Summary: Technically brilliant, historically inaccurate, well-packaged fantasy tale of a man on a singular mission — to kill Vasco da Gama.

What I liked

  • Packaging: Movies set against a historical backdrop can quickly turn into documentaries, and thus risk putting audiences to sleep. At times, the audience might choose to entirely shun such a movie without even making an effort to understand it; case in point: Hey Ram. I presume therefore that the prime question that would have confronted the makers of Urumi must have been around striking the balance between fact and fantasy. There is no right answer to this. They could have chosen to please the art house crowd and the dabblers in history (yours truly would like to believe that he belongs to both categories). Or they could have chosen to play entirely to the galleries (mind you, the movie was made on a big budget). Urumi’s success rests on this intricate balance, and one must commend the writers for believing in the adage “The perfect is the enemy of the good”, for I found the movie impressive on multiple levels.
  • Cinematography: Of course, it is a Santosh Sivan movie. How else could it have turned out? One could watch the movie just for the lush green scenery. (The dialogue, “Enga Simran akka nadikka kooda vendaam. Avanga poster-aye naanellaam rendara manineram paarthukitruppen!” comes to mind.)
  • Casting: Expanded below.
  • Prithviraj – Prabhudeva duo: Prithviraj excelled as Kelu Nayanar, but Prabhudeva as his friend Vavvali was, I thought, a casting coup. The reasons are obvious. Kelu has but one objective, on which he maintains a laser-sharp focus. In this sense, he is like a samurai, wherefore emotions are alien to his task, and by extension, to his nature. Vavvali, while valiant and supportive of Kelu’s mission, is essentially a lighthearted person, and displays a lot more sensitivity. The character could have easily been framed as just a sidekick, but the screenwriter must be thanked for giving it depth. The movie enhanced my respect for Prabhudeva’s acting skills.
  • Genelia: Genelia D’Souza plays Arackal Ayesha, a princess who, like Kelu, wants to avenge her father’s death, her target being da Gama’s son, Estevao. And just like Kelu, Ayesha portrays just one emotion — anger — and Genelia brings this out through her expressive eyes. While her on-screen time is considerable, her dialogues are comparatively fewer. But who cares… this is Genelia!
  • The supporting cast, notably Jagathy Sreekumar, Nithya Menon, Arya in two delightful cameos, the person playing Chirakkal Thamburan and both the da Gamas, pere and fils.
  • Songs: The good ones, at least. Though the movie has many songs, I can recall only two that were long. I was particularly impressed by the number of genres the songs touched upon. Kudos to the composer. My personal favorite is the delectable Chinni Chinni Minni Thilangunaa, sung by Manjari.
What could have been better
  • Screenplay: This should really be filed under the “What I liked” section as well. The movie can be split into three segments – the first hour which introduces the plot, the characters and their motivations. This part moves at breakneck speed and was the one I liked best. One can sense the drop in pace over the next 45 minutes to an hour, as the story meanders. At least one song (featuring Vidya Balan as an oracle) could have been omitted. The pace then picks up for the climax, but it still doesn’t equal the first hour.
  • Background score: Was good in parts, but I had the distinct feeling that Ilaiyaraja would have had a field day with this kind of movie, and would have made a number of scenes stand out even more.
  • Factual inaccuracies: I have a list that is longer than this review, but I’m not going to belabor this as I appreciate the constraints the filmmakers must have had to operate under.
I have not watched Pazhassi Raja yet, so I cannot compare it to Urumi, but I must state that the latter is one of the better movies I have watched in recent times. Even if you are like me and have only a fleeting knowledge of Malayalam, the movie is still worth a watch. Highly recommended!

 

An excellent short film — a beautiful tale, very well told.

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Like Robert Browning wrote:

Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made

Rajaganapathy Muthuraman liked this post
 

Here’s why.

Ezhezhu thalaimuraikkum from Goa (2010). Composer: Yuvan Shankar Raja.

 

A co-worker and I had gone out to dinner last night, to a Middle Eastern restaurant. (Incidentally, the cuisine is growing on me.) The owner of the restaurant turned out to be an excellent conversationalist. One topic led to another, and we found out that his family was from Lebanon. My co-worker asked about to Hezbollah, and the man tried to convey his side of the story. Then, my co-worker let him know that his uncle, a professor at a university in Beirut had been held hostage by Hezbollah for close to a decade. The restaurateur offered his apologies, and the conversation tapered off.

It was then that I made a  funny, but insensitive (but funny) comment to my co-worker:

“Small world, eh… your uncle was kidnapped by his uncle.”

 

Listening to one’s entire song collection in shuffle mode has many advantages — for one, it enables me to remain lazy. More importantly though, I love the feeling of anticipating the next song — அடுத்த வினாடி ஒளித்து வைத்திருக்கும் ஆச்சர்யங்கள்! Today, two songs that the music player served up one after another caught my attention. In an earlier life, one of my favorite lines of thought was how, as time flies by, we have regressed as a society. While I do not intend this post as a social commentary, I cannot help wondering if that is indeed true.

The first song was an old classic, Chithiram Pesudhadi from the 1958 Sivaji Ganesan movie Sabaash Meena. I love the simple construction of the song, the unobtrusive music, and the civil choice of words to express passionate longing. Sample the first two stanzas:

சித்திரம் பேசுதடி; எந்தன் சிந்தை மயங்குதடி
முத்துச் சரங்களைப் போல் மோகன புன்னகை மின்னுதடி

தாவும் கோடி மேலே ஒளிர் தங்கக்குடம் போலே
பாவை உன் பேரெழிலே எந்தன் ஆவலைத் தூண்டுதடி

The last line is a personal favorite because of its subtlety. It probably would have just been ordinary in another age, when subtlety was a given in popular culture. But somewhere along the way, I think we lost that sense, and as a populace, decided that crude — even senseless — lyrics were OK, so long as it gels with the tune.

For long, creators have blamed this on the audience. Their comfortable excuse is that “this” is what their audience craves for. And that is plain stupidity. As Henry Ford once said, “If I had asked my customers what they wanted, they would have told me ‘Give us faster horses!’“. It is therefore the creator’s burden to uplift society’s appreciation. However, popular culture is a volume game, and so, pecuniary considerations demand that society be dumbed down.

For which reason, while I enjoyed the song that followed (Kalloori Saalai, from the movie Kaadhal Desam) , I will never be able to reconcile how Vaali — one of my favorite lyricists — penned the lines:

கண்கள் silicon graphics
Girls வந்தாலே jam ஆகும் traffic
V-channel choice உன் Dolby voice
Lightning கன்னங்கள் LASER
நம்ம love matter சொல்லாது pager
நான் காதல் computer நீதானே software

 

The trouble with people like Arundhati Roy is that they are capable only of being rabble-rousers. I refer specifically to this opinion piece of hers in the Times of India that I read belatedly berating India for not doing enough about the war in Sri Lanka.

She ends her piece with an impassioned appeal to the world – whatever that refers to – to “step in. Now. Before it’s too late.” Step in, yes, Ms. Roy, and do what? I understand that there is a colossal humanitarian tragedy unfolding in that island. As a Tamilian (and even otherwise), my heart bleeds when I consider the plight of those caught in the middle of this terrible disaster, and mostly for no fault of their own. Yet, what can India or Norway or the United States or any other country do in this regard? Other than your characteristic mud-flinging at the powers that be, what have YOU done?

 

Sundara Kaandam is considered by many as among the most beautiful sections of the Ramayana. Indeed the title itself serves as an adjective (sundara = beautiful), while another meaning could be that it is the set of chapters about Hanuman (Sundara being one of his names).

One of the most celebrated sections of the Sundara Kaandam is the meeting between Hanuman and Sita. A significance of this is that to establish his bona fides to a doubting Sita (who thinks Hanuman is just another raakshasa trying to trick her into marrying Ravana), Hanuman cites multiple events from the past, which Ravana or his henchmen cannot possibly be aware of. In essence, Hanuman summarizes the epic up until that moment. (In Valmiki’s Ramayana, this roughly corresponds to sargas – chapters — 31 through 36 of the Sundara Kaanda.)

Periyaazhwaar captures this scene in an incredibly moving set of ten verses in the Divya Prabandham in the decad titled “நெறிந்த கருங்குழல்” (section 3.10; verses 318 – 327). The decad is constructed as follows. In the first seven verses, each ending with the words “ஓர் அடையாளம்” (roughly, “a proof of my identity”), Hanuman provides instances from the past to prove that he is really a friend of Rama, and that he has come to Lanka to rescue Sita. The examples cited are Rama disrupting Parasurama’s penance when the latter had wanted to prevent Rama from marrying Sita, a private moment when Sita garlanded Rama on a clear moonlit night, the couple departing from Ayodhya along with Lakshmana, Rama’s friendship with Gughan, the visit of Bharata, the pardoning of Jayanta, and the Maareecha episode.

After citing these instances, Hanuman produces Rama’s ring and gives it to Sita (verse 8), and Sita gets it from him (verse 9) and confirms that the ring does indeed belong to Rama (மோதிரம்கண்டு ஒக்குமால் அடையாளம் அனுமான்) and is overjoyed (உச்சிமேல் வைத்துக் கொண்டு உகந்தனள்).

The decad is a personal favorite, and I find each of the verses delectable. I have presented here a selection of four verses. I have decided to keep explanations to a minimum so as not to insult your intelligence, and also to let you appreciate the verses on your own without needing to overcome the impediment of my half-baked explanations.

அல்லியம் பூமலர்க் கோதாய்! அடிபணிந்தேன் விண்ணப்பம்
சொல்லுகேன் கேட்டருளாய் துணைமலர்க் கண்மடமானே!
எல்லியம் போதினிதிருத்தல் இருந்ததோரிட வகையில்
மல்லிகை மாமாலை கொண்டுஅங்கு ஆர்த்ததும் ஓரடையாளம்.

(Verse 2 of the decad. Notice how Hanuman presses Sita, spending the first two lines of the four — precious airtime, if I may add — entreating her to listen to him. எல்லியம்போது = night time)

சித்திரகூடத்து இருப்பச் சிறுகாக்கை முலைதீண்ட
அத்திரமே கொண்டெறிய அனைத்துலகும் திரிந்தோடி
வித்தகனே! இராமாவோ! நின்னபயம் என்றுஅழைப்ப
அத்திரமே அதன்கண்ணை அறுத்ததும் ஓரடையாளம்.

(Verse 6. This is slightly difficult to understand if you do not know the incident being described, which runs thus. When Rama and Sita were in Chitrakoota, Jayanta, the son of Indra, took the form of a crow and intruded into Sita’s privacy. An enraged Rama decided to fell Jayanta using a brahmaastra. Terrified, Jayanta fled to wherever he could, but try as he might, he could not dodge the fabled arrow. Jayanta finally sought refuge in Rama himself – வித்தகனே! இராமாவோ! நின் அபயம் — and was thus spared from certain death.)

மைத்தகு மாமலர்க் குழலாய்! வைதேவீ! விண்ணப்பம்
ஒத்தபுகழ் வானரக்கோன் உடனிருந்து நினைத்தேட
அத்தகுசீர் அயோத்தியர்கோன் அடையாளமிவை மொழிந்தான்
இத்தகையால் அடையாளம் ஈதுஅவன்கை மோதிரமே.

(Verse 8. Here, Hanuman produces Rama’s ring.)

திக்குநிறை புகழாளன் தீவேள்விச் சென்றநாள்
மிக்கபெருஞ் சபைநடுவே வில்லிறுத்தான் மோதிரம்கண்டு
ஒக்குமால் அடையாளம் அனுமான்! என்றுஉச்சிமேல்
வைத்துக் கொண்டு உகந்தனளால் மலர்க்குழலாள் சீதையுமே. (9)

Speechless!

 

Whichever lesser mortal coined the term “Mozart of Madras” to refer to A.R. Rahman did, in three short words, a great disservice to Mozart and Rahman both. So he / she would do well to step forward, accept his / her mistake and take it back.

Carlos Queiroz, former assistant manager at Manchester United had this to say about a certain Welshman:

“You cannot be a special person in the world if you are a copy of something. You really become a star when, with your football, your art, your style, you create your own identity. So the best tribute we can pay to Ryan Giggs is not that he compares to Best or anyone. It is to say that he won the right to be Ryan Giggs.” (source)

For delighting us with his music over the past two decades, let us accord A.R. Rahman the rightful honor of being known as Rahman of Madras, India’s pride!

 

… that celebrates bad behavior.

 

(Warning: Lotsa brackets, like this one.)

Back in 2001-02 (ah, the good ol’ days), when the stock markets recoiled after the dotcom bust and thousands of people found themselves out of a job in Silicon Valley, thousands of miles across the face of the earth, the impact was felt in Chennai. The great Indian IT boom 1.0 had ended, and this was the period before v2.0 commenced (the period when folks were recruited in hordes; the “Trespassers will be recruited” days).

At the turn of the century millennium, every Ram, Shyam and Hari was enrolled in a computer-training course. It didn’t matter what you did, what degree you were pursuing, what your life’s ambitions were etc. All that mattered was to enroll in the nearest NIIT or SSI centre (or something not that far off, if there were “incentives”).

These institutes were unbelievably good at marketing. They tapped into the general “Whatever you learn today is going to worthless tomorrow” belief. And added, “… but you must learn it from us nevertheless.” The ads in newspapers, and there were more ads than news content on most pages, teemed with TLAs and FLAs. TLA stands for Three Letter Acronym (which incidentally is a three letter abbreviation). So, if COM was the hot topic in 1999, it was DCOM in 2000, CORBA in 2001 and Coldfusion in 2002.

It didn’t matter what these meant; the rule was to be abstruse, condescending and inviting all at the same time.

But Java changed all that. Everyone’s son and daughter and neigbhor was learning Java. Soon, however, Java, as it was used in conversations, did not directly refer to the programming language that Sun Microsystems came out with. It morphed into more of a folk term.

People felt comfortable using the term Java. (Like you bring a girl home, and your mom frowns; but you tell her that her name is Gayatri, and frown turns to contented smile.) I guess the Tamil mind felt that C was too small a name for a serious programming language. C++ should have fit the bill, but for some reason, it escaped them. Maybe the additional “+” was off-putting. But somehow Java became the chosen term. It was what people on the street threw in the midst of a conversation to prove that they were also buzzword-compliant.

(Perhaps the crowing glory of the language came when the comedian Vivek included the language in his now-famous ettu pulli kolam dialogue – remember “atomic energy coupled with cosmic energy”?)

So, in 2002, I walk into the neighborhood saloon. (Didn’t I say, good ol’ days?) It is Sunday morning, so there is a crowd, so I’m forced to wait in line and read Dhina Thanthi.

(Have you seen the folks reading Dhina Thanthi in a saloon? They are the unluckiest of the most unfortunate. They cannot get to lay their hands on the magazines; those are all taken; nobody is interested in the papers, and those with the papers are doing their best to peer into the magazine in the hands of the person sitting next to them, while actually giving an impression of reading the paper. They should be extra careful not to be caught in the act. Yenda indha maanamketta pozhappu?)

The person sitting next to me is an elderly gentleman. He also has a paper in hand, and is evidently not interested in it. So he turns to me and asks, “So what do you do?”

I tell him I study engineering. Like everyone else does, I don’t add.

He: “Computer engineering?”

I: “No, electronics.”

He: “Nalladhu dhaan. Java down aayiduchunga!” (literally “That’s good. Java is down”; what he meant was “Java is out of demand.”)

I: “Oh!” (I’m thinking if he understands fully what he is saying.)

He: “Yes, my daughter studied Java. She is unable to find a job now.”

I: “Sorry to hear that”, and the conversation peters out.

Friends, Chennai-vasis, now that we are in another downturn, do you hear stuff like this these days on the road, in the bus, in the saloon?

 

MSNBC has footage of clip that contains the recording of the call Erin McLean made to 9-1-1 right after her husband, Eric, allegedly shot her lover, Sean Powell, dead.

I don’t want to embed the video here, but if you are interested, here is a link to the same. Erin claims that her husband threatened to kill Sean (Sean was a student of Erin’s, and they were having an affair), and had also in the past threated to kill her.

After which, she says: “You know, you can have a beautiful wife and be kind to other people instead of turn life into hell.”

Goodness me! Here is a woman (I don’t want to prejudice you by referring to her as an adulteress), who is panicked (and rightfully so) for she has seen a homicide, and even amidst all this, she is interested in describing herself as “beautiful”, when that is not the focal point of the call! Man!

P.S.: An AP news story claims that she is now living in Texas with another teenage man.

 

Stupidity can take many forms. This blog, for example. Or a center page article from The Hindu. In which, Julie Bindel argues that women need not assume personal responsibility for their safety.

Rape, under any circumstance, is a crime, nay, a sin. There can be no justification for assaulting a woman. Roughly, from this point, Julie Bindel and sanity part company.

In rape trials, the perpetrator of the crime can plant doubts in the minds of the judge or the jury by claiming that the act was committed with the consent of the victim. The signals of consent, as misread by the assailant, could be the victim’s promiscuity, revealing attire, lewd language, the influence of alcohol etc. Bindel argues that the victim cannot be blamed in such cases, because she is only exercising her individual right.

Fair enough. The only thing we need to check is if Bindel locks her house when she leaves it for work.

We were taught in middle school that with rights come responsibilities. Feminists like Bindel hold the view that society must protect women, even if they themselves violate their individual rights flagrantly.

Let’s be clear; women have the right to go out, dressed outrageously and be gagging to pull a man for sex.” If Bindel’s argument were true, people should hang signs outside their homes proclaiming that a particular room has jewellery and cash worth a million dollars. A map or floor plan might help. Not just that. In case such a house is robbed, then when the case comes to court, judges should recommend the houseowner to the Nobel Prize Committee.

Locked houses get robbed, no doubt. But that is no reason why any sane person would leave the doors of his house open at all times. Maybe there is some obscure survey that says otherwise, but chances are an unprotected house is more at risk than even a half-secure house.

The theft is still a theft; it is a crime, and punishment for it must be no less than it should be for a normal theft. But what should not be lost on the courts, the victim and society is that fact that while the victim of the crime did not actively encourage the thief, criminals are only looking for chinks in the victim’s armor to advance their aggression.

Consent is a tricky issue for courts to establish weeks or months after the crime has been committed. But the legal system can only go some distance. Perpetrators of rape, or any other crime, should be shown no mercy. But the onus is always on people to protect themselves. If they fail to, they are partly to blame as well.

 

Some people, in fact, most people delight themselves by employing confounding jargon from time to time. Legal-ese and business-ese rhyme with disease and not without reason!

In a funny turn of events, British authorities have been warned against using words like synergies, stakeholders and sustainable communities because such terms confuse people. (To be honest, I don’t consider these words as some kind of confusing jargon. Or maybe I am in the irretrievable zone.)

CNN reports:

The list includes the popular but vague term “empowerment;” “coterminosity,” a situation in which two organizations oversee the same geographical area; and “synergies,” combinations in which the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

Officials were told to ditch the term “revenue stream” for income, as well as the imprecise “sustainable communities.” The association also said councils should stop referring to local residents as “customers” or “stakeholders.”

 

I came to know recently that our Chief Minister has passed a law in the Tamil Nadu Assembly which declares January 14 as the Tamil New Year’s Day from 2009. While this is absolutely, totally, completely whatever-ly ridiculous, it gives rise to an interesting confusion.

Surely, some of our paguththarivu pagalavans will follow the Chief Minister’s idea of the Tamil New Year. However, old fogeys like yours truly will still “cling to” tradition and observe April 14 (or Chithirai 1) as the New Year.

In effect, January 14 will be called the New Tamil New Year. But what of April 14? Will people call it the Old Tamil New Year? Or New Old Tamil New Year? Or New Tamil Old New Year?

Oh, and by the way, happy (Old) Tamil New Year to you!

P.S.: Are people in Tamil Nadu gritting their teeth at the loss of a holiday?

 

(or Is it just me?)

A couple of days ago, I received an email from an advertising student with the subject line “Free Pizza”. She wanted to conduct an advertising research focus group and was offering pizzas as  a way to thank participants for their time.

I don’t know if you feel the same way about this, but I felt aghast at the way research had been reduced to a bit-part role at a pizza party. While the intention, I understand, was the reverse, the way it was communicated made it easy for me to decide not to attend.

I felt the subject line to be patronizing, even demeaning of the time and the intentions of fellow graduate students. I am not saying that we are saints (yup, we hanker for free food), but to hawk free food this way reeked of condescension, even if inadvertent.

It is probable that she, being an advertising student, knew what she was writing and this was a way to get people to read the actual email. But is it not an irony that advertising majors cannot come up with a better way, than to just say that this is what I felt would get the real message across?

This short email is a not just about how most advertising today (with all other fancy terms like “positioning”) is all about profiting by making you feel bad, small or cheap. It is also the mindset that fans proselytization in third world countries – “I’ll feed you; follow my faith.” And I have serious reservations about it.

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