Surging Ahead Thoughtfully: An essay on the professional side of my father

It was with the unfettered excitement of a toddler that I started reading “Surge," a book written by Sushila Ravindranath, on the course of industrial growth in Tamil Nadu, India.  As I turned the pages feverishly to the chapter on the TVS group, I saw that my father Murali Sundararajan was quoted at length in this chapter.  As a son, my heart swelled with pride for the same reason why the late Randy Pausch was thrilled to see his name in the world book encyclopedia (as an expert on virtual reality).  Mr. Suresh Krishna, Chairman of the TVS group, had personally recommended to the author that my father be interviewed since Appa had been instrumental in the growth of the exports division of Sundaram Fasteners (a TVS group company).  I saw this gesture by Mr. Krishna, and Appa being quoted in the book as a just token of recognition of three things that defined him as a professional – his extensive world knowledge, his fearless enterprise and his carpe diem attitude.

Appa studied mechanical engineering at Guindy Engineering College.  After graduating in 1975 at the age of 21, he entered the industry and made meaningful strides in the area of marketing.  He never studied marketing in school; he didn’t have to!  He was born to be a marketer.  Friends, relatives and former colleagues of Appa who knew him then are amazingly consistent in how they describe him – that he was extremely enterprising, spirited, with an abundant gift of the gab but also warm, generous with his time and very giving.  As I have progressed in my professional life, I have not only understood and appreciated his gifts better.  But I can also see how he has continually honed his talents and has been proactive when it came to his professional development.  Be it in simpler things such as poring over the newspaper every morning to other things such as expanding his knowledge network, learning from his professional mentors and being actively engaged in professional societies (such as heading a trade panel in CII and serving as the VP of the Indo-ASEAN Chamber of Commerce), he left no stone unturned in maximizing his potential as a professional without losing sight of the people factor. 

As Appa tells the author of “Surge,” he was entrusted with taking initiatives for the development of the fledgling exports division of Sundaram Fasteners (in India) in the 80s.  He quickly realized that products from developing countries like India and China were frowned upon by countries like the US and the UK because there was an inherent safety (or lack thereof) bias towards those products.  Since he was keeping himself abreast of the latest industry trends (mind you, this was in the pre-internet era), he realized that the ISO 9000 certification was something that Indian firms had hardly invested in.  And, he saw that as a chance to make a statement.  And, what a resounding statement it was!  Thanks to him pushing his management to invest more in quality control and getting international accreditation, he lowered…scratch that…broke barriers and shifted the inherent biases of the global purchasers (of his company’s products), favorably.  As a result, the exports department of Sundaram Fasteners flourished.  So, the person that was making meaningful strides in his career up until now was now making giant leaps!  And, to make those leaps across continents, he required dollops of help from several airline pilots!  Because as part of his work, Appa traveled to North & South America, Europe, Africa and pretty much every key market in Asia.  (As an aside, while all this travel certainly furthered his professional ambitions, it has taken a toll on his health.  And hence, I keep policing him, to stay healthy!  He listens to me…sometimes!)

As I had written in an earlier blog post about Professor Robert Kelley, the core components of the Star Performer model (one of the most meaningful outputs of Dr. Kelley’s research work) are (1) taking initiative (2) building one’s knowledge network and (3) engaging in self-management to assess one’s strengths and areas for development.  Dr. Kelley describes these as three of the key things that make stars shine brightly.  As you can see from what I’ve written about Appa, he clearly nailed the star performer model.  What amazes me is that he did all of that instinctively, much before the star performer model came into existence! 

The speech that I gave at Appa’s 60^th birthday celebrations back in 2014:

As I think of the myriad ways in which he has inspired me, I must say that apart from his professional smarts, the seamless, natural manner in which he has weaved in people into his world is what truly sets him apart among the seasoned professionals that I have seen.  He remains to this day, extremely grateful – in a vocal, demonstrative manner – to the people that have helped him develop in various stages of his career.  And I have also seen him help a lot of people across various levels, climb up the corporate ladder, with his extremely thoughtful gestures and generous advice.  As I look forward to reading the rest of “Surge,” I will do so with a sense of gratitude thinking of how Appa has surged ahead in his career, thereby giving me several comforts that I used to take for granted in my youth.   But it is one thing to surge alone but it’s another thing to help other people soar together with you.  By continually and generously paying it forward, he has given the greatest gift that any of his mentors could ask for.  And that, by itself, is reason enough to give an ISO-type certification for remarkable quality, to this exemplary marketer!  

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Links:

A write-up in The Hindu when Appa won the Business Man of the Year award in 2003

Amazon Page for "Surge"

Treasure Hunt: A collection of my favorite ‘smaller’ scenes from thamizh cinema

Back in the 90s, Sun TV used to host a program where celebrities would pick four or five of their favorite scenes from thamizh cinema.  You had the usual suspects.  The Nizhalgal Ravi funeral scene from Nayagan.  The panchayat scene from Devar Magan.  The throwing of the gauntlet scene in Annamalai.  But as a rabid movie fanatic, I have the tendency to re-watch some of my favorite movies.  Even if not in their entirety, I do revisit portions of a lot of my favorites from time to time on youtube.  And, what strikes me is how some smaller moments seem to just leap off the screen like never before.  I wonder if it has to do with the fact that my mind has subconsciously registered the bigger scenes so much that I seem to have more capacity to notice and cherish the smaller golden moments that have a glitter of their own.  I’ve picked six such little treasures that were hidden in plain sight all along that I noticed on a repeat viewing.  Take a look and see if you enjoy these little moments as much as I did:

A Rajni – Shoba interaction in Mullum Malarum (1978):              

There are certain actors that I think are incapable of being inauthentic in any way.  They are just so wonderfully grounded and real, in terms of looks, in terms of performance.  Shoba – that marvel of an actress that met with a tragic, untimely end – was one such performer.  She was magnificent in every frame that I have seen her in, in classics like Nizhal Nijamagiradhu and Azhiyadha KolangaL.  But the pinnacle of her career was the role of Valli in Mullum Malarum.  Her innocent face, her impish smile and seemingly childlike nature are fully utilized by director Mahendran.  This sequence below is an example of how un-cinematic she was.  It is a cute interaction between brother and sister.  Notice how seamlessly Rajni and Shoba transition from an emotional moment (when Shoba reminds him of their younger days) to a lighter conversation.  Rajni is also marvelously understated and casual.  I especially love the way Rajni says, “Apdiye Valli…andha ponnukum oru kalyanam panni vechudlam!”

Watch from 3:29 min point:

The “chi chi…drama” moment in Michael Madana Kamarajan (1990):

One of the reasons for the enduring appeal of MMKR is that the movie is so densely packed that even on repeated viewings, there is invariably the odd joke that one may have missed in a previous viewing, that would make them smile or even laugh out loud.  One such easter egg that popped out to me when I watched the movie last year was the scene after the fire rescue sequence, where Kushboo gifts Kamal (the Raju character) with a piece of miniature art.  Kushboo and Kamal make this an impossibly cute repartee, with Crazy Mohan’s wordplays (“kalai arisi” for instance) aiding them in full measure.  My favorite moment in this sequence is where Kushboo asks Kamal about his artistic interests.  The educated Kushboo character asks, “Painting?  Sculpture?” and the uneducated, naïve Raju instinctively replies, “Chi chi…drama.”  It is such a spontaneous, hilarious reaction, one that shows that comedy is absolutely serious business, that it takes a lot of detailing – in the way a close up is shot, in the way one actor modulates his delivery, in the way another actor reacts – to make a comic moment work. 

Watch from 24:24 min point:

SPB’s “thank you” in Sigaram (1991):

Sigaram has to rank at the top of the list in thamizh cinema when it comes to sensitive portrayals of a husband-wife relationship.  On screen, SPB has always come across as an affable presence.  And, in Sigaram, the late writer-director Ananthu (a close associate of KB and a mentor of Kamal) makes full use of that persona.  SPB also rises to the occasion, imbues his character (that of a successful music director with a supportive wife and an alcoholic son) with warmth and sincerity.  One of the things I noticed is the respectful, cultured manner in which he interacts with his wife, played by Rekha.  Both SPB and Rekha are in glorious acting form, bringing to life an ageing couple still very much in love but dealing with a tough situation with their son.  There is a small scene where SPB tells Rekha about his upcoming trip to Singapore.  Right from the way he says, “thank you” when she offers a cup of coffee to the way she says that music is his “kavasam,” it is a very lifelike conversation that doesn’t come across as a dialogue written on a sheet of paper.  To borrow one of Baradwaj Rangan’s terms, the “invisibility of the writing” is perfectly demonstrated here.

Watch from 5:36 min point:

The delightfully sweet early morning sequence in Mahanadhi (1994):

Mahanadhi is easily one of the most gut-wrenching cinema experiences that I have ever had.  There are several moments from the movie that flit past my mind from time to time just when I come across as a reference or a song from the movie.  But if you watch the movie closely, there are actually several moments of just pure goodness amidst all the privation and the squalor.  One such sequence is the early morning sequence after Kamal Hasan realizes the error of his ways, in trusting a woman with questionable values.  He returns home late night from a party, only to be welcomed by his mother-in-law, who says that the kids skipped dinner because of him getting delayed.  Be it the way Kamal tenderly hugs his sleepy daughter and asks, “Adi pattudicha?” or the way the brilliant SN Lakshmi advises Kamal (I love the way she joyfully says, “Kaapi kudikreengala?”), this is one of those moments that always reminds me of Roger Ebert’s immortal words – “It is not sadness in the movies that moves me.  It is goodness.”

Watch the entire clip:

The temple scene in Rhythm (2000):

When I finished watching Rhythm back in 2000, I knew I had witnessed something truly special.  As I had noted in an earlier write-up, one of the greatest gifts of director Vasanth is his ability to bring his worlds to me (as opposed to another favorite of mine, Kamal, who transports me to his worlds).  The reason I hold Rhythm in very high regard is the way Vasanth strips away anything cinematic from his scenes and instead, grafts scene after scene with such depth of emotion that ring so true because of being devoid of sensationalism and melodrama.  All this despite the thematic content of the movie actually lending itself to that kind of overstatement.  One of the more lovely scenes in Rhythm is the one at the temple where Arjun’s parents (played by that inimitable genius Nagesh and Vatsala Rajagopal) request him, a widower, to consider remarriage.  Nagesh is in sublime touch in this scene, expertly mixing humor with a touch of emotion.  Notice the way the Amma gently holds Arjun’s face and asks, “Engalukaaga kalyanam pannika koodaatha?” 

Watch from 0:38 min (If time permits, also watch the scene from the 8:05 min point where Nagesh and his wife have a charming little moment where they exchange acknowledging glances):

The “Dey, Amma da” scene in Kaaka Muttai (2015):

Just like how the crow’s egg of the title is a little treat to the kids in the movie, this movie is full of delicious little treats.  Director Manikandan’s Kaaka Muttai is an adorable little movie that’s filled with lovable characters and wonderfully written scenes that boast of both crackling humor and real, understated emotions.  Just before the climactic sequence, there is a scene where the mother reunites with the kids that ran away from the house owing to the pressure and glare of their sudden publicity, owing to the fact that the video of a pizza shop’s owner slapping the older brother, has gone viral.  When they run away seeing the police, the mother hollers out to them.  The younger kid, recognizing the mother’s voice, stops immediately and says, “Dey, Amma da!”  He goes to hug his mother.  But the older brother is a little more unsure whether the mother has forgiven him.  And, when the mother sports a small smile indicating that all is well, the kids start smiling too.  What could have been a sappy scene is elevated by some exquisitely controlled emoting from Aishwarya Rajesh – who is the undoubtedly the most natural performer among current actresses - and the child actors, Vignesh and Ramesh who deservedly won the National Award.  (Youtube clip not available)

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Measuring Happiness on an Absolute Scale

One of the joys that I experience in life is that of someone being genuinely happy for another person.  I don’t always have to be the recipient of such generosity (though I must confess, it feels nice when that happens!) but it gives me a tremendous high when I see someone looking and sounding genuinely appreciative of or happy for someone else.  But if I were to observe the world around me, I do find it in scarcity.  Of course, whenever I hold a mirror to myself instead of just a holding a magnifying glass on the society that I am part of, I see my imperfections too, both past and present.  But I sincerely feel that of the areas that I have to work on to become a better human being, being generous may not be one of them.  This is not to suggest that I am a saint.  I have, especially in my younger days, had streaks of selfishness, self-absorption and jealousy.  But I do believe that over the years, I have grown a little more assured of myself, a little more focused on what I truly want to achieve.  Which is perhaps why I feel a little less tolerant of those that still seem to struggle to completely hold their own, feel driven by a constant need to brandish their sharply pointed knives of sarcasm and smugness.  Is it the case that in an increasingly competitive world that people are uncomfortable with how tall they stand that they constantly look to the side to see who is taller and see if they can pull that person down?  Which leads me to the question - why does the height of your happiness have to be measured on a relative scale?  Why not instead measure it on an absolute scale? 

Image Courtesy of www.notonthehighstreet.com

If I were to adjust the focus of my magnifying glasses and look with a little more perspicacity, I realize that some people make it a point to live life in a carefree manner.  In order to not be weighed down by the burdens of adulthood, they puncture anything serious that balloons in front of them.  In those people, I can sense a casual irreverence, the unwillingness to take things too seriously.  It is actually a sheer joy to be in their midst.  I have seen them pass comments on others that may come across as a tad insensitive or disrespectful.  But once you get to know them, you realize that it is never to hurt or to not be genuinely happy for someone else.  Instead, it is the notion that anything that’s not feather light is too heavy for them!  They might needle you but the needle is meant to just a prick the bubble of seriousness, not create a wound that festers. 

Contrast this to another type of person that I’ve come across – the hardcore competitive person who starts to worry about others’ successes and joys.  This is where I struggle the most.  And, it is not because I just can’t relate it.  It is because I can actually relate to it.  It took me years of toiling hard in my academic life – especially during my MBA days from 2007 to 2009- and my professional life to realize that even a minute that I spend looking away from the sights that I’ve set for myself and start to feel even an iota of jealousy about others in the professional or personal setting, is a minute wasted.  As I had written in an earlier blog post*, freeing up myself of these extraneous factors has allowed me to be happier and more generous towards others.  Also, it is one thing to look around, to get inspiration from others in different walks of life.  But it is another thing to start to feel small when someone else is rising in front of your others.  The people that I sincerely admire in both my personal and professional life are the ones that can exert the tremendous self-control that it takes to just look at maximizing their own potential, staying laser focused on their goals and looking around just enough to learn, to grow and live life in an even better way.  It is an area where I feel like I’ve come a fair way from the days of my brash youth.  But as with everything else, I am sure that I can evolve even further.  For the time being, let me just cherish the heights of happiness that I have been blessed with!

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* If time permits, read my companion piece on this topic:

http://thinkinggotloud.blogspot.com/2016/05/free-yourself-to-be-generous.html

Inspirations (22 of 25) - Director Mani Ratnam

As I was getting inundated with tweets and write-ups celebrating 30 years of Mouna Raagam, something struck me.  That the biggest service that Mani Ratnam has rendered thamizh cinema, above anything else, has been in terms of taste.  As I was recollecting moments from Mouna Raagam, I was thinking of how there had been directors like Sridhar, Balu Mahendra and Mahendran that had tremendous sense of aesthetics and a cultured, even urbane, approach towards making films.  But when I think of the director who consistently exhibited class and style in filmmaking, Mani Ratnam has been the aesthete par excellence. 

Image Courtesy of www.plumeriamovies.com

I could list umpteen examples of his mastery over the medium, the exquisite detailing of his frames and the rich production values of his films but I choose as my primary exhibit, not the famous NizhalgaL Ravi death scene or the ‘avana nirutha sol…naan nirutharen’ sequence from Nayagan.  (Also because if I get started on Nayagan, I can't talk about anything else!)  Instead, it’s the Nilave Vaa  song from Mouna Raagam.  This sequence, to me, speaks volumes about what made Ratnam stand apart from other directors when it came to presenting a splendid audio visual experience.  The lead-up to the song is the segment where Revathi asks for a divorce seven days into her marriage and her husband (played by Mohan) chooses to oblige.  There are a number of things Mani Ratnam-ish that this song evoked for me when I listened to it during my early morning walk today.

First, the belief that even when the theme had been presented earlier (in movies like Andha Ezhu Naatkal & Nenjathai Killathey), the confidence of Ratnam that he could tell the story in a way that was uniquely his*.  This is something that we would see in movies like Nayagan.  Sure, it is inspired by The Godfather.  But cite one thamizh movie pre- Nayagan where a don sported a shirt and dhoti instead of a gaudy suit and oversized sunglasses (even for midnight, indoor sequences!) and you will start to realize that Ratnam’s presentation and movie making are things that we sometimes tend to give short shrift to, as we dismissively talk about the sources of his inspiration. 

Going back to Nilave Vaa, the other thing that it made me think of, is the seamless manner in which he integrated a song into the film, in this case, to underscore the pain of the protagonist.  Be it in Ilayaraja’s lovely tune or Vaali’s incredibly poignant lines ("Amaadiyo nee thaan innum siru pillai…thaangathama nenjam neeyum sonna sollai"), the song weaves magic on the senses.  And, by the time you factor in PC Sreeram’s glorious cinematography, the audiovisual experience is so complete, so evocative. (In the video below, my favorite shot is at 2:12 when we hear the words, "sollil vaithaai mullai.")

Of course, the reason why I can’t just focus on the Nilave Vaa song to write about Ratnam is because I would not be able to talk about the other thing that made him totally unique – the cuteness of his romances.  In the wake of the unfortunate murder of Infosys employee Swathi, an unfortunate victim of stalking, there have been a lot of discussions online about the influence of movies.  Even Ratnam’s movies like Dil Se have been invoked in certain forums as an example of a hero relentlessly stalking a heroine.  I am not going to argue for or against Ratnam here.  Of course, Ratnam’s heroes have not all been paragons of virtue.  I mean, in Idhayathai Thirudathey, Nagarjuna coolly plants a kiss on Girija’s cheek 10 seconds after he gets to know her name!  But I find it hard pressed to come up with an example where Ratnam shot a romantic sequence in a distasteful manner…including the aforementioned kiss!  It may have to do with the fact that his female leads have always had minds of their own, strong convictions and have been unafraid to be brutally honest about their failings…in short, his female leads have always been fleshed out and lifelike.  And, despite his heroes wooing and chasing the subjects of their adoration, it’s invariably portrayed in a lovable manner, which makes us overlook their selfishness and maybe even their smugness and instead, enjoy their cool confidence.  Of course, as a guy, I run the risk of trivializing something that a girl might find offensive.  But I am yet to come across a girl who has not found Ratnam’s romances sunny and funny.  So, if you take away the reel-life-real-life connections for a moment, you will see that his romances can be an intoxicating mix of sweetness and sensitivity…or in his own words (from Mouna Raagam), “style…grace…charm!”

In recent years, Ratnam has taken a lot of chances away from his comfort zone, venturing into movies like Raavanan and Kadal with limited critical and commercial success.  As a respectful fan of the Ratnam of the ’86-’01 period (Mouna Raagam to Kannathil Muthamittaal), while I appreciate his taking chances and going beyond the tried and tested, what has been disappointing for me at times is the surprising lack of emotional resonance with his characters.  Even in a movie like Thalapathi that had its critics who felt that the Rajnikanth-Mammooty friendship was not established well initially, the scene outside the police station was shot so well, was acted so marvelously that it took me all of those twenty seconds where Rajni says, “en kitte onney onnu thaan iruku…en uyiru” followed by Raja’s scintillating music, to fall for the characters.  While I continued to admire the craft so evident in movies like Guru and Raavanan, I just did not feel as much empathy for his characters like I did before.  Which is why when I watched OK Kanmani last year, more than the sheer joy that the romance gave me, it was the fact that there were characters like Prakash Raj and Nithya Menen that I could care for, whom I wanted to feel happy by the end of the movie, that made me brim with joy and pride as a fan of Ratnam's works. 

As a guy that grew up in Chennai in the 80s and 90s (before moving to the US in ’98), my movie-going experiences and interest in the movies – not just watching them but also understanding the art, the craft, the writing and the making – were largely influenced by the likes of Ratnam, Vasanth and other filmmakers that made me appreciate good, tasteful cinema.  It is as a result of them that I dug deeper to watch the works of directors who inspired them – Mahendran, Balachander, Balu Mahendra and Coppola, to name a few.  So, I have to be thankful for filmmakers like Ratnam for inspiring me to appreciate their art form, truly, madly and deeply.  Thank you, Mani Sir, for the choices you have made as a filmmaker and for the choices that you have helped me make as a movie goer.

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* Reference: Conversations with Mani Ratnam by Baradwaj Rangan

How mighty is the pen in Thamizh cinema?

Disclaimer: This is not a comprehensive thesis about an exhaustive list of writers; rather, it's just a collection of some of my thoughts.

I watched Samudrakani’s Appa last Thursday.  And, I woke up Saturday morning to the sad news of the great ‘Vietnam Veedu’ Sundaram passing away.  Sundaram, for those that might not know him, wrote three back-to-back classics with Sivaji Ganesan – Vietnam Veedu, Gnana Oli and Gowravam (which he directed) - in the early 70s.

Image Courtesy of "The Hindu"

Samudrakani dedicated Appa to K Balachander, one of the finest writers in thamizh cinema.  He might as well have dedicated the movie to Sundaram and every writer that meant something to thamizh movies.  This is not to say that Appa is a classic or even an instance of Samudrakani scaling a peak as a writer.  But the film is a throwback to an era where writing meant something.  It’s a very thoughtfully written film.  There are some lines that pack tremendous punch.  Alas, there’re the stagey and preachy elements that so many critics lament about.  More on that later.  But my point is, love it or hate it, there is no denying the fact that writing was given paramount importance by the filmmaker.  Even if you could argue that the content did not hold appeal to you, there was something about the flow of the screenplay and characterizations that made it abundantly clear that Samudrakani approached his subject matter with utmost sincerity even if what was on paper was not completely transformed into a wholesome cinematic experience. 

Evaluating a movie in terms of its form and content is an approach that I adopted ever since I first read some of Baradwaj Rangan’s pieces.  It is a very simple yet meaningful way of evaluating movies.  But where I am not on the same page – in fact I am not even in the same book! – with Rangan is when it comes to the relative importance of the two.  The well-informed critic that Rangan is, is invariably pained by Thamizh cinema not going to the next level in terms of form – that we don’t have enough directors who have a sense of the medium and the tropes that must be used purposefully.  He has written multiple times that if he were to only get one of the two, then it would be good craft even if the content is not spectacular.  It’s a completely fair point.  But it’s not something that I agree with. I'll tell you why.  

Veteran filmmakers like Mahendran as well as newer directors like Karthik Subburaj are forces to reckon with because of the mastery that they exhibit over form.  But we have several other filmmakers that get by with content that is sometimes inane, sometimes misogynistic, sometimes downright irresponsible that I feel like saying that if I can watch a film that exhibits complete mastery over both form and content (Udhiri PookaL and Iraivi, to name two completely different movies where I both  loved the subject matter and admired the craft) then that’s great.  But if I can get only one from a director, please give me content…any day of the week.  When I see films like Trisha Illana Nayanthara become huge successes and films like Appa become average performers, it pains me.  It is not because I am such a prude that I won’t watch adult humor.  It is just that Trisha Illana... was painfully unfunny – the jokes weren’t even built up well and there seemed to be nothing in the writing to reflect thoughtfulness around the structure or characterizations.  Contrast that with Appa– sure, it’s stagey.  Sure, it even looks and sounds outdated.  But there is some solid writing that lifts several scenes.  I watched this movie last Thursday.  And, over the weekend, several of the thoughts and - gulp! - "messages” from his movie made me think of my own role as a parent.  That is the success of a filmmaker, using a powerful art form to make someone introspect.  And, that, my dear reader, is also responsible film making.  Even if he might score 10/50 for form, it’s at least 40/50 for content.   50/100 - Let my glass be half-full this way. 

Image Courtesy of “The Indian Express."

The passing away of another industry stalwart this week – writer, lyricist and producer Panchu Arunachalam- is also a sad, yet timely reminder of a time when writers were given a lot more importance than they are today.  Arunachalam was the writer of most of Rajnikanth’s blockbusters in the late 70s and 80s.  Even when Kamal Hassan decided to go berserk in the commercial sense, Arunachalam was at the fore, writing movies like Sakalakala Vallavan.  During the 80s, there were other respected writers like R. Selvaraj (Mudhal Mariyadhai), P. Kalaimani (Gopurangal Saivadhillai), Visu (apart from being a director, he also wrote the screenplay and dialogues of movies with stars, like Rajni in Nallavanuku Nallavan) and AL Narayanan (Vazhve Mayam, Kaaki Chattai).  Writers like Arunachalam and Kalaimani had turned producers as well.  In what was truly a sign of prominence given to the writer, Mudhal Vasantham, directed by Manivannan, ended with a card that flashed, “A film written by P. Kalaimani.”  If you think that the content of these movies was nothing spectacular, you may be right in your own way.  But these writers ensured that there was a sense of coherence in the screenplay and some good use of thamizh in their dialogues, sometimes even creating a bit of an emotional connect despite the high masala quotient (Nallavanuku Nallavan, for instance).  Also, that was one type of film that they wrote.  Arunachalam, for instance, also helped create some truly meaningful cinema in that period.  The same person that wrote Sakalakala Vallavan also wrote movies like the sensitive Aarilirundhu Arubadhu Varai, in which Rajni turned in a delightfully understated performance, and helped shape the screenplay and dialogues of powerful dramas like Mann Vaasanai and Pudhumai Penn.

Those last two movies that I mentioned lead me to think about something else that Rangan has written about.  And, that is, how directors like Martin Scorsese have worked with writers like Paul Schrader, shaping the writer’s content according to their tastes and sensibilities to come up with a product that bears a writer’s stamp that’s blended with the director’s vision.  Our directors like Bharathiraja, Mani Ratnam and Shankar have routinely worked with preeminent writers like Selvaraj, Sujatha and Balakumaran to create some timeless classics.  This points to the need for a systemic change in thamizh cinema that celebrates directors and actors and very rarely gives writers their due respect.   And, it is that respect and recognition that we afford to current and future writers that would make the souls of writers like Vietnam Veedu Sundaram and Panchu Arunachalam truly rest in peace.

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Once upon a time, there was an actress named Saritha

More than one review of the recently released “Kabali” mentioned the age gap between Rajnikanth and his lead pair Radhika Apte and that the latter looked just way too young to be the Super Star’s wife.  Beside these reviews were interviews with director Ranjith who mentioned the Rajni from “Mullum Malarum” (1978) as a character that he admired a lot.  That set me thinking of the actresses that acted with Rajni in the early phase of his career.  It was like a telephone directory on the S page - Srividya, Shoba, Sripriya, Sridevi, Saritha.  That last name – Saritha.

My mind refused to go past Saritha.  Two specific moments kept popping up in my mind for the next few minutes.  The first was a scene from the unforgettable “Agni Saatchi” where she played a troubled wife with a horrific past.  There was a scene where she confronts Rajnikanth (playing himself, in a cameo) in his house after watching the movie ‘AvargaL’ (where Rajni played a sadistic husband) in a theatre.  Her performance in that scene was symptomatic of a lot of what made Saritha a standout actress.  Firstly, she could play a dramatic scene with complete conviction, without seeming theatrical.  Secondly, she was not only endowed with large, powerful eyes but knew exactly how to use them.  And finally, she was a master at playing mercurial characters.  Her expressive face and complete control of body language meant that she could play her roles at a pitch that was just perfect for the role.  

The second moment that I could not manage to get off my mind was the scene in “Vedham Pudhidhu” where she welcomes an orphaned Brahmin kid into her house.  As the kid hesitates for a moment, she says, “Endha koviluku ponaalum ellaa saamiyum onnu theyn, endha veetuku ponaalum ellaa thaayum onnu theyn…vaa rasa.”  Now, if you’ve seen “Vedham Pudhidhu,” you will know that this line is uttered by a Mother who lost her son in the same unfortunate accident in which the kid lost his father.  The emotion that Saritha imbues into that line is reason enough to watch the movie again. 

These two movies – “Agni Saatchi” and “Vedham Pudhidhu” – to me were the highlights of her career that was shaped to a large extent by K Balachander.  He gave her a plethora of roles that gave a new dimension to the word ‘author backed.’ KB, the author and auteur he was, knew how to back the actor who, to her full credit, knew how to effectively project the writer’s thoughts and even present some of KB’s eccentricities on screen in ways that seemed completely beyond the grasp of some other heroines of KB’s (except maybe Suhasini).  “Thappu ThaaLangal,” “Nool Veli,” “Thaneer Thaneer” and “Achamillai Achamillai” all featured Saritha at the peak of her powers.  Even in a much lesser effort such as “Kalyana AgathigaL,” Saritha could still do full justice to what was quite a sketchily developed character. 

But the bigger question that I asked myself as I recounted memories of Saritha’s wonderful performances was whether Tamil cinema can get out of the (mostly male) star dominated cinema that can very rarely carve space for heroines like Saritha who oozed talent, not glamour, who was the pivot around which a movie revolved, not just a cog in a star-studded wheel.  I hope that with talented performers like Aishwarya Rajesh (“Kaaka Muttai”) that writers and directors in Tamil cinema – and more importantly, audiences – will warm up to tales that go deeper into the female psyche and project the pains and pleasures of women in an authentic manner.  The recently released “Iraivi” and “Oru NaaL Koothu” give me hope.  If only actresses in the Saritha mould are allowed to be relevant for a longer time, we can then stop worrying about male stars being paired with heroines half their age! 

***

The “AvargaL” scene:

The “Vedham Pudhidhu” moment -- Start watching at 1:20:55 (for the scene that I had mentioned in the third paragraph)

Please, let us not forget about "Iraivi"

When I started thinking about this write-up, I questioned myself on its value.  After all, “Iraivi” is probably out of the theatres by now.  (I watched it legally on HeroTalkies.)  And, I don’t even think it got the kind of rich, unanimous accolades it deserved on the critical front.  So, is this a case of too little, too late?  Probably.  But wait.  That doesn’t really matter, does it?  After all, a movie-going experience is unique for every individual that watches it.  Certain films ‘speak’ to us the way it may not have to others.  And, that is fine, I suppose.  The fact is, “Iraivi” made a TREMENDOUS impact on me.  That’s TREMENDOUS- bold, italicized and underlined.  (Is there another way to emphasize?!)  Let me tell you how and why.

“Iraivi” is the story of three (or rather, four, if you count the small but beautifully etched role of Radha Ravi) men with differing shades of grey and whose impulsiveness, self-absorption and hot headedness wreaks havoc in the lives of the women that care for them.  The director is Karthik Subburaj whose previous works “Pizza” and “Jigarthanda” were smartly written tales with an emphasis on the surprise factor and the desire to inspire our awe but not necessarily strike an emotional chord.  But with “Iraivi,” he completely surprised me, not with a twist necessarily.  But with his ability to be stunningly honest in his characterizations and the dialogues.  Dialogues of incredible depth of emotion, delivered by actors in whom we never knew such shades and nuances existed.  (More on that in a bit.)  There is a scene where a husband asks a wife a question about her fidelity.  The way this scene plays out, the emotions that are on play and the quick lifelike change of tone from playfulness to a dead serious interaction...this is the kind of ‘twist’ that you see in the little scenes and moments in this movie.  If there was a thing called ‘emotional twist’ and not a ‘plot twist,’ this movie is full of them.  And, in those moments of unpredictability, Subburaj creates a gnawing sensation because sequence after brilliant sequence, we are hit with things that are not only unpredictable (mostly) but also seemingly spontaneous.  And, all of this in the make believe world of cinema where we know that it is the most difficult task to make us think that the happenings are based on spur of the moment decisions of certain impetuous fools (these characters, that is) and not the result of thoughtful writing, stunning craft that’s evident in the mood-enhancing cinematography (like the unforgettable rain sequence at the end; cinematography by Sivakumar Vijayan) and the splendid acting. 

Talking of performances, this is an ensemble piece in the truest sense of the word.  Everyone from SJ Suryah, Vijay Sethupathi, Anjali, Pooja Devariya to the smaller characters like Radha Ravi and Cheenu Mohan (from the ‘Crazy’ Mohan troupe of the 80s and 90s, effortlessly essaying a serious part here) are spectacular.  Everyone has at least a moment or a scene where they move us deeply.  Anjali’s ‘Enaku Malar matter theriyadhu-nu nenachiya?’ and SJ Suryah’s phone conversation in the climax take the cake and the toppings when it comes to moments that stayed with me long after the movie ended. 

When a movie like “Iraivi” comes along, there is another reason why I feel so proud of thamizh cinema.  And, that is the blending of form and content.  Being a huge fan of the writings of Baradwaj Rangan, I have come to appreciate the need to go beyond just the written material and employ cinematic tropes to create an ‘experience’ where we walk away thinking about the content and admiring the form.  “Iraivi” is one such experience.  It is impossible to watch this movie and not think of the people in our lives and question our choices and attitudes towards our loved ones.  And, right from the title, this is a movie that shows incredible respect, love and admiration for its female characters.  In this day and age where we talk of the ill effects of having a callous attitude towards stalking, to have a movie that raises uncomfortable questions of men and their attitudes towards women is an achievement in itself.  And talking of the 'form' aspect, there is nothing in the music or the cinematography that distracted me or called attention to itself per se.  But upon reflecting on the movie, I could truly see how the background music in the more tense scenes and the lovely framing of the scenes such as the Anjali-Vijay Sethupathi confrontation with  the most appropriate of close-ups on actors who could do justice to them, added value to this journey that Subburaj takes us on.

So, what is my hope?  I don’t know.  I suppose that I really hope that this movie doesn’t get completely forgotten amidst the plethora of releases that we get hit with every week and the fervor with which audiences lap up horror flicks and star-driven vehicles.  Amidst those star-driven vehicles, I am glad that I took this 'director-driven' journey, which was a roller coaster ride of emotions.  While I wish more people had hopped on to this ride, I am just glad that I had an experience that I will cherish as a die-hard movie fan.  And for that, let me doff my hat to Karthik Subburaj and the “Iraivi” team.