step in and offer a few expositions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Except for a couple of lovely little moments –
the one featuring Trisha and a blindfolded Karthi is vintage Mani Ratnam –
there were many moments where what I saw on screen was inelegant writing staged
in a way that tried, but failed, to obscure the shallowness of the
writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hurried way in which Vinodhini
makes Aishwarya Rai recall her past or the rushed manner in which key truths
are exposed in the scene on the ship, made me wonder if Mani Ratnam felt that
everything outside of Vikram and Aishwarya Rai were incidental loose ends that
needed to be tied, even if clumsily.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">You know that a film is not quite
working for you the way it should when the lines spoken are actually supposed to sting but you are sitting in a theater unmoved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jeyamohan comes up with some fantastic lines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Having not read the novel, I am attributing
the lines to the credited screenwriter.) One line goes, “<i>ArasargaL sollum
poiyai arasiyal enbargaL</i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of
Jayam Ravi’s idealistic lines in the climactic portions are splendid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet the scenes in which they are housed never
seem to make them pop out of the screen, say the way Sivaji Ganesan’s “<i>aana vedhai…naan
pottadhu</i>” line exploded onto you from within the narrative of <b>Thevar Magan</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And speaking of the written and spoken word,
the diction of some of the actors (the “La” and “Zha” sounds were rarely heard
from some of the actors!) left much to be desired.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Ravi Varman’s cinematography and
Mani Ratnam’s staging too worked best in the scenes with Vikram and Aishwarya
Rai.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a marvelous shot of the duo framed in a tight close-up which, by itself,
increases the intensity of the moment manifold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ditto for AR Rahman’s searing background score for their scenes together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All this serves to underscore my point that
when done in service of powerful, nuanced writing, every element of a film’s
craft will shine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Alas, <b>PS-2</b>, for me, will
be remembered for two unforgettable characters brought to life by two shining
performances in a film that should have been about much more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And given the array of dazzling talents
behind and in front of the camera, this experience is akin to two shiny diamonds glistening on a surface where the rest of the gems are hidden underneath. <o:p></o:p></p>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-64861609366172309112023-04-08T12:38:00.003-07:002023-04-08T12:41:23.396-07:00Cent per cent Genuine: A tribute to my paternal grandmother<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">70/100. That was how much I scored in my quarterly Math exam when I was in 7th grade. When I was a school student, I would hesitate more to share a low Math score with her than I would with my parents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> After my ordinary performance in that exam, i</span>nstead of telling her
that I would work harder the next time, I made the mistake of telling her that
my low score was due to a “few silly mistakes.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She wasted no time in asking me how exactly could one score just 70% due to a few innocuous mistakes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>With her razor-sharp memory, she recounted the umpteen distractions –
cricket, tennis, movies, to name a few – that had arguably done some damage to
my preparations!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But here’s the thing –
even as a hot-headed 11-year old, I knew not to argue with her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqupxE0emcAiKeEYka_ca8elMzsiXkTAy_oXjCwUBW8ODIRkrXQaB48z6oNRvE9x71evOrzqdEvvG7k-Yg_Xfc0v0Zg4f_4TTx7DJ0RcpRDDHGhp_8-ZCb9_ptSGlpAp2mL4lucIA6vvndqYOc805tkKv7mwSyHjIjpF1K55RR97X2OU10WmFVINlVng/s3840/IP1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3840" data-original-width="2160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqupxE0emcAiKeEYka_ca8elMzsiXkTAy_oXjCwUBW8ODIRkrXQaB48z6oNRvE9x71evOrzqdEvvG7k-Yg_Xfc0v0Zg4f_4TTx7DJ0RcpRDDHGhp_8-ZCb9_ptSGlpAp2mL4lucIA6vvndqYOc805tkKv7mwSyHjIjpF1K55RR97X2OU10WmFVINlVng/s320/IP1.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trust me, I was much happier that day than my somber expression suggests!</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">When one has had a lifelong association with a loved one, it is a tough task to encapsulate the shared memories, the moments of truth, and capture the core spirit of the person with mere words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My paternal grandmother Indira Raghavan passed away yesterday, leaving behind a score of memories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But amidst all her virtues and values, it is her forthrightness, honesty and above all, genuineness that I will remember her most for.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Years later, when I had moved to
the US in the late 90s, I had picked up this habit of calling one friend in
India every weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had struck a 'deal' with my parents that I would speak for no more than 15 minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Paati knew this. </span>You must remember that these were pre-<i>Whatsapp</i>
days, where long distance calls were quite expensive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One on occasion, I was quite enjoying my
conversation with a friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though
Paati was not in the same room, after I had come out, she asked me the duration of my call.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said to her that
it was probably a half-hour or so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pat came
the reply that I had spoken for close to 45 minutes!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that it was my Dad’s hard-earned money
that I was squandering through my carelessness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Again, I don’t remember having much of an argument with her. I suppose I didn't want to make two wrong <i>calls </i>the same day!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I am not sure that I realized at
the time of these two incidents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I
think that I must have sensed the quality in a person that makes us swallow the
bitter pill – sans any coating of sugar – of forthright advice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that quality is genuineness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Indira Paati did not have an iota of fakery in her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything about her from
affection to advice was genuine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
she walked the talk, made her words and gestures of tough love, resonate and
register.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was a master of attacking
the behavior, not the person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t
remember ever being called any names or adjectives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I remember of those conversations are her
precise directions on what to do and what not to do.<o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk0zzLmm7CgheX6v-0pQolyNOXaQ_ibJKrkvXia_8ov-pcfyUbtlTYSq8jiYIMy96mxnqSf01Jkmy4W3CdvyFLqLk6mwFycO2j5J6qjlLuoiFuvUsGfIQ27tYisO2dDu9eXUGPTfAQBOT_iBnjJimHyAMuE5qCjG2_aTtdPVxUHWHNW8bbL_iVzP6rTw/s3840/IP2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="3840" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk0zzLmm7CgheX6v-0pQolyNOXaQ_ibJKrkvXia_8ov-pcfyUbtlTYSq8jiYIMy96mxnqSf01Jkmy4W3CdvyFLqLk6mwFycO2j5J6qjlLuoiFuvUsGfIQ27tYisO2dDu9eXUGPTfAQBOT_iBnjJimHyAMuE5qCjG2_aTtdPVxUHWHNW8bbL_iVzP6rTw/s320/IP2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">During my upanayanam...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Her genuine displays of love and
affection too, were seen in more of actions and gestures than words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For instance, she knew that I loved <i>ilai
vadaam</i>. She would tirelessly make them for me in the stove, as I waited
eagerly to peel them off the banana leaves that she would hand me in the
kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I had visited my Aunt in
Charlottesville in 1991, Paati and Thatha were with her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thatha and my Aunt had picked up me and my
Mom up from the train station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was a
bit disappointed that Paati had not come to the station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon reaching my Aunt’s home I realized that
Paati was in the kitchen preparing <i>ilai vadaams</i> for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since she couldn’t procure banana leaves
there, she made them on Ziploc bags.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I don’t remember if I appreciated her thoughtfulness and ingeniousness
as much as I should have. (Knowing me, I probably started gobbling the <i>vadaams</i>
even before washing my hands!)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Paati was deeply pious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was hard to ignore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when one looked beyond her love for
temples and her dazzling mastery of prayers and scriptures, it was easy to see that
her type of piety reflected her personality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In a simple, organized manner, she prayed and read religious books with a
single-minded belief in the superpower, without tying her prayers to outcomes,
wishes or desires.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was piety of the
purest kind.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Over the past 6 years, her health
had been deteriorating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was difficult
to see her in a state that was a stark contrast to her former self.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, age-related ailments and infirmity
are painful to see from close quarters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But what we had was the gift of time with her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am filled with gratitude for having been
born in her family, to have witnessed her virtues and values firsthand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In letting her go to a happier, pain-free
place up above, I tell myself that my best tribute to her would not be this
article.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would be in the way I lead
the rest of my life, seeking to emulate the way she lived hers. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Paati, I may have scored only 70/100 on that day. But your score for genuineness was certainly 100/100. Rest in peace. I will miss you.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-58373101125847914322023-03-27T21:47:00.005-07:002023-03-27T21:47:59.292-07:009 points: Lessons from the 1992 Cricket World Cup<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">1991-92 was a glorious time to be
initiated into cricket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was 10 years
old and in sixth standard, in school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sachin Tendulkar
was 18 years old and the gold standard in cricket!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
5-Test series <i>and</i> a triangular ODI series were the twin preludes to the 1992
ODI World Cup down under.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Amidst the
shambles that was the Indian batting line-up, Sachin was setting the
tone for the decade to follow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he was
in, India could win.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he was out, the
rest was a rout.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pardon the painful
alliteration but you get the gist!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
as much as Sachin was every Indian cricket fanatic’s hero, the tourney itself
offered riches that extended beyond the lone star of the Indian team. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The format of the 1992 World Cup
was strikingly simple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>9 teams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone played everyone else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you won, you scored two points.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the match was tied or washed out, the
teams shared a point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(That the latter
was going to be a decisive factor was something that even the world’s best
gamblers would not have bet a penny on.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
the top four teams on points would play in the semi-finals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Among the
semi-finalists, New Zealand scored 14 points, England 11, South Africa 10 and
Pakistan…9.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet it was Pakistan who ended up lifting the cup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I reflect on what
made Pakistan win the cup and how some of the other teams lost key games (or in
the case of India, lost the plot!), there are 9 lessons that I wish to recollect from the cup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b>9. “Teams win matches, not
individuals.” <o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">That was the title of the then Indian
captain Mohammad Azharuddin’s column for <i>The Indian Express</i> the day
after India bowed out of the tourney with 5 measly points from 8 games.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While he makes some valid points in his article in a rather
candid manner, what he failed to state was that he, as the leader, did little to make
the 10 other members cohere as a team.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their
solitary bright spot was against the eventual winners, Pakistan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though Sachin was the man of the match, several
Indian batsmen and bowlers had bright moments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was a <i>team</i> win.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that
was at Sydney, arguably India’s favorite ground in Australia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when their best laid plans came apart in
the face of a Brian Lara attack or a Mark Greatbatch assault, there was no leadership, no
novel tactics, no teamwork.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>India’s lack
of progress was not for lack of players who could not march.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
because they did not have any directions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b>8. The Proteas’ Inequation: The
Whole > Sum of its Parts<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Both New Zealand and South Africa
turned in some stellar performances in the world cup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>South Africa, despite not having the cheek of the Kiwis, was a team whose
whole was more than the sum of its parts. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They did not have any superstars in their
batting line-up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, led by the warhorses
Kepler Wessels and Peter Kirsten, they put up competent totals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their bowling was painfully homogenous – everyone
seemed to bowl right-arm medium pace! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
they had a star in the lightning-quick Allan Donald.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And they had the jaunty Jonty Rhodes in the
field.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if they failed to reach the
finals, the fact that they reached the semis despite their long apartheid-related
isolation from cricket was an example of how to function as a team and punch above
their weight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The exact opposite of the
Indian team, I hasten to add.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">7. <b>Nature Strikes Twice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sometimes thrice.<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Every cricket fan who claims to
be one would be familiar with the infamous rain rule of this world cup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where the chasing team, in the event of rain,
had their target reduced by the number of runs scored in the least expensive overs
they bowled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rain kept taking turns
helping and hurting the teams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is
this prevalent myth that the washed-out game against England (where they were
all out for 74 and yet secured one point) was the biggest factor in Pakistan reaching
the semis with 9 points.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is only
partially true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were in a superb
position against South Africa, with Inzamam-ul-Haq in sublime form, when the
rain made 211 from 50 overs, 194 from 36.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That they lost by only 20 runs should tell you that they could have
bagged two points if not for the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So,
no, let’s not deprive them of due credit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">But the Indians were the ones most
hurt by the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If they got lucky
versus Zimbabwe, they lost the Australia fixture because of the rain and did
not get a chance to bag two points against a weak Sri Lankan side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose luck or lack thereof doesn’t always
come with any reasons or explanations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It just is, good or bad!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b>6. The Puzzle of Bits and Pieces
<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Commentator and former cricketer Sanjay
Manjrekar incurred the collective wrath of a nation when he called Ravindra Jadeja
a “bits and pieces” player.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not
sure if he would have been denied entry into the Buckingham Palace had he said
the same about some of the English players.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For this tournament, they picked the likes of an ODI specialist like Dermot
Reeves and a restrictive off-spinner like Richard Illingworth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While these players were no slouch in the
format and did make a reasonably positive impression, they did not have the match-winning class of England’s own David Gower, the doughtiness of a Mike Gatting or the mischief
of a leg-spinner like Pakistan’s Mushtaq Ahmed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In essence, these bits and pieces players did fit into the puzzle assembled
by their captain Graham Gooch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But they
did not have the x-factor in them to puzzle the opposition. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b>5. Don’t think out of the box.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just throw out the box. <o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">New Zealand’s innovations, be it
Dipak Patel’s opening spells as a tidy off-spinner or Mark Greatbatch’s
blitzkriegs as an opening batsman, are the stuff of legend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like England, the Kiwis too had ODI specialist
bowlers like Gavin Larsen, who excelled on their slow, low pitches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the difference was what they did with these
players.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Martin Crowe did things like giving
bowlers two to three over spells and constantly rotating them and…yes, puzzling
the opposition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was as though the
captain did not want to <i>beat</i> his opposition as much as he wanted to <i>outwit</i>
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His batting, of course, was a huge
factor in helping his team outmaneuver every opposition except, of course,
Pakistan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took the genius of an Inzamam-ul-Haq
– his 60 off 37 in the semi-final still ranks as one of ODI’s greatest knocks -
to knock them out.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Onto the final four.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am dedicating all four of these to
Pakistan, out of respect for their unlikely yet amazing victory.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b>4. Luck is where preparation
meets opportunity<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It is one of several life lessons
that Randy Pauch shared in his “Last Lecture.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sure, Pakistan had their slices of luck during the tournament.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While Martin Crowe’s injury preventing him
from leading their defense in the semi-final is often cited as a lucky turn of
events for Pakistan, what is often ignored is that Crowe would have ideally
chased after winning the toss since they were making mincemeat of their
opposition while chasing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But on the day
of semi-final, rain was predicted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fearing
the rain Gods a little and the rain rule a lot, Crowe decided to bat first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, you could argue that things were loaded
in Pakistan’s favor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, they had luck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But luck alone did not win them matches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the league phase, they were the only team
to beat New Zealand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And in the semis
too, it took the temperamental genius of Inzamam and the steadying influence of
veteran Javed Miandad to push them over the line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, yes, they had the <i>opportunity</i>
offered by lady luck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But boy, were they
<i>prepared</i> to make full use of it!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b>3. Short-term gains are as bad
as long-term losses<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Can you imagine Wasim Akram slowing
down his pace?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, that is not a
rhetorical question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was posed in a
way to Imran Khan after a league game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
reason being that Akram had had a torrid time with no-balls and wides in the
initial phase of the tournament.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had raw
pace but zero control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But while Imran Khan
may not be an eloquent speaker, he was an astute leader and a clear
thinker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He made the point that Akram’s
core strength was his pace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he did
not want his protégé to lose that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He knew
that he had others like Aqib Javed to steady the ship even if Akram went off-kilter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He knew that Akram could sway matches as much
as he swung the ball.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And swing, swerve
and sway were exactly what he did, at blistering pace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ask Allan Lamb or Chris Lewis if you’d like!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we pause to reflect, one realizes that a
clear-headed leader who has no place for myopia in his vision, will see
everything ten steps ahead of others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And that is what Imran did with Akram.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If not for liberating Akram to bowl to his strengths, he may have made
him feel shackled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, he unleashed
the ‘cornered tiger’ onto an unsuspecting opposition!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b>2. Trusting them more than
even they ever will <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Both Inzamam-ul-Haq and Mushtaq Ahmed
have waxed eloquent on Imran around how much he placed faith in their
abilities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just like Sunil Gavaskar used
Laxman Sivaramakrishnan as an attacking wicket-taking option in 1985, Imran
knew that he could not expect consistency or steadiness from Mushtaq as much as
he could, guile and mischief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Similarly,
he had seen enough early signs of Inzamam that despite a strictly ordinary
performance (save the gallant effort versus South Africa) in the league stages,
he pushed Inzamam to play the semi-final despite him feeling unwell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The impact of placing trust cannot be easily
measured.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But by the same token, it is
equally undeniable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b>1. “When you want something, all
the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.” <o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">This quote, attributed to author
Paulo Coelho, was embodied by Imran Khan and his fierce, single-minded
determination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of all the 9 captains, it
is possible that Imran wanted this Cup the most.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He wanted it badly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wanted to
win this, to raise funds for the Shaukat Khanum Memorial Cancer Hospital, named
after his mother who died of cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
had tried once in 1987 but failed to go past the semis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At 40, this was his last chance by a distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His individual contributions in this cup are
noteworthy but they were hardly World Cup-winning material.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he was Captain Exemplar in the way he anchored the mercurial yet brilliant team through troubled waters, to glory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His own anchor was the Cancer
Hospital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wanted it badly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the universe helped him achieve it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> ******</o:p></p>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-47040545035149800432023-02-26T19:09:00.002-08:002023-02-26T19:09:37.427-08:0025 years of Swarnamukhi<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Good actors are chameleons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They can slip into any role effortlessly,
internalizing the spirit of the character and projecting a three-dimensional
personality that leaps out of a two-dimensional screen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are some actors with whom – for better
or for worse- the viewing public associates a certain persona.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a certain comfort associated with
that persona.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A certain expectation when
the audience buys a ticket at the turnstiles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What the lesser directors do is take the easy way out and depend almost
entirely on the persona of the actor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The wiser of the creators realize that the persona is just a solid
foundation on which they can mount their films.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Radhakrishnan Parthiban is one such actor with a persona.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The glib, witty, fast-talking character is
something that he has made his own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of
course, there are several films (either of his own creation or others’) where
he broke out of the mold – <i>Housefull</i> and <i>Azhagi</i> instantly come to
mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But his collaboration with the
supremely talented KS Adhiyaman led to one of his greatest performances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The film is the memorable <i>Swarnamukhi</i>,
which was released 25 Februarys ago.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In the title credits of the film,
the director thanks Parthiban for his extensive inputs into the story and
dialogues into the film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even without
this thoughtful acknowledgement, one can sense that Parthiban made the character of
Pandian completely his own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The usual plethora
of witty repartees is on full display.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His interactions with Prakash Raj are especially priceless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The latter, a scene stealer himself, is
totally overshadowed by Parthiban in this film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The characterization and the performance take equal credit for the
one-man show of Parthiban.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right from
his <i>Pondaati Thevai</i> days, he has played characters whose feelings of
love are rarely, if ever, superficial.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While
his exchanges with Devyani in the flashback are fun, starting with the act of
violence that sends him to jail, one realizes that this is not yet another love
story.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The characterization of Pandian
is truly unique.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man – unreasonably,
one hastens to add – believes that despite three years of not knowing his
whereabouts that the love of his life would still be waiting for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since he had been in jail with the singular
thought of reuniting with her, he blindly trusts that she too would have been
waiting for him. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That a man could have
entered her life is a thought that just doesn’t register with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This premise leads to a sparkling set of scenes in the second half.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition to the sharp dialogues, the
screenplay too flows beautifully once Pandian reenters Swarna's life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every scene is a result of a character feeling a certain way and moving the story forward. For instance, when Devyani hesitatingly
conveys to Parthiban that Prakash Raj may have fallen for her, he does not even
bother to ask her if she feels the same way!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Instead, he goes to mercilessly taunt Prakash Raj – the scene with the auto
driver is a riot!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when Devyani expresses
anguish about being stuck between two men, her mother goes to Parthiban’s house
to explain the harsh reality to him. That sequence is what makes this film utterly unforgettable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The epoch of <i>Swarnamukhi </i>is the eight-minute stretch that spans two scenes starting with the one in Parthiban’s room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right from the moment
that Fathima Babu breaks the news that her daughter may have fallen for another
man, Parthiban’s reactions from surprise to anger to shock to anguish are
spellbinding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Watch him smear his face
with the ‘kari’ (to convey the '<i>moonjila kariya poositaa</i>' feeling) and look around the room where he has written her name all over. The helplessness writ largely on his face is haunting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His powerful eyes are as arresting as they have ever been on
screen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The second is the scene right
after this where he confronts Devyani.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Starting from the piercing stare and the way he beats himself with the
slippers, Parthiban’s body language and dialogue delivery are stupendous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several of the lines are not only sharp but
also intensely observant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Note the way he
says, “<i>Enaku irukardhu chinna manasu thaan, aana andha manasu muzhuka nee
thaan iruke</i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The manner in which his
voice trembles by the end of the line is stirring to watch.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKjreDbjWlPnkZbTXx70QGoOhKashZc2ZweMA9STH9qvQMGP173Pz7Y-lKTpv8WpvC0CpbtpTF8jwT7QgGT_IZtG31SHgyeOcnGKihMrUDxkzpQF8t4tMUp6lK-ydMI_WH9B8QhVLGG72tCEGklGLWkilKNnCZ7f065gF33fxK5Y2y8utI0LnQ-mDpMQ/s1004/expressions%20parthiban.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="730" data-original-width="1004" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKjreDbjWlPnkZbTXx70QGoOhKashZc2ZweMA9STH9qvQMGP173Pz7Y-lKTpv8WpvC0CpbtpTF8jwT7QgGT_IZtG31SHgyeOcnGKihMrUDxkzpQF8t4tMUp6lK-ydMI_WH9B8QhVLGG72tCEGklGLWkilKNnCZ7f065gF33fxK5Y2y8utI0LnQ-mDpMQ/s320/expressions%20parthiban.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>A gamut of expressions<br /></b><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><b>Click on 'Play' to go to the beginning of the stretch that I have written about:<br /></b>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/5LT7m680A1M?start=6776" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Synergistic actor-director collaborations
are rare in Tamil cinema.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When they happen,
it is an unforgettable experience for viewers because even without knowing
exactly who contributed what to a particular scene, we can sense that something
special has unfolded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can
dissect such movies to our heart’s content, calling attention to specific
elements such as the writing, acting and other departments of filmmaking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But while we are watching the film, everything
coheres so seamlessly, so magically, immersing us in a swell of hard-hitting emotions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> The impact of the creation subsequently is undeniably enduring. </span>During
the aforementioned confrontation scene, Parthiban proclaims, “<i>Moonu varusham
illa, muppathu varusham aanalum enakaage nee kaathitrukanum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Adhaan kaadhal</i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Along similar lines, be it 2 years or 25
years, the impact of emotionally wrenching films does not wane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> And t</span>hat’s what we call a classic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-24586101796372919332023-02-04T13:40:00.002-08:002023-02-04T13:40:43.457-08:00Single Take #2 - “If Thatha retires, what do we do?”<p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;">1990 was a memorable year for my mother’s side of the family.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;">This was the year that my Aunt (my Mom’s only sibling, who passed on in 2016) got married.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;">It was a festive few months between her engagement (June) and wedding (September).</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;">My grandparents’ house would be filled with wedding-related items.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;">Friends and relatives who were part of the wedding planning efforts would flit in and out of the house</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;">.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;"> The stove in the kitchen was perpetually turned on. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;">One sinister – and utterly irresponsible, I shall add – thought that I had was that I could totally flop in my quarterly exams and could conveniently shift the blame onto my family for not helping out enough with my preparations. (What actually happened was…why don’t you take a guess?) But in between the engagement and wedding, something significant happened.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;">My grandpa retired from his job in July.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">You might wonder what was so significant about someone retiring from his job. It was actually quite straightforward. Thatha had worked for The Reserve Bank of India from 1954 until 1990. He had turned 58 in July, refused the offer of an extension and happily retired without a crease in his forehead. All the creases were appearing on the broad forehead of his pudgy 9-year old grandson, yours truly. At his retirement dinner, I was the only one who appeared unhappy. When my family checked on me, I responded, in all seriousness, “If Thatha retires, what do we do? Will we become poor? Retirement means we will not have any money, no? Why are we eating at this restaurant now?” Everyone at the table burst into simultaneous laughter. I was reassured by my Thatha that life will not be a struggle. That everything from the dinner to my Aunt’s wedding will be paid for! I was also gently reminded that my parents were working professionals as well. That the family’s fate did not depend on just Thatha, his job or his pension payments!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">One of my fondest memories of that dinner is the son-in-law of my grandpa’s friend narrating the delightful “kozhu kozhu kanne” story to me. I don’t remember if it was to cheer me up. But by the end of the dinner, I was taking great pleasure in being able to recite all the lines in the story to anyone who cared to listen.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">Those last three words. That’s really it. “Cared to listen.” That is really why this dinner stands out in my memory as fresh as this morning’s filter coffee. I was never given the feeling that me, my words or my worries – as amusing as they seem now – did not matter to my family. My Thatha knew that it was my fondness for him that made me tie our entire future to his employment. Even when the table erupted with laughter, I never got the vibe that my feelings were trivialized or ignored. Their laughter was just a spontaneous adult reaction to a kid’s innocent inquiry. That an Uncle chose to regale me with a story despite having no need to give me the time of day at a dinner party, warms my heart when I think about it. These might all seem like minutiae. But just like how scientists in a lab discover wonders through a microscope, we can all do the same through the magnifying lens of introspection. Seemingly little moments will seem wondrous. 32 years from the dinner, several of my near and dear are gone – my grandparents, their best friends, even my Aunt. I don’t remember what I ate on that day. But their kindness and thoughtfulness certainly gives me plenty of food for thought on how I can pay that goodness forward. <o:p></o:p></p>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-23377303945990101792023-01-27T19:06:00.006-08:002023-01-27T19:06:55.171-08:00Single Take #1 – No questions asked<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Note to readers – I am starting a
series titled, “Single Take.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>These sketches will be shorter than my usual blog posts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will be alternating between the short and
the longer write-ups just as an experiment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I would welcome any feedback and constructive criticism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Happy reading!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">***<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I finally understood what religious
people experienced when they entered the premises of a temple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks to the efforts of journalist S Shiva Kumar, I was allowed
inside Ilayaraja’s studio in Chennai.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
I stood outside the building, only a glass door separated me and him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>More accurately, “I saw HIM.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
security guard let me know that I should stand next to him until HE would wave at
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Much to my amusement, he said, “Why
don’t you move to my left so that you are not in <i>Aiyya</i>’s line of sight?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once <i>Aiyya</i> waves to me, I shall let
you in.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said to myself, “Ram, no, don’t
try to respond with some lame, ‘witty’ remark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You are going to soon be let inside ILAYARAJA's studio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just follow instructions to the letter.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>While I waited, I asked the guard for any tips he could offer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Among other things, one piece of instruction
stood out – “Keep your volume down.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he
had only listened to the beats of my heart, he would have been scurrying to buy
cotton balls for even the drummers in the studio.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The King must have waved to his
guard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the latter told me, “<i>Aiyya
koopadraru.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ulla poanga</i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I entered the studio, the maestro gave me
a hint of a smile and gestured me to sit down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As I took my seat, the first words out of my mouth were, “I don’t have
any questions for you, Sir.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In response
to the quizzical look, I continued, “Sir, I have grown up on your music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your music has meant the world to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I wanted to use this opportunity to see
you in person and thank you for what you have given me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I picked two of his songs that have touched the
innermost recesses of my soul – “Ellorum Sollum Paatu” and “Nalam Vaazha” from <i>Marupadiyum</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I emphasized that these two songs, among
countless others, have touched me, lifted me, inspired me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told him that there was something inexplicable
about his music that set it apart from anything else that reaches my ears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A smile here and a word there were what he offered
in return to my monologue that was really a thanksgiving speech.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtB2TvMM5fhnNWbOcVIph8bglk350y9MJdteJCHepYCMwRcc5ClvL3mNkFu5SNmmgWIIfXs2OYhT_DJeIgt3ifIyk55IWrrHeu2NVRwgii4b92SWv-JDfERHDHj1gPx4-zwXQGb4_7d0Mlq_czoWc9NPBIV3ZlnFP3mbA5O819vMXc3l_633tLVW5AEg/s640/Ilayaraja.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtB2TvMM5fhnNWbOcVIph8bglk350y9MJdteJCHepYCMwRcc5ClvL3mNkFu5SNmmgWIIfXs2OYhT_DJeIgt3ifIyk55IWrrHeu2NVRwgii4b92SWv-JDfERHDHj1gPx4-zwXQGb4_7d0Mlq_czoWc9NPBIV3ZlnFP3mbA5O819vMXc3l_633tLVW5AEg/s320/Ilayaraja.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">After a few minutes, I requested
him for an autograph and a photograph.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He agreed to both.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, the
security guard had given me instructions for that too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was supposed to come outside and mime the
clicking of a camera.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he would then
ask the person sitting next to him to go inside and take a picture. (Why I couldn’t
ask the other person myself is a thought that crossed my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I was wise enough to not argue!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did I follow those instructions?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You bet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>To the letter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I thanked HIM and walked outside,
I could understand how the pious folks in my circle would beam with happiness
after exiting a temple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ‘darshan’ would have given them peace and tranquility. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
would have given them the cathartic reassurance that a superpower exists, to give them
the strength to lead their lives, inclusive of its highs, lows and
everything in between.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> The fanatics would even exclaim, "Don't you question the existence of God." </span>Well, 35
days have passed since my visit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
impact still lingers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And guess what, I didn't question at all!</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-50170253850217465102023-01-14T16:23:00.000-08:002023-01-14T16:23:48.645-08:00Fully charged<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“Charge” is a word that I think
of quite often and quite deeply.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, it
is not about that ominous bar at the top of the device that I carry in my
pocket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, it is a word that I
remember from the commencement speech that Randy Pausch gave weeks before he
died of pancreatic cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He mentioned that
the university President “asked me to come and give the charge to the
graduates. I assure you it’s nothing compared to the charge you have just given
me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just the presence of considerate college
staff and earnest students who were on the cusp of something special, gave a
dying man a certain “charge.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several
things can give us the kind of “charge” that Randy spoke about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I doubt if there are any that endure, uplift,
comfort and secure us the way kindness does.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">As a new year commences, it is
but natural for us to reflect on the previous year’s happenings, the highs, the
lows, the best practices, the lessons learned and set resolutions and goals for
the year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I rarely indulge in any
activity that involves disciplined listing of things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t seem to derive joy or fun from
listing accomplishments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or reflecting
on a set of disappointments either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What
I instead do, is let my mind freewheel in search of one dominant emotion or
thought that seems to persist in the mind, refusing to budge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I reflect on 2022, that emotion has been
kindness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Among the things that I am
grateful for, one of them is people who provide frameworks to organize my
thoughts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While social scientists like
Adam Grant revel in tools like two-by-two grids to distinguish between different
groups, I also find perceptive writers (for movies or otherwise) offer us a
line or a phrase that is simple on the surface yet seems to drive us in the
direction of common sense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that
respect, writer-director C Prem Kumar (of <i>’96</i> fame) has been a
remarkable inspiration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is an unfussy
line in a poetic scene between Vijay Sethupathi and Trisha where he asks if she
is happily married.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her response is
wonderfully poignant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And more
importantly, thought-provoking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She says,
“I am not sure if I am happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I am
at peace with myself.” (It sounds much nicer in Thamizh – “<i>Sandhosham-aa
irukena na…nimmadhi-ya iruken-nu sollalam</i>.”)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has been a very important line in my life
ever since I heard it for the first time four years ago.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It is because, in my opinion,
peace is a lot more controllable than is happiness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The attainment of peace can truly be a quiet,
personal, inward journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whereas
happiness, at least to me, seems to depend more on circumstances and other
external factors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even as I reflect on
2022, yes, there were several moments of joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But as I think about the few rough patches in the year, I feel that, for
the most part, I was able to be at peace with myself and my microcosm of the
world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is because of the kindness
that I saw in its most pristine form, sans blemish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Just like a variety of types of
people make up this world, kindness too comes in different flavors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some express it in well-chosen words, others
express it through thoughtful gestures and yet another set of people offer it
in silences, just being there for us when we need them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I introspect on last year, I consider
myself blessed to have been the recipient of kindness in all these forms, and more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of sharing the more obvious, overt
acts, I shall just share one small memory that will be indelible for me for years
to come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was having a particularly
difficult day and broke down near the entrance of my house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The person in question walked up to me, held
me tightly and urged me to finish tearing up before entering the house so that I
would not have to be seen by everyone inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He offered a few words of assurance, put his hand over my shoulder and walked
inside with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Imagine a phone that was
devoid of power, to be fully charged in a minute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is exactly what happened then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Of course, life is not just about
acknowledging and appreciating acts of kindness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is as much about giving, if not more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And from what I have learned from those
innately kind souls, the key to giving kindness effectively is rooted in one
element.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is in how well we can transmute
our feelings of empathy for a person into words, actions or gestures that touch
the innermost core of what the other person is experiencing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To place ourselves in the shoes of another
person is easier said than done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But if
we were to truly get to the heart of what is disturbing another person, then we
will come up with the right avenue to exhibit our kindness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The person I mentioned above knew what was disturbing
me and realized that what I needed at that moment was the license to tear up
without fear of judgment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He knew that I
needed a shoulder, not a solution.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a result, he enabled me to, in fact, strengthen
myself post the catharsis. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">As I look ahead to 2023, I seek
comfort from the fact that I have people who give me that charge in many a form.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am equally fortunate that I have been able
to be that charge when a few close ones have needed my support.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In both cases, I tell myself that kindness can
be the controllable element amid the vagaries of fate and the uncertainties of
life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It can be the constant amidst several
variables.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In essence, it can be that supercharger that
ensures that we are quickly up and running.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><u>***</u></span></p>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-13911416023228506352022-11-20T21:03:00.002-08:002022-11-20T21:03:38.811-08:00Old Paths, New Roads: An essay on R Parthiban, post "Iravin Nizhal"<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Now that Radhakrishnan Parthiban’s
<i>Iravin Nizhal</i> (Shadow of the Night) is out on Amazon Prime, I decided to
not just revisit the film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But also take
a moment to pause and reflect on one part of his directorial journey - the reformed sinner films.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Given his unending desire to travel unexplored
frontiers, risk his talents and push his boundaries, I sometimes feel like we don’t
give him the credit for his achievements or the leeway for the flaws in his
works.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Arguing about certain basic facts
– the fact that this is the world’s first non-linear single shot film – might be
exercises in futility that self-proclaimed youtube ‘experts’ might engage in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But having followed his career with keen
interest from the 90s, I feel compelled to offer a defense of
something that is a bit of an unfair judgement – that he keeps dishing out the
same content despite wanting to innovate with form.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Firstly, it is imperative to acknowledge
that some filmmakers have pet themes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
theme is different from a story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While <i>Pudhiya
Paadhai</i> (1989) and <i>Iravin Nizhal</i> (2022) might have, at their core, a
central character whose troubled childhood lays the foundation for all his
moral depravity as an adult, the way the stories are told and the narrative arc
themselves are vastly different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
fact, the differences that age and maturity bring to a filmmaker are there to
see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In an interview with Baradwaj
Rangan, the latter asked Parthiban what he would do with the lead characters of
<i>Pudhiya Paadhai</i> if he had a chance to revisit the film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pat came the reply that the film would start
with the victim shooting the rapist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
you think that that was a convenient answer given in an interview to earn brownie
points for political correctness, then you haven’t seen his earlier <i>reformed rowdy</i><sup>TM</sup>
films and now, <i>Iravin Nizhal</i>.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In both <i>Pudhiya Paadhai</i> and
<i>Ulle Veliye</i>, it is others that pay for the rowdy's sins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If in his debut effort, his wife succumbs to
a bomb blast where he was the target, in <i>Ulle Veliye</i>, it is a girl in the
slum who commits suicide after lying about being a prostitute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In <i>Pachcha Kuthira</i>, despite committing
acts like chopping off an innocent man’s leg, the ruffian doesn’t even set foot
in jail until the movie ends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>KudaikkuL
Mazhai</i> was the first film of Parthiban where crime and punishment are in
close proximity to one another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even
though the Singapore-returned character is a figment of the protagonist’s
imagination, in ‘shooting’ the character – a concretization of a man ‘killing’
his evil side and absolving himself- Parthiban, the filmmaker, showed a marked
departure from his earlier works. And that
evolution is complete in <i>Iravin Nizhal</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The lead character of <i>Iravin
Nizhal</i> goes through unimaginable hardships as a child and as a youth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The more depravity he witnesses, he
experiences a strange dichotomy between being repelled by it and wanting to do
it himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He succumbs to desires and
temptations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In reflecting on a
harrowing episode, he notes, “<i>Pasiyum paNam saarndha prachanaiyum than yenna
ellaa vayasilayum verattikitte iruku</i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As much as we feel sympathy for the character, Parthiban also leaves us with a
strong message – that sins will beget more sins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when one finally realizes the error of his ways,
it might sometimes be too little too late.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> In <i>Iravin Nizhal</i>, t</span>he fact that his daughter – the apple of his eye – begins to hate him
is a powerful instance of karma hitting back hard and in a manner that hurts
the most.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Let’s examine the sequence of
events here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An inability to pay a loan
leads to a tragedy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The episode makes
the character bitter and turns him into a loan shark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And when a family commits suicide because of his incessant pressure, his
daughter begins to hate him because it was the family of a close friend of
hers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unable to digest the fact that the
one genuine love of his life will never accept him again, he commits
suicide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The emotional logic and
psychological reasoning here are exquisite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
the message now is very different from <i>Pudhiya Paadhai</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That one’s sins, if repeated over time, will insidiously chip away at
their core until there is very little left. In this context, the sublime "<i>Paapam seiyyadhiru maname</i>" is not just a dirge, it is a plea.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">As I mentioned earlier, the themes
of certain films might remind us of earlier works of a filmmaker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it is imperative that we not just see the
starting point of a pathway, which might seem vaguely familiar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, we must also take the time to see the
new roads that are painstakingly laid out from the same starting point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The roads might take us on a journey that we
might not have experienced previously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Up
until we willingly take the new road, we will commit the mistake of leaving important
filmmakers like Parthiban in the shadow of the night instead of shedding the
spotlight on them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/cjBK6y0tOYM" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-49205461702536989542022-10-29T13:57:00.002-07:002022-10-29T14:24:54.746-07:00“Right choices, baby!” – A write-up celebrating 25 years of Aahaa!<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Director Visu rarely spoke about
films outside of his own works.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had
the fortune of knowing him in the last 2 ½ years of his life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During the conversations and whatsapp chats,
he was extremely candid in his self-assessment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I could freely speak about what I felt were the flaws in his films.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was easy because he was a tougher critic
of his works than I was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the same
Visu could become suddenly hesitant when I would broach a conversation about
any other director’s films.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But a
striking exception to that was the warm, loving way in which he spoke about
director Suresh Krissna’s <i>Aahaa</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An
obvious reason why it was relatively easy to get him to talk about <i>Aahaa</i> was
because it was Suresh Krissna who had introduced me to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the true reason why he made an exception
was because, as a writer, he loved the ensemble drama.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He described the film as, a “<i>ramyamaana</i>
<i>padam.</i>”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What makes <i>Aahaa</i>
such an instantly appealing film that even Visu decided to make an exception?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">One of the greatest strengths of seasoned filmmakers is their ability to make the right choices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They seem to know exactly whom to cast for
what role, which talents to collaborate with behind the camera and in essence,
know how to transform the germ of an idea onto the screen with conviction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Prior to <i>Aahaa</i>, Suresh Krissna was
known mostly for his action-packed dramas like <i>Baasha, Annamalai</i> and <i>Sathya</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he had shown his adeptness in making
lighthearted films like <i>Veera</i> and <i>Raja Kaiyya Vechaa</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But those lighthearted films felt light on
the ‘heart’ aspect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were decidedly
commercial.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And while they were
entertaining, they didn’t quite touch a chord or move me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But with <i>Aahaa</i>, all of that
changed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn’t happen by
accident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a result of a series of
very conscious decisions.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Firstly, Suresh Krissna decided
that he would move completely away from the conventional commercial mould to
make a film that was all heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of
the chief pleasures of <i>Aahaa</i> is that the screen is filled with lovable
characters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Circumstances aside, there are
no villains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even the crabby Vijayakumar
is just a frustrated father who wishes that his son was a little more focused
in life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a lovely line about
the Bhanupriya character in the delightful introduction sequence – “<i>ivalluku
elaarayum pidikum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Adhanaal, ivallai
elaarukum pidikum</i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something
similar can be said about the characters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When the screen is filled with affability, warmth and people whose
hearts are always in the right place, it is impossible to not like them and
root for them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Having decided that he would make
a drama focused on the highs and lows of a large joint family, Suresh Krissna
had two immensely strong writer collaborators.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One was the late Ananthu, who cowrote the screenplay, which flows as
smoothly as a river, beautifully segueing from one sequence to the next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bumps in the journey are extremely
rare. (Some of the scenes featuring Sukanya are amongst the few missteps in
the film.) The other one was a pillar that held the film aloft – dialogue
writer Crazy Mohan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">That Mohan was brilliant at humor
is a fact, not an opinion!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> For </span><i>Aahaa</i>,
he wrote some of the best comic lines of his illustrious career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It takes ingenuity of stratospheric levels to
come up with puns like ‘<i>un uyarathuku kick-u yerangarthuke 4 naallu aagum’</i>
while admonishing a tall drunk!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Between
that, the ‘<i>thayir vadai’</i> joke, the ‘<i>gul gul jil jil mal mal’</i>
line, the death sequence (!), the list of memorable jokes in this film is
so long that <i>Aahaa</i> could have very well been titled, <i>Mohana Punnagai</i>!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But what makes the peak of <i>Aahaa</i> even taller
than his collaborations with Kamal Hassan is the profundity of many a line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the otherwise amusing grocery store scene,
Mohan slips in one crisp yet terrific line about friendship, love and marriage
– “<i>Kaadhal-ngaradhu kalyanathuku munaadi kedaikara oru nalla natpu</i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is sad that the writer is no longer with
us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But as the cliché goes, his writings
will continue to contribute to his immortality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><b>The grocery store scene:</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/OFPx3qcO18E?start=3555" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">One of the lesser-mentioned
aspects of <i>Aahaa</i> is the polish of the filmmaking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The reason why this film, despite being a
‘drama’, does not feel like a staged theater performance is that it is a sound
film technically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Talking of sound, the sound design is
supremely effective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So is the way the
scenes are choreographed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The huge house
that is almost a character in itself, is utilized in its full glory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sequence that best demonstrates this
confluence of sound design and scene choreography is the one leading to the
death scene.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are three events
happening in parallel – just like in real life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Srividya is offering coffee to her son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Vijayakumar is attending to a phone call.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And Bhanupriya is getting her son ready for
school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the foreground, Rajiv Krishna
just listens to Vijayakumar say, “<i>En son-a anupchu vekkaren</i>.”
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While we primarily hear the son remonstrate
with his mother, in the background, we feebly hear Vijayakumar talking on the
phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he hangs up, Vijayakumar
summons his son – to watch Rajiv Krishna’s anticipation increase, only to be
brought back to earth, is a hilarious experience!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As they argue, Bhanupriya’s kid is ready for
school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as the driver Krishnan picks
up the kid, he rubs salt in Rajiv’s wound by saying, “<i>Neengale correct-a
sollitengale</i>!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Essentially, the
characters from the three parallel events converge in an utterly seamless
manner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That we don’t notice the craft
behind all this is the ultimate testament to the filmmaker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is <i>there</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet he is not!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b>"En son-a anupchu vekkaren..."</b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/OFPx3qcO18E?start=1842" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Another aspect of the film that
reflects some truly inspired choices is the casting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every actor in the cast fits their role like
a glove.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Special mention to Raghuvaran,
Bhanupriya and Delhi Ganesh, who turned in some of the best work of their
career for this film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Given that Raghuvaran
had played the hero and the villain, we could never be sure about his
relationship with Sukanya until he delivers that searing monologue in the
climax.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bhanupriya always had an innate
likeability.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But she doesn’t rest lazily
on that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She imbues her character with
little lifelike touches – her kitchen conversation with Rajiv Krishna as he
bites on a carrot, is a case in point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It takes a special actor to utter a line like, “<i>aamam, ivaru periya
Kapil Dev</i>” yet not make it sound insulting!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And Delhi Ganesh takes the jaangiri…err…the cake in the humor
department.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He never failed to do
justice to Mohan’s lines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And in <i>Aahaa</i>,
he is a hoot in the funny scenes and a reliable anchor in the dramatic
sequences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No other actor could switch
between humor and drama as effortlessly as he does in the Krishna Jayanthi
scene in Vijayakumar’s house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b>Bhanupriya, Raghuvaran and Delhi Ganesh in the climax:</b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/OFPx3qcO18E?start=8797" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Films like <i>Aahaa</i> are
rare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In their quest to make the next
big pan Indian film (which sometimes ends up being a film panned throughout
India), they forget Martin Scorsese’s words which were memorably quoted by Bong
Joon Ho at the Oscars- “The most personal is the most creative.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it is the most universal too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Little’ films like <i>Aahaa</i> are amongst
the films with the richest legacy and the most longevity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a film that appealed to Visu back
then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a film that holds appeal
even now, 25 years after its release.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Let us celebrate the film for all the joy that it has given us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you, Team <i>Aahaa</i>!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You made all the right choices in making this
film the classic it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is up to us
to do the same and not forget about this film during our lifetime and
beyond.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-8195442089630074262022-10-19T23:40:00.002-07:002022-10-19T23:40:27.183-07:00Two unsinkable ships: Thoughts on Thiruchitrambalam, Autograph and Thotta Chinungi<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It is quite rare that I let my views
on a topic cloud my opinion of a movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But it happened recently with <i>Thiruchitrambalam</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I chose to not review it because I felt that I
could not trust myself to look past my opinions of friendship, to review the
film based on its own merits and demerits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Thanks to the influence of serious critics like Baradwaj Rangan, I
sincerely try to review a film based on how well the writer-director brings to the
screen the story that she or he chooses to tell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that respect, <i>Thiruchitrambalam</i> probably
deserves a much better review than the one that I would have written.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why so?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Because I hated the final act of the film. (Spoilers ahead) Having
invested in the friendship of Nithya Menen and Dhanush, to be told that she had
harbored feelings of love all along, felt like a mighty letdown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though the stellar cast and their wonderful performances kept me engaged, I felt cheated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Was it entirely the fault of the filmmaker?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Let me start by saying that
there have been films like <i>Piriyadha Varam Vendum</i> and <i>Oh My Kadavule</i>
that have explored the space of a friendship metamorphosing into love and the
tricky aspects of two close friends marrying one another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The seemingly lightweight <i>Kadhal
Desam</i> is mostly remembered for its songs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Muzhugathe ship-pe friendship than” is a line that is remembered in the
context of the irresistible “Mustafa…” song.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But the film, as frivolous as it was, attempted to do justice to
friendship as much as it was about love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It featured a thought-provoking sequence where SPB assures Tabu that a
good friend could make for a good spouse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That she might want to marry her friend instead of hoping that her life
partner will be a good pal to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Agree
or disagree with what he said, it at least gave friendship the respect it
deserved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It felt like a logical
conversation between a friendly Dad and a loving daughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In none of these movies did I feel the kind
of negative emotions like I did with the concluding portions of <i>Thiruchitrambalam</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">As I reflected on my feelings after
watching the film, I realized that my unfavorable response really stemmed from
the fact that this was <i>not</i> the kind of man-woman friendship that I enjoy
watching on screen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realized that beyond
the “vaa da” and “po di” kind of ‘casual’ remarks between friends, films that
explored the depth of a friendship across gender are what truly appealed to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My bias was and is towards films where friends
remained friends for the duration of a film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that respect, two films that have stayed with
me for a long time are <i>Autograph</i> and <i>Thotta Chinungi</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sneha and Cheran in the former and Revathi
and Karthik in the latter share the kind of bond that appeals to me not only as
a moviegoer but also as a person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While <i>Autograph</i>
is a little more in-your-face in its depiction, the subtlety and sensitivity in
<i>Thotta Chinungi </i>is an absolute delight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In <i>Thotta Chinungi</i>, Revathi
and Karthik are friends from a young age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A young Karthik loses his mom early in life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Revathi and her brother are his only family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Revathi marries Raghuvaran.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All is well until Raghuvaran starts
developing feelings of possessiveness, insecurity and suspicion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Writer-director KS Adhiyaman does a fabulous
job of showcasing their relationship in a lifelike manner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He balances the rhythms of daily life with
just the right emotional beats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
are sweet lifelike touches like Revathi addressing Karthik, “Sir” and Karthik casually
sitting on her kitchen counter and chatting with her and Raghuvaran.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the same time, when asked to describe his
feelings for her, in a rather lovely scene, Karthik describes her as the <i>maternal</i>
figure in his life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When a situation involving
Revathi’s brother escalates out of hand, Karthik takes him in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he does so in the most undemonstrative,
non-judgmental manner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a stupendous
bit of screenwriting, Adhiyaman makes Karthik’s love interest (played by
Rohini) talk to Raghuvaran about Karthik and Revathi’s bond.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To have Karthik talk to Raghuvaran would have
just not been as effective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">What makes <i>Thotta Chinungi</i>
resonate with me is not just the respect and dignity it affords to the
friendship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is also how the relationship
is tested severely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And how the
characters come out of it shining brightly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In the aforementioned kitchen counter scene, Karthik nonchalantly
mentions that simple joys like eating Revathi’s food and playing with her kid are
all that he wants in life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later, in the
climax, when Karthik almost walks away from the relationship to save Revathi
and Raghuvaran’s marriage, Raghuvaran steps in and mentions the same line uttered
by Karthik.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is all that he says to
reassure him that both his friendship and their marriage will be intact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the film ends with a closeup of Revathi
smiling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Simple yet striking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pithy yet profound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Adhiyaman demonstrates that you don’t always need
lectures on friendship for its worth to be understood by viewers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And since it is a domestic drama and not a
hero-centric film, all characters are given equal prominence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a result, the relationships are supremely
well fleshed out.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><b>Watch the scene at 32:22 and the climax at 2:17:49</b></span></p><div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/jS4yxJ0KXR0?start=8269" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i>Autograph</i>, on the other hand,
is vintage Cheran.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cheran has never
shied away from direct expression of feelings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When he isn’t firing on all cylinders (as a writer), one gets the
feeling that the characters are mere mouthpieces for what he wants to say to
his viewers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At his best, especially
when he has the support of good actors, his characters spout lines that might
sound preachy but they seem to own the lines with such conviction that the writer
seems invisible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is exactly what happens
in the case of Sneha and Cheran.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Sneha comes into Cheran’s life at
a time that he is going through a low phase.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He helps him rebuild his life, yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But despite Cheran being the film’s central character, this portion of
the film is not just about the impact of Sneha on Cheran’s life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is also about her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nowhere is this demonstrated better than in
the restaurant scene.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Prior to this,
Sneha would have bumped into her former love interest. (We are told that she
had attempted suicide when the relationship failed.) When Cheran mocks her, she
slaps him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon returning to her senses,
she apologizes to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And explains that
the reason she got mad was because she sees him as a pillar of strength that helped
her face her fears and overcome her weaknesses. (Interestingly, <i>Ae Dil Hai
Mushkil</i>… also featured a line where Anushka Sharma calls Ranbir Kapoor her “strength”
and her lover her “weakness.”) Scenes like these breathe with so much
life that later on, when Sneha speaks of their friendship in an idealistic
manner, one gets the feeling that the character – and by extension, the
director – has earned the right to be a bit preachy and philosophical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><b>Click on Play to go to the restaurant scene:</b></span></p>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/RxuPcxwhHRs?start=7042" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The unconscious ability of good friends
to know precisely when to say what to one another, their equally unshakeable confidence
in communicating through silences, the undemonstrative yet unwavering displays
of support and above all, the reassuring <i>constancy</i> amidst highs, lows,
trials and tribulations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are what
I truly find enriching in friendships, in life and on screen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is entirely unfair of me to expect Mithran R Jawahar (writer-director
of <i>Thiruchitrambalam</i>) to showcase the kind of friendships that Adhiyaman
and Cheran did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But by the same token,
movie viewing can be an intensely individual, personal experience as much as it
is a communal one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the (friend)ships
that will stay afloat in my memory sans any risk of sinking are the ones
in <i>Thotta Chinungi</i> and <i>Autograph</i>.<o:p></o:p></p>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-15610650930314521682022-10-13T20:10:00.003-07:002022-10-13T20:43:50.575-07:00A review of Ponniyin Selvan (Part-1) - Guest Post by Anuradha Raghavan<p class="MsoNormal">It is rather unexpected that a person like me was asked to
do a guest post reviewing <i>Ponniyin Selvan</i> Part-1 (“PSI").<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
watched a lot of good movies in Tamil but I am not one to be up to date on all
the new Tamil movies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I haven’t
been to the theater to see a Tamil movie in twenty years! But PSI – how could I
not go see it in the theater?! This is <i>Ponniyin Selvan</i> we are talking about! The famous Kalki novel that everyone who grew up in Tamil Nadu would have
known! I have not read the novel. But
being someone who loves the Tamil language, I had to support this grand venture
for sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did my homework and read the
story summary in detail and watched YouTube videos so that I could enjoy the
movie and not focus on understanding the plot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I wanted to watch the movie because I had not watched historical fiction
in a long time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love listening to pure
Thamizh being spoken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another reason for
me to go watch PS1! <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/D4qAQYlgZQs" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p><p class="MsoNormal">Did I love the movie? The movie was so hyped up in the media
that I went in expecting some magic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I came home wondering why I didn’t have
that “Niraivu” (complete feeling).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Fragments of the movie stayed in my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Karthi was good in his light-hearted ways. Jayram was very capable in how he acted with great timing and flow. The<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Ponniyin Selvan</i> novel, as a movie, would
have fared well with greater emotional depth had it been split into three
parts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It felt as if the director was
vacillating between it being a crowd pleaser versus retaining a tight grip on
his standards of movie making.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Devaralan
Aatam” song for example just did not fit in with the weighty feel of the story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed like a song that would fit in
better in some other movie like <i>Chandramukhi</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">Like the winter sky on a calm night, there were so many stars but their
shine didn't come through because of how little time most of them had on
screen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Prakash Raj was lying down most
of the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Prabhu was silently beaming
next to Arulmozhi Varman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vikram’s
dialogues were not befitting his stature as the possible successor when he
talks about his heartache over Nandhini.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The heartache may have been real but the space given to bring it out was
cramped. Aishwarya Rai was radiant but lacking spark because we were made to
focus on her "beauty" with the warm glow of light on her face and the
glittering jewels adding to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
reminded me of the photoshopped models on magazine covers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I almost wish they had cast someone who would
have brought out the conniving nature of that character a lot more. Vidya Balan
maybe? Aishwarya Lekshmi’s costume in “Alaikadal” felt like I was about to
watch “Nila Adhu Vaanathu mele” from <i>Nayagan</i>. A dream song between Vikram and Aishwarya with words like “Narumugaye”
would have fit in better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess a
sensuous song was thrown in to engage the masses? Shobita Dulipala does not
have a Tamilian face for her role as Vanathi and I wonder if there is a paucity
of Tamil actresses for such prized roles. Thankfully Trisha looking fresh as
always was there to put a Tamil face there! <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The cinematography was spectacular and carried the
movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It reminds me of the times my son
would remark that a doubles team won because one player carried the match and
made them win. Thotta Tharani’s experience and visual panache showed in the
spectacular sets that made you feel like you could almost walk alongside the
characters in those grand palaces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
even Ravi Verman and Thotta’s <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>magic
could not keep the attention of those who expected more for a whole three
hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A catnap was needed in the last
third of the movie to get through the rest of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The songs were good but not as catchy as some
of ARR’s have been in the past. The Tamil language used in the movie also had
bits of colloquial Tamil thrown in small doses like light music tunes thrown in
the middle of a serious kutcheri.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why
underestimate the masses?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If they come
to see a historical fiction movie, they will appreciate the synchrony in the
imagery and language representing that era. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">All said, I have to confess that I plan to go see the movie
again with my family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why? Because it is
the great <i>Ponniyin Selvan</i> and it is decently made even if did not measure up
to the hype.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It gave us the excitement
of seeing a grand historical fiction movie based on the great Raja Raja
Chola.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It gives us a reason to look him
up and learn about the great ruler and about the awe inspiring <a href="https://thrillingtravel.in/brihadeeswarar-temple-thanjavur-tanjore.html">Brihadeeshvara
Temple</a> he built.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It reminds us that
the complexities of human interactions and emotions were the same thousand
years back. I am grateful to the director Mr. Mani Ratnam for bringing this
novel to life. The amount of research he and his team have put into every
detail in bringing it to life shows and it is much appreciated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This movie demands a cerebral presence as it
is to keep track of the many characters and twists in the plot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you talk to someone, if they say all the
right words but you don’t feel the authenticity of emotion, you come back
feeling like something was missing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
is the feeling I had after watching this movie. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Mr. Mani Ratnam is to blame for
setting our expectations high because of how well made some of his past movies
have been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To this day when you think of
the movie <i>Nayagan</i>, you feel connected to it. <i>Ponniyin Selvan</i> as a novel has a
cult following and has been talked about so much that even just attempting to
make a movie has the trappings of a high bar to meet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If Mr. Mani Ratnam could step back and view it
in his home theater by himself away from his adoring fans and the high praise
showered on him, he might be able to tighten it up and deliver an amazing PS2! After
all, for someone of his caliber who has money and success in great measure, if
he doesn’t raise his own bar, what else is left?!<o:p></o:p></p>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-14961516285415011552022-09-25T07:11:00.001-07:002022-09-25T07:11:20.151-07:00The curious case of a time machine<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Sep 22 was a tough day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is always painful when a ‘birthday’ gets
converted into an ‘birth anniversary.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
the pain is especially tough to bear when the person in question exited the
world prematurely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such was the case
with my dear friend and brother, Ramadhyani Narayanan – Dhyans, to me - who had
passed on in 2020, aged just 40.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not that
we ever forget the departed souls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But days
such as Dhyans’ birthday or the day he passed on are tough reminders of a reality
that, whether we choose to acknowledge, is…real.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can look away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can even shut my eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But as much as I wish for the gift to rewind
to the moment before his death and prevent it, no, the clock doesn’t move in reverse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, I feel locked in a curiously
designed time machine where the body is in the present, but the mind is in the
past.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a time machine in which I
feel suffocated and claustrophobic because of the uneasy dichotomy between the
pleasantness of the shared past and harshness of the lonely present.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have you been there?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have you felt that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is there anything that can be done about
it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s explore.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">One of the best lines from Shankar’s
<i>Muthalvan</i> is one uttered by Arjun’s father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wistfully says, “<i>Life-la mattum our rewind
button irundha evlo nalla irukum</i>.” (“It will be ideal if life too, had a
rewind button.”)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Minutes later, he loses
his life in a ghastly bomb blast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
deep anguish, that is one of the lines that instantly comes to Arjun’s
mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a powerful scene, packed
with genuine sentiment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s come up with an alternate version of that line – “It will be ideal if life too, had a <i>fast-forward</i>
button.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I say that because there is a
sense of dread when a birth (or a death) anniversary of a loved one approaches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On that day, our mind is brimming with thoughts
and memories, almost waiting for the clock to turn to the next day so that the
pain eases a little.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the past few
years when I have lost my Aunt (49) and friend (40) to premature deaths, I have
realized that there is no benefit to be had from flinching from the thought of entering
that uncomfortable time machine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is
there an alternative?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Yes, there is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Firstly, we must willingly get into that time
machine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And more importantly, we need
to look around to see who is grieving as much as or more than us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And make sure that we strap them into their
seat belts before we get on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because it
is vitally important to take a genuine assessment of the people who are hit the
hardest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And make sure that we humbly
acknowledge what we owe to them versus what we can expect in terms of
commiseration and consolation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We must engineer the time machine
to not just have two modes – past and present – but also a third one, the
future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In other words, we need to
concretize our grief in a manner where we eye the future and find ways to make the
departed soul live on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember when
director Vasanth visited my grandma the first Diwali after my Aunt had passed
on, he said to her, “I know that you will not be celebrating Diwali.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But why don’t you make her favorite dish?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My grandma was immensely touched by his gesture.
(So was I.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last year, Dhyans’ brother
and I instituted an annual award for excellence in Math to celebrate the life
of Dhyans who was a natural at Math.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>These are but a couple of examples.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Your memories of your loved ones may be very different, leading to gestures
that are unique, special, and deeply fulfilling to you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">At the end of the day, the
process of grieving is intensely personal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One size does not fit all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But my
sincere opinion is that failing to acknowledge the pain, especially when it is amplified
on certain days, is not a way to deal with it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>By looking at these days as opportunities to willingly pause to reflect,
rejoice and recollect can be a surprisingly rewarding experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By investing our efforts in meaningful thoughts
or gestures that pay a tribute to the ones who are no longer with us, we can
make sure that the time machine also enables us to look at the future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A future where we make our loved ones live
on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we have taken mortality – at least
in spirit - out of a supreme power’s hands, we not only empower ourselves but also
the ones who are grieving the most.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Consequently,
the ride in the time machine will feel uplifting, not suffocating and
comfortable, not claustrophobic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-80417482590119296302022-09-04T22:30:00.005-07:002022-09-04T23:03:05.550-07:00His steps were measured: A tribute to my paternal grandfather<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"></p><div style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The avid movie buff that I am, let us start with a film
analogy. There are certain classic films that bear repeat
viewing. On the first viewing, we might have walked away with a
satisfied, even heady, feeling of having watched a supremely well-made film. But
it is on repeat viewings that we might get to appreciate the nuances and the
understated details that we may have missed on the first
viewing. Raghavan Thatha, my paternal grandfather, would have turned
100 on September 23, 2022, had he been alive. It has been more 15
years since he passed on. Although I loved him dearly and admired
him a lot while he was alive, it is as I age and as I introspect that I begin
to see - to continue with my movie analogy - the full picture.</span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"></p><p style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT8CZnK6TrRbk_O4v7wb04-D7YECcC7hItLLt1rPUtmpmREzs1OsmVA4jBiprDGKH0leZZlJkOcXlz3Cptz0DhfgRu-c_fyneiwTiwzVEtf_tSxZiIsHuxKHy7XCiLvb1Xs6zPB9t7kBolszMUekxNVZ_nxyRlozNF1q4q8xve3dM1jINOA7xRfY5c5g/s4032/pic1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT8CZnK6TrRbk_O4v7wb04-D7YECcC7hItLLt1rPUtmpmREzs1OsmVA4jBiprDGKH0leZZlJkOcXlz3Cptz0DhfgRu-c_fyneiwTiwzVEtf_tSxZiIsHuxKHy7XCiLvb1Xs6zPB9t7kBolszMUekxNVZ_nxyRlozNF1q4q8xve3dM1jINOA7xRfY5c5g/s320/pic1.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Five of Thatha’s six children, except for my father, were in the
US when he and Paati moved to the US in 1989. I was 8 years old
then. My memories of him from the late 80s are mostly of his lovely
ranch house in Anna Nagar in Chennai. It was a lovely home, one that
I was fortunate enough to live in for a few years. Everything about
the house was graceful, understated, uncomplicated and strikingly
elegant. Much like its owner. There was one large room
that stretched from the entrance of the house and extended all the way to the
kitchen in the back. There was just a large wooden shelf that
divided the living room and the dining room. (Since Thatha
disallowed food on the sofa, I always prayed that the TV commentators for
cricket matches would be as vivid and descriptive as the ones on
radio!) The bedrooms were each to the right of the long
room. I used to study in Thatha's room. Never once had I
ever felt either disturbance or interference from him. He just let
me be. I don’t think I appreciated that as much as I do now that I
am an adult myself.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Another routine that Thatha and I shared back
then was a Sunday trip to the Gymkhana club where he had been a longtime
member. The club had a swimming pool whose main attraction were the
diving boards. Everything about my dive was graceless, overstated,
complicated and embarrassingly inelegant! I don’t think I ever dove
headfirst into the water. It was always a jump, a thud, a splash,
and a mess. The only saving grace was that I never jumped onto
anyone. Amidst all this, Thatha would simply sit on a chair beside
the pool and converse with my mother. And when I was done, he would
ask if I wanted to have a snack or chocolate milk. (For the record, I never
said, “No” to anyone in matters of food or sweetened beverages.) </span></span></div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6jYPf088xAqH8Ra_JrZ1IB0CL_LnYSI1tI09tTrqgp_RW_qzD6FTHfduyRTs0W4MclwWDljjt21UXsTzqpyUX0sLddKIkCcmKgMUjY1kvSuhW_FN5Ewi36V28sBOvXuk_VLk_LuKRUNYbat_4xf0vF98jv8-QQnkvzIP-zI3LxNM9xwbYFbdMOtDd7A/s240/pic4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="160" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6jYPf088xAqH8Ra_JrZ1IB0CL_LnYSI1tI09tTrqgp_RW_qzD6FTHfduyRTs0W4MclwWDljjt21UXsTzqpyUX0sLddKIkCcmKgMUjY1kvSuhW_FN5Ewi36V28sBOvXuk_VLk_LuKRUNYbat_4xf0vF98jv8-QQnkvzIP-zI3LxNM9xwbYFbdMOtDd7A/s1600/pic4.jpg" width="160" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">By the time I came to
the US in 1991 for an 18-day summer vacation with my Mom, he had lived in the
US for nearly two years. In retrospect, it is amazing how well he
adjusted to life in the US. He was 69 then. He had gotten
a drivers license and drove comfortably. In fact, when my Aunt (who
lived in Charlottesville back then) went to work, it was Thatha who drove us
around, acting in a manner that confirmed that he had taken to the new place
and the new style of living like a duck to water. One of my fondest
memories of that trip was the drive from New Jersey to Buffalo with my
Chithappa, Chithi, Mom, Paati and Thatha. I sat on Thatha's lap for
quite a large portion of the drive, working out the Math problems that my
Chithappa had tasked me with. Thatha would help at
times. But he would invariably urge me to work it out
myself. And he would only help when I really needed it. I
think that gesture was symptomatic of the man himself. He was an
enabler who wanted to teach you how to fish, not catch the fish for you. </span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 14pt;">After I had moved to the
US, I got the opportunity to spend more quality time with him. I
feel immensely lucky that he was able to attend my graduation ceremony in
2002. During my job search, Thatha would mail me job openings,
sending me an encouraging note along with it. When I landed a job,
he wished me luck and urged me to have a good work ethic. He firmly
believed in being there as a reassuring presence. His wisdom, as is
the case with all those wise old people, manifested itself in action, not
words. </span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHMvwFzqfTo4f_Ntt1dQADv8wky0KXLqCxhSXetXtnOCuIbfwyPypY2Ij6-cKcM5hFEqXXvw2BG5JdGlr4ctxzHmrDDcdX9JD7Lrmw1AJszqyUWZVMTczvQKdRNMMZxM3wiIUoBTjUmVPEZfrB2ZYLhrZNvOHeSKfmPTC6oqN_STlAClv8lJOpV1NKLA/s320/pic3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHMvwFzqfTo4f_Ntt1dQADv8wky0KXLqCxhSXetXtnOCuIbfwyPypY2Ij6-cKcM5hFEqXXvw2BG5JdGlr4ctxzHmrDDcdX9JD7Lrmw1AJszqyUWZVMTczvQKdRNMMZxM3wiIUoBTjUmVPEZfrB2ZYLhrZNvOHeSKfmPTC6oqN_STlAClv8lJOpV1NKLA/s1600/pic3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Another incident from 2002 that is impossible for me to forget is
one related to his 80<sup>th</sup> birthday celebration. I was
peeved about something – completely unrelated to him – and had told my parents
that I would not be attending the function. Even though people tried
to pacify me, I was quite adamant. I had sent an e-mail to Thatha a
few weeks leading up to the celebration that I would not be making it to the
function. In response, he did not try to emotionally manipulate me
or force me. He simply wrote that he hoped that something would
change and that I would make it. But that he would understand if I
didn’t. A few weeks later, the hotheaded me had cooled off and I had
decided to attend the function. I sent him another e-mail telling
him that I would make it, after all. In his reply- which I so wish
that I had saved – he wrote me a long note stating how happy he was. And
that he was absolutely sure that I would attend. As I reflect on how
he behaved back then, I know that in him, I have someone whom I must emulate in
more ways than one. The grace was not just restricted to his dapper
manner of dressing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">No write-up about Thatha
will be complete without a mention of his style. Whether it was a
formal, professional attire or a traditional Indian outfit, Thatha’s style of
dressing was impeccable. The suits, the neatly ironed shirts, the
white <i>dhotis </i>were all a delight to see. And his English
- both written and spoken - was stupendous. He once requested me to type
an e-mail on his behalf. That was the first time that I had heard the
word, "brethren!" Listening to him spell it out for me was
quite an experience! There was a time in my 20s when I had issues
with acne on my face and decided to switch to an electric razor. He
was the one that taught me how to use it. After seeing his elaborate
manner of preparing himself, I quipped, “<i>Thatha, ipdi naan shave panna
lunchtime ku than office poga mudiyum</i>!” (“It will be lunch by the time I
reach work if I shave this elaborately!) He smiled and responded,
“You can do it your way. I just showed you the proper
way!” Just pausing to reread that line makes me appreciate his attitude
even more. </span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz6Z1VlFNydaC0TH0n___L42MV9LpdjXU1o5q5aNbOg2fEahAsgTybJVd0TkLl5l8VnbG0Ua_C8KOUN0NrFJdNJ7IvEMypRsN30EBdoVI6rVTsVeujCiC5bczWQNyIgLi1UXU5xCU_UCCdGWcc5RyJGmrn5U3CLmWobDGyyCCjwQvaxzZTcTgGpgMNiQ/s240/pic6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="159" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz6Z1VlFNydaC0TH0n___L42MV9LpdjXU1o5q5aNbOg2fEahAsgTybJVd0TkLl5l8VnbG0Ua_C8KOUN0NrFJdNJ7IvEMypRsN30EBdoVI6rVTsVeujCiC5bczWQNyIgLi1UXU5xCU_UCCdGWcc5RyJGmrn5U3CLmWobDGyyCCjwQvaxzZTcTgGpgMNiQ/s1600/pic6.jpg" width="159" /></span></a></div><p></p><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In his later years, we
created new routines such as a Saturday morning visit to The Waffle House
whenever we met up in Memphis. When he and Paati were in my Aunt’s
house in southern California in 2005, he and I used to go out every Saturday,
sometimes to a restaurant, sometimes to a movie, sometimes both! On
one occasion, he came to my apartment. I made him tea, hoping that
he would like it. I suppose it had not come out too well, for he
simply said, “<i>Sooda irukku</i>!” (“It is hot”) When the temperature is the
only thing mentioned, I guess something went awry! All I remember
are the twinkle in his eye and the gentle smile which made me accept his
mischievous comment smilingly!</span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpknXzeer_9kc7WdBXMbIXhOr1Y6qcRWjNgBaMciZzZdDts4nSF-fKYCXiNt9hGhNp6EuIYIKU3D0xw5obwe-vO03D31041nPr5TRpzEX4Rp6EVxcI7SFkSMjwPOrFlhxeIpG4cnZzQnnQHEj2L0aFYWlNzBqA0fKHV2yfN-iTtgs0zbah-TN4mk2ldA/s320/pic5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpknXzeer_9kc7WdBXMbIXhOr1Y6qcRWjNgBaMciZzZdDts4nSF-fKYCXiNt9hGhNp6EuIYIKU3D0xw5obwe-vO03D31041nPr5TRpzEX4Rp6EVxcI7SFkSMjwPOrFlhxeIpG4cnZzQnnQHEj2L0aFYWlNzBqA0fKHV2yfN-iTtgs0zbah-TN4mk2ldA/s1600/pic5.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In his final years, he had slowed down in a deliberate
manner. The steps that were always measured were now literally
so. The gingerly manner of walking was as precautionary as it was a
result of advancing age. He was in control even when his body was
starting to show signs of not supporting his mind ably enough. He
had sustained a back injury a few months before his end came. When I
last saw him in Memphis, he had to use a walking stick. Yet when we
went out to dinner, the innate energy and enthusiasm surfaced. When
his end came, it was in a manner that felt abrupt, given how healthy he had
been till then. But to not see him suffer in infirmity meant that we
could truly celebrate the life that he had lived for 84 glorious years.</span></span></p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I wish he had been alive to celebrate his 100<sup>th</sup> birthday. But
since that was not to be, I at least wanted to use his centennial birth
anniversary as an opportunity to pause and pay tribute to a man who was a lot
deeper than one absorbed and appreciated at a superficial
glance. After all, well-made films are timeless regardless of when
they are taken out of theaters. Likewise, special human beings are
immortal, regardless of when they leave this earth. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Happy birthday, Thatha! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIQh9fTyKWP9hIqOMAKuzwWmlDShlCGQOEv9LKsEBjNi9e2pSZwr5Yk02xnzsPBmp0pXU7tSbFUPphJHtjm2ie_SPsHs4dK6MBrK23IVXxc63JpXPH9qik1kZpuDqP8x0iTuHKE03QulbMHw0-4ptmNnkaUJjiKNxVqp5pgBeDYdSTS8JZJP6ol6MmCA/s320/pic7.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIQh9fTyKWP9hIqOMAKuzwWmlDShlCGQOEv9LKsEBjNi9e2pSZwr5Yk02xnzsPBmp0pXU7tSbFUPphJHtjm2ie_SPsHs4dK6MBrK23IVXxc63JpXPH9qik1kZpuDqP8x0iTuHKE03QulbMHw0-4ptmNnkaUJjiKNxVqp5pgBeDYdSTS8JZJP6ol6MmCA/s1600/pic7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><br /><p></p></div>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-60187457722480030122022-08-10T23:56:00.003-07:002022-08-11T00:17:43.051-07:00The stage is set – Reflections on Visu Sir<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">One of the obvious risks of revisiting
films from an earlier era is that they could feel a little dated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Especially family dramas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mores of a society are not set in
stone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is one’s hope that with time, conventions
and norms are questioned and that we see progression, not regression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the same time, when we revisit films from a
different time, we might want to first evaluate whether the treatment does
justice to the chosen theme.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then
assess whether the treatment is strong enough to overlook any elements that
make it feel dated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was the
framework that I used to appraise the works of writer-director Visu.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or, as I addressed him, <i>Visu Sir</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let me first talk about the creations before
talking about the creator.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i>Kudumbam Our Kadhambam</i> is one
of his finest works as a writer. (The film was directed by SP Muthuraman.) It
is an ensemble drama, featuring a medley of lively characters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Visu was
a master at looking at one issue from different vantage points.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Employment was the issue that he explored
with much depth through the “kadhambam” of characters who, despite belonging to
different families, are united by their inherent goodness. Not to mention,
their income-related struggles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A working
woman who wants to be a homemaker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
homemaker who wants to work, to help make ends meet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An elderly lady and her daughter, who have to shoulder
the family’s burdens amidst two personifications of irresponsibility that are
the father and son. These
are some of the contrasting roles that Visu wove into a taut
screenplay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">There is often the question
of whether male writers do justice to the women that they write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With Visu, I believe that he wrote female characters in such
a way that his target audience could learn how they could thrive in a
patriarchal society.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though the women
in most Visu films did not step outside of or rise above a conservative setup,
he almost always gave them strength of character and made them thrive or
flourish, depending on the situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For instance, in <i>Kudumbam</i>… in a fit of anger, Shekar slaps
Suhasini.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She does not slap him
back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But by the end of the film, she is
the primary breadwinner of the family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You could argue that what might have been truly ‘progressive’ would have
been to show Suhasini go to work because she <i>wanted</i> to work, not because
she <i>needed</i> to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But for a
film set in a lower middle-class setup in 1981, to show that it was
not infra dig for a man to not be the primary earning member was ‘progress’ in a small
way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a sense, Visu chipped away at societal
norms, even if he didn’t demolish them in service of a utopian future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Click on Play to go to the "Ena jaathi pa nee?" scene</p>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/owvcjUhWV6g?start=2309" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Visu was associated with the
advice-spouting, problem solver in many of the films that he wrote and
directed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But dig a little deeper, you
will find that some of his best moments were in films where messy relationships
did <i>not</i> get tidy little closures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The climactic scenes of both the celebrated <i>Samsaram Adhu Minsaram</i>
and the underrated <i>Varavu Nalla Uravu</i> are cases in point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, the climax of <i>Varavu</i>… is as
shocking as it is powerful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Visu
laments the fact that he had ‘lost’ his wife long before she died, one cannot
help but see a bit of reason in his rather harsh decision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, <i>Varavu</i>… might feel overwrought as
a drama.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But some of the scenes pack
tremendous punch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is real bite in
some of the exchanges between the Dad and his family. (Ditto for the contrapuntal scenes between
Rekha and Kishmu – they bristle with power.)<o:p></o:p></p>
5:20-min point:
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/eUOSBs3KmEA?controls=0&start=323" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Another convenient yet inaccurate
assessment of his writing was that he was always verbose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, his dialogues could be wordy and even a
bit repetitive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Visu was equally adept
at quick wit, sharp repartee and, this might surprise you, brevity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In <i>Kudumbam</i>…, the new tenant is being
grilled by the occupants of the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Towards the end of the scene, one of them asks, “<i>Aamam, enna jaathi</i>
<i>pa nee</i>?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To which the tenant
responds, “<i>Yaezhai</i>.” Stunned silence follows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cut to a
scene where Suhasini and Sumalatha offer him food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Listening to his story, Kamala Kamesh offers
to cook him meals at a subsidized rate (compared to restaurants).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He hesitates a little
and says, “<i>Neenge Brahmins…naan</i>…”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And she responds, “<i>Illa, naangalum unga jaathi thaan - yaezhainge</i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a certain rhythm to the dialogue
that flows beautifully from one scene to the next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the lines are in service of the story,
not standalone ‘punch’ lines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sample
another line of his from <i>Penmani AvaL Kanmani</i>, uttered by Delhi Ganesh,
who is in a pitiable state.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When urged
by Visu to fight for his rights, he says, “<i>Maanamum roshamum vayathuku
kedaiyadhu.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paasamum pandigaiyum ezhaiku
kedaiyadhu</i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Crisp, yet
striking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Yes, his filmmaking style was
basic and strongly reflective of his stage background.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But an assessment of a film- an audiovisual
medium – should be reflective of not just the form but also content, not just
the style but also the substance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Visu’s
finest works were so compelling on the content front that I was – I still am –
always willing to look past the deficiencies on the craft side of things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Now that I have written enough
about writer-filmmaker Visu, a word about <i>Visu Sir</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was fortunate enough to have known him in
the last two years of his life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatsapp
voice notes were his preferred method of communication.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a delight to interact with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He shared with me some truly sagacious words
of wisdom from his own life experiences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Since they were from his personal life and since he is no more, I would
like to refrain from sharing examples in this public blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The stories from his professional life were
no less illuminating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I learned that
AVM Saravanan had insisted on the Manorama character in <i>Samsaram Adhu
Minsaram </i>for comic relief, I asked Visu Sir if he felt like he had compromised as a writer for
commercial reasons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His response was, “<i>Saraswati
veLeele pogaatha varaikum Lakshmi ulla varathukaana edhavadhu velai pannaa thappu
illa</i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought that that was a
wonderful way of describing his lofty standards and integrity as a writer and the kind of tweaks and suggestions that were acceptable to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Visu Sir was an important,
influential figure in the world of stage, cinema and later in television.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a day and age where Tamil audiences get rich exposure to world cinema and develop a deeper understanding of the nuances of films,
it is easy to forget the works of a writer and director of an earlier era whose creations were populated with commoners, their highs, lows, joys and despair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But to forget him or assess his
works unfairly is grave injustice to one of our most thoughtful creators.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Giving him credit where it is due is one
surefire way of ensuring that his soul continues to rest in peace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In writing this piece, I have tried to do my
bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In reading this piece, you have
done yours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-21433298058487083922022-07-20T21:46:00.005-07:002022-07-20T21:46:50.378-07:00Throwing Light on the Shadow: An essay on Iravin Nizhal<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">That Radhakrishnan Parthiban is undoubtedly
one of the most daring filmmakers in Tamil Cinema is probably the
understatement of the year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has, over
time, carved out a space that is all his.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The stories that he chooses to tell and the formats he tries to explore, are all so off the beaten path that you could say that every film of his could
be titled <i>Pudhiya Paadhai</i>!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And <i>Iravin
Nizhal</i> is arguably the most daring of all his attempts till date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The film is a technical marvel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That it is the world’s first non-linear,
single shot film is something that we have been educated on in the
promotions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the making video that is
played before the film gives us the full picture of the extraordinary
challenges and barriers that Parthiban and his team had to overcome to make
this dream a reality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The vision, the
planning, the execution, the frustrations, and the ecstasy all make for such
compelling viewing that the actual feature film that follows, has to compete with
the making video for entertainment and engagement.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/cjBK6y0tOYM" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Right from his <i>Pudhiya Paadhai</i>
days, Parthiban has, in an unflinching manner, managed to dissect and present
characters who struggle to come out of the shadows of a sordid childhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With his wonderful <i>Oththa Seruppu</i> <i>Size
7</i>, which I regard as his best directorial work till date, another theme
that he had explored with much depth was the deleterious impact of money, or
lack thereof, on relationships.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of
the reasons why <i>Oththa Seruppu</i> worked remarkably well was because with
the film’s entire focus on a single character, the introspections, reflections and revelations were examined in a superbly perceptive and focused manner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Iravin Nizhal</i> combines these themes
and their impact on a man’s life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is an
ambitious film not just in terms of the conceit of the single shot and the
non-linear narration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is also a daring
experiment in story telling because it trusts the viewer to watch with rapt
attention as the character revisits several pieces of the rather unsolvable
puzzle that his life has turned out to be.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">If the investigation setup of <i>Oththa Seruppu</i> gave
Parthiban the perfect platform for the solo act, a character holding a figurative
mirror to his conscience and revisiting the highs and lows of his life is a
perfect setup for the single shot narrative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Since we are following a character’s mental journey, not a physical one,
we accept the segues from one setting to another without questioning the
logistical feasibility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the same
cannot be said about the emotional impact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Parthiban follows what Baradwaj Rangan coined as the “vignette” style (when
he spoke to Mani Ratnam about <i>Iruvar</i>). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We get a whiff of several phases of his life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the one hand, given the depressingly dark
territories that the story goes into, the vignettes work well in making the
sequences palatable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the other hand, certain
aspects like the impact of a child on the character transformation of a parent don’t get
their due time on screen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The rough edges of this film are
smoothed over by Parthiban’s powerful dialogues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whenever the single shot format limits the
scope for performances, the dialogues more than ably compensate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be it his trademark puns (there are a couple
of hilarious but unprintable ones!) or certain sharp lines like “<i>naan manushana
porandhu rendu varsham than aachu</i>” in reference to his daughter, the
dialogues are terrific.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as a
Parthiban fan, the couple of subtle references to his earlier work like the
Rajabadhar death scene (happening in 1989 in this film’s timeline, the same
year that <i>Pudhiya Paadhai</i> released) are thoroughly enjoyable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And there are some nifty touches like the
Shalini poster from <i>Amarkallam</i> in the background when the film’s timeline
shifts to 1999.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">AR Rahman’s musical score,
especially “Paapam Seiyyadhiru”, contributes to the film’s dramatic appeal in a magnificent manner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The score helps us
experience the inevitable tragedy of the central character in an almost poetic manner,
despite the harshness of the visuals that unfold on screen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cinematographer Arthur
Wilson and production designer RK Vijay Murugan are the two other pillars that
hold Parthiban’s vision aloft. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
latter has created some truly ingenious set pieces – some of the transitions from
one set to another are astonishing, especially the beach front – while the
former finds the unlikeliest of angles to weave his camera in and out of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wilson’s work is especially splendid in the
flashback sequences involving the kid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The child goes through some ghastly experiences but Wilson’s camera angles and lighting are just perfect in showing us some of the unspeakable hardships while never feeling
exploitative.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Parthiban’s efforts for <i>Iravin Nizhal</i> are so
painstaking that it almost feels unfair to nitpick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But even as we critically view the film, it
is impossible to not acknowledge the palpable impact that the film’s narrative has
on us, even within the restrictions of the format.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Future filmmakers might analyze <i>Iravin Nizhal</i>
and make careful choices about the stories that would fit most optimally
into this format.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the seeds of that
are undoubtedly sown by Parthiban. (To paraphrase <i>Thevar Magan</i> Sivaji, “<i>Aana
vedhai…Parthiban poattadhu</i>!”)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
for proving his mettle as an intrepid experimenter, let us collectively throw
as much spotlight on this film as possible so that he feels motivated to keep
creating new paths for us to experience.</p>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-42528967291426139042022-07-15T20:56:00.002-07:002022-07-15T21:01:45.935-07:00Rainy Daze: My essay on Sara Siddiqui Chansarkar’s “Skin over milk”<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Sara Siddiqui Chansarkar is an
amazingly observant writer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To paint a
picture in broad strokes is one thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>To knit a yarn with lovingly woven threads is another skill
altogether.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No prizes for guessing where
the author of the brilliant “Morsels of Purple” falls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While “Morsels of Purple” was a delectable
collection of flash fiction pieces, “Skin over milk” is a quietly powerful
novella about three sisters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Why did I say, “quietly
powerful?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is because I have read my
share of pieces where the outward explosions and catharses of characters are
captured in a raw, in-your-face and unflinching manner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tone of “Skin over milk” is
different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Characters implode under the
weight of patriarchal entitlements.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There is a mix of gorgeous poetry and minute observation in the way Sara
captures pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the most exquisite
lines in this book is a case in point – “The clouds rumbled as they emptied
their moisture with a plunk-plunk-plunk on the tin shed but we let ours flow in
silence.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, rain, beyond being a
metaphor, is almost a character in the proceedings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it is a testament to Sara’s dazzling skill
as a writer that she does not use it in convenient, cliched ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nowhere is this more evident in an
astonishingly effective line where a character likens her unbearable pain to
“why clouds groaned.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiKkOks-W7oteQvJiydbZJfWU5UjdEJUsF6-iKnGySJwsIgG5Lq_I3ClMLkIC1CdJWTNqcujgCiIRX2uFvmeOV_bAX9oFlDnzDFly1_DkzZwpTmcVUVj05dZ7XDnrA2r_eFYF0DonukFyrDNFI05__48_SlzXVm5-kpMNMHnOJzfbhsI9Vkqs9cjRlLow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img data-original-height="396" data-original-width="1584" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiKkOks-W7oteQvJiydbZJfWU5UjdEJUsF6-iKnGySJwsIgG5Lq_I3ClMLkIC1CdJWTNqcujgCiIRX2uFvmeOV_bAX9oFlDnzDFly1_DkzZwpTmcVUVj05dZ7XDnrA2r_eFYF0DonukFyrDNFI05__48_SlzXVm5-kpMNMHnOJzfbhsI9Vkqs9cjRlLow=w400-h100" title="Skin over Milk (image courtesy of https://saraspunyfingers.com)" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skin over Milk (image courtesy of <a href="https://saraspunyfingers.com">https://saraspunyfingers.com</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">But lest you think that the book
is gloomy, let me assure you that it is anything but.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a story of empathy and inner steel in
the face of adversity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is about
living life with hope despite feeling indignant and helpless at times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is about finding joy in the little
pleasures of life, even if it means the occasional creation of imaginary worlds
within the real one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sara, for major
portions of the book, does a splendid tightrope walk between bringing out the
pain experienced by the sisters and their mother while doing so in a
matter-of-fact manner, never milking a moment in a superfluous or indulgent
manner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a result, we marvel at the
acute observations, we feel the pain, we smile and laugh with the characters,
all along feeling like an active participant in the proceedings, not a remote
observer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When a girl receives physical
blows coupled with verbal abuse, the “words cut deeper than the leather belt”
not just for her but for us too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
when the characters engage in some harmless mischief with a rickshawallah, we
smile impishly as though we were in on the act.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">“Skin over milk” is proof that
one need not pack a story with twist after twist for a read to be
gripping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes, choosing a
seemingly simple narrative and examining pivotal moments with a microscope can
draw a reader into the writer’s world just as compellingly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that is exactly what Sara does with this
delightful little book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rain might
have featured prominently in the book, but it is the readers that will want to
shower the author with lavish praise.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">***</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Link to order the book:</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B4FV35VG/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_FPQX4PQWGYQYP80VZNS3" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B4FV35VG/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_FPQX4PQWGYQYP80VZNS3</a></p>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332491328939495514.post-40788301829199339882022-07-02T09:10:00.001-07:002022-07-02T09:10:36.689-07:00"It was time..." - Not another review of Vikram<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I was five years old when the original
<i>Vikram</i> was released.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the early
90s, I watched the film for the first time on Doordarshan on a Sunday
evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was struck by a couple of
things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The coolness of the first
half.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the dumbness of the second half!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a point, the film seemed to meander
aimlessly, with the shoddy graphics in the climax a far cry from the rousing
opening sequence where the rocket was captured by the villain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, the 1986 film was not one that I was especially
fond of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the Kamal Hassan fanatic I am,
when the first <i>Vikram</i> teaser (for the 2022 version, that is) was
released, I somehow felt instinctively that it was going to be a better
film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something told me – gosh, I sound
like Anju in <i>Keladi Kanmani</i>! – that this would be, at the very least, a
rollicking ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when I watched the film
on the second day of release, my cup of joy began to overflow.<o:p></o:p></p>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/OKBMCL-frPU" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">As I mentioned in the title, no,
this is not a review of the film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is
very rare that I feel so much of ‘ownership’ (for the lack of a better term) of
a film that I cannot trust myself to do a balanced analysis of a film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was because of the delirious state that I found
myself in while watching the film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With writer-director
Lokesh Kanagaraj at the helm, it was not surprising to see the film get on with
its business from the word, go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The <i>Pathala
Pathala…</i> song was hyped up beyond measure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But in the actual film, truth to be told, it didn’t do much for
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was probably because I was
waiting to see Kamal in ‘action’ (pun intended).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The moment where I said to myself, “There’s
my Kamal” was the death scene.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tears,
the gesture to the crowd to leave, the easy-chair posture with the grandkid, were all moments
where I was struggling to get into the drama of the scene.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, the critics would say that great acting should
make the actor fade out and become the character.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And Kamal’s acting in that scene is indeed
great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I was not a critic (even a
wannabe one) watching that scene.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
a fan admiring his idol’s every move.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The much-celebrated
pre-intermission scene made me rue the fact that I was not in a packed theater
in Chennai.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would have enjoyed the
whistles and applause as much as the swagger and the action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that scene, I actually was enjoying Fahadh Faasil’s acting considerably.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a hint
of a smile when he says that the Kamal character is not a myth anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I thought
to myself, “This is Kamal’s first major sequence in this film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yet, he doesn’t have to do all the heavy
lifting!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was grinning from ear to ear
thinking of films where Kamal had shouldered the lion’s share of the burden –
in terms of time, thinking, effort, and even finances – and yet the rewards were
hardly commensurate to the Himalayan effort put in. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet here he was, playing a role in a film where
the director, his crew and the stellar ensemble cast were all playing vital
roles in essentially creating a celebratory experience for him and his
fans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was reminded of Sachin Tendulkar on
the day of the World Cup final in 2011.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
hadn’t exactly done anything noteworthy on that day except score a couple of
lovely boundaries in a short innings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But after having carried him on his shoulders, Virat Kohli mentioned,
rather eloquently and evocatively, that Tendulkar “carried the burden of the
nation for 21 years. It was time we carried him.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">There is a sequence in the second
half where Kamal goes into a place of danger to fetch a bottle of milk for his grandson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The way I was enjoying that action sequence
was what convinced me that I should not dare write a review of this film.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know why?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Had I been in more of a critic mode, I would have questioned the logic
of that scene.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was that milk powder not
something that he could have gotten elsewhere?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Instead of taking on the villains, had he shown his gun to a security officer
of a nearby supermarket, he could have spared a few broken bones and teeth!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But no, I was in no mood to question the logic
of that decision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just to hear him say
things like, “tough <i>kudukkare</i>” to his grandson, made it worth it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And is there an Indian actor that can exclaim,
“attaboy” with as much attitude as Kamal Hassan?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I must be thankful for the love
that Lokesh Kanagaraj exhibits towards not only Kamal but also his body of
work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apart from the slightly more
obvious references to his earlier films, I liked the fact that the makeup
of Kalidas Jayaram in the scene where he is tied to a chair evoked a similar
scene with Arjun in <i>Kuruthi Punal</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There is a certain grace and finesse that Lokesh displays in weaving in
moments that never detract attention from his storytelling yet give fans of
Kamal reason after reason to rejoice and relish the man’s return to the big
screen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To paraphrase a line from the
title song, <i>Nayagan meendum vandhu vittaan</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And how!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I remember The Hindu review of <i>Nammavar</i>
where the critic had written, “Kamal has fought tougher screen battles before.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That applies here too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the difference is that Nammavar, as good
a film as it was, was not a commercial success.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><i>Vikram</i> has turned out to be one of the biggest blockbusters of
Kamal’s career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just like no fan of
Sachin really complained about the fact that he scored only 18 in that famous
World Cup final, no true follower of Kamal is complaining about the fact that
Kamal has “fought tougher screen battles.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Kohli and company were more than happy to carry Sachin on their shoulders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks to Lokesh, we can do the same for
Kamal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because…it is time.<o:p></o:p></p>Ram Muralihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15932557588480669430noreply@blogger.com0