“Simple living and high thinking
were slowly replaced by simple thinking and high living.”
This one line by journalist
Suresh Menon best summed up the sheer tragedy of cricketer Mohammad
Azharuddin’s career and his role in the match-fixing crisis of the late 1990s.In my own personal and professional life, I have
encountered people on all ends of the spectrum encompassing the different combinations
of quality of thinking and standard of living.In some instances, the same people have, at least in my mind, gone from one
part of the spectrum to another.
I have had my share of growth, stagnation
and dips in my life.These have had a direct
bearing on the level of confidence that I experience internally as well as the
comforts that form part of the externals. (Although in the case of confidence,
or lack thereof, and its relation to success or failure, it’s hard to gauge
what is the chicken and what is the egg.)I would be lying if I said that it is only the ineffable minutiae of interpersonal
interactions that have mattered to me. There
have indeed been material possessions such as watches and cars that have given
me much joy.
There are times when I do set my
sights on the next ‘best’ (I am using that term loosely) thing that I want to
acquire in due course of time.I am certain
that there have been instances (hopefully few and far between) when I may have
come across as boastful or appearing incapable of having my head connected to
my shoulders or my feet rooted to terra firma.Over time, upon reflection, I have felt compelled to find ways to internalize
and compartmentalize the joys that I derive from material possessions.Successes are best shared with a small set of
trustworthy people.In this day and age
of social media overexposure, there is constant pressure to advertise and
amplify moments of happiness for public consumption.In the tradition of most life lessons, the crucibles
of character precede the lessons learned.I have passed on some occasions, failed on others.But the lessons have mostly stuck.And arguably, the most important learning has
been around the currency of relationships.
Several social science papers and
articles have characterized time, trust, words and gestures as reliable currencies
of trusted relationships.Based on the
relationships that I have had, be it family or friends, respect is the most
reliable barometer of a relationship.Respect
is the currency that appreciates in value in relationships that flourish.And I think of respect both in terms of the
self and respect for the other person.Both are important.I sincerely believe
that we need to have a healthy amount of respect for ourselves in order to
develop a quiet confidence that, in turn, enhances our relationships.A healthy amount of self-respect eclipses the
odious effects of insecurity that can incapacitate a relationship.And an inherent respect in the other person can
reduce differences in lifestyle choices (or ‘quality’, again defined loosely) to
a mere fact, not a factor.Deep-rooted respect
is what makes us genuinely savor the ingredients that make the other person
happy, not what we define as the recipe for happiness or success.
The benchmark for a relationship
that existed indelibly despite socioeconomic differences, tastes, interests and
tangible comforts, was the friendship that my maternal grandpa – a lifelong
employee of Reserve Bank of India- had shared with his best friend, the chairman
of a conglomerate. (Neither of them is alive.)Pretty much everything that I have written above are the result of
introspection through observation (and many an anecdote) of what I reckon to be
the gold standard of a relationship.A kinship
where equality was defined in terms of the amount of respect, affection and
security afforded to one another.
I do hope that in the autumn of
my life that I would get to relish and reflect on relationships like the one my
grandpa and his friend shared. Thanks to
them, I know that it is possible to let the quality of “high thinking” co-exist
peacefully with the elements of “high living.”The odds remain high as long as the currency of respect does not get
demonetized.
1981.That was the year I was born. Indian cricket and Tamil movies.Those have been my two passions ever since my
age entered double-digits.I would like
to think that I am a keen observer of the game, not just in its present form
but also its history.Ditto for the
movies.In my little bookshelf, I have
autobiographies of cricketers Bishan Bedi, Sunil Gavaskar and actor
Sivakumar.Sometimes, I wonder how much more I would have admired cricketers, actors and filmmakers from the 70s
had I been born much earlier.So, welcome
to my whimsical time capsule.Buckle up…
1961.That was the year I was born ;)
And here is a team of 10 people comprised of Indian cricketers and Tamil film
personalities that my mind is teeming with as I think of my favorites from my
formative (!) years.
Sunil Gavaskar: Who else
can I open with?I was 10 when Sunny
made his debut in the West Indies.774
runs in his first four Tests with four centuries.Critics would say that this West Indies line-up did not have the likes of Sir Wesley Hall or Charlie Griffith.But is there another Indian batsman except
his brother-in-law GR Vishwanath who could stand up to pace with conviction?It was not until the mid-to-late 70s that Indian batsmen like Mohinder Amarnath played pace bowling with
conviction.And apart from his batting,
just the way Sunny carried himself on and off the field was absolutely delightful
to watch.An air of unconscious
assurance, confidence and let’s admit it, a bit of arrogance.You could tell that he knew that he was
good.His brutally honest opinions of
cricketers like Farokh Engineer in his autobiography (which I read in 1976, as a 10th grader) are a must-read.The cricketer
of my school years.
Sivaji Ganesan: The SG of
Tamil movies follows the SG of cricket. I was 12 when Gowravam came out. What an experience that film was. I remember the trip to Shanthi theater with my family. There was no 'dolby' sound then; Sivaji's baritone did not need one. Kids and critics of this generation find his
acting style too loud and theatrical.I
was too young when Motor Sundaram Pillai and Uyarndha Manidhan
came out.But I revisited those during
re-runs thanks to a guy in my school who had a keen ear for good cinema even back then-
Baradwaj Rangan.Let me just say that
Sivaji could be subtle if he wanted.He could be measured and graceful.Too bad that the Mahendrans and Balu Mahendras
did not work with him. But as I said, Gowravam –
that was the movie that made me a fan of his. Two incredible performances as a barrister (whose name, incidentally,
was Rajnikanth) and his innocent, honest nephew. He was special to us. History better be a little kind to him.
Kamal Haasan: He burst onto
the scene as an adult actor in Arangetram, which was released the same
year as Gowravam did.I despised him in the
film.His role was that of an
ingrate.How much I hated him owing to
his character versus his performance in that film, I am not clear.But it was not until Nizhal Nijamagiradhu
released 5 years later, that I felt that he was complete as an actor.Utterly refined and assured, he displayed a body language
that suggested he had become a veteran by the time he was 25.The scene where he dances in front of Sumitra’s
students was unforgettable. (Strangely, he smokes more in this film than the rest
of his filmography put together.)
Bishan Singh Bedi: Suresh
Menon’s incisive, definitive “portrait” of him (as the title of the biography reads) could have actually been titled, “Bishan: No inhibition.”One of the true artists of slow bowling, he
was arguably one of the most outspoken cricketers that India has ever produced.He took on not only batsmen but also
authorities, captains, other bowlers (he openly accused the English team of
tampering with the ball with Vaseline back in 1976, which by all accounts, led
to the scuttling of his county contract) and more.He may not have always done the ‘right’ thing
(if there is ever an easy way of determining that) but his heart was rarely in
the wrong place.Statistics don’t always
tell the full story but they do capture at least some of the essence- as a left arm spinner, Bedi ranks fourth among the top Test wicket takers.There is a lovely story in the book about how
he sobbed buckets when one of his wards died in an unfortunate accident.Menon’s words are even more poignant – “Passion
and compassion came together that day.”Those
are the elements of his story make Bedi the person we loved and sometimes loved
to hate. I am glad that radio commentary back in the day helped me visualize the beauty of his bowling until Youtube videos in recent years confirmed that what I had imagined was indeed real.
Mahendran: If ever there
was a filmmaker who walked the talk, it was Mahendran.Disgusted with how talky Tamil cinema was
(and being honest about contributing to it, in his work as a dialogue writer),
when he got the opportunity to become a director, he showed how cinema must be
made.He started off on a terrific note with
Mullum Malarum but Udhiri PookaL is the apogee of Mahendran, the
filmmaker.A quiet, stirring tale of immense
emotional devastation, the film’s power is best summed up in a scene featuring
a supporting actor (played by Samikannu, an actor who deserved a lot more love
and a lot more work when he was alive).He plays a barber who, during the course of the film, keeps requesting
Archana that he give her kid a haircut.She keeps postponing it.And when
its time for him to use his paraphernalia, he is emotionally paralyzed.He shed tears on screen.We did, off screen.
Ilayaraja: For kids of a
later generation, 1992 was a test of their loyalties.AR Rahman vs Ilayaraja.For teenagers of my generation, MSV vs Raja
was our loyalty battle.Thankfully, many
people of my generation loved them both equally.Both were masters of melodies: Kanaa
Kaanum KangaL vs Thalaiyai Kuniyum Thamarai – I can’t pick one.The tie-breaker, to me, is Raja’s background
score.Mahendran once referred to Raja
as his “dialogue writer.”Enough said.
One of Raja's best bgm scores (Bharathi's authority and Chellama's discomfort come together in this peace so unobtrusively, with the beats and the veeNai):
Srividya: She was the best
actress of that generation yet, rarely played the lead actress.A tumultuous personal life didn’t exactly
help here either.But later generations
who would wax eloquent about the powerful eyes of actresses like Saritha and,
much later, Kajol, had no clue what they were missing if they were unfamiliar with
Srividya’s eyes and her rich body of work.The most expressive pair of eyes that one could hope to see, fortunately,
her talent was noticed in later years in supporting roles.May her soul rest in the kind of peace that
she probably did not experience while she was alive.
Kapil Dev: I was fortunate
to have watched some of the best Indian spinners while also witnessing the arrival
of the man who gave swing bowling a fair amount of meaning.Not to mention the fact that he taught us who
a genuine all-rounder was.There is a
hilarious anecdote from his first tour of Pakistan.He was sent in as night-watchman, one whose
job was to defend his wicket late in the day.But here is the catch.He
actually did not know what the term meant.Literally so.Ignorance was indeed blissful…to the spectators, not his captain.He hit a couple of huge sixes instead of defending stoutly!Later he confessed to his roommate EAS
Prasanna that his big hitting was not out of disrespect for the captain’s
orders!Disrespect was something he reserved
for the bowlers who dared to bowl at him when he was in full flow.And when he led India to the 1983 World Cup
win, even Test purists like me gravitated reluctantly, inevitably to the
shorter version of the game. (Cricket aficionados now find the 50-over version
not short enough.) The cricketer of my college years!
Sivakumar: Sivakumar to Tamil
Cinema was what Mohinder Amarnath was to Indian Cricket.Rarely flashy but incredibly dependable and
hardworking.There may have been bigger
stars but Sivakumar is one who has flickered for a much longer time than many.His current passion as an orator is a very
natural extension of him as an actor who had an affinity for the written
word.He was never insecure to cede
spotlight to his fellow leads.Lakshmi,
Sripriya, Saritha, Sulakshana and Suhasini all benefited from his willingness to
work well with his actresses who sometimes had the author-backed roles.In sharing his routines (in real life) that
include yoga, walking, preparing for speeches (which he delivers flawlessly without
any written aids), he continues to serve as a model senior citizen.As someone turning 60 next year, I do have a
thing or two to learn from him.
K Balachander: By the
time, I started watching films, Sridhar was already on the decline, only
showing sparks of his talent in films like ILamai Oonjaladigradhu.K Balachander was the one who stood out as a
director.He had a stamp.Sometimes the stamp was so big, it obscured
the postcard.Mahendran once wrote, “A
good filmmaker makes you forget about its creators during the film.You should blend with the happenings on
screen.”K Balachander sometimes gave
one the feeling that he was not as secure about letting the happenings on
screen ‘speak’ for themselves.His ‘touches’
sometimes were slaps on the face.But it
is impossible to not acknowledge how different he was from his contemporaries.He wanted to tell bold stories.He wanted to break tried-and-tested notions
of what an actress must do.He truly
broke new ground with situational songs.I may not have admired him as much as I did Mahendran and filmmakers of
his ilk but I certainly respected KB for what he did for Tamil Cinema.
Thank you for taking the ride with me in my time machine. It's time to hop off. Adios. :)
Several tributes poured in two weeks back in honor of K Balachander’s 90th birth anniversary.Many films were discussed and dissected.For a filmmaker who boasted of such a rich oeuvre,
it is impossible to achieve comprehensiveness in the true sense of the word. But one film that I sincerely feel that
deserves more attention is KB’s Kalki, released in 1996.I
remember reading some fairly positive reviews.The film ran for over 100 days.Sure,
it has flaws.It is overwrought in parts.The music, for a KB film, is mediocre.One of the lead characters (Rahman) comes across
as terribly one-note.And a key plot
point is reminiscent of Sindhu Bhairavi.Yet, it is far from a film that can be dismissed.The three female characters, played by
Sruthi, Geetha and Renuka, are all superbly detailed.The actors all do full justice to their roles
that are diverse from one another.But
in my book, the best of them is the titular character played by Sruthi.
When on song, K Balachander was a
master at establishing plucky characters with an economy of scenes.Be it Seetha slapping a lecherous old man in
a movie theater (Unnal Mudiyum Thambi) or Suhasini turning all inquisitive in the middle of a concert (Sindhu Bhairavi), KB made his audience
sit up and take notice of his female leads swiftly.Sruthi in Kalki
sparkles right from the beginning.One
of the best scenes in the film is the sequence where she calms down an agitated
former policeman (Thalaivasal Vijay,
in a splendid cameo) who brandishes a gun in a supermarket.She, like other shoppers, is stunned
initially.But the moment she hears of
his sad past, she sets her basket aside, approaches him and…kisses him, upon
him requesting her.One can go into the
rights and wrongs of the decision she takes.But for who this character is, this is just about the perfect character
establishment scene.It is
also a crucial scene for another reason.Geetha sees her in action here and is drawn to her because she sees a
trait in Kalki that she doesn’t possess
– boldness.
16-min point in the video:
Upon hearing the horrors and
trauma of Geetha’s marriage and divorce from Prakashraj and her yearning for a
child, Sruthi hatches a plan to get close to Prakashraj, who is now married to
Renuka.She becomes pregnant with his
child and decides to ‘gift’ the child to Geetha.Rahman plays an aspiring film actor who is
hopelessly in love with Sruthi.If that
plot is KB-esque in spirit, the way Sruthi essays her role does
not really have the stamp of the KB film performance.And I mean that as a compliment.
There are some films where I felt
like the lead actors and actresses had some all too familiar tics and quirks.These mannerisms, some endearing, some
annoying, made it appear as though the actors were simply acting out
instructions and not blending with the characters.To me, that made some truly three-dimensional
characters – on paper – appear as two-dimensional on the rectangular
screen.No such problems are evident with
Sruthi’s acting here.Apart from the customary
KB eye-squint at a couple of places, her performance comes across as authentic
and in sync with her characterization.As a result, Kalki comes across as a flesh-and-blood character.The way she essays this scene (below) is a
case in point.Her agitated movements in
the house, the relief upon seeing Rahman and the slaps on his face all come
across as absolutely real.KB’s lines sizzle,
especially the manner in which Kalki berates birthday celebrations. (Trivia:
After Thillu Mullu, this is the second
KB film that features the word, bourgeois!)
1 hr 20 min point in the video:
Sruthi’s performance is
especially measured in the rather dramatic concluding portions.There is tremendous conviction in the way she
utters KB’s piercing dialogues.Especially these
two lines – “Naan senjathu than
right-nu solla varle, aana naan senjathu thappu illa.”And, “Karpa
vida conviction perisa thonichu.”It
takes an actor of special talents to not only rise above good material but also
lift the material itself from paper to screen convincingly.Sruthi possessed that talent.Too sad that no other filmmaker in Tamil gave
her meaningful material.
2 hr 25 min point in the video:
Kalki remains a footnote in KB’s illustrious career. And whatever its flaws may be, I think it deserves
more attention. It is a rare film that
makes a mockery of Tamil cinema’s sickening obsession with the virginity of its
female characters. Even the way the film
ends is refreshing, for a KB film. (Spoiler alert: The fact that it doesn’t have
a tragic ending, in a way, is a statement too against patriarchal notions of
purity and virginity.) Above all, the
lead actress turns in a performance that is arresting from start to finish. And that is reason enough to shed a bit of light on this sadly underrated film.
My parents and I had stayed over
at my maternal grandparents’ house the night before.On the morning of March 20, 1994, we were
getting ready to leave to our apartment.My grandpa was going about his usual pre-walk routine – I
remember that he used to wear a rather spiffy pair of squeaky-clean sneakers
which I envied. (I was a 12-year old who played street cricket.Enough said.)I was glued to the TV set in his bedroom because India had started to play
quite well against New Zealand in a Test match.He was mildly annoyed that I was watching TV first thing in the
morning.And then he went to his office room
to pick up a couple of sundries while I went downstairs to get ready to leave
with my parents.I drank my Bournvita - three scoops of the powder and
two spoons of sugar. (I had a sweet jaw in addition to having a sweet tooth, I
think.)I bade farewell to my grandma
and got into the car.When my Dad was about
to pull away, I exclaimed, “Stop, I’ll come right back.”And I rushed upstairs to my grandpa’s office
room, hugged him and said, “Poitu varen,
Thatha.” (A loose translation would be, "See you later, grandpa.")He responded with a surprised
smile.And I rushed back to the car.Of all the times I had taken leave of him, I
don’t ever remember hugging him.I have
no idea why I did that day.
Today marks 88 years since my
grandpa was born.March 20th of
this year was the 26th anniversary of his passing away. (He met with
a freak but fatal accident during his walk that day.) I have written considerably
about or around my grandpa in this blog and elsewhere.So, the rest of this write-up is not going to
be about him.Instead, a stream of
thoughts flowed through my mind about goodbyes that I wanted to record.
Right off the bat, let me offer a
confession.I am terrible at goodbyes,
especially with people who are far away from Pennsylvania
(where I live).At the end of any trip where
I have spent time with my loved ones, I feel incredibly heavy.I dread the moment where I have to say, “see
you soon” or…”poitu varen.”As much
as I know that technological advances have made it easier to keep in touch,
none of that seems to matter at that moment.At the risk of sounding terribly sappy, I shall share a simplistic but
intensely personal theory of mine.I
sincerely believe that every one of my loved ones – family or otherwise – occupies
a distinct, irreplaceable part of my heart.My personal and professional circles have evolved over time.Yet the ones that matter, matter.For instance, I might be visiting a close
cousin of mine during a work trip.At
the end of the work trip, I would, after all, be returning to my home, to my
family.But in my simplistic view of my
little world, the quality time spent at my cousin’s place made that part of my
heart swell with joy and gratitude for my cousin’s existence.That when it comes to bidding goodbye, I feel
numb, I feel empty.Yet, it’s not a feeling
that I would trade for anything.That is
because there is a magical little phase
that extends beyond the goodbye.
When I am on the train, car or plane
ride post the trip, I let the emotions of that trip pervade my being.I focus very specifically on the memory,
registering it to the best of my abilities.I tell myself that just being part of my loved ones’ world is a gift in itself.I then start to think more practically about how
I can, of course, continue to keep in touch via phone, Whatsapp and so on.It is the strong yearning for that continuity,
to have a shared present that also pushes me to have meaningful dialogue with
people when I meet them after a gap.That
is not to suggest a mutual exclusivity with the fun elements of interpersonal
interactions which have their own joys.But I do make an attempt to inquire about the things that mean something
to them while striving to encapsulate the highs (and sometimes lows, as applicable!)
of my life in the time that had elapsed since my prior meeting with them.It is that continuity that softens the impact
of the separation and offers an assuring thought in the mind that I am part of
a shared journey that had just witnessed its latest stop.What felt like a period at the time of the
goodbye starts to feel like a comma.
Of course, I would be lying if I said
that every memory is a rosy, joyous one.That every goodbye has been at the end of a pleasant, enjoyable series
of interactions.I suppose that the emotions
experienced in the wake of a visit or a trip is a reliable enough litmus test
to gauge any changes in value and importance of a relationship at that point in time.If the “magical little phase” that I described
earlier is replaced by a haunting, upsetting, nightmarish passage of time, then
that is a message in itself.That phase after
a trip, at least in my mind, is not just an opportunity to judge others.More importantly, that is the time to assess my
own behaviors and actions.If I had acted
in a way that would have upset others, then I know that I must make
every attempt to assuage others' feelings of hurt in a timely, thoughtful manner.
As I reflect on that goodbye on
March 20th twenty-six years ago, I reckon that the most obvious thing that I need
to remind myself is that life is a boon that is too precious, at times, too short.That mocking the best laid plans for our
journey are those vagaries of fate.Instead of engaging in the futile exercise of questioning those glorious
uncertainties of life, we are much better off shaping our journey with
meaningful punctuations before the full stop arrives.
***
PS: Some of the thinking around "punctuation" and "full stop" in this article is inspired by Kamal's line in Nammavar - "Mutrupulli illaadha vaakyam bore adikum illa." See link below for the scene where he says this: https://youtu.be/MqF4ccJMpfU
Veteran comedienne and character actress Manorama had a
striking similarity to Sivaji Ganesan.An analysis of her performances suggests that like Ganesan, she was a willing puppet in the hands of filmmakers who had a
good appreciation for restraint and underplay.While she may be remembered for her histrionics in the films of P Vasu
and his ilk, Manorama could be sensationally effective when working with
directors who weren’t quite content with extracting broad performances from
her.Writer-director K Balachander’s
characters were generally expansive personalities.But he could, from time to time rein in
himself and his actors to write a three-dimensional character and extract a
truly moving performance.Manorama’s
Angayarkanni character in Unnal Mudiyum
Thambi is one such character that I don’t think had gotten as much
recognition as I thought it should have.
Kamal Hassan and Manorama (who
plays his sister-in-law here) have shared remarkable chemistry in a wide
variety of films ranging from comedies to dramas.Surprisingly, Kamal, as a filmmaker or
screenplay writer, rarely utilized Manorama in serious dramas.He seemed to prefer SN Lakshmi for the more
serious roles – Lakshmi too was fantastic in films like Mahanadi.Kamal typically gave more lighter roles to
Manorama in films like Aboorva
SahodarargaL and Michael Madana
Kamarajan.K Balachander, after
having worked with Manorama in the sixties and seventies hadn’t collaborated
with Manorama in over a decade.In Unnal Mudiyum Thambi
(1988), he brought back two of his frequent early collaborators – Gemini
Ganesan and Manorama.Both turned in
entirely different but equally stellar performances.The friendly Annee character has been a feature in some remarkable films like Sethu and Aaha.This one too is an
equally memorable one.And the actress
played no small part in ensuring that.
The early portions of the film do
a marvelous job of establishing Manorama as a friendly, maternal figure to
Kamal.There are some little touches
like the way Manorama calls out Gemini for his “vidya garvam” that establish
her character as a respectful but opinionated daughter-in-law.This subtle character sketching is rewarded
with an apt payoff in the second half where she confronts Gemini.While she is the balanced, responsible
daughter-in-law to Gemini and a loving wife to her mute husband, her
relationship with Kamal is what stands tallest.She stands up for him when Gemini utters some harsh words, encourages
his wooing of Seetha (which, by the way, is one of KB’s most charming romances)
but excoriates him when he crosses the line with his father.
Kamal and Manorama work out their
scenes in an utterly down-to-earth fashion.Two sequences stand out, one a lighthearted one and one a more serious
one.The first one is the delightful
scene where Kamal opens up to Manorama about Seetha.After fumbling through the conversation, the
two of them jointly sing, “Oru Pennai Paarthu Nilavai…”It is an adorably puckish moment whose
sweetness quotient is matched only by her line to him in the same sequence -
“Enna Raja…koondhal-a elaam moondhu paathirke…paer theriyaadha?”
The second, deeply poignant scene
is the one where Kamal decides to leave the house.With the nagaswaram playing in the
background, there is a touching vignette that plays out with no dialogues.Manorama packs a sweet for Kamal, which the latter refuses.She gently admonishes
him, after which he falls on her feet to get her blessings.This scene – the lack of dialogues, the
searing emotions, the evocative background score - is vintage KB, surely.But it is Manorama and Kamal who bring the
director’s vision to life.
Watch from the start to the 2:30 min point:
Manorama passed on a few years
ago, leaving behind a rich body of work for us to cherish.She enjoyed the adulation of the public and
at times, critical appreciation. (She had even won a National Award for her
performance in Pudhiya Paadhai.)But to me, her work in Unaal Mudiyum Thambi is the vestige that does not deserve to be
erased by the tides of time.
Of late, I have been reading this
series of articles on Cricinfo titled, “Come to think of it.” Taking a leaf out of my favorite cricket site, I am starting a series titled, “Missed
Spotlights.” In this
series, I am hoping to shed light on performances, aspects of a particular film’s
craft or entire movies that, in my opinion, didn’t get the spotlight that they
deserved.So, without further ado, let’s
start with a performance in a film that has reams and reams of literature
dedicated to it.But hitherto, I have not
read even a paragraph on what I reckon to be one of the finest supporting roles and
performances – Karthika, who plays the grown-up version of Kamal Hassan’s daughter in Nayagan. (Neena played the younger version.)
Karthika in "Nayagan"
When the entire world (of this film) kowtows to the ageing yet commanding Don, there are two people who stand
up to him.One is the intrepid police officer
(played by Nasser), who aims to bring him to book.To Nasser, nobody, irrespective of their good
deeds, is above the law.Karthika, much
before Nasser tries to nab her father, tries to impose the manacles of humanity
and reasoning to restrain him.Of
course, the Godfather has rules of his own making and a value system that he had
believed in over several decades. The clash of ideals is the focus of the spectacular confrontation scene between
father and daughter.As arresting as
Kamal is in the sequence, Karthika is equally feisty and fiery in this verbal duel.Right from the moment where she expresses
mild irritation at his attempt to fix her hair to her stunned look as she is
kneeling down next to the basil plant, Karthika brings to life Balakumaran’s razor-sharp
dialogues with the assurance of a veteran. (Mani Ratnam’s attention to detail is
astounding.After Kamal’s slap, notice
her cheek closely and you will see fingerprints.)
The Dad-Daughter confrontation sequence:
The other scene where she sparkles
is the telephone conversation with her father.The much-feared gangster, who had refused to pay heed to his daughter’s pleas
or respect the boundaries of jurisprudence, sees the plight of his devoted
followers in the hospital.After seeing them in a sorry
state, he decides that he is going to surrender to the court of
law.By now, the daughter is married to
the very inspector who has been trying to capture him.What ensues is a poignant conversation, the
highlights of which are actually the meaningful pauses more than the
words.Karthika makes full use of her
expressive eyes to do full justice to this scene, especially the part where Nasser thinks he has caught her red-handed.
The telephone conversation:
One of the features of Mani Ratnam’s
early work was how different and realistic his heroines looked when compared to actresses in the mainstream fare that was dished out in the 1980s.Here too, Karthika’s lack of conspicuous make-up
and her simple, elegant costumes add to the realism that Mani Ratnam strove for
in the drama.The black saree that Karthika
wears in the climax somehow looks perfect, given the heavy-duty emotions and
the impending tragedy.I state these
seemingly trivial details to underscore the fact that all these elements play their
own roles in making a performance believable. That these choices by the filmmaker are in service of a sublime performance make them indispensable even if they are hidden in plain view.
Apart from Poovizhi Vaasalile and Nayagan,
there are no other Tamil movies that I remember seeing Karthika in.But given that she had superbly etched roles
in undisputed classics, it would be a travesty if her roles were to be
forgotten.After all, a shooting star is
special in its own way, a spot of light that is not to be missed!
The subtitle of “The Breakthrough”
is, “Immunotherapy and the race to cure cancer.”Yes, the book is about the history of immunotherapy – in laymen’s terms, treatments
that harness the body’s own immune system to stave off cancer.But the subtitle does scarce justice to the
richness of content and context that author Charles Graeber packs into 225
pages.The book includes some truly
compelling, sometimes moving, stories of researchers, doctors, patients and caregivers
spanning more than a century starting from 1890 until a few years ago.In a sense, the book is not about a race.But rather, an extended marathon.A marathon without a chalked-out route, without competing racers but rather, a relay.The catch here is that the journey
of the discoveries of immunotherapy was anything but a straightforward A to B to
C route.
Image courtesy of Amazon.com
The baton of knowledge was not easily
passed from researcher to indefatigable researcher and from one generation to the
next.That did not stem from an unwillingness
to share.It was more of a reflection of
the dazzling array of complexities that marked this field for decades.Even as studies in this field continue to
pose newer, tougher questions, by and large, rock-solid foundations have been
laid for an approach that has already been making a significant difference to the lives of
those suffering from various types of cancer.This book is a stupendously detailed account of all of the tireless efforts,
frustrating setbacks, pleasant and unpleasant surprises, humbling disappointments
and the rare but unforgettable moments of ecstasy in discovery and progress.If one definition of breakthrough is, “a
sudden advance,” another meaning of the word is, “an act or instance of moving
beyond an obstacle.”Doing justice to
both these interpretations, this book sheds plenty of light on the method and
the madness that led to the moments of magic.And Graeber explains complex science in such simple
terms replete with intuitive analogies, that the book is a very accessible read
even for those that aren’t that familiar with the field of immunotherapy or its
tremendous impact on oncology.
Some of the best parts of this
book are in the chapter, “Glimmers in the Darkness.”In this chapter, Graeber lays the building
blocks of the immune system and how the deep understanding of the system came
about piecemeal over time, not in one eureka moment.More importantly, this chapter enlightens us on
how researchers had to deal with skeptics.A telling example is from a time when a researcher first presented information
on the immune system comprising T cells in addition to B cells. He was mocked
in public with the comment that “B” and “T” were the first and last letters of the
word, “bulls—t.”It is a very revealing
moment that shows us that the barriers to advancements aren’t always financial,
logistical or scientific.
The aforementioned chapter also details,
with much incision and perspicacity, the need to disseminate information responsibly.As much as there is a need to lucidly share
important advances beyond the scientific community with the general public, of equal
importance is balanced representation.Nowhere is this more evident in the book than the section on Dr. Steve
Rosenberg and the IL-2 news coverage in 1985.A week before results from a
small trial were due to be published in a journal, a Fortune magazine cover
screamed, “Cancer Breakthrough.”While
the medicine itself marked definite progress in the field, the results of the
trial did not actually measure up to the kind of hype it generated and worse, the
blind hope that the headline offered patients and caregivers.Seen one way, this book, especially this chapter, is not only a lesson in science but a lesson around science.
The latter portions of the book offer insight into the game-changing discoveries in the field of
checkpoint inhibition starting from CTLA-4 to anti-PD-1s/PD-L1s. (In light of what
I just said, “game-changing” was a
choice of term that I weighed carefully and used here only after being convinced of the enormity of the
impact of these treatments.)Let me hasten
to add that these are not technically dense chapters.As much as there is information on the
science, there is an equal emphasis on how some patients stood (and continue to stand)
to benefit from these newer treatments.There are some deeply moving stories, some of delight, others of despair.Even in his choice of the real-world stories,
Graeber ensures that rays of light are appropriately tempered by clouds of unpredictability
that continue to exist in the disease and its treatment.
Cancer, regardless of type, can
be a very scarily complex disease.Questions
lead to answers that, in turn, lead to more questions.We have a long way to go before the treatment
of cancer, across the spectrum of afflicted patients, can be considered completely
predictable and manageable.This book is
an important account of where the journey originated and where we are now.John Lennon once said, “Everything will be
okay in the end.If it is not okay, it
is not the end.”Suffice to say that we
are at the end…of just this write-up!
