A modern-day blessing: My thoughts on the delightful “Oh My KadavuLe”

Exquisite expressions.  Precise casting.  Thoughtful writing.  Splendid staging.  As I was barely getting out of the heady feeling that this quartet of strengths displayed in Sillu Karupatti gave me, here comes a modern-day love story that has all those strengths and an element of whimsy.  The incredible gamut of emotions evoked masterfully by debutant writer-director Ashwath Marimuthu brought to mind a line from Mozhi uttered by MS Bhaskar (who has a great role here; more on that later) – “Mark my words, this boy will go places!” 

Oh My KadavuLe is the story of…hold on.  I am not going to go into the details of the plot.  Suffice to say that the pivotal characters are played by Ashok Selvan, Ritika Singh, Vani Bhojan, MS Bhaskar and Sha Ra.  MS Bhaskar plays Ritika’s Dad.  Sha Ra plays a childhood friend of Ashok.  Somewhere in here are Vijay Sethupathi and Ramesh Thilak playing two of the most charming cameos you will ever see.  Who these people are, the chances they get, the second chances they get and the lessons they learn in the process are what this film is about. 

Above depicting longstanding friendships, unconditional love, a complex marriage all with such humor, delicacy and conviction, this film stands tall for yet another reason – the truth in the characters.  Every syllable uttered by these actors rings true and every gesture feels right.  In some scenes, the dialogues sparkle.  Case in point is MS Bhaskar’s monologue on the origins of his company.  Now, MS Bhaskar is one of those actors who can deliver an extended stretch of dialogue with effortless ease.  So yes, the casting is just right.  But the lines given to him are moving and authentic.  It makes us almost hang our head in shame (like Ashok does) for having laughed at what he does for a living. 

It is not just the dialogues but also the expressions, body language of the actors and the purposeful use of background score, where you can sense an assured director’s orchestration.  There is a scene in the second half where Ritika comes to Ashok’s room after a conversation with his parents.  The manner in which he puts his arm around her and holds her tightly is one of the most beautiful expressions of affection that I have witnessed on the Tamil screen.  By that point in the movie, clearly a lot of conflicting feelings are on Ashok’s mind about Ritika and this gesture just about perfectly conveys that.  Another beautifully quiet moment is when Ashok drops off Ritika at her place after their trip to Kerala.  Ashok’s expressions in this scene are controlled and nuanced.  Any dialogue or overdone background score would have spoiled this moment – this is an actor’s moment and the writer and director make way.  And in the slightly whimsical scenes, the background score is playful and delightfully catchy.  As I reflect on these moments, it is abundantly clear that the filmmaker is in complete control of his craft, knowing which of the tools in his audio-visual armamentarium to bring  to the fore in service of a scene. 

Oh My KadavuLe also packs a lot of delicious little details that are a joy to behold.  The “FLAMES” t-shirt worn by Ashok, the way he corrects himself and calls MS Bhaskar “Uncle”, the casually dismissive way Ritika describes the VTV intermission scene, Vani’s fondness for the open-air theater and how a birthday ‘gift’ is brought to life there are just a few instances. 

Apart from Ashok who turns in his best, most measured performance till date, Ritika and Vani are cast perfectly and do full justice to their roles.  Ritika is an actress who is utterly lacking in the annoying self-consciousness that some actresses possess.  Her disarming on-screen persona is perfect for her role as Noodles Mandai…err…Anu.  Vani has a quieter but equally well-rounded character and her face brings out a sense of hidden pain marvelously. 

As a fan of well-made cinema, movies like Oh My KadavuLe are a blessing.  One of lyricist Vaali’s lines that often plays in my mind’s ear is, “Naayagan mel irundhu noolinai aatuginraan…naamellam bommai endru naadagam kaatuginran…”  In the world of films, a writer-director might be the puppeteer who spins a yarn to hold the actors and make them sway a certain way.  But really, in the hands of a master filmmaker, I, as a member of the audience, am the puppet.  A willing puppet whose emotions are controlled by the filmmaker and his or her team.  And for those that willingly surrender to the magic of the medium, Oh My KadavuLe is…heaven-sent.

Si-Lens: A few quiet moments captured on Tamil screen

In an interview with Bosskey, the late Mahendran had recounted his formative years in Ilayangudi.  He was a fan of the Tamil cinema of the 50s, which boasted of truly impressive, at times incessant, dialogue.  This was the decade when Tamil cinema was branching out of musicals into more social dramas.  Writers like Mu. Karunanidhi and Sakthi Krishnaswamy were making a mark with their pen in unprecedentedly powerful fashion.  Mahendran had truly enjoyed the talky films to the hilt.  During a conversation with his Uncle, the latter urged him to watch more English films.  It was only after he started watching films from the West did Mahendran develop a bit of an aversion towards excessive dialogue.  To his credit, he stuck to his convictions when he became a Director two decades later and gave us a handful of mesmerizingly memorable audiovisual experiences.  In this piece, I am going to list a few moments from Tamil cinema where it was a combination of expression, body language, cinematography and background score that weaved magic.  Dialogues, in these sequences, were functional, minimal or non-existent. 

Shoba in Mullum Malarum

It is impossible to create this sort of a list without a tribute to the master storyteller that I mentioned above.  This film and Udhiri PookaL are filled with several stunning moments of silence.  One of the most haunting visuals committed to the silver screen featured that shooting star, Shoba.  She slowly, painfully realizes that her brother has had a hand amputated.  Her expressions ranging from joy to realization to shock to despair are brought out in sublime fashion by her.  Rajni does very little and graciously cedes the spotlight to his co-star.  And she is incandescent.

Note: for all the videos below, clicking on Play will take you to the scenes I write about:

Sivaji Ganesan in Mudhal Mariyadhai

Sivaji Ganesan was referred to as ‘nadigar thilagam.’  Many fans of his work remember him for his remarkable dialogue delivery and crystal-clear diction.  But that scarcely does justice to the depth and breadth of his acting chops.  You would have to watch him keenly in some of the smaller moments to realize how beautifully expressive he could be, with very little dialogue.  One of my favorite moments in Bharathiraja’s Mudhal Mariyadhai is the scene where he is disgusted with his wife’s gesture while serving food.  He quietly moves away.  And the moment he steps out of his house, he drinks in the beauty of his surroundings.  The joy on his face is a delight to behold.

Saritha in Achamillai Achamillai

There is a beautiful line in Dil Se where Shah Rukh Khan describes the eyes of Manisha Koirala.  He loves them yet hates the fact that the deeper he looks, the stronger the realization that there are more depths to plumb.  KB probably felt that way about Saritha.  Watch this scene where she acts entirely with her eyes.  Sure it’s a showy piece of histrionics.  But it is impossible to look away.

Ilayaraja in Sethu

Consistent with the previous headers, I should have probably titled this, “Abitha in Sethu.”  But as moving and expressive as she is, many portions of Sethu, this one included, are totally owned by the King.  In concert with Ratnavelu’s marvelously purposeful camera movements, the impact of Sethu endures, warts and all (especially in the realm of toxic masculinity).

Prakashraj and Mohanlal in Iruvar

For a film set in an era where the oration and rhetoric swayed the voting and movie-viewing public en masse, Iruvar boasts a plethora of visually arresting moments.  One of the telling contrasts is evidenced in the pair of scenes where Prakashraj is on stage while Mohanlal makes a delayed entry.  In the second scene, it is clearly established that Lal arrives late on purpose to test the strength of his following.  Prakashraj’s expressions in this scene are nuanced and measured.

The first scene - the young idealists:

The second sequence - power corrupts…absolutely!

SPB in Sigaram

Tamil cinema has been witness to many death scenes that have spanned the spectrum of loudness from incredibly quiet to deafeningly loud.  On the quiet end of the spectrum is one of the most poignant scenes in Sigaram – SPB’s wife Rekha is dead while he is away in Singapore on a concert trip.  What happens once he returns is what is captured in this sequence which features no background music, just a few ambient sounds.  Director Vasanth once told me that writer Anuradha Ramanan, in a conversation on Rhythm, death and loss, mentioned the “silence that comes with death.”  That phrase is what comes to mind in this scene, especially the portion where SPB enters an empty house.

Kamal Haasan and Amala in Pesum Padam

And finally, the movie with probably the most apt title about silence ever, Pesum Padam!  A film where the actors ‘spoke’ volumes through their eyes, their body language and purposeful gestures.  My favorite is the scene in the handicrafts shop where Kamal ‘picks’ a earring for Amala.  These two fine actors share such cute, crackling chemistry that any dialogue would have felt completely redundant!

Earthy but Worthy – A piece on Balakumaran’s writing in Tamil Cinema

Disclaimer – this is not meant to be an exhaustive, analytical piece on Balakumaran.  It is an attempt to capture a few facets of his writing that I have enjoyed and admired.

I may sometimes be tardy in paying our monthly gas and electricity bills. (No, it has not gotten to the point when connections have been turned off!) But part of my unerring monthly routine is watching at least a few scenes from Nayagan.  During one such recent viewing, I reduced my treadmill speed – yes, I was probably exhausted too! – to rewind a few seconds to watch a conversation again.  It is between the two kids, one played by the young Kamal Haasan.  The kid has just lost his father, avenged the latter’s death and has arrived in Bombay sans any support system.  He is sipping on hot tea while his new friend is inquiring the reason behind him escaping from Thoothukudi.  First things first – the kids in this scene are remarkable actors.  There is not an ounce of inauthenticity or cinematic precociousness.  What makes them shine even brighter in this scene are the marvelous lines rooted in the local milieu, penned by the late Balakumaran.  I especially love the colloquialism on display – “paritchai-la giritchai-la fail aaytiya?”…“panam ginam thirudiniya?”  Now, you don’t have to be ‘Senthamizhan’ Seeman to know that “giritchai” and “ginam” are not Tamil words.  But is that not how we speak.  That is the nativity and realism that Balakumaran, at his best, brought to screenwriting. 

There are filmmakers – the great Mani Ratnam included – who can sometimes get carried away by cinematic technique, to the point that the writing seems to be given short shrift.  But as Kamal once noted, Mani Ratnam was secure enough to surround himself with “strong collaborators” like Balakumaran.  Very few directors like Shankar (Gentleman, Kadhalan and Jeans), Suresh Krissna (Baasha), Durai (Mugavari) and Selvaraghavan (Pudhupettai) have utilized Balakumaran well.  But when they did, with an understanding of what truly made him tick, the results were there to see. 

To me, Balakumaran’s strengths as a screen writer were twofold – authenticity and profundity.  He was an expert at getting into the skin of the characters and explaining their motivations in a way that felt completely in sync with the character.  The motivations may not always be ‘right’ or reasonable but the way he could pen the lines, we could totally see the character speaking that way.  Take Gunaa for instance.  There is, of course, the oft-cited monologue in the doctor’s office – it is an amazing stretch of dialogue, no doubt.  One that is masterfully delivered by Kamal.  But I like Roshini’s lines in the ‘wedding’ scene equally well, if not more.  She has fallen in love with someone whom she knows is besotted with her for reasons that might go beyond the realm of normal man-woman relationships.  Yet, the purity of his emotion has consumed her.  In the scene, when Kamal states that it is not full-moon yet, she responds, “Nila agasathulia iruku?  Manasula iruku.  Manasu than nila.  Neranja naaL...manasu neranja naaL...Kattu…”  (The way Saritha, who dubbed for Roshini, modulates the delivery of these lines is quite special too.)  As poetic as the lines are, they ring very true coming from a girl who has experienced emotional fulfillment in a way that she never had previously. 

If these lines from Gunaa were gentle and poetic, the lines he penned for Radhika in Jeans were sharp and vitriolic.  In one of her great performances, the monstrously talented Radhika tore into the part with relish, delivering Balakumaran’s lines with amazing vitality, her diction being spot on.  One of the stinging lines in this segment was, “Vevaram kettavanuku pondaati-ya irukardha vida vela therinjavanuku vepaati-ya irukalam!”  There is zero political correctness in this line.  But you could totally see the Radhika character speak this way.  In fact, it seemed like the only way she would speak!

Another example of his lines shedding light on the inner workings of a character is from the famous “avana nirutha sol…naan nirutharen” scene from Nayagan.  A gangster and his peace-loving daughter are at loggerheads with one another, unable to strike any common ground.  There are two lines that especially sizzle with power.  When an irate Kamal barks at Karthika, “Engendhu vandhichu indha kai neetra pazhakkam?”, his Man Friday Janakaraj aptly responds, “Namma kitte irundhu than!”  And recollecting his violent ways, Kamal says, “Thirupi adicha than adi-lendhu thappikka mudium…katti adicha than uyirode iruka mudiyum.”  These are intense, violent thoughts but when they are uttered by a feared don, they sound just right.

The other strength he possessed was an uncanny ability to deliver profound thoughts in a very accessible manner.  Mugavari was quite an amazing film at the time of its release.  It was not the kind of mainstream entertainer that Ajith was dishing out during his wave of success post Vaali.  It was a quiet tale of struggles faced by an aspiring music director, played with utmost conviction by Ajith.  Raghuvaran’s advice to him in the terrace scene is one where Balakumaran’s lines, underscoring the importance of hard work and persistence, were crisp yet memorable.  Apart from the lovely 'Gold at 10 feet' story, I especially like this line – “Inge jeikaley-na makku-nu solluvange.  Jeychitta luck-unu solluvange!” 

As I wrote earlier, there are some filmmakers that can get obsessed with form while sacrificing content.  While it is laudable that our cinema is moving away from excessively talky dramas that lacked finesse in craft, it is equally important to do the write...err...right thing and strike a balance.  Fine writers like Balakumaran and Sujatha are no longer with us.  But as we turn to their chapters in the history of Tamil cinema, we realize that the imprints left by their pen are indelible.  May budding filmmakers who aspire to stamp their impact on the medium take a leaf out of these chapters that were penned by these immortal authors. 

Continue to rest in peace, Balakumaran...

Angel in the detail: My review of Halitha Shameem’s “Sillu Karupatti”

Halitha Shameem’s Sillu Karupatti features a tape recorder, a shampoo bottle, a ring, a box of Pringles chips, a Johnson’s baby ad, a Cornetto ice cream air balloon, a bird-shaped key fob and an Alexa virtual assistant named, “Ammu.”  You must wonder why I would start a review listing a bunch of inanimate objects.  Good question.  My answer is simple.  If you have watched the movie, you will know that all of them acquire a life of their own.  Seen one way, they are animated objects.  Animated by a sense of warmth and affection that is infused into them by the superb writing and craftsmanship displayed by the director and her team.  If that is the life that the filmmaker imbues objects with, need I really say anything about the humanness, the charm and the lovability that she adorns her actors with.  I wrote “adorn” because Sillu Karupatti features some of the most beautiful characters that I have seen on film.  Beauty, not necessarily in just the cosmetic sense of the word.  But an inner glow that radiates from within the soul of the actors that lights up the entire screen.  To borrow the late Roger Ebert’s ecstatic reaction after watching Jerry Maguire, I wanted to “hug myself with delight!”

Sillu Karupatti is an anthology of four stories.  All four of them are ‘love’ stories, loosely speaking.  But none of them are frivolous or lightweight.  The underlying sadness or seriousness of some of the tracks is leavened with some marvelously written lines that drip with wit, understated humor and intelligence.  The bevy of actors, both the lead ones and the smaller characters, are all pitch-perfect.  There is not a false note in one of the performances, irrespective of length of the role. (Among the actors in minor roles, the misty-eyed nurse who holds a “Hope” sign was especially unforgettable.)

Among the actresses, Sunaina and Nivedhithaa Sathish come up trumps.  As I had written in my review of Marriage Story, implosion is much more difficult to portray than explosion.  Sunaina’s implosion of emotion in the verbal duel with Samudrakani is arguably her best work till date.  Her satisfied sigh in front of the mirror and her little “thank you” speech to “Ammu” in the final sequence are as incandescent as the candles in the scene.  Nivedhithaa brings an impishness and perkiness that, unlike the typical masala film heroine, is also balanced by common sense and street smarts.  Her affectionate hug of Manikandan in the terrace and her loving glances of him in the hospital bed are instances where the character sparkles, as does the actress.

Of the actors, Manikandan and Samudrakani are especially magnificent.  After Raghuvaran, Samudrakani has probably been my favorite character actor.  An advice-spouting do-gooder is how we have mostly seen him.  But in this film, he brings a disarming casualness to his performance.  I have never seen him exhibit shyness or childlike qualities as he does in such a winsome manner in Sillu Karupatti.  And Manikandan, who held his own in Kaala against the mighty Rajnikanth, turns in the most nuanced performance of this film.  His expressions alone are worth the ticket of this film.  Be it when he is writhing in pain, the befuddled look when a politician asks him to create a meme (pronounced, “mee-mee!”), the surprise he exhibits when he is compared to Charlie Chaplin, the delight having swallowed a piece of a tasty kulfi, the wistful look in the mirror as he strokes his hair, the joyous smile (and the way he says, “Nalla Sagunam”) while entering the hospital – these are all imprints on screen left by a consummate actor who is completely in sync with his director’s vision. 

If I were to pick the best of the four stories, it would probably be the Manikandan – Nivedhithaa one, owing to its incredibly sensitive handling of some very delicate topics without posturing or sermons.  On the other hand, I found the Leela Samson – Sree Ram track to be the least effective.  It is because I felt that this was one story that couldn’t attain the level of depth it needed in the amount of time that it had.  The thawing and growing affection in the relationship felt rushed to me.  I kept thinking that this story, to work effectively, deserved a movie of its own like the art house classic, Anthimanthaarai.

The cinematography and music are unobtrusively effective.  The background score (by Pradeep Kumar) is especially impactful in the kids segment where the tenderness of the longing glances is matched by the gentle score.  I especially enjoyed the photography (by Yamini Yagnamurthy) of the final segment.  In the scene featuring an inebriated Samudrakani, we first see him from a tipsy angle.  It is only then revealed that he is sitting in a merry-go-round in a playground!

As I reflect on the immense joy and satisfaction I derived from this film, I just wish that more actors and producers (like Suriya has with this film) support such efforts where the richness comes not from extravagant set pieces or exotic foreign locales and instead, comes from detailing, nuance and delicacy of the writing and film making.  It is films of this ilk that will not only endear themselves but also endure.  

The King's Beats

En route to work on a bone-crunchingly cold morning, I wanted a jolt on top of what my chai would give me.  So, I turned the volume up to a level just below one that would attract nasty glances from fellow drivers.   Also, I wanted my eardrums to be functional enough to accommodate hi-hats and drums.  As I flipped through my collection, I had a very, very serious choice to make.  Was it going to be the Mozart of Madras or the King of Pannaipuram?  (Please don’t get all serious on me and tell me helpfully that this little panchayat town in Theni never had a royal family.)  I decided to have the aroma of my chai blend in with a whiff of nostalgia.  I chose to go with the King.  And before I could think too much, I came up with a list of percussion-heavy numbers where the king made his loyal vassals tap their feet even if they had three left-feet!

Here is a list of 10 of my picks in no particular order.  I will keep my descriptions to a minimum since words aren’t the point of this piece!

Kombula Poova Suthi  from Virumandi

One of the liveliest songs in a Jallikattu setting, this fast-paced number has some scintillating beats.  Kamal’s spirited rendition is the moar molaga on the koozhu! (Icing on the cake just felt wrong, sorry!)

Aiyya Oodu from Kaathaluku Mariyadhai

Manivannan was such a popular artiste in 1997 that he got an ‘introduction song’ in a film where the hero didn’t have one!  Ilayaraja’s joyous singing leavens some of the heavy-duty philosophical lines. (“Kannukettum thooram thooram…manusanathan kaanum kaanum” is my favorite of Pazhani Bharathi’s lines.)

The title song of Vikram

The film released 34 years ago when computers and synthesizers in Tamil film music were as rare as realistic make-up.  The typewriter keys clacking and seguing seamlessly into the beats is an absolutely magical start to this irresistibly catchy number.

Podhuvaga En Manasu from Murattu KaaLai

It is widely agreed that Murattu KaaLai was the film that heralded superstardom for Rajnikanth even though he had been christened “Super Star” two years before this movie (in “Bairavi”).  This song, rendered with incredible vitality by Malaysia Vasudevan, is a fitting anthem signaling the birth of the super star.

Ooru vittu ooru vandhu… from Karagattakaran

Comedian Coundamani and company have a ball, thanks to Ilayaraja!  It is rather amusing to see the comedians dance while the hero – that master thespian and costume connoisseur Ramarajan – walks beside them!

Raja Rajathi Rajan Indha Raja… from Agni Natchathiram

Need I add anything to the first words of this song!

Das Das Chinapadas… from Kadalora KavithaigaL

The Ilayaraja – Bharathiraja combination resulted in many unforgettable chartbusters.  This film was the last of their collaborations before their split. (They would reunite 4 years later for En uyir thozhan.)  This song, set in a seaside milieu, features some rather modern beats that somehow don’t feel out of place. 

Poo malarndhida… from Tik Tik Tik

The mirudangam is one of my favorite percussion instruments.  My bias comes from the fact that I tried my hand at it for several years.  It took me a decade to realize two things – 1. music was the only part of my life where I was a good listener. (I actually feel bad for my family and friends, truly, deeply, sincerely!) 2. The sounds of mirudangam that I heard when others played seemed like noise when I did.  And when I listen to this marvelous fusion piece, I realize that I am better off listening a little more…at least in but not restricted to music!

Nenachu Nenachu… from Sethu

This is not a full-fledged song.  But this minute-long snippet is a mesmerizing expression of ecstasy.  (The visceral impact of the violent act at the end of this song has the same gut-wrenching impact now as it had on me 20 years ago when the film was released.)

Stereophonic Sannata… from Shamitabh

Aasaiya kaathula... from 1980 getting a facelift in a Hindi film in 2015 where Amitabh Bachchan was the ‘voice’ of Dhanush.  Can improbability be taken to a higher level?  Yes.  The song turned out to be a terrific, foot-tapping number!

Marriage Story: A door closes, a window opens

When reading a bit about Noah Baumbach’s Marriage Story, I happened upon this headline from The Telegraph – “Marriage Story should be compulsory viewing for any parent heading for divorce.”  While I don’t disagree with the title, I also think it does scarce justice to the film.  If you think that is hyperbole, then let me place for your consideration the scene of this year, the performance of 2019 and the most ‘real’ line ever written about a crumbling relationship.  It is Scarlett Johansson and her controlled implosion at the office of her lawyer (Laura Dern, in a scene-stealing turn herself).  Towards the end of her harangue, Johansson observes wistfully, “He didn’t see me as something separate from himself.”  The amount of truth, pain and sting in that line is symptomatic of this film. 

The singular, stellar achievement of the writer-director is that he doesn’t vilify either of the leads or just take one person’s point of view as the two (Adam Driver plays the male lead) go through the last stages of their marriage.  It is an incredibly tough task to pull us towards two characters who are gradually distancing themselves from one another.  Our loyalties are with both as we get enough glimpses into their strengths, foibles and weaknesses.  The fact that the couple doesn’t let their divorce proceedings eclipse their humanity is one of the poignant elements of the film – watch Johansson’s response to Dern shifting a 50-50 arrangement to a 55-45 one (in her favor).  That the film offers pregnant pauses while zooming in on these moments instead of rushing through them speaks to the trust that the filmmaker places in the audience.

The scenes with the lawyers (Dern, Ray Liotta and Alan Alda) are fascinating and scary in equal measure.  The brute force of some of the arguments, the casual throwaway lines and the lawyer-client dynamics offer a very compelling counterpoint to some of the simplicity, genuineness and empathy that the couple try to retain in their household amidst some tough decisions.  While Dern has the juiciest lines, Alda’s world-weariness and avuncular attitude are endearing to watch. 

But at the end of the day, this film is about its leads.  The director paints them both in a light enough shade of gray to not make them unlikable yet three-dimensional enough to make their interactions immensely relatable.  The film’s most striking visual involves the two of them closing a wheeled gate together, while standing on either side of it.  The glances they exchange towards each other while shutting the door, so to say, gently but definitely on one another, are moving.  

The film may be about two people – or rather three, counting their kid – going through a period of closing a door to one another.  But while doing so with a sureness of foot and delicacy of emotion, the movie affords us a chance to open a window into our own soul.  To assess and reassess our own choices in the relationships that mean something to us.  And to make sure that we ask ourselves tough questions in a timely manner.  As Johansson’s misty-eyed reaction to a key decision of Driver’s in one of the concluding scenes suggests, it is our timely choices that make us who we are.  And to the extent to which we factor in the self and our loved ones without too much of a skew in either direction, the more satisfying those choices will be.  In essence, the film’s finale is really a starting point.  A starting point not just for parents heading for a divorce but also for couples wanting to take their relationships to greater heights while plumbing the emotional depths of one another.  In short, it is “compulsory viewing” for all adults in search of meaning in relationships.

Different Folks, Same Strokes

Let us start with three completely unconnected conversations that span fictional and real spaces.

The first happens in a rather touching sequence in the episode of the Amazon series Modern Love, starring Catherine Keener and Andy Garcia.  They are former lovers in their forties, married – not to one another – who bump into each other.  When recollecting their doomed, “untested” romance, Keener observes, “The idea of you just got me through a lot in life.”  And later adds, “It’s the purest, most concentrated stuff.” 

The second is a father-son chat that happens in the Samudrakani drama, Appa.  A 10^th grader confides in his father the rather puzzling imbalance he experiences whenever he sees a female classmate.  The Dad smiles and asks him to invite the girl to their place.  He offers a cup of coffee to each of them and urges them to converse in a civil, mature manner.  Having sowed the seeds of a genuine friendship, the Dad urges the son to never accumulate any ‘toxins’ in his body.  That a friendship that has its roots in thoughtful conversation and deep understanding, has the power to ‘purify’ our system. 

The third is a conversation that didn’t happen on screen.  It was a chat with a friend about visiting a distant relative who is undergoing treatment for cancer.  A few disclaimers - I had not accompanied my relative for her treatment.  I had not cooked her a meal.  I had not taken care of any chores while she was in the hospital.  I enumerate these because I know of people that touch her life in these very definite, selfless ways.  What I did was nothing special or particularly tangible, I confess.  During a recent trip to my hometown, I had just visited her, spent some quality time with her and shared several moments of mirth.  She has a stupendous fighting spirit.  So, it’s not even as though I lifted the morale of a morose person.  But the positive vibe of that meeting has lasted with me for the two weeks that have elapsed since the meetup happened.  Her smiling face has meant something to me.  And the hopeful visage of her caregivers refuses to leave my mind as well.  In these past two weeks, when I have started to complain or get crabby about things that are far less daunting than being the recipient of oncologic treatments, memories of that visit seem to tap me on my head as if to exclaim, “Really, are you this full of yourself?!” 

You must be wondering if there is even a tenuous link that connects these three disparate conversations.  To me, it is the notion of purity.  It is the idea that there invariably exists something – be it an ideal love, a fulfilling friendship or a human connection – in our lives that can bring or restore a sense of equanimity and equipoise to our minds.  We just have to discover it for ourselves, for it sometimes is hidden in plain sight.  At times, we wrap ourselves in a blanket of meaningless mundanity when we should be discovering beauty in the big picture that astonishingly steely human beings draw right in front of our eyes.  A case in point are the survivor and her supporters that I mentioned above.  The truth is that the ‘big’ picture is comprised of smaller strokes of meaningful minutiae sketched out jointly by people and their loved ones.  As seen above, this could be a true friend, a love interest, a caring relative.  In each instance, there is something very pristine, giving and outward that in turn combine to give inner peace. 

As somebody that has rarely been able to find an internal anchor in an invisible supreme power, I feel an urge to depend on abiding bonds with people to keep myself grounded and centered.  Through blood relationships or otherwise, I have certainly been blessed with the presence of several people who, through just being themselves, give me an anchor of purity.  That, as Catherine Keener acutely observed, can get us through life in a way that feels not just good but also right.