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
 

To the point: a riveting movie whose screenplay, casting and acting will keep you at the edge of your seat at all times.

The success of Vetrimaaran’s previous movie Pollaadhavan rested on three elements — an excellent screenplay, a great cast and Dhanush. It seems like three years down the line, Vetrimaaran and Dhanush have decided to raise the bar but with the same ingredients only better, and the result is Aadukalam — a movie that is not just technically superior, but is so convincing that you feel at times that you are in the midst of the action.

The director deserves the lion’s share of the plaudits; one can just wonder at how much homework must have gone into the movie so it evokes such a reaction in the audience. The movie’s screenplay is so taut that even at 160+ minutes, one can hardly point out a scene or a song that could have been edited out. (By the way, the songs are amazing. “Otha sollaala” is my new favorite.)

The production team has pulled off a casting coup. There are so many new faces that seem cut out for their roles that one wonders how the production team assembled them together. Every one of the characters seems to be from real life – Pettaikaarar (Jayabalan delivers a standout performance), Durai (Kishore), Rathinasamy, Pettaikaarar’s wife, even the guy who plays Dhanush’s friend. Taapsee, who plays Irene, reminds me of Kushboo; indeed her role in the movie is such that her dubbing artiste would just have to listen to Kushboo speaking Tamil as preparation for her task.

Finally, Dhanush; he has poured his heart into the role of Karuppu. He carries the movie through and through. It is impossible for me to visualize another actor who would fit the role.

Bottomline: Dhanush tells his rooster in the middle of a pivotal fight: “டேய் தம்பி… நான் போயிருவேன்; நீயும் போயிருவ; ஆனா அடுத்து வரப்போற பதினஞ்சு நிமிஷம் இன்னும் அம்பது வருஷத்துக்கு அப்புடியே இருக்கும்டா!” That captures my reaction to this truly well-made movie, one that will leave its mark on Tamil cinema. Worth watching many times over.

 

As the epitome of motherly love (vaatsalyam) in Hindu mythology, Yashoda has been immortalized by saints, storytellers, poets and singers. While comparisons are mere exercises in futility, it is hard to think of anyone who has expounded Yashoda’s love better or more elaborately than Periyaazhwaar. And the following lines (from the decad வெண்ணையளைந்த) is probably the best of them all.

"கறந்த நற்பாலும் தயிரும் கடைந்து உறிமேல் வைத்த வெண்ணெய்*
பிறந்ததுவே முதலாகப்  பெற்றறியேன் எம்பிரானே!*
சிறந்த நற்றாய்அலர்தூற்றும் என்பதனால் பிறர்முன்னே*
மறந்தும்உரையாட மாட்டேன் மஞ்சன மாட நீவாராய்."

(The decad is very popular, and it is recited in temples during thirumanjanam (sacred ablution). Krishna is a playful, troublesome child, who refuses to take bath. But Yashoda is insistent that he must, and in this decad, entreats him to bathe.)

The verse quoted above roughly translates to “O Krishna, since the day you were born, I have observed that the milk, curds and butter that I store safely in this house vanish mysteriously. Since I know that you’re fond of these, I can understand what became of those. Your real mother (Devaki) will not be very pleased to know about your pranks. Worry not, as I will not reveal this to her. Now, please come and take bath.”

Brilliant!

 

Here’s why.

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

 

What kept me laughing all weekend:

உஷா: “அண்ணா, நாம ‘ஷோலே’ படம் போகலாம்.’

உப்பிலி: “ஆமாம், ஷோலே. ரொம்ப நன்னா இருக்காம். மலையாளம்.”

அத்திம்பேர்: “உப்பிலி, ஷோலே மலையாள படமாடா? இந்தி டா!”

உப்பிலி: “இந்தி-யா? அதைக்கூட தமிழ்ல எடுக்கறதா இருந்தாங்களாம். தேவர் பிலிம்ஸ்-ல தான் எடுக்கறதா இருந்தாங்க. கே.பி. சுந்தராம்பாள் கூட நடிக்கறதா இருந்தாங்க.”

அத்திம்பேர்: “அப்படியா?”

உப்பிலி: “படம் பேரு தெரியுமா? பழமுதிர் ஷோலே!”

(from Crazy Thieves in Palavakkam)

 

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

 

(Much ado about something trivial. The section titles are inspired from The Day of the Jackal.)

Anatomy of a plot

I was going over Google Analytics after a long time this weekend, and I found that I was getting a few hits from Bing for the search term “Koundamani”. A closer look revealed that VKpedia was the fourth search result on Bing for Koundamani. A friend in India told me that he found that my blog was placed first for the same search term on Bing for Sweden. (Wow!)

While I was still celebrating this high note, my friend Shankar posed me a trivia question. Anyone who has listened to FM radio in Chennai would know that some RJs (especially Blade Shankar and Speed Dheena) play a clip from Koundamani when the caller is a woman — “Ai.. ladies!” The poser was “Which movie is this dialogue from?” To someone like me who considers Koundamani the equal of Kamal Hassan and Tom Hanks, the lack of a ready answer was an affront.

Anatomy of a manhunt

Anyone who has cheated by using Google to find an answer, and then promoted the answer as if it was the result of one’s own mental faculties, would know that this is not one of those problems. Because the search terms are generic, but the intended result is super-specific, Google is not an ideal tool for such a search operation.

Twitter is indeed the right tool, for one can tap into the collective intelligence of the masses. This route was pursued, but to little avail, so I was forced to resort my own mental faculties.

The immediate tool of choice was the process of elimination. This is ideal because when someone tries to whittle down to a few options from a filmography as daunting as Kounder’s, selection does not work well. One could eliminate movies from the 80s and from 2000 onwards with confidence. So the movie must be from the 90s. Obviously, the movie must be reasonably popular, and therefore it could not have starred an also-ran actor as the leading man. And obviously, the leading man could not have been Rajnikanth or Kamal Hassan, for I know the combinations well.

Also, the movie is probably not a rural movie. Of course, the term “ladies” is not restricted to the vocabulary of just those who graduated from Ivy League schools, but still I went ahead with this assumption. (Case in point: Gounder tells Sarath Kumar in Suriyan, “Side-la yeng [sic] ladies ellaam varraanga…”) This rules out actors like Vijayakanth, Sathyaraj and Ramarajan, in whose movies, our man plays meaty roles.

So that leaves us with the few actors who play predominantly urban roles, and who generally allow Goundamani a free ride in their movies. In short, Karthik and Arjun.

Anatomy of a kill

We know Karthik-Kounder combos like the back of our hand. So, it is probably an Arjun movie.

Not Gentleman, because we know every single scene from the comedy track. So, it must be Jai Hind or Karna. I could have sworn that the movie was Karna; but then, I started watching scenes from Jai Hind in fast-forward mode. And then, I heard it – boom! Koundamani tells Ranjitha, “Oh, ladies… sorry!” when they are traveling by boat to a terrorist hideout. The previous sentence turned out to be a false alarm. The dialogue in question appears a while later. Arjun and his team reach the terrorist’s basecamp. They are looking out for an ideal moment to strike, when a group of women with guns walk past a guard. And this is the precise moment when the magic happens!

So there you go, Shankar, you might have put my PhD in all-things-Koundamani in jeopardy, but the answer you are looking for is Jai Hind!

 

Yet another series of long nights this week, and I had, for some reason, decided that I will listen only to Tamil kritis. I think it all started with a desire to listen to the song “enna thavam seidhanai, yashOdA“. One led to another, and I chanced to listen to Madurai Mani Iyer’s rendition of Subramanya Bharatiyaar’s “veLLai thaamarai poovil iruppaaL” after a long time. And it set off a train of thoughts, and I have been feeling nostalgic ever since. To say nothing of the many dozen times I have listened to the song in the past two nights.

First the lines.

வெள்ளைத் தாமரைப் பூவில் இருப்பாள்!
வீணை செய்யும் ஒலியில் இருப்பாள்;
கொள்ளை இன்பம் குலவு கவிதை
கூறும் பாவலர் உள்ளத்திருப்பாள்!

உள்ளதாம் பொருள் தேடியுணர்ந்தேன்!
ஓதும் வேதத்தின் உள்நின்று ஒளிர்வாள்;
கள்ள மற்ற முனிவர்கள் கூறும்
கருணை வாசகத்துட்பொருளாவாள்.

மாதர் தீங்குரல் பாட்டில் இருப்பாள்;
மக்கள் பேசும் மழலையில் உள்ளாள்;
கீதம் பாடும் குயிலின் குரலைக்
கிளியின் நாவை இருப்பிடம் கொண்டாள்;
கோதகன்ற தொழிலுடைடைத் தாகிக்
குலவு சித்திரம் கோபுரம் கோயில்
ஈதனைத்தின் எழிலுடை யுற்றாள்
இன்பமே வடிவாகிடப் பெற்றாள்.

The song is etched in my memory because it was the prayer song back in school. But that used to be lifeless – of course, if you assemble 2000 teenagers in the open sun and ask them to blurt out a few lines, it won’t produce the same effect as Mani Iyer rendering it in glorious Bhimplas, flanked by Chowdiah (methinks).

But I swore to myself that I have listened to Vellai Thaamarai in Bhimplas, and it wasn’t by Mani Iyer. In fact, I could attest that the memory was even before I started listening to Carnatic music seriously. And then it all came to mind. And my eyes welled up with tears.

My grandmother took a keen interest in Carnatic music. (My grandfather too, and I know for a fact that my veneration for Ariyakudi Ramanuja Iyengar stems from him.) Apart from being a avid listener, she was a good singer too. When I was 5, we bought a tape recorder, and my hobby was to use the record function a little too much. So much so that I have upset my father so many times for having overwritten tapes of his favorite songs.

The one enduring memory is that of my recording my grandmother singing Vellai Thaamarai. I cannot be held guilty for overstatement when I say that, as a kid, I found it every bit as delectable as I find Mani Iyer’s version today. It is quite possible she had listened to his records many, many times, and had, as result, internalized it. It was so good that when I transferred to this school, my first reaction to the prayer song was “No, this is not how it must be sung.”

That red tape recorder is no more. The Meltrack audio cassette which contained my grandmother’s voice was probably cast aside when our house was repainted or remodeled, and is now lost forever. My grandmother passed away a year ago this very week. As Marcel Pagnol says in Le Château de ma Mère (which incidentally is the greatest movie ever), “Telle est la vie des hommes. Quelques joies, très vite effacées par d’inoubliables chagrins.” (Such is the life of man. Some joys, quickly erased by unforgettable sorrows.)

 

Katradhu Thamizh is one of the best Tamil movies of this decade. Unfortunately, most people get lost in its social commentary and forget that it is, at its heart, a bittersweet romantic tale. This song is my favorite from the movie. Ilaiyaraja’s rendition is awesome; the percussion, especially as the song opens, is a Yuvan trademark.

All of Yuvan Shankar Raja compositions that Ilaiyaraja has sung are excellent. I’m trying to think of one which I don’t particularly like.

 

Have you watched Pasanga? You really must… even if you have watched it already!

Kamal Hassan, speaking at the audio launch of the movie, pointed out that whenever Tamil cinegoers are on the brink of declaring that Tamil movies have isolated themselves from realism, there comes a movie that dispels such doubts. Pasanga is truly one such movie. The movie depicts on screen the Tamil Nadu that we truly love – an ideal, timeless land that teems with life, and the warmth of its characters.

As a friend recently wrote to me:

The movie is very good, of course, with some inescapable cinematic elements thrown in.

I always find a middle India, small town India where there may be a lack of physical infrastructure, but no digital or information divide, thanks to the deep penetration of Sun TVs, Airtels, Hamam soaps, Lion Dates, Gold Winners, Ananda Vikatans, Hero Honda Splendors, Engg Degree Aspirations, availability of private English schools etc.

Tamil cinema has failed to depict this for so long. This director has attempted and succeeded.

For bringing to us an excellent movie filled with beautiful characters, not stylish ones who do supposedly cool things and end up making you look foolish and inadequate, director Pandiraj wins kudos!

My favorite character from the movie is Vaathiyaar Chokkan, the school teacher. Apart from the kids, who are the real heroes, he is the one person whose character has been given a near-complete treatment. He is warm, and possibly as a result of being the most educated person among the lot, intelligent, level-headed and sage. Sample a scene where he makes a mark.

 

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!

 

Sometimes, Ilaiyaraja must amaze even himself!

 

Friend Vijay Ramachandran has an interesting observation here on the number of songs composed by A.R. Rahman that start with what is known in Tamil grammar as an adukku thodar — immediate repetition of the same word. This was new to me, in that while I have listened to these songs multiple, in some cases, hundreds of times, I have not observed the pattern.

Given the sheer size of Rahman’s work, one can discern many other patterns. Like how some of his popular songs are centered on a one-word theme, that appears throughout the song (or form the basis either the pallavi or the charaNam).

  • Chinna Chinna Aasai (Roja) — aasai
  • Kaadhal Rojave (Roja) — gnyaabagam
  • Kannukku Mai Azhagu (Pudhiya Mugam) — azhagu
  • Poovukkul Olindhirukkum (Jeans) — adhisayam
  • Pachchai Kiligal (Indian) — aanandham
  • Anjali Anjali (Duet) — anjali. Incidentally, this is a double whammy as it can be classified under both patterns — the keyword is anjali, and the song begins with an adukku thodar.
  • Kannum Kannum (Thiruda Thiruda) — artham. Oh, a triple whammy — the name of the movie is also an adukku thodar.
  • Anbendra Mazhaiyile (Minsara Kanavu) — thOnrinaanE.
  • Break The Rules (Boys) — thappu
  • Thenalikku Ellaam Bayam (Thenali) — bayam

Not listed above are favorites like Oorvasi Oorvasi (Kaadhalan), Kuchi Kuchi Raakkamma (Bombay), Madrasai Suththi (May Maadham), Azhage Sugama (Paarthaale Paravasam) and Oru Dheivam Thandha (Kannathil Muthamittaal), and not-so-favorites like No Problem (Love Birds) which can receive half-votes.

 

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!

 

Listened to the song “Megam Karukkudhu” from Aanandha Raagam after a long time. A fabulous song, stunning in its simplicity. Hats off to Ilaiyaraja!

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