Talent hidden in plain sight - Thoughts on actor Prabhu

Commercial success can be a double edged sword, as far as thamizh cinema is concerned.  On the one hand, it can give the people associated with that success tremendous clout and can act as insurance to guard them during any subsequent misfires.   But the flip side is that there is invariably pressure to make films in a similar milieu, with similar characters.  It is very rare to find a Mani Ratnam who had the guts and confidence to follow up a heavy duty Nayagan with a feather light Agni Nakshathram.  In the case of Prabhu, P. Vasu’s Chinna Thambi was probably the best thing that happened to him…and the worst.  While it gave him tremendous boost as a saleable hero (he had been succeeding primarily in dual-hero films till then), what happened as a result is that he acted in scores of films set in the rural milieu.  It was not a bad thing per se because he looked the part and acted well in most of his movies, some good, others not so good.  But the success of Chinna Thambi meant that his urbanity was rarely seen on screen. And, in 2005, Chandramukhi happened.  Though a roaring success for Prabhu’s production company, the “Ena Koduma Saravanan” line that he uttered in dramatic fashion found its way into the annals of infamous thamizh cinema lines, along with its numerous impressions that followed.  But as an avid movie lover that watched his rise in the late 80s to the mid-90s, I would rather not have him merely associated with that line, hence this piece.

Mani Ratnam was probably the first director to showcase Prabhu’s sense of style.  An aesthete par excellence, Ratnam gave Prabhu a wonderful role in Agni Nakshathram.  As the older son of a bigamist, with a temper that could leave yoga teachers scratching their heads, Prabhu was excellent in the role of Gautham…sorry, Gautham Vishwanath! Long before Kamal Haasan in Kuruthi Punal, it was Prabhu in Agni… who made Aviator sunglasses fashionable!  Prabhu exuded style and attitude in the amazingly shot confrontation scenes (see first video below) with Karthik.  But, I liked him equally in the sequence where he plays a protective older brother to his step-sister.  Especially lovely is the understated manner in which he reacts to Tara calling him, “Anna.” 

Prabhu collaborated with Ratnam in two more movies – Anjali and Raavanan – playing character roles.  While I am not a huge fan of the modern-day Ramayana adaptation, I enjoyed Prabhu’s understated performance in Anjali.  Again, the role of an ex-convict which could have been overwrought and overplayed, was etched beautifully by Ratnam and played well by Prabhu.  (I am not embedding any videos since Anjali is a heartbreaking movie that I don’t want to revisit.)

As I had mentioned in last week’s post, Prabhu was also very good in Kaliyugam, directed by the late K Subaash, who had assisted Ratnam before making his debut as a director in this movie.  Prabhu played an upright police officer whose family life is ruined by the villains.  Not exactly a novel theme but Subaash sure did inherit at least some of his mentor’s sense of style and this resulted in a slick, no-nonsense thriller.  The scene where Prabhu prepares upma for his son was a funny one where his comic sense is given good fodder.  Subaash also made the part-comedy, part-thriller Uthama Purushan with Prabhu.  This was a role to which Prabhu brought a mix of sophistication, underplay and gentle humor.  Watch the climax (starting at the 2 hr 10 min point) where he first earnestly apologizes to Revathi and then flirts harmlessly with Radhika and you’ll know what I am talking about!

Two other aspects of Prabhu’s performances that deserve mention are his comic timing and dance skills.  Blessed with the gift of comic timing, he could really supplement good written material with myriad expressions and great dialogue delivery.  A comic performance in the later years of his career that I loved was his turn as a henpecked husband in Charlie Chaplin.  The scene (link below) where he shifts the blame, after getting caught red-handed by his wife, is a hoot.  His genial onscreen persona meant that he invariably shared great chemistry with his co-actors be it Sathyaraj (Manivannan’s Chinna Thambi Periya Thambi) or Coundamani (Thedinen Vandhadhu being my favorite).  He was also a scene stealer in Sirai Chaalai, where he shared screen space with Mohan Lal.  A grim drama for the most part, the film received tremendous impetus thanks to Prabhu's sharp, witty one liners.  The best part of his performance was that the humor didn't stick out like a sore thumb.  (He was also excellent in some of the serious scenes - for instance, the one where he apologizes to Mohan Lal for being responsible for the punishment that the latter received at the hands of the inhumane jailer.)

Start watching at the 1 hr 8 min 42 sec point:

When it came to dancing, Prabhu – despite his girth – could execute his steps very gracefully.   One of my favorite memories of the late 80s is the “Vaanam Enna” song from Vetri Vizha, where he matched Kamal Haasan’s steps effortlessly.  He also inherited his father’s illustrious genes for ‘performing’ in a song.  Similar to how Sivaji Ganesan would come out with wonderful expressions to match TMS’ singing, Prabhu infused a lot of life into his songs by the way he expressed himself.  “Thuliyile” from Chinna Thambi was one.  But one of his splendid performances in a song was in the “En Kadhale” song from Duet.  His expressions in this song (especially when he plays Anjali Anjali on the sax, at the 3:10 min point in the video below) are marvelous. 

In recent years, as a character actor, he has not gotten too many opportunities to display his considerable talent.  Nevertheless, in well-written (even if relatively brief) roles such as 3 (I loved the scene where he disbelievingly asks Dhanush, “Mokkai-ya?!”) and Something Something…, he has acquitted himself admirably.  But really, as an actor, he deserves to be known for more than just the nincompoop of his largest hit or the line that he uttered in Rajni’s 2005 blockbuster.  If that is all that we associate him with, therein would lie the true kodumai! 

***

Dishyum, dishyum! -- A piece on some of my favorite stunt sequences in thamizh cinema

The recent passing away of director K Subaash (Chathriyan, Ezhaiyin Siripil, Sabash and others) made me go on a youtube binge of scenes from some of his films.  As I was watching clips from a few of his films – most notably, Kaliyugam, which led to my writing this piece – I realized that I was not fast-forwarding some of the action sequences.  It dawned on me that there were two reasons for this – one was that the action sequences looked surprisingly slick for their time and had aged a lot better than I thought they would.  And secondly, and this was important to me, the stunts seemed real.  None of the unnecessarily rope-induced acts of gravity defiance.  None of those computer effects that sometimes make the stunts look more like video game effects these days.  They were just supremely well-choreographed and you got a sense of space, movement and more importantly, emotion.  I say emotion because my mind went back to what Mani Ratnam once said about not shooting his song sequences outside India (in response to a question from Baradwaj Rangan).  He talked about how songs, to start with, stand outside the story to an extent.  To further transport – literally, I suppose! – the characters to alien lands would mean that the audience was being pulled further away from the milieu of the story.  One could apply Ratnam’s logic to stunt sequences too – they are an accepted part of the grammar of Indian cinema.  Grammar, by its nature, has boundaries.  And, to the extent to which the boundaries are respected even as directors and stunt choreographers utilize modern technologies, the more arresting the stunts will be.  So, without further ado, let me list a few action sequences from thamizh movies that I have really enjoyed over the years. 

The underground sequence in Kaliyugam:

As mentioned above, one of the sequences that I had remembered from the Prabhu-Raghuvaran starrer Kaliyugam, more than two decades after I had seen it, was the stunt sequence in the underground tunnel, choreographed by the late Vikram Dharma.  The lens work by YN Murali is quite stunning here, especially the moments where the theepandham is the sole source of light.  Prabhu, for all his girth, is surprisingly quick with his movements and matches the stuntman (Ponnambalam?) for skill and agility. 

Watch from the 1 hr 10 min point:

The Rajnikanth introduction scene in Thalapathi:

At the time of its release, Thalapathi was accused of featuring gratuitous violence.  While that point could certainly be debated, what, to me, is hard to debate is the actual quality of the action scenes and their value as a storytelling tool.  Rajnikanth’s introduction in this fight sequence in the rain was raw and brutal.  The fact that the murder of the henchman comes back to haunt him later is a reason why this setup, where his rage is unleashed, is so important. 

Watch from the 1:58 min point:

The climactic fight sequence of Thevar Magan:

Kamal Haasan and Mani Ratnam were probably the two people most responsible (or guilty, depending on how you look at it) for bringing bloody, realistic violence to tamil cinema with their Nayagan.  Instead of choosing something from Nayagan, I wanted to choose this scene from Thevar Magan because I truly believe that Nayagan just marked the start of a period where Kamal went from strength to strength, exploring frontier after unexplored frontier in various facets of cinema.  When it comes to action sequences, Kamal has been – and, not entirely unjustifiably – accused of just coming across as masochistic and bloody for the sake of it.  But if you observe keenly, a lot of his stunt sequences do come with a sense of purpose.  And, no better example of that than the climax of Thevar Magan.  Just the sheer dynamics of it are awe-inspiring – the protagonist that just doesn’t want to fight versus a villain whose bloodlust has consumed him.  This is brought out in gripping fashion by the action choreographer (Vikram Dharma, again) and the cinematographer (PC Sreeram).

Watch from the 2:30 min point:

The opening sequence of Gentleman:

The year 1993 witnessed two of the most stunning action spectacles to grace thamizh cinema.  One was Thiruda Thiruda and the other was Gentleman.  Both these films featured brilliantly shot sequences on a train.  But I picked the sequence from Gentleman because the build-up to it (with the jeep chase) features some intelligent maneuvers and some scintillating background music by ARR - the score when Arjun takes off his beard is fantastic.  Though this scene does have some gravity-defying moments like Arjun’s jeep flying over the train (yes, you read that right!), it is still a fine exhibition of perfect masala movie action that requires just a little bit – not dollops – of suspension of disbelief.  What makes it even more impressive is that this grand sequence is what opens the movie.  What a start for Shankar, the director, who made his debut with this movie.  Wish he had retained his sensible instincts (with respect to action) from this movie and had respected the laws of gravity a little more in his latter movies!  (Remember the ridiculous flying cars in the Prarthana theatre sequence in Sivaji?!)

Watch from the 5:40 min point:

The pre-intermission sequence of Baasha:

Rajnikanth once joked in an interview that he had a tough time understanding Mani Ratnam (while making Thalapathi) since the latter wanted him to showcase certain emotions even during the fight sequences.  The intermission sequence of Baasha shows that whatever lessons Rajni may have learned from Ratnam certainly stuck!  Because he is at the peak of his powers not only as a star but also as a forceful actor, bringing out the hitherto unseen (to his family and to us in the audience) side of the don.  Simple lines like “Ulley Po” have become the stuff of legends!  If you notice, the actual stunts themselves aren’t exactly novel but the sound design (my favorite being the train sounds that accompany Yuvarani’s stunned expression) and the cinematography (by the late PS Prakash) add to the amazing visceral impact. 

Watch from the 1:40 min point:

The martial arts sequence in Anniyan:

I reckon that to fans of Shankar’s early work, Anniyan featured the best of him as well as the worst.  While the crux of the story held intrigue and his usual commercial elements – especially the rollicking comedy by Vivek – were intact, one could argue that it was with this movie that Shankar started to take steps and then eventually, leaps out of the bounds of realism and even basic cinematic logic and started relying increasingly on visual splendor.  While Anniyan contained some outlandish ideas (especially the huge conference that Anniyan assembles), one sequence stood out for me – the stunt sequence at the martial arts facility.  Sure, he did include some over-the-top Matrix style effects but the hand-to-hand combat is stunning and even the time-freeze cinematography is used imaginatively without being overdone.  My favorite moment was where the camera freezes mid-air and circles around Vikram and Sadha – not exactly the kind of realism that I crave but then again, with a Shankar film, I was thankful that with this sequence Shankar tried at least a little to rein in the urge to behave like a computer geek that had taken over Lucasfilm! 

This video contains the entire sequence but my favorite part is the mano a mano duel at the 4:40 min point: 

I sincerely hope that as filmmakers try to expand their vistas and break global boundaries (like "Kaaka Muttai" and "Visaranai" did recently) that action sequences are placed strategically within the framework of the movie and play out at a pitch that is not incongruous with the rest of the movie.  Why not have special effects in service of the stunts that, in turn, move the story forward?  The combination of realism and emotion-driven stunts would indeed be the most potent one-two punch that discerning movie goers would crave!

***

To Cricket, With Love

I told myself, “You couldn’t possibly be getting goose bumps.  After all, there is not a single player on the ground!”  But no, the goose bumps were absolutely real, as I set foot into Lord’s, a cricket ground that is considered “The Home of Cricket.”  I was in London recently for a business trip and just two hours after I checked into my hotel on Sunday, I walked to the ground for a 100-minute tour.  It was a tour that I had booked online (or so I thought, as you will discover soon).  As I approached the ground, I started seeing signs that pointed to the ground.  I started feeling a little nervous.  Don’t ask me why.  Then, I approached the booth to pick up my tour badge.  And, the elderly lady behind the counter asked, “What’s your confirmation number, Sir?”  I pathetically replied, “Ma’am, I didn’t get my confirmation number via e-mail.”  (Note to self – there is a reason why the “PrtSc” button exists on the keyboard!)  She politely but firmly responded, “There is not much I can do without a confirmation number, Sir.  And, we are sold out.”  Sold out?  This was the last tour of the day.  Plus, I had work the next day and I had to travel to Birmingham the day after.  I pleaded to her, “Ma’am, I am an ardent fan of cricket.  I have come from the USA and I am here for a very brief visit.  Could you please accommodate me?  I can buy a ticket now!”   Einstein’s theory of relativity was proven beyond doubt for the next two minutes when she was on the phone with the tour guide – two minutes seemed more like 120,000 milliseconds!  She got off the phone and said, “Credit card please!”  Credit card?  I would have given my entire bank balance for this ticket!  Brilliant, as the British like to exclaim! 

Lord's (Photo Courtesy of...my cell phone!)

I walked through the pavilion, the England dressing room, the visitors’ dressing room and the players’ balcony.  That balcony where Kapil Dev, with his toothy grin, held the 1983 World cup trophy aloft.  That balcony where the cheekily irreverent Krish Srikkanth blissfully smoked a cigarette as players were celebrating the win.  That balcony where Sourav Ganguly decided that it was too warm and took his shirt off.  (Of course, I am kidding about the warmth part!)  The tour guide mentioned that Ganguly had been fined his entire match fee for that act.  I am sure that Ganguly considers that the best money that he has foregone!  I was feeling so euphoric, so light that I could have been levitating!  I then looked at the famed honors board.  Players’ names go up there on the board when they score a century or take five wickets.  As I saw the names of some of my favorite cricketers – Sunil Gavaskar, Dilip Vengsarkar, Ian Botham, Rahul Dravid, to name a few – I was gleaming with pride.  And by the time, I heard the tour guide say, “This is where Sachin sits,” pointing to a place in the visitors’ dressing room, my euphoria entered stratospheric heights!  After I profusely thanked the staff for accommodating me, I took a stroll outside the ground, just internalizing and reflecting on the sheer joy that the visit gave me.  As if there was any confirmation needed, I realized that I didn’t just enjoy the game, didn’t just look to get entertained by it.  I loved it.  Absolutely LOVED it.

The love stems from the fact that the game has given me a lot and has taught me a lot.  My own cricketing skills have ebbed and flowed over the years.  But that’s not really the point.  The game has given me some of my best friends with whom I would not have bonded as much if not for the love of the game.  The game has made me fight with my friends (when we were younger) when things got really close.  Over the years, the game has made me see value in cherishing victories (be it when playing or watching) with others.  But it has also made me see the beauty in the grace that comes from accepting a hard fought defeat.  It has taught me to reflect, to introspect when things go wrong; and I am not talking just about cricket.  It has taught me that failure can sometimes be a very hard-nosed but an undoubtedly perspicacious teacher.  That to maximize one’s ability is of paramount importance.  As I have matured, I could see that the game kept teaching me ethics - that it is not okay to cheat, be it ball tampering or match fixing or whatever other means.  I could even see that what I enjoyed was not watching people sledge but players putting an arm around an opponent following a close game.  The players – they are the ones that make the game what it is.  Not the rulebooks, not the colorful jerseys, not the lit-up stumps, not the scorecards, not the records.  The captains that become great leaders through a combination of skill, strategy and psychological acuity.  The players that become great followers through a mix of talent, industry and fortitude.  As much as they make or break the game, it behooves every player, irrespective of their stature or level of the game, to respect the game for what it gives them.  It is not okay to tarnish it in any way, shape or form.  As Mr. Spiderman said, “With great power, comes great responsibility!”

Ashes 2005 - Andrew Flintoff consoling Brett Lee after England's narrow win in the Birmingham Test (Photo courtesy of "The Telegraph")

While I admit to feeling indignant and getting furious at the Indian team whenever it lost (especially if the game was there for the taking), I realized over the years that the people in the game that have inspired me aren’t always the monstrously talented ones that broke records and scaled tall peaks.  It was also those indefatigable workhorses (like Anil Kumble and Javagal Srinath) that were rarely in the limelight but yet worked hard and played passionately.  They have taught me a thing or two about putting in one’s best foot forward and, as Harsha Bhogle once eloquently said, “...perfect the process of performance and don’t allow the pressure of the result to choke your performance.”  Does it apply to things beyond cricket?  No prizes for guessing the answer.

As I reflect on all of the highs and lows that I have experienced, watching my favorite players succeed at times and fail at others, I realize that cricket, as a sport, is like religion, to a large extent.  Cricket is capable of bringing great unity and great divisiveness.  But it is essential to see that a rival is different from an enemy.  Those that ‘get’ the core of what it is – be it cricket or their religious faith - can see its full beauty and get comfort from it.  Those that misuse it for their own advancement, like some players or administrators that we have all read about, bring a sense of shame to their country and those that believe in them.  Not too dissimilar from politicians that play the religion or caste card for their own gain.  After all, if cricket is like a religion, a cricket ground is akin to a shrine.  Eureka!  That explains the goose bumps that I experienced.  Lord’s, the “home of cricket”, is in fact an important shrine of the religion that is cricket.  Am I glad that I was granted entry! 

Cricket, I love you.  Truly, madly, deeply…

I also bow to you.  Sincerely, passionately, respectfully…

***

Deep-rooted beliefs

“It reassured me, and it felt like a hug from a time machine.”  That is how fellow blogger Anusha described (in a recent write-up titled, “A Personal Odyssey”) the feelings that sounds from a mosque evoked in her, given that she had spent her formative years in Kuwait.  This evocatively coined phrase led to my reflecting on my own roots.  And, the deeper I thought, the more I realized that a lot of my deep-rooted beliefs about a diverse set of things such happiness, contentment, love, loss, friendship, spirituality, education, work, have actually metamorphosed quite significantly over time.  At first, that might sound paradoxical.  Deep-rooted beliefs, by their definition, aren't supposed to mutate, you might think.  But from family to friends, from mentors to peers, from authors to bloggers, the people that collectively shape my thinking are too many to keep count of.  While I do derive immense pleasure from the element of surprise that an open mind gifts me, I also realized something else.  That the elements of my being that tend to be the most fulfilling and gratifying are those that are tied strongly to my roots.  Just like how it is absolutely essential to continually water the root of a plant, continual learning actually helps make the beliefs firmly rooted, retaining the broad strokes even when the colors have changed!  And, as we ‘grow,’ it is absolutely important to acknowledge our ‘roots’ – be it a high school teacher that inculcated certain values in us or an author that made you flesh out your thoughts on a particular topic with an amazingly counter-intuitive insight. 

A high school teacher.  I didn’t pull that out of thin air.  I have actually been the lucky ‘student’ that learned a thing or two about not only the subject matter but also about higher order things from truly special people.  The high school teacher is an Aunt of mine who tutored me in Physics.  The thing that I continue to admire about her is her calm, collected nature.  Even when I use to give her grief with my lack of work ethic at that time, she would handle me in a firm but polite manner, never letting her decibel level go beyond a certain range.  Something that makes me respect her even more is the fact that she had lost both her parents in an airplane accident when she was in her teens.  It was something that she has never mentioned to me.  It amazes me that she has never had an ounce of self-pity ever.  She just focuses on being warm, loving and nurturing to anyone that has the fortune of knowing her.  As I have gone through the highs and lows of my own life, I have kept in constant touch with her, making it a point to spend quality time with her and her loving kids whenever I go to Chennai.   Thinking of her and talking to her consistently do two things to me.  One is, I get a sense of satisfaction of keeping her informed of my development as a person and as a professional.  It makes me feel close to my roots.  And secondly, it makes me appreciate the boon that is life.  That despite the fact that she had to endure a significant, unfortunate life event in the formative years of her life, she developed into a role model.  By being amazingly and consistently positive and centered, she makes me look up to her - as much as I might feel indignant when unfair things (such as the untimely loss of a loved one) happen that it behooves me to shower my loved ones with as much genuine love and affection as I can, while staying composed during challenging times.  Am I there at the lofty pedestal that I place my teacher on?  No, I am not.  Do I think I will get there eventually?  I will try with utmost sincerity, for I have the responsibility of paying it forward.

An ill-informed belief that I used to have was that loved ones should accept me completely, unequivocally, warts and all.  And, I would balk at suggestions to, for instance, control my temper, retorting impulsively, “This is who I am.  You ought to accept me.”  To change meant that I was moving away from the core of who I was, I would say.  But as I mellowed down a tad, I began to realize that it was not the roots that I was sticking to.  It was more the weeds!   I began to realize that anything that made loved ones feel less loved was actually inimical to the core of who I was.  That to feel a sense of entitlement and demand impunity was both callous and cowardly.  As a result, personal development is something that I invest a lot of time in. That is where being open to getting inspired by the unlikeliest and unfancied sources helps me.  

As I look to the future, I hope that people that comprise my roots can continue to see me grow personally and professionally.  This way, I can live in the present and yet continually experience the loving, comforting hug of that "time machine!"

The glimpses of humanity in “Mahanadhi”

As Kamal Haasan turns 62 today, Nov 7^th, I want to rewind the clock 22 years in time to the Pongal of 1994 when “Mahanadhi," written by Kamal and directed by Santhana Bharathi, was released.  Viewers, with some of the limited pre-release publicity, probably thought that Kamal was making a family drama, no more no less.  But as the turnstiles opened on January 14^th, what people got to experience was the most potent wrench ever to wreak havoc on their gut.  This was soon seen as a fictionalized account of the slimiest side of society ever; a story of a simple man, Krishnaswamy (essayed by Kamal), whose journey starts off in a beautiful Camelot, only to take twists and turns into the ugliest lanes of society.  The journey did end with a ray of hope back in that village where the story originated.  But by then, the viewer felt bare minimum consolation. 

Over the past two decades, I have watched “Mahanadhi” umpteen times, rarely experiencing anything less than an emotionally draining experience.  But a couple of months ago, I revisited parts of the movie because I was writing an article on my favorite ‘smaller’ scenes in Tamil cinema.  The Kamal – SN Lakshmi interactions had always moved me deeply.  So, for that article, I recounted the early morning sequence after Kamal realizes the error of his ways, in trusting a woman with questionable values.  As I watched more of the movie, a thought crystallized in my mind.  That “Mahanadhi” was not just a tale of the darker side of our society.  It seemed, in equal measure, a story of hope, humanity, empathy and above all, the responsibility that we have towards fellow human beings.  In short, Anbe Sivam!  Let me try and illustrate, with a few examples.

The friend’s remarks:  One of the events that sets the story into motion is Kamal’s well-to-do friend visiting his house.  As Kamal sees the sophistication evident in his friend’s kids (who are settled in London), he starts to think of a better future for his family beyond the idyll of his village.  This is depicted in a lovely scene when Kamal’s friend takes leave of him and Kamal’s son asks him for a similarly expensive car.  I found the writing to be exquisite here.  Especially for how Kamal’s friend treats him in a casual but not condescending manner, especially in the way he apologizes for an insensitive remark on Kamal’s wife who had died young. 

Watch from 2:28 – 5:30:

SN Lakshmi’s characterization: “Mahanadhi” has to be the movie with the loveliest portrayal of a mother-in-law character, played by the great SN Lakshmi.  Kamal’s scenes with the seasoned veteran are a joy to behold.  Be it in the way he addresses her as ‘Amma,’ or in the way she requests him – a widower- to get remarried, it is a delightfully understated relationship that was brought to life by the acting and the writing. (Kamal wrote the story and screenplay, while he co-wrote the dialogues with Ra Ki Rangarajan.)  Watch this scene where SN Lakshmi teases him playfully, owing to his eagerness to see Sukanya’s photograph.  Goodness.  Pure and simple goodness.

Watch from 1:30 – 3:06:

Another scene where the Kamal – SN Lakshmi relationship comes to the fore is the delicate, moving sequence when the family visits Kamal in jail after his daughter has come of age.  Amidst all the sadness that pervades the scene are two touching moments.  One where SN Lakshmi says, “Naan thirupathi-ku mottai podartha vendiruken maaple…”  and the other where she apologizes for renting out the house.

Watch from 0:27 – 2:23:

“Naan Veezhvaen Endru Ninaithayo?”: Fans of K Balachander will realize that the Bharathiyar poem cited in a perfectly situational manner in “Mahanadhi” was probably Kamal’s homage to his mentor, given KB's fondness for Bharathiyar.  The timing of the poem’s inclusion here is as perfect as it is thought provoking.  As I had mentioned earlier, one of those hidden-in-plain-sight elements of “Mahanadhi” that I finally started to see was the emphasis on the responsibility that we have towards fellow members of the society.  In this context, the Bharathiyar poem here is like a whiplash, with the Kamal character finding much-needed inspiration at a key moment in his life where he has to bear the one-two punch of societal evil and quirk of fate, without falling down.  Who better than Bharathiyar to urge him to not be felled?  (As an aside, this poem is brought back in an equally appropriate manner in the climactic sequence at the hotel terrace.)

Watch from the start until the 33-sec point:

 

The kindness of a stranger-exhibit I:   One of the oft-used tropes in thamizh cinema is the portrayal of rich people as monsters and underprivileged people as innocent and gullible.   Truth to be told, “Mahanadhi” does have sequences that utilize this trope.  But the writing is so splendid that the scenes play out in a completely unfussy manner, with the characters remaining just that – characters, not mouth pieces to make larger points.  The “Thalaivasal” Vijay scene is a case in point.  His character doesn’t even have a roof over him, yet offers protective cover to Kamal’s son (who had gotten lost earlier).    What could have been a cliched scene is lifted by some gentle humor and understated sentiments.  The scene has a perfect lead-in, with Kamal raising several tough questions about society, without knowing that the answer actually lay in humans having the most basic of values – kindness.  That he is pleasantly surprised minutes later, lends the late night scene extra poignancy.

Watch from 2:47 of clip 28 till the end of clip 29:

The kindness of a stranger-exhibit II:  Discerning movie goers will probably never forget the prostitution house sequence where Kamal rescues his daughter.  It is one of the most deeply affecting sequences ever to find its way to screen.  But when I watched this scene recently, I noticed a subtext here that I had not realized was there.  That, to ensure that humanness doesn’t become a rare commodity, we ought to be looking out for those that need to be given a lifeline or a lending hand.  And, in this sequence, the lady that pays the pimp Rs. 5000 to let go of Kamal’s daughter is that angel that rescues Kamal.  Savor that irony for a second.  She herself is in a prostitution house and yet, feels the need to help a father in distress.  This has to be Kamal’s most unheroic moment ever.  Which is why his acting is all the more remarkable.  This scene has an utterly poignant end where her daughter applies sindoor on the forehead of Kamal’s daughter.  (Actually, one overlooked aspect of “Mahanadhi” is the progressive nature of the movie.  In the world of thamizh cinema that can, sometimes, be very regressive in its approach to its women characters, this movie ends with Kamal's daughter, a victim of prostitution, being happily married to the son of the jailor, played by Rajesh.)  

Watch from 4:06:

As I sit back and reflect on this movie, I am reminded of Parthiban’s lovely line, “Innoruthar irukum varai yaarume anaadhai alla.”  The way I look at it, we sometimes have to be that “innoruthar.” And, I must thank Kamal and his “Mahanadhi” for making me think of what I owe my fellow human beings. From up above, both Bharathiyar and K Balachander would be smiling with pride as they think of what Kamal accomplished with "Mahanadhi."  That, in itself, is as good a birthday blessing as Kamal could possibly get!

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Acknowledgment: Sincere Thanks to Anu Warrier for letting me adopt her style of recounting impactful moments from her favorite movies.  A wonderful writer, she blogs at http://anuradhawarrier.blogspot.com/

The undeniable importance of grieving

Minutes after landing at the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport, I see a text message that my 49-year old Aunt has passed away.  No, it doesn’t come as a surprise; to see ‘her’ is the reason why I am in India in the first place.  I had been prepared for the devastatingly sad event by my family who told me the previous day that she was on life support and that she would not survive.  I don’t have much time to let anything sink in because I have a very short transit.  As I board my connecting flight to Chennai, why is it that I feel a sudden urge to encapsulate of all of my memories of my Aunt into a few minutes as though I am running a highlights reel in my mind?  It’s a strange feeling that the mind goes into overdrive while the rest of the body feels anesthetized.  Numb.  Totally numb.  Slowly the numbness wears off.  And, seething anger towards a supreme power (“supreme” and “power” seem such unlikely terms in the wake of a death) that I hope exists up above, is one of the first emotions that I feel.  Then I land in Chennai and see some of my family members at the airport.  Suddenly, I snap out of the maelstrom of emotions.  “There are people to console,” I tell myself.  To begin with, an 80-year old mother that has lost her daughter, a 12-year old daughter that has lost her mother.  Surely their loss is greater than mine, I convince myself. 

In the next few hours, I see every close family member and every meaningful friend that my Aunt had.  Some of her friends are people that attended my first birthday celebrations.  So, you can get a sense for the history we share collectively.  As the final rites are performed, I see everyone consoling everyone else.  Some of my Aunt’s friends console me and my other family members.  Another family member, probably with the hope of squeezing out every ounce of grief, extends to a friend that most comforting of gestures – a hug.  All this while, I feel like I am in an entirely quiet zone, continuing to run that highlights reel in my mind.  Finally, I accompany my Uncle, my parents, my Aunt’s friends and a few other family members to the crematorium.  That is where it hits me.  The sight of people getting my Aunt prepared to be turned into a pot of ashes yanks me out of my own daze.  And, that maelstrom of feelings that I had been experiencing, finds my eyes to be an apt conduit to erupt out of.  I am incredibly thankful for the fact that one of my Aunt’s dear buddies of 30 years, is nearby – equally submerged under the weight of his emotions – to ensure that I feel that I am not alone.  An hour later, what gets submerged is the pot of ashes in the nearby Besant Nagar beach as the priest overseeing the final rites directs my Uncle to have his back to the waters as he throws the pot over his shoulders.  Watching this rather pointed direction from the priest, one of my Amma’s cousins comments, “We are a very practical people.”   Are we?  More on that in a bit.

Cut to the present…

It’s been nearly three weeks since the above events happened.  And, I feel like I have had a complete grieving experience.  Sure, my Aunt’s memories will be in my mind continually for the rest of my life given what an important mother figure, sister figure and friend she was in my life.  But the short term impact of this life event taught me a few important lessons.  One is what Professor Morrie Schwartz mentioned in the wonderful, illuminating book on life, loss and death, “Tuesdays with Morrie.”  When asked by his student as to how he dealt with grief, he talked about how he faced it head-on, going through it and coming out the other side.  (I pictured going through a dark tunnel to see light at the end.)  When reflecting on my experience from three weeks ago, I realized the importance of fully being aware of one’s grieving process, identifying what works for you– some internalize while just focusing on the happy memories, others cry out loud, some wail about the unfairness of it all, others ruminate on the science around the illness – and immersing yourself fully, never once having the fear of being judged.  As with every theory, there is an exception.  And, that exception is that, while it is critically important to experience one’s own grief fully, it is also important to balance it with a focus on being there for others whom you think need you. 

Talking of being there for others, what also comes to mind are the people in the extended family and acquaintances (outside of the immediate circle) that call on the surviving family members.  In thamizh, there is a term called, “dhukkam vijarikardhu.”   I have never understood the true meaning of this term.  It translates into (bad) English as, “Asking about your sadness.”    People that call on the near and dear of the deceased, I feel, have a responsibility.  And that responsibility is to walk the tightrope walk between expressing your own sadness and giving strength and expressing support.  And, I feel that I saw people on both sides of this balance.  I remained a mute spectator as I witnessed my family listening to a few well-meaning but ill-timed comments from certain people.  Comments such as one from an old family member to my grandma -“What is the use of you and me living when she (my Aunt) is gone?”  Surely, not the advice that the Doctor ordered for my grandma, you would think.  

But all these reflections aside, that anger that I experienced towards the Almighty, thinking of the unfairness of it all, still persists.  And, that’s okay.  My family gives me the permission to ask my own unanswerable questions, trusting me to live with life’s glorious uncertainties, with those seemingly cruel vagaries of fate, all while assuming that things will look up, that there is some reason for these things to happen.  I haven’t accepted any ‘theory’ or ‘explanation’ for why this thing had to happen.  For the time being, I continue to face my own tough questions.  And, I continue to celebrate the life of my Aunt in my mind, over and over.  The show is over.  But the highlights will continue to play...

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"