KALKI – REVISITING MOVIES

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“You resist change because your focus is on what you have to give up, instead of what you will gain.” inspired by Rick Godwin.

Recently, I have been watching a number of socially responsible films like The Great Indian Kitchen, Raghu Thatha, Ammu, Gargi, Laapataa Ladies, Jaya Jaya Jaya Jaya Hey, etc.  Growing up in 90’s not only Tamil cinema, but the Tamil natives also weren’t ready to take even a slightest culture shock, that’s when Kalki fell like an atom bomb.  There have been directors known for bold themes and ideologies very ahead of time and you can’t deny K. Balachander to be one of them.  He was able to address important social issues and delve into the intricacies of relationships through his movies. KB made his audience sit up and take notice of his female leads swiftly be it in his films or serials.

Tamil cinema has a long history of sexist husbands; in fact, they are inseparable from Kaalam Maari Pochu, Viralukketha Veekkam, Mannan, Sivaranjiniyum Innum Sila Pengalum, Mayakkam Enna, and the latest Gatta Kusthi are just a few films where husbands lived through the misogynistic phrase, “Pombala dane ne” (After all, you’re a woman). I was getting into college when the songs and scenes of Kalki were aired in the T.V. The title reminded me of both the legends – Kalki Krishnamurthy and the incarnation of Lord Krishna, meaning change or revolution. There were discussions going around in and out of the family, even some of the KB fans seemed to reproach this story because it not only broke a number of gender norms, but also dared to mock cinema’s sickening obsession with the virginity of its female characters. Though I felt the theme of Kalki to be similar to that of Sindhu Bhairavi directed by KB again, this film was a bolder endeavour.

For those who haven’t watched this movie, here is it – Chellammaa (Geetha), a singer by profession gets married to a chauvinistic and equally sadistic industrialist – Prakash (Prakash Raj).  Moreover, when he learns she cannot conceive, he leaves no opportunity to insult and humiliate her.  While Prakash taunts, his mother says hurtful things to her, he hits and together they abuse her.  Till then, a submissive and tolerating Chellamma files for divorce when Prakash prohibits her from singing. Prakash marries Karpagam (Renuka), a meek, puppet wife, and keeps torturing her like he did his ex-wife Chellamma.

Parallelly, we get to know Kalki (Shruti), a happy, sensible and brave woman, who does multiple jobs and tries to make a living out of it. Shruti in Kalki sparkles right from the beginning.  One of the best scenes in the film is the sequence where she calms down an agitated former policeman (Thalaivasal Vijay, in a splendid cameo) who brandishes a gun in a supermarket.  Like other shoppers, she too is stunned initially.  Nevertheless, the moment she hears of his sad past, she sets her basket aside, approaches him and upon his request kisses him.  Now you can go into the rights and wrongs of the decision she takes.  But for the audience to know who this character is, this is the perfect character establishment scene.  It’s also a crucial scene for another reason; Chellama sees her in action and is drawn to her because she sees a trait in Kalki that she doesn’t possess – boldness.  After a few encounters with Kalki, Chellamma becomes friends with her and gets her in as a paying guest. Chellamma stays single with a cook Kokila (newsreader Fathima Babu’s first movie) around to help her.  Kalki starts to work in an ad agency and is hopelessly pursued by her colleague and model Paranjothi (Rahman), but she not only rejects him, but also debunks love and sentiments. The two women share a beautiful bond, and that’s when Kalki learns about Prakash, Chellama’s yearning for a child through her song, and decides to revenge Prakash. Kalki treats Prakash like trash—the way he treated both his wives to teach him a lesson. Prakash, stuck in a convoluted situation, realizes his mistake and makes amends with Karpagam.

However, how she does that and to what extent she goes against the societal norms and patriarchy became a debate. While domestic violence and financial independence is explored through Geetha’s character, women liberation and fortitude is brilliantly portrayed by Shruti’s. The film opened up to a lot of speculation – Kalki’s outspoken attitude, the path she chooses to teach Prakash a lesson, her clothing choices, everything was criticized and in fact shamed when the movie was released. Even my professors wanted to know our perspective as young women about Kalki’s actions. Most of us admired Kalki’s courage when she silences the director who verbally abuses her and her friend by speaking up; she bashes her manager when he tries to sexually harass her; she doesn’t hesitate to feature in a HIV/AIDS (a taboo topic even today) advertisement.  We loved her liveliness and outspokenness, when she satirically explains how men exploit women by quoting mythologies; her love for freedom when she opines on the institution of marriage and much more; but didn’t agree with her choice of bearing Prakash’s child just for the sake of a woman who showed her some kindness. But then if she had chosen the usual route of a “common woman” how could she be KB’s heroine?

The three female characters, played by Geetha, Shruti, and Renuka, are all superbly detailed.  The actors have done full justice to their roles, each being diverse from one another.  Not only the female characters in the film, but also the female audience admired the titular character played by Shruti.  But in my view, Karpagam shows some traits of Chellamma in the end and Chellamma has some qualities of Kalki. All four women in the film are of different personalities and characters, but at the end of the day they stick together for womanhood in spirit.

In some films I felt like the lead actors and actresses had very familiar quirks or mimicked the director failing to give life to the character.  Their mannerisms, some endearing, some annoying, made it appear as though the actors were simply acting out instructions and not blending with the characters.  They were really some three-dimensional characters on paper but appearing as two-dimensional on the screen.  But for Kalki, apart from the customary KB eye-squint at a couple of places, her performance comes across as authentic and in sync with her characterization.  Kalki convinces you as a flesh-and-blood character.  The way she essays this particular scene –  her agitated movements in the house, the relief upon seeing Paranjothi and the slaps on his face seem absolutely real.  KB’s lines sizzle, especially the manner in which Kalki berates birthday celebrations. (After Thillu Mullu, this is the second time the word – bourgeois features in a KB’s film). Though Shruti’s performance is especially measured in the rather dramatic concluding portions, there is tremendous conviction in the way she utters KB’s piercing dialogues.  Especially these two lines – “Naan senjathu thaan right-nu sollala, aana naan senjathu thappu illa.”  And, “Karpa vida conviction perisa thonichu.”  It takes an actor of special talents to not only rise above good content but also lift the story itself from paper to screen convincingly.  Shruti possessed that talent and Savitha Reddy’s voice added to it.

I remember reading some fairly positive reviews.  The film ran for over 100 days winning two state awards: Shruti (for best actress) apart from Filmfare award and Prakash Raj (for best villain). Sure, it has flaws. It is exaggerated in parts.  For a KB film, the music, is mediocre.  One of the lead characters (Rahman) comes across as terribly one-note without any variation.  In the first place, I couldn’t believe such men existed in real life.  And whatever its flaws may be, I think it deserves more attention.  Even the way the film ends is refreshing (for KB’s film ending with hero and heroine union itself is a surprise); it’s a statement against patriarchal notions of purity and virginity.

Coming to the songs, there were 8 songs in total. Though I liked a few of them, Poove Ne Aadava, Singapore Seela and Suriyan Suthethe are peppy, but my all-time favourite is “Ezhuthugiren Oru Kaditham” about an unborn girl child.

30 years ago, Kalki broke the gender norms; though not glorified then, today she stands tall and is an inspiration to a number of strong female characters in Tamil cinema especially those who live life on their own terms.  If one ever needed a textbook example of a gas lighter, Prakash Raj’s chilling performance would define it perfectly and I enjoyed watching this male chauvinist squirming in front of resolute Kalki.  I still get goosebumps when Kalki gives back in style to Prakash.  The emotional and physical loop she keeps Prakash in makes him repent and in fact realize the trauma he has been giving to his ex-wife Chellamma and wife Karpagam. In one scene, Kalki puts Prakash in a situation where she asks him to find one of her slippers. He lets go of his pride and starts searching for it. Since his reputation was at stake, Prakash does everything she wishes. In another scene, she back questions him when he unintentionally mentions his wife, Karpagam.

Nowadays, after watching a movie, we come out wondering what is the connection between the title and the story narrated, but in this film, there is a scene that justifies it.  Paranjothi (Rahman) gifts a figurine to Kalki where a girl is sculpting herself with a chisel.  He compares it to Kalki and warns her to be careful, but I felt each one of us is doing the same with our lives, everyday attempting to correct our flaws, undergoing change, some days we make an exquisite statue out of ourselves and sometimes a wrong move leaves us a nicked figure.

“Kalki” will always remain close to my heart because it was the year I had begun to cherish my womanhood and voice my feministic views.  The character of Kalki was portrayed with remarkable thoughtfulness and a futuristic vision, so I loved Kalki – questioned her in between – fell in love with her again now.

MINNALE – REVISITING MOVIES

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To be honest, I wasn’t a big fan of this film when it was released back in 2001 because it wasn’t “my kind of movie” like Madhavan puts it (my kinda of girl).  It was an offbeat romantic movie, and I didn’t really appreciate “Oh Mama mama mamiya” song where the hero looked more of a roadside Romeo. But then “Vaseegara”  tempted me. I didn’t watch it in theaters. I watched it on Raj TV, I guess, but recently re-watched it and thus started to pen my feelings of nostalgia.

I was doing my internship in a BPO when Minnale was released, but the songs were all over already. Valentine’s Day was near, someone stealthily downloaded the “Vaseegara” song and sent it through messenger.  Everyone pretending to listen and type the doctor’s dictation, hummed vaseegara en nenjinika...  Bombay Jayshree’s voice was so mesmerizing to hear on the headphones that it became our Suprabhatham, the first song to hear before starting our work. 

After Alaipayuthey, it became one of the best made romantic films of the millennium. Firstly, Madhavan – the chocolate boy of the early 2000s, fresh from the success of Alaipayuthey signed for this film (by the way this film was initially written with ‘Thalapathy’ Vijay and Jyothika in mind). He was christened “Maddy” while shooting for this; even a BGM score is dedicated to him in this film.  I am sure no other actor could have pulled off this role as well as he did. He is the only actor in the Tamil film industry who romances the heroine in a such a confident, dignified yet charming, and charismatic way which depicts only purity without any sexual intentions attached to it. Madhavan is lady’s man in real life anyway, so the love portions seemed to have come naturally to him. There are many more scenes where the actor scores like the one where he brings Reema Sen to his favorite place to escape from reality and another when he is lovelorn. 

Minnale introduced us to one of the stylish “granddaddy of Romance” – Gautham Vasudeva Menon. It was also the debut of Harris Jeyaraj and Reema Sen, both who went on to steal our hearts with their music and acting respectively. Reema Sen did a pretty decent job in her debut for someone who isn’t familiar with the Tamil language. She looked ravishing in some frames (a magic that only GVM can do), but looked bored in some.  Though her lip sync was off in some scenes, she made it with her acting, well at least to an extent. While her role is limited in the second half, which also lacks voice from a female’s perspective in dealing with false identity, she does have a screen presence which appealed to the masses. The chemistry exhibited between Madhavan and her was well showcased in the song, Vaseegara. Personally, I would have preferred a heroine with more acting skills than Reema Sen. I read Yukta Mookhey (Miss World 1999), was initially chosen to play the female lead, but dropped out after several delays in the shooting. 

The storyline was new to Tamil cinema during the early 2000’s. Though Thala” Ajit did Kaadhal Manan 3 years prior, with a similar theme of a hero falling for an engaged lady, Minnale stood on its own merit with slightly a different screenplay and a whole load of colorful moments added to it. At that time, the mindset of the masses was “nothing is wrong in love and war.” People accepted that if one’s love is true, you can pursue it to any extent. With the same sentiment in mind, it was remade in Hindi as Rehna Hai Tere Dil Mein with Saif Ali Khan and Diya Mirza replacing Abbas and Reema Sen respectively. Though the soundtrack was appreciated, the film bombed at the box office. Had it been released now, it would have been hugely criticized for stalking girls and might not have achieved the cult status it boasts of today. ‘REMO’ released in 2016 had a similar storyline (using the false identity to woo an engaged girl) and it was heavily criticized for the same reason. 

A 2-minute scene aptly describes the entire film where Madhavan (Rajesh) is stuck in a phone booth while it’s raining outside.  Street kids are dancing in the rain when a car stops, and he happens to see a girl get down to play and dance with the kids. He is unable to see her face at first, but with a stroke of lightning, he catches a glimpse of Reema Sen (Reena) and that’s how he is smitten by her.  Though he realizes he’s madly fallen in love with her, he fumbles explaining this to his friends or grandpa – it’s as random, forceful and hard-hitting as the very stroke of lightning. The film too is fresh, striking, and brings you anticipated joy like the rain. Actually, you feel like you’re listening to a “how-this-happened” story that a friend tells you over coffee while you’re catching up after years. It brings that bright smile of anticipation on your face as the film unfolds. 

Abbas, who himself was seen as a lover-boy when he debuted in Kaadhal Desam in the 90s, did his role as Rajiv to the best of his ability.  Rajiv is none other than Rajesh’s old college bête noire Sam. Reena is also now incensed with Rajesh’s duplicitous behavior and wants to have nothing to do with him. His scenes with Madhavan where both their egos clash, be it in the college or leading to the climax, is well executed by both the actors. Also, Madhavan and Abbas are collaborating for the second time after Kannada film Shanti Shanti Shanti. The legendary comedian Nagesh, who plays Madhavan’s grandfather, does what is required of him even in the sentimental scenes. As the doting grandfather, he is touching and his rapport with Madhavan is very realistic. The one who steals the show though is Vivek. He is just sublime as Maddy’s sidekick.  The accident scene where he gets knocked down by a lorry is really funny. The library scene where he tries to ask a girl out and the market scene where he tries to help Madhavan are also another laugh riot. 

The film sports great moments of cinematography hosting the MTV look. Editing is kind of weak in certain places and results in throwing some scenes off balance. I guess the editor was rushing the work to complete it before the scheduled date. The real winner in this team is the music director, Harris Jeyaraj. This is the first time GVM, Harris and Thamarai teamed up, and the result was euphoric. With obvious inspiration of Rahman’s music, the tracks in the film goes on one step further and creates its own style which is deemed quite new to Indian cinema. The cinematography and choreography of the songs are also well executed, with some pop references to R`n`B music videos seen on MTV. The songs turned out to be chartbusters at that time with the radios repeating them in their shows. It’s one of the best romantic albums and is still popular with music lovers.  The BGM didn’t sound like one from a debutant. The film has 9 tracks, but my favorites are Azhagiya Theeye, Ivan Yaaro, Venmathiye, and of course Vaseegara; set in Natabhairavi raga it evokes the feelings of a besotted girl far better than any other song, the lyricist being a female.

While the boys in our batch argued that the film was dedicated to hard-core romantic boys who truly fell in love, the girls marveled at the expressions the chocolate boy Maddy gave.  The narration goes from a boy’s point of view and the lines of Venmathiye undoubtedly replicated a lovelorn boy’s feelings for his beloved, so obviously the boys loved this movie more.  On the contrary, girls loved ‘Alaipayuthey’ than Minnale, both by the same hero. Even though the film has a predictable ending, some unfunny moments from Vivek, and poor editing, the film manages to sustain a cute and funny romance in the first half, and decent performances from the main cast.  Worth a watch for youth which the film is solely aimed at as the start credits endorses Pepsi. 

My take is it’s a simple, routine, and charming love story with a romantic triangle, but the director’s approach was fresh and impressive.  The cinematography of the film was handled by RD Rajasekhar and Ravi Varman. Watch it if you want to experience love much like a stroke of lightning; it happens to you only once. 

How many of you know that the original title for the film was “O Lala?” GVM meant paying tribute to the hit song from Minsara Kanavu, in which he worked as an assistant director. 

Finding Joy in Books: A Review of “Days at the Morisaki Bookshop”

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“It’s important to stand still sometimes. Think of it as a little rest in the long journey of your life. This is your harbor. And your boat is just dropping anchor here for a little while. And after you’re well rested, you can set sail again.”

How do you usually select your next read? By your friend’s recommendation, through a social media influencer, your Kindle suggestion (similar to your previous read), or by reading a book review on a blog, hearing a podcast or youtube video? I mostly select my books by the cover especially after a reading slump, these outsider’s recommendations never work out for me. My funda is just take a look at the cover, if it attracts you or tries your patience to guess the story, then go for it.

The cover of this book is outstandingly beautiful.  Now if you’re looking at the same cover that I am looking at, there is a cat looking at a door (though there is no cat in the book), a bicycle to the left, and a trove of books on the left – top – right. Also, there is a door in the middle with a silhouette of what I presume to be a man and a woman standing with their backs to each other. And, the title of the book is in the center at the top. In fact, I can spend my whole day watching just piles of books, trying to read the titles on their spine, so imagine a cover which has colourful books in it! This is just to emphasize how the cover of this book attracted me to pick it up. To be honest it is one of those books with the word “bookshop” in the title that also got me interested. Books about books is a big yes to me. I like to read at least one book in a year which has a library, bookstore or book related story in it. After Haruki Murakami, Satoshi Yagisawa is another Japanese writer I read recently.  “Days at the Morisaki Bookshop,” is his debut novel, originally published in 2009, but was not translated into English until 2023 by Eric Ozawa.  It won the Chiyoda Literature Prize. 

It is my first introduction to Satoshi Yagisawa’s writing, although I have heard a lot of positive buzz about this book in the past year, I was curious if it would live up to its billing. Our protagonist, 25-year-old Takako doesn’t express her feelings well to others.  And that’s how she has been easily taken advantage of by her cad of a boyfriend, Hideaki.  He announces that he is getting married to another coworker, but still wants to play around with her. While Takako always thought they were serious, even though he didn’t want anyone to know they were in a relationship. In the wake of her breakup with Hideaki and her subsequent resignation, she takes up residence for a few months in her uncle Satoru’s second-hand bookshop in Jimbicho, Tokyo.

“The Morisaki Bookshop stands alone at the corner of a street crowded with used bookstores. It’s tiny, old, and doesn’t seem to be doing very well. There are few customers. It sells a rather limited variety of books, and unless you’re a passionate expert, you’re unlikely to know it. Yet there are those who love this place.”  There’s comfort in knowing that bookstores share the same allure across the world. This description is enough to transport any reader to Morisaki and compare it with his or her locality secondhand bookstore which they have visited or visit frequently.

Depressed and unemployed, Takako is glad for the room above the Morisaki Bookshop to hide from the rest of the world even though she doesn’t quite enjoy reading. Satoru inherited this bookstore many years ago and was the third generation bookseller. After many trips around the world, he discovered that this small bookstore is his place in the world. Can Takako find the same joy in the Morisaki bookstore?

“Everywhere you looked there were books. Paperbacks and hardcovers were packed tightly on the well-organized bookshelves. The larger collections of complete works were piled up in stacks along the wall. Even the area behind the little counter with the register was full of books. If there were ever a big earthquake, it would undoubtedly all fall down, and you’d be buried beneath an avalanche of books.” This again probably resonated with a lot of readers therefore, no surprise that the book has so many good reviews.  I think any reader likes to find stories where books are shown as lifelines or as elements of learning and growth. It’s impossible not to empathize with that feeling we’ve all experienced at some point.

The narrative is divided into two segments, the first of which focuses on Takako’s journey with books and the second segment, set a year later, revolves around her uncle and his wife Momoko whose sudden return five years after she left him has him seeking the answers to several unanswered questions. Her aunt’s return and their evolving friendship also encourages Takako to reconsider her own priorities.

Japanese writers have a superpower that shouldn’t be underestimated: they can describe the simplest everyday actions as if they were part of another plane of existence.  Touching upon themes of family, friendship, new beginnings and most importantly the transformative power of books, this sweet, simple story would appeal to book lovers and bibliophiles. I really liked the premise of “Days at the Morisaki Bookshop” and loved the descriptions of the Jimbocho Book Town, the literary references, and the famous Japanese authors mentioned in it. The author also references the Kanda Used Book Festival, the largest annual event held in Kanda’s Jimbocho secondhand book district that started in 1960.

It’s quite common to think that our suffering is the worst until we come across what others have gone through in their life. Similarly, in this story surrounded by towering stacks of second-hand books and people who love reading, Takako eventually finds herself opening up to new experiences, making friends in the community, forging a bond with her uncle and finding joy, inspiration. and hope in reading. We get to watch Takako’s self-confidence grow, as well as witness how the importance of reading can and does make a difference in a person’s life. 

“Little by little, I felt something wash over me, a feeling of peace that
words can’t express. If I had to explain it, I’d say it could only have come
from the writer’s fervent love for life.”

Since this is a book about books, I have to share a quote I loved about the magic of secondhand books. Takako ponders, “At some point in the past, someone reading this book had felt moved to take a pen and draw a line under these words. It made me happy to think that because I had been moved by that same passage too, I was now connected to that stranger. Another time, I happened to find a pressed flower someone had left as a bookmark. As I inhaled the scent of the long-ago-faded flower, I wondered about the person who had put it there. Who in the world was she? When did she live? What was she feeling? It’s only in secondhand books that you can savor encounters like this, connections that transcend time” (pg. 37). I couldn’t agree more!

Overall, I found the narrative to be evenly paced and compact, though I didn’t enjoy the second segment of the narrative as much as the first. At the same time it is written in a very accessible, lucid style that seems common among many internationally acclaimed Japanese authors. I loved how Yagisawa skillfully crafted an engaging story from a fairly simple plot, with just a few minor twists. What I liked most was the description of the bookstore, the atmosphere, the smell, even the customers. I loved everything that had to do with the bookshop and felt as if the book could’ve ended after the first part.  I really want to drink coffee in that cozy coffee shop around the corner and attend the secondhand books festival. What I liked least were the characters, because they’re absolutely flat. They’re merely sketched out so that each one has a main characteristic on which they base all their behavior. They lacked depth and I don’t know if it was originally like that or got lost in translation.

“Days at the Morisaki Bookshop” was an entertaining read; however, unlike certain books like “The Kite Runner,” after I set it aside I moved on to reading the next book on my list without dwelling on it. I think this may partly be due to the brevity of the story and somewhat happy ending.   Overall, I would highly recommend “Days at the Morisaki Bookshop” to anyone who wants to overcome their reader’s block and especially if you are interested in exploring contemporary Japanese literature.

This moving international sensation by Satoshi Yagisawa about new beginnings, human connection, and the joy of reading is a very short book that can be completed within a day or two.

Here are some more quotes I really loved:

~“No matter where you go, or how many books you read, you still know nothing, you haven’t seen anything. And that’s life. We live our lives trying to find our way.”  
 
~ “But, I don’t know, maybe it takes a long time to figure out what you’re truly searching for. Maybe you spend your whole life just to figure out a small part of it.” 
 
~ “That’s when I finally realized it wasn’t just a question of where I was. It was about something inside me. No matter where I went, no matter who I was with, if I could be honest with myself, then that was where I belonged.” 

Language: English translated from Japanese

Pages: 162

Publication Date: 4 July 2023

Publisher: Manilla Press

Qabar: A Journey Through Feminism, Magic and Reality – BOOK REVIEW

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Every woman has a story to tell.  For decades, the voices of women have been suppressed, sometimes by themselves and sometimes by society, but if you look closely and dig deep enough, there’s a grave inside her, passed from one generation to another, weighed down by patriarchy and marital confines. And buried inside these graves are their stories, ideas, hopes and dreams – A Qabar. 

A Glimpse into the Mystical World of Qabar

This novella “Qabar” too is about Bhavana’s buried emotions, till she meets a petitioner and her life takes an unexpected turn – for the better or worse she doesn’t know nor do we. But as the story progresses, we realize it is also about religion and the fences we create in its name. Time and again, many translated books have proven why regional writers are more relatable and influential than their English counterparts. Maybe it is because of their proximity to the local culture, their keen observation or their brilliant outlook combined with the freedom that comes with writing in their mother tongue. Qabar is yet another book executed with the same brilliance and eloquence that you forget that you are reading a translation. Originally written in Malayalam and masterfully translated into English by Nisha Susan, the book weaves a tapestry of magical realism, feminist themes, and socio-political commentary. The credit goes to both the author and the translator for maintaining the story’s credibility throughout. 

As the foundations are laid for a temple to rise on the site of Babri Masjid in Ayodhya, Bhavana Sachidanandan, an additional district judge around whose life and work Qabar commences and concludes, is flanked by a male protagonist duo; the petitioner in the case, the architect Kaakkasseri Khayaluddin Thangal and Bhavana’s ancestor Yogishwaran Ammavan, both men of the occult. Thangal petitions the court to prevent the destruction of an ancestor’s qabar located on a piece of land that has been sold off without his knowledge to a charitable trust. The novelist uses their sorcery to weave magic realism into our reading experience.

Qabar Analysis: Unraveling Themes of Gender and Power

The opening line hints at what lies ahead. “The demolition of his ancestor’s qabar—that was what his civil suit was about,” but the narrative is not just about a lawsuit. It’s equally about the ceaseless power politics of gender privilege, about destructive attitudes embedded deep within matrimony. All this is etched in about 110 pages. The narrative paces furiously between past and present, fantasy and reality, and connects a number of storylines. 

The minute Thangal enters the court, Bhavana is transfixed by the scent of Edward roses and rainbows. She tries to ignore his mysterious charm, the fancy clothing, and rumors about him being a djinn worshiper and stick to legal facts, but finds herself enchanted by him.

The plot oscillates between the serious reality of Bhavana’s existence and the realm of the supernatural conjured up by her mind every time she catches a whiff of the Edward rose perfume worn by Kaakkasseri Khayaluddin Thangal. Despite its small size, this novel encompasses an essential social and political commentary, a complicated love affair, a feminist understanding and most importantly, a journey of self-discovery.  It asks intense questions about identity, religion, law, and justice.  And also how even working women won’t be spared of slavery at home, and each home is her own grave where she has buried her needs and emotions is put forth beautifully.

The Magic of K.R. Meera’s Storytelling

K.R. Meera’s narrative expertise shines as she explores themes of gender dynamics, religious identity, and the weight of historical trauma.  The book serves as a powerful commentary on the patriarchal structures that continue to shape Indian society, while also celebrating the resilience and strength of women who challenge these norms. Bhavana’s character embodies this struggle, navigating her professional life as a judge while grappling with personal challenges, including the aftermath of an abusive marriage. Her mother’s story, running parallel to her own, adds depth to the generational aspect of women’s fight against oppression. This multi-layered approach to character development allows readers to connect with the protagonists on a profound level. 

Bhavana’s mother is an incredible character, one of those invisible working women, ceaselessly ploughing through her household duties round the clock, stoic about an unequal marriage, and commuting four hours daily to work and back. Yet, she is a voracious reader. “Sitting when I had a seat. Standing when I didn’t have one. That’s how I read all that I read.” When we meet her the first time, she is reading the South Korean writer Han Kang. The strongest woman in the book, the mother, curiously, is nameless. Yet, it’s she who has the most quotable lines. She justifies starting her life anew after retirement with a canine family, with the line, “Love isn’t a service charge. It is a sense of completeness that one finds in another person.” She once tells her daughter, “When I was your age, I thought family was heaven. After a while, I understood that this too is a workplace.” This simple yet profound observation speaks volumes about the often-unacknowledged labor of women in domestic settings, a theme that resonates throughout the novella. When Bhavana approaches her after a failed marriage, she quotes Tagore to her; how a bird has a perch in the cage but no space there to spread her wings.

Feminism & Facts

The book is also suffused with Meera’s strong feminist ideals. Her women protagonists — Bhavana and her mother — defy and question patriarchy at every turn. Both women walk out of toxic marriages and make informed choices to cast off the burden of societal expectations. The idea of equality in marriage of Mary Wollstonecraft’s and Virginia Woolf’s insistence on women needing a room of their own can be seen to be abound. But the most interesting aspect of Meera’s feminist vision is her exploration of family history and how it changes when it is retold by women.

K.R. Meera’s writing is nothing like I have read before.  She surprises me by the power of her craft through every new book published. Her writing is bold, nonchalant, full of desire, and undertones of race, class, and provides no solutions. Nisha Susan’s translation does more than enough justice to the plot – it did not read like a translation to begin with and when it did, I didn’t feel anything was missed out.

Meera fuses fiction and fact dexterously. In 2019, when Bhavana is hearing this fictional case, the Supreme Court was delivering its verdict on the demolition of the Babri Masjid, another historical structure that was razed to the ground. This is also a reminder that we live on top of many graves of injustice and inequality. Thus, through this book, Meera turns a mirror on contemporary society, which is trying to erase many graves from memory, records, and history books. Meera questions the way the law functions in India. The legal system favours the privileged, we are reminded time and again.  Bhavana, fuelled by her resolute faith in the rightness of the law, sees herself as an upholder of justice. The law demands evidence, she states. In a conversation that reads like a commentary on recent verdicts on land disputes, she asks Thangal: “doesn’t your objection stand in the way of public interest? And even if you argued that the qabar has historical importance, you don’t have any documents to prove it do you?” Bhavana’s courtroom has no space for sentiment or faith. And yet, as she discovers, the qabar exists, both as the ruins of a structure with minarets as well as in people’s imagination. Meera forces us to see that history is made up not just of facts and transactions documented on paper but also of lived experiences, of socio-cultural practices, and of collective memory.

Qabar also holds a mirror to contemporary Kerala, busting the myth of liberty and democracy in the life of the educated Keralan woman. The parallel narratives—the need for the birth of the scholar Brahmin, the camouflaged story of the death of the ancestor with occult powers, the two young divine girls who merge into one like vanishing twins—seamlessly woven into the story fabric create the layers that hold the story intact.

Diversions, Allegories, & Imageries

It is one of those books that I managed to complete within a short period of time.  The core plot is fairly intriguing and Meera succeeded in keeping me engrossed till the half part. But unfortunately, the proceedings turn out to be extremely unconvincing from thereon. The abrupt transition from a supernatural thriller to a romance affects the tempo of the novel. The hasty ending too fails to justify the elaborate plot build-up. If you are looking for a quick read, you can try out this one. But do keep your expectations low.  My second book from the author who completely captivated me in my first read, “The Hangwoman.”

The novella is short, but the length it takes you to is infinite. The writing is peppered with allegories hidden in bursts of an earthy magical realism rooted in djinns who can read minds and conjure rainbows that leaves the protagonist swooning away. There was a mysterious glow in every character that reveals only certain aspects. As the story moves forward, there is an avalanche of metaphors and imagery that went right above my head. On the first reading, I am sure, I missed a lot of imageries and metaphors. Therefore, keeping it for a second read to gather all that I missed.

A Blend of Legal Drama and Supernatural Elements

The Qabar book stands out for its unique blend of legal drama and supernatural elements, creating a captivating reading experience. Meera’s background as a journalist shines through in her detailed portrayal of the legal proceedings, while her imaginative flair brings the mystical aspects of the story to life. This juxtaposition of the rational and the supernatural serves as a metaphor for the complex realities of modern India, where tradition and progress often collide.

Nisha Susan’s Masterful Translation

Nisha Susan’s translation brings K.R. Meera’s poetic Malayalam prose to life for English readers, maintaining the original’s lyrical quality. Her prose is both poetic and incisive. The seamless transition between languages is a testament to Susan’s skill as a translator. As noted by critic Vivek Tejuja, “K.R. Meera’s writing isn’t easy. There are layers and multi-folds of emotions attached to it.” Susan’s translation captures these nuances, allowing non-Malayalam readers to fully appreciate the depth and beauty of Meera’s writing.

While one chapter is a grounded and achingly relatable family drama, the following chapter is a riveting courtroom drama. Some chapters have instances of magical realism (I won’t be surprised if one starts smelling the faint yet hypnotic scent of Edward roses after flipping through certain pages of this book) while some chapters are a discourse on the fractured nature of our society.

Impact and Significance in Indian Literature

Readers have praised its complex narrative structure, emotional depth, and the seamless blend of magical elements with social commentary. It definitely deserves a place on every book lover’s shelf. It challenges readers to think critically about gender, power, and the nature of reality itself, all while delivering a gripping narrative that keeps pages turning. It stands as a prime example of Indian magical realism, offering a unique perspective on contemporary issues through a supernatural lens. The novella’s exploration of Hindu-Muslim relations and the historical context of communal tensions adds another layer of relevance to its narrative.

Conclusion: A Literary Gem Worth Exploring

For its innovative storytelling, deep thematic exploration, and cultural significance, I wholeheartedly recommend “Qabar” to readers who appreciate complex, thought-provoking literature. On a scale of 1 to 5, I would rate this book a solid 4.5, marking it as a must-read for anyone interested in contemporary Indian fiction or magical realism.

Whether you’re a fan of magical realism, feminist literature, or simply in search of a book that will leave you pondering long after you’ve turned the last page, “Qabar” is a journey well worth taking. K.R. Meera’s masterpiece, brought to life in English by Nisha Susan, is a testament to the power of storytelling to illuminate the complexities of the human experience.

Exploring Loss in ‘The Ghosts of Meenambakkam’ – Book Review

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Picking a regional translation is like an adventure; you do that only when you are looking for something new. The blurb of the book read “beautifully haunting novella on love and loss,” and so I picked up – “The Ghosts of Meenambakkam” (Original book – Paavam Dalpathado) by Ashokamitran. I regret not being able to read it in Tamil for two reasons; one I couldn’t procure the Tamil version, two my reading pace in Tamil is slow.  This novella is merely 150 pages so I read it at a stretch. 

For the past five decades, his has been a household name in Tamil Nadu, thanks to a phenomenal literary output of more than 250 short stories, two dozen novels, and scores of articles, essays and reviews. His easy-to-read prose has made him popular, while its depth and range have established him as a highly regarded literary figure and critic. He has received many honors, including the Sahitya Akademi Award. 

From the narrator’s point of view, airports, train stations, public places, and slums are not just crowded places, they are places where thriving stories are tightly packed. If a mishap happens, people die. What happens then? The crowd remains. Their ghosts stay and their stories too stay.

On the face of it, this novella follows an unnamed character who goes to the airport every day, reliving the horrors and pain of losing his daughter in a plane crash. On one such eventful day, grieving the death of his only daughter at the airport in Meenambakkam, he runs into a rather mysterious person from his past. After some struggle, the narrator identifies him to be Dalpathado, once a revolutionary award-winning filmmaker from another country (one may guess it’s Sri Lanka), who wanted to make films in India because he felt he was heard in this country.  He is apparently on the run from some people out to kill him. This friend compels the narrator to spend a night of hiding, and soon we see him crawling across the railway tracks in pouring rain, holing up in a house, and participating in some kind of clandestine activity with the foreigner.  All the while, his mind is full of his angelic daughter whose face he can’t remember any more and Dalpathado’s erstwhile girlfriend Sylvia with whom she seems to share a strange kind of identity. The narrator finds a strange loss of love – for a country, for a motherland, and for a once-loved foreign land.

This book starts off a bit confused, but as it progresses, the confusion makes sense. The plot as such is very basic and only has two or three real movements. The unnamed narrator has to deal with the ghosts of his past, literally and otherwise. There is a sense of unreality in the events that transpire that made me question whether it is the case of an unreliable narrator, one who has lost his grip on the reality around him. And then of course, I went back to the translator’s note where I am assured that it is the author’s craft, his style and that’s where the brilliance of this novella lies.  It makes you grapple with the dilemmas of the protagonists, and it makes you want more.  It’s primarily a story of loss and suffering, and of departures.  And of how time wears us all down, numbing us, changing us, and pushing us along, like rocks in a stream. And at 150 pages, you’re soon ready for your own departure. 

As the translator points out in his introduction, the quality of Ashokamitran’s writing can be deciphered in the weight of the things left unsaid. This is what “The Ghosts of Meenambakkam” does too.  The writing is crisp and leaves a lot of space for the reader to read between the lines. There’s often more left unspoken than there is explicitly stated, bringing to mind Tolstoy’s shorter works. There is no overly descriptive prose, yet it is not too minimalist either. The real heart of the book is reserved for the dialogue, the inner monologue, and all those unsaid thoughts. It’s where the book really shines. There are allusions, foreign names, veiled references, and sidesteps. Putting them together is up to you, and it is through this that the story becomes more than just a story. 
 
The translation by N. Kalyan Raman is top notch and smooth, and as someone who can speak Tamil, I could detect a connect with the source language in the translation style.

Apart from that, it captures the vibe of Chennai life perfectly, and the utter loneliness you find in this giant city. The descriptions of the thoughts you have at suburban railway stations struck a chord with me. The description of middle-class life is more subdued and less embellished than you might expect from Indian English authors and feels very authentic.  There was an element of mystery coupled with a tragic loss throughout the book.  It’s the middle parts of the book that got to my nerve – felt a bit repetitive and verbose. More so, since it is a novella not having the luxury of space. 

Though the book is very short, it attempts to talk about a lot of things in a layered way with very few words – about racial segregation, idealism, revolution, nationalism, love, indifference to the sufferings of those for whom you are apparently fighting, how idealism can turn you into a monster, and grief. 

Asokamitran’s writing is very straightforward; however, his narrative is complex. There are multiple layers hidden within the folds of this apparently simple story. The way the novella opens, with the mention of Meenambakkam’s road accidents and the ghosts inhabiting that place, provides an all-encompassing metaphor for the tale. Similarly, the story ends in a shattering climax at the airport; the last sentence hits the reader with the force of a tidal wave. I had more questions than answers at the end of the book – What was the narrator’s name? Was Dalpathado a terrorist or was he a vengeful lover? Did he concoct the whole spy story? Was he following the narrator’s movements? It was an impulsive pick where I discovered a new narrative style (as I am reading this author for the first time). Overall, I enjoyed this decent fast paced thriller.

Have you read any of Ashokamitran’s books? Do share your views on reading translated books and knowing prominent Indian writers through translations in the comment.

Print Pages: 160.

Language: English.

Publisher: Penguin.

Publication Date: 11 March 2016.

KONDRAAL PAAVAM – MOVIE REVIEW

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“Everyone is a potential murderer; in everyone there arises from time to time the wish to kill though not the will to kill.”

Somehow after watching “Kondraal Paavam,” I felt like quoting Agatha Christie.  I remember about 25 years back watching a serial on DD, wherein a family living in the tents of thar desert happens to get an unwelcomed guest. The storyline of this Tamil movie seems adapted from it, but I heard it is a remake of the Kannada film -“Aa Karaala Ratri.” This film also marks the Tamil debut of director Dayal Padmanaban who is well known in Kannada cinema industry.  The sepia colour tones, the scenic visuals of the riverside, and the eerie vintage thinnai veedu ferried me to the 80s making me nostalgic.

The screenplay is set in Dharmapuri during 1985 and follows a family of three-Malikka (Varalaxmi Sarathkumar) the bold and outspoken daughter of impoverished cotton planters Charlie and Easwari Rao.  They live in a humble house in a nondescript village.  The family has been grappling with poverty for years.  Mallika, who is past her youth, is resentful of her family’s condition and blames it for her frustrating state.  She harbours a desire to lead a happy and content life, but it seems improbable with every passing day, and the angst keeps haunting her.  It is exactly at that time, a young guy named Arjun (Santhosh Prathap), passes through the house and requests the family to let him stay for night claiming that he is very tired.  Meanwhile, the family has an unwelcomed guest at their doorstep, an ugly money lender who visits and insults the family giving them an ultimatum to either pay the interests for their pledged lands or allow him to exploit Mallika. 

In one of the early scenes in the movie, we see a godman (Manobala) preaching about the concept of desire, and how it serves as the fuel for life.  He asserts that excessive desire and selfish motives pull humans into the web of deviance and wrongdoings.  It is this aberration in human desire that the story unfolds with a series of riveting events that happen overnight.  When Arjun (Santhosh Prathap) shows them his suitcase full of gold jewellery, cash and offers to help them, he causes uneasiness among the audience suggesting he might be the baddie (is he the wanted thief who the landlord mentions?) and an impending threat to the family.  But he is excellent as the mysterious stranger who is clearly not what he seems.  Only in the climax when his identity is revealed, all his interactions especially, with Easwari Rao make sense.  Santhosh Prathap emerges as the most memorable character in the story. 

Though at first the family declines his help, but the greedy Mallika hatches a plan to solve the family’s problems so that she can get married.  So, monsters are real, and ghosts are real too.  They live inside us, and sometimes they win.  Can a single desire and a little greed erase all the goodness they nurtured throughout their life? All we’ve to find out is did the woman succeed in her plan?  Did the parents go against her or join her in the evil deed? and most important of all who is this stranger, might he kill the family or will become their victim?  These questions are answered in a riveting climax with an affecting twist. 

It is nice to see that it’s a character-driven film and with only four to five characters, Dayal Padmanabhan has managed to make a film that’s different from the usual.  Director efficaciously establishes the characters and their motives in the first half, and this helps us in understanding their machinations in the latter half.  Varalaxmi Sarathkumar has played negative roles before but this one (Mallika) has more depth and challenges and she is quite up to it.  Her transformation from an ordinary girl lured by the physical appearance of the stranger to deciding to finish him off when he does not play along is very impressive.

Through Easwari, who plays a midwife, “Kondraal Paavam” broods on the idea of the circle of life and death.  After ‘Kaala’ Easwari Rao gets a strong character with a real arc from an ordinary mother to a sinner herself.  The talented veteran Charlie excels as the liquor addicted good for nothing father.  His pertinent and consummate performance is commendable.  But his best scene is at the arrack- shop in the end where he learns the shocking truth.  Sendrayan appears as a blind man who could have been used better in the screenplay.  Certain dialogues of his reminds me of Tiresias-the blind prophet in the play Oedipus Rex.  His character serves as the chorus of Greek tragedies.

Talking about the characters, it’s Mallika, whose actions steer the central plotline.  She is as grey as she can be and is unapologetically sly.  In one of the scenes, Mallika attempts to woo Arjun, and when he rebukes her, she immediately guards herself by confronting him.  Although she understands what she did is wrong (because we lie best when we lie to ourselves), the yearning to break out of this gutter of deprivation overcomes the guilt.  And that’s exactly why she is ready to go to any extent.  Similarly, the mystery surrounding Arjun injects a much-needed dose of intrigue into the film. 

What works best in ‘Kondraal Paavam’ is the entire second half which is intense, suspenseful and leads to the shocking climax.  The clues that the writer throws randomly such as the wooden horse, or Charlie saying that he died twenty years back, etc., pay off well at the end.  The screenplay effectively conveys the various reasons the three characters go from white to grey to dark and makes the unexpected character stand tall in the end.  The dialogue about the same knife being used to bring a child to the world, to cutting a chicken for food, and later taking another innocent life underlines the theme of the screenplay. 

While the filmmaker manages to keep the audience on the edge of their seat, it feels slow on the whole.  There are places where the sluggish pacing and exhaustive dialogues prove depressive.  The dramatic treatment and Sam CS’ loud music initially helps in amplifying the narrative, but the melodrama and the trumpeting numbers feel louder and more distracting in the second half.  On the downside the first half never takes off soon and too much time is wasted on repetitive scenes.  The ambience in the period effect is not very convincing especially the family’s costumes neither reflect the era nor their poverty.  The making is old school but considering that he shot this film in just eleven days he has delivered a decent thriller. 

The film’s third act begins with the family preparing to kill a hen for cooking.  It reiterates the film’s title, derived from an old Tamil saying: Kondraal Paavam, Thinnaal Theerum, and also serves as a metaphor for Arjun’s plight.  The usage of these metaphors and the incorporation of the thin layers between beliefs and superstitions reflect the nuanced and layered writing.  The film also registers several disturbing moments that play with these themes.  The climatic reveal is grim and unsettling though it joins all the dots and echoes the film’s crux that connects greed to misery and aberrance.  It also serves as a reminder that some ‘paavams’ will just eat you out from the inside… for a long time. 

As the saying goes, ‘Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you do not’. “Kondraal Paavam” is all about how extreme desire, greed, and selfishness can destroy one’s family and put them in a messy situation.  It is adapted from a Kannada stage play written by Mohan Habbu which was in turn inspired by Rupert Brooke’s tragic one act play “Lithuania” staged in 1915.  But what this play is unable to explain to us is why incest and filicide go hand-in-hand with economic backwardness.  Why only poor feel guilty for being tempted? The only solace is the poor are, for once, not shown as victims. 

AACHAR & CO – MOVIE REVIEW

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In my life, I have seen human beings being compared to many things, living and non-living, but to a fruit is the first time.  Have you come across such a comparison?  So, my curiosity piqued when “Achar and Co.” began with “Human beings are like mangoes.”  What the voiceover (Rangayana Raghu’s) says is right to an extent as most of us think we have a free will, but ultimately like mangoes we have no control over whether we are going to end up as spicy pickle or sticky-sweet jam.  It’s all up to fate or about what’s written on your forehead as your mother or granny would say.  Amazon prime has made a movie buff out of me, I should say, else I seldom watch movies in other languages unless it is passed down by word of mouth.  My adventure with regional languages dates back to Doordarshan days.

The first glimpse of this Kannada movie – “Achar & Co.” released early this year, makes you step back in time to the bygone era of the 1960s and the early 70s.  The atmosphere is delicately constructed by director Sindhu Sreenivasa Murthy, who also plays the protagonist, making you ready for the period drama with empty main roads, houses with gardens in the front yard and small gates, women in soft, subtle sarees and half-sarees and men with thick moustaches and thicker glasses.  These images tell us that we are in a traditional milieu where in a hotel, the lady of the house worries whether they use the same ladles for vegetarian and non-vegetarian food and where someone is not even considered for a job because his name is Mohammad Fayaz.  It’s an idyllic world and as the morning suprabhatam blasts through a retro radio (except that it brings a change in its lyrics), we are introduced to Madhusudhan Aachar (Ashok), a civil engineer with an enviable government job in PWD, who lives with his wife Savitri (Sudha Belawadi) and his ten children – three sons and seven daughters, including twin sisters.  His job avails him facilities like telephone, car, and even house helpers — a dream life to live back then when even owning a bicycle was a luxury!

Like any other strict parent of the 60s, he wants his sons to become engineers and daughters to become devout housewives and so he doesn’t care much about the education of his daughters.  The first few episodes capture the chaos of a household with a dozen people around, reflecting the challenges faced by parents in their raising children, providing them with education, and arranging their life or rather settling their life as in getting their daughters married.  His eldest son becomes a survey officer and the second a sales executive against his will and the youngest has no interest in studies but has a passion for acting.  The eldest daughter is already married and settled abroad.  The years keep ticking and his sons one after another get married.  But still, he doesn’t believe in treating his children as adults.  As a grumpy man, he won’t utter a word of appreciation, especially to his sons.  But ask his wife she will paint you a different picture.  However, what they fail to see is each one, with their dreams and aspirations, is set to carve their own unique paths in life. 

Just as we warm up to the father’s character, he is eliminated from the plot, he dies of a heart attack and this is when the spotlight falls on Suma (Sindhu) our heroine, the second eldest daughter.  Though the sudden shift of attention upsets the film’s rhythm, but death doesn’t deflate the mood of this film.  The oldest son moves to Delhi promising to send money and is never seen or heard from again.  Obviously, the second son takes on the mantle of the house and Suma pesters her brother Raghu (Harishil Koushik) to get her married to someone well-educated and settled in London, like her sister as that’s her dream.  As this gets repetitive, her brother loses his temper and makes her realize the reality – how can a groom agree to marry a 10th fail who doesn’t work or earn.  This is an excellent scene where Raghu gives vent to his years of frustration.  His wife tells him later that what he said was right, but his tone was wrong.  Tone is everything in this coming-of-age movie, which could have easily become a family melodrama.  This is one of the rare times we see tears in Suma’s eyes as she is shown a mirror to her “Self” and the reflection is not pretty.  In an era where women were ‘trained’ to be ‘marriage materials,’ Suma has a hard time trying to find purpose in life.  Can she provide for the family and manage to keep the folk together?

Again, the film’s decent flow gets disrupted when Suma’s second brother perishes in an accident.  His death too does not jolt you the way it should have, because the film is in a rush to move on.  I felt some moments needed lingering.  Now Suma suddenly transforms into a driving force for the family, busting the stereotype of a man running the house.  She moves on from the idea of marriage and finds a purpose in life in achar (Pickles) business, thus helping the other women in the family to look and dream beyond becoming ‘just a housewife.’  While her pickle-making skills are hinted at, you don’t see the sweat and toil.  So, this ‘blah-to-fab’ journey is not savoured just like a mango pickle without a tang.  Despite a noble idea, this portion lacks the emotional punch due to the hurried filmmaking.  This may remind us about 1983 Suhasini-starrer “Benkiyalli Aralida Hoovu,” but “Aachar & Co” would have hit the bull’s eye if it had included a little bit of emotional depth to the lead characters and some more detailing.

I felt the characters in the film don’t drive the film forward.  They are just part of a story that’s in a hurry to cover several plot points.  As we don’t get to the root of anybody’s character, many end up remaining one-note characters.  One such is Jaggu’s wife – a double PhD, who is tall, but marries him who is shorter than her, barely educated and with an average job.  Everything seems to occur in such a scattered, slapdash manner that you don’t really spot a character arc in the film, for example, the younger son dabbles in theatre, but it seems more like a character trait just to remind us of who he is rather than something he is truly passionate about.

Suma wants to possess certain things and go certain distance in life but is not likeable character.  You feel her hesitation and embarrassment when she begins from scratch, like selling medicines door to door, but the writing doesn’t really make you feel or care for her.  Somewhere the emotional connect is missing. Her appearances do change (the only change in these 10 years) from a two-plaited teenager always lost in a reverie to a bun wearing pragmatic woman, but the change in her personality isn’t necessarily felt by the viewer.  I could be wrong, but I thought there were inconsistencies in the timeline too, with Suma going from a uniform clad school-goer to a 27-year-old (as mentioned) in less than 8-9 years.

There’s an undercurrent of melancholy throughout the movie.  It’s not sadness, exactly.  It’s more a reminder that life comes with both happiness and heartbreak, domestic abuse and death, crushed dreams and tight family budgets.  The refreshingly unmelodramatic and female-inclined screenplay gives us the feel of “Little Women” or “Pride and Prejudice” rewritten by RK Narayan.  So, what we lose in depth, we gain in feel-goodness – the feeling that painful problems can be solved in a jiffy, and happy endings need not always involve marriage and family.

This coming-of-age movie also misses out on logic at a few places and comes with some flaws especially in post-Aachar death scenes as it hurriedly tries to shift responsibility on dovey-eyed Suma.  He dies in service and there is no mention of pension facility.  Strangely enough, no one in the Madhusudan family becomes beneficiary of the government’s compassionate employment scheme, which began in 1958.  Technically, all their problems would have been solved, but then there wouldn’t have been a story to tell.  I guess either the filmmaker chose to omit this or just didn’t know that one dependent family member could have got a government job at a level based on his/her qualification.

And then, the eldest brother who gets a promotion and moves to Delhi is forgotten for the rest of the film.  He is not even seen when his brother dies in a road mishap or did he?  While the physical characteristics of some children change as the years pass by, some remain the same to look at, including protagonist Suma!

The movie was largely promoted as a nostalgic ride to the 60s and it successfully transports the audience to that era too.  Thanks to its technical department for maintaining the nostalgic mood with the essence of family unity, resilience, and gossip mongers.  But this aspect doesn’t go beyond the basic details like parents’ obsession with a government job for men and how they prefer marriage over education for women.  The director doesn’t offer a glimpse of the geographical and cultural specialties of the city during that period.

The 1960s was a time of changing dynamics, especially for women who broke stereotypes, and the film strives to bring out this era of progress and industrialisation and also addresses issues like domestic violence, harassment, changing gender roles, women entrepreneurship, women empowerment, dowry, and societal expectations.

In the beginning Suma is given some mangoes and asked to make pickle by a trio of middle-aged women Bharathi, Bhagirathi, Chandravathi – BBC in short, (an apt acronym for them as they “broadcast” all the local news).  Suma agrees, but when the BBC offers to pay her, Suma’s mother refuses.  In this world, these are just “favours” we do for each other.  It’s not a “job”, which earns you an income.  Remember this scene and see how this pickle, a recipe unique to their household, become an enterprising aspect of her journey, boosting her self-confidence at the end.

But “Aachar & Co” is not a tedious watch; it is a tad under two hours in run-time, has got a clean U censor certification and has got the casting spot on. The actors, most of who are newbies, do their limited jobs well, but none of the characters, however, have scope to leave an impression. The end of the movie is predictable and simplistic but doesn’t ruin the movie.

What is assuring is there is always balance.  If fate brings the family a very tall daughter-in-law, then they also get a son-in-law who is barely educated.  Neither of these qualities is used to demean these characters – but they do remind us of times when “perfection” was the expected norm, especially in marriage alliances.  Similarly, BBC trio is not only used for gossips, but also for spreading a word about the good quality of Suma’s Achar.

Ashwini Puneeth Rajkumar, through her PRK Productions, has set out to give a platform to new talents.  The young Sindhu Sreenivasa Murthy, along with a well-equipped technical team primarily consisting of women, has done a commendable job and what I liked the most is composer Bindu Malini’s music which adds value to the film especially the “Suprabatham” song and “Pickle” song standout.  In Abhimanyu Sadanandan’s cinematography there’s gentleness with which life moves. Amidst the humour and heartwarming moments, the movie also explores themes of empowerment, family bonding, and self-reliance, leaving viewers with a question:  Have things really changed for women since that era?

With Bengaluru weather providing an apt backdrop, “Aachar & Co” makes for a perfect family outing this weekend, especially when accompanied by parents and grandparents who can surely enjoy the nostalgia. 

MAY MAADHAM – REVISITING MOVIES

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Watching yesteryear movies on TV has become tiresome, the commercial breaks mostly make you forget what the last scene was like.  After nearly a decade, I happened to watch one of the feel-good movies – May May May maadham….(I am not stammering, humming the title song).  Watching movie at late hours without any ad breaks, that too alone without any snack requests from your kids, without your spouse calling you fetch his hankie is a bliss.  After confirming “So gaya ye jahaan, so gaya aasmaan….” I sneaked into the TV room as I had checked the program guide on my Tata Sky for the timings.

I have watched May Maadham many a times before, but it is always good to revisit the films you like.  It gives you an extra second to find some things which you might have missed before.  As the signature opening song played, I was reminded of when and where I first watched it, may be around 1995-1996 or so when we had only Door Dharshan.  The movie was released on 9 September 1994 (I peered at the reel) just one or two years before, but it seemed like some vintage classic as we were watching it on a black and white TV.  It was a lazy Sunday evening, Dad had just switched on the TV and some dark girl was dancing in the Ooty backdrop, at least that’s how my mom described her.  I came into the room rubbing my sleepy eyes, after a good afternoon siesta.  Seeing her I shouted, “She is Sonali Kulkarni! the heroine of “Cheluvi.”  Appa, don’t you remember, the film we saw the other day.”  I had watched her in Girish Karnad’s short Kannada telefilm named Cheluvi – The Flowering Tree (1992).  It was her debutant movie where she played the titular character.  My father’s eyes brightened, as if recognizing her “Ada aama.”  I took it as a compliment for my memory, happy at my discovery I turned back to look at my parents, but now they were staring at me, spat came my mom’s remark – “cinema vishiyam mattom unakku epidi dhaan nayabakam irukko, forget your 16 tables.” That’s it, for the rest of the movie, I didn’t turn back or comment.

This time I started re-watching this film for PC Sreeram’s cinematography and Crazy Mohan’s lines.  I never knew Crazy Mohan had penned the dialogues for this film, until I saw his name in the titles (Eureka moments of re-watching).  It is a simple love story that doesn’t have any unnecessary villains apart from the usual parental opposition.  The central conflict of the protagonist is something which any Tamilian (especially girls) can relate to because it is an everyday story in our life. A seemingly “progressive” father educates his daughter in both sciences & arts, but is blindingly unaware of her desires and needs, as her treats her as his property.  Like in any other Tamil film, Sandhya has a typical rich, strict dad who spouts lines like, “Sandhya darling, naan unnaku Hitler dhaan, but nee ennaku Germany aache.” It should have been more efficiently handled as there isn’t much scope for melodrama here.  Maybe that’s why the director decided to adopt a tongue-in-cheek attitude, with Crazy Mohan’s script coming in handy. 

The opening song of “Margazhi Poove” in Ooty mist was cool.  I should say it was a better try while comparing to other cinematographers’ Ooty!  The next scene seemed a modern adaptation of Mouna Ragam’s ponnu paakara scene where Revathy’s father without chiding her breaks the news of the prospective groom while dropping her to the college. In that movie, Dhivya runs away before (to avoid) seeing the groom, but here Sandhya runs away after seeing him! I liked the way Sonali Kulkarni expressed herself as Sandhya – the struggle of being trapped; flirting her way into freedom, and the carefree happiness while exploring Madras. 

Once the story shifts to Chennai (Madras ba akhhaan) the camera too shifts gear.  Sandhya, the over-protected daughter of the rich businessman in Ooty, runs into a photographer – Eshwar here and due to a series of circumstances, gets to experience a free life among the masses of the city, meeting interesting people like Calcutta & Aandal-amma. “Madrasa Suthi Paka Poren” had a unique camera angle, maybe they had the camera placed in the car bumper.  The camera captures the aesthetics of 90s Madras – the simpler times where going out to a restaurant or a visit to the Marina was “an occasion.”  These fast-paced shots were synonymous with the background music. Manorama’s voice added life to already lively yet nostalgic song. I especially enjoyed the jingle sound of the vintage car (dabba car). 

Sandhya played by Sonali was dubbed by actress Rohini, but in most of the scenes, I saw there was no proper lip sync.  Sonali must have been speaking Marathi.  Even though her dusky colour made us accept her as a South Indian, also she was giving some good facial expressions, but her mouth was always eating vada pav!  In one of the most important scenes in the film where she reveals her true identity to Vineeth, it is obvious that it has to be a close-up shot for her, but how to hide her mouth which was still not accustomed to our sambhar vada accent?  That’s where PC Sreeram’s experience and brilliance comes handy, he had used the shadow of the window grill in this scene, the shadow falling right on her face and covering just her mouth! (I know you would check out this scene right away!) 

There wasn’t any depth to Vineeth’s character, like who was he? Did he have any past or relatives? Suddenly an aunt appears from somewhere just to make Sandhya reveal her identity. Vineeth’s decent acting seemed a bit similar to Karthik’s to me. Only later did I come to know that this movie was based on American romantic comedy Roman Holiday released in the year 1953. This film has been considered one of the most romantic films in cinema history, but the Tamil version wasn’t anywhere near being romantic. It didn’t seem convincing enough when it came to the relationship between Sandhya and Eshwar – we get disjointed moments of them while they explore Madras together, it doesn’t seem strong enough to forge a bond. Also, the element of tension and conflict were only wisps felt here and there. In fact, one never truly feels the pain of separation nor is one afraid of their relationship going awry. 

The dialogues of Crazy Mohan were as usual witty, but I guess most of the characters missed the timing, maybe the fault of the director or the characters failed to understand the witticism the scene expected of them.  And hence, some of the funny lines were lost, rather fell flat on our ears, like this one “Nee oru All, naan oru All, rendu peru sernda All-in-All.” 

A.R. Rahmaan’s music comes to the rescue of this love story that loses direction halfway through, but after the halfway stage, it fails to grip you.  It was slow-paced after that, the end was pretty predictable, but never mind, life too at some days seems slowed down. 

The movie had everything that the average Tamil-movie-goer wants, it had drama, riveting songs, an action sequence, comedy here and there, but still this film didn’t do well at the box office in spite of a decent story line, peppy music by ARR, excellent artwork by Thota Tharani, PC’s brilliant cinematography, memorable lyrics by Vairamuthu, and Crazy Mohan’s dialogues. The Madras slang by Manorama Aachi and her acting in the movie was in her usual style, filled with fun and comical sarcasm. Janakaraj’s cameo as Captain seemed forced and wasn’t a surprise element. At the end, I felt bad for the bald, stuttering groom. 

I would love to watch it again because I never felt bored.  Watch it for the visual treat by PC Sreeram and the melodious songs.

THE SAGE WITH TWO HORNS: UNUSUAL TALES FROM MYTHOLOGY – BOOK REVIEW

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You might have heard about king Sibi who sacrificed his own flesh to keep his word to a pigeon, but how about the sculptor who managed to make magnificent statues with no hands at all? In “The Sage with Two Horns” Sudha Murty brings into light some quirky yet informative stories that are not only mythological but also quite prevalent and worth pondering in the present-day context because there’s something for everyone in this collection of tales of wisdom and wit! 

Even though the book is said to be children’s book, there isn’t any age limit, so everyone can enjoy it. If you’ve read any of Sudha Murthy’s other books, you’ll know about her simple, engrossing yet thought-provoking writing style. 

Mythology is a genre rich in intriguing and awe-inspiring stories that never disappoint. This book contains 33 tales from quarrels among gods, the follies of great sages to the benevolence of kings and queens, it features goddesses, extraordinary men and women of wisdom, and the virtues of ordinary mortals. Sudha Murty spins fresh accounts of lesser-known stories from Indian mythology and is sure to delight fans of this beloved storyteller. 

Truthfulness, honesty, determination, perseverance, hard work, and good deeds are some of the virtues inherent in these stories which have been categorized under 5 different themes in the book namely – Guruve Namaha, The Kings who became Saints, Raja Prithvi Pati, A Bag of Surprises and Tales from the Vault. Peppered with vibrant myths and legends, Sudha Murthy always keeps the child in you alive!! 

Some stories were familiar to me others weren’t, some stories left me thinking while others didn’t, however, not all stories were that great. So, I shelved this book and finally completed it this month. 

My favourite stories among them are – “The mystery of life of death” – Nachiketa’s story, “Story of Agastya” – origin of river Kaveri, “The Indras who became the Pandavas,” “The mystery of the identical nose rings”- background story of Purandaradasa, “The case of the unfinished verse”, which is the story of Kalidasa, and “The most important god of all”- Shani’s influence on Vikramaditya. I liked the picturesque illustrations by Priyankar Gupta and the sketches inside are brilliant. 

If you are choosing this book for your kid, go for it because they would love the bright cover, the black and white illustrations of Gods who test kings and queens, princes who engage in tough penance, and lazy philosophers that have faded from attention over time. 

For an adult like me it was a light read, with some fascinating stories from Indian Mythology. Also, it had self-righteous characters, showcasing blind loyalty, written in a hurried style, and lots of gender stereotyping in most of the stories. Though we cannot change what has already happened in these stories, but I feel retellings can be done much better. But at night if you aren’t getting any sleep, read a few chapters from this book and you will go into a dream enriched sleep with beautiful princess, deer, and gods. 

The Sage With Two Horns: Unusual Tales From Mythology, published by Puffin India, is the last volume in her collection of mythology series —The Man From The Egg, The Serpent’s Revenge, among others—that encapsulate different aspects of Indian mythology.

Language: English

Publication Date: 4, November 2021 

Pages: 216 Pages

Publisher: Puffin Books.

TERESA’S MAN – BOOK REVIEW

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Usually, when I lack concentration, time, or experience a lull to pick up books, my only resort is short stories; especially if they talk about my favourite place and make me nostalgic, they are a great way to find my way back into reading and “Teresa’s Man and Other Stories from Goa” is one such book. Goa for commoners may mean parties, alcohol, beaches, ferries, foreigners, and merriment, but for me it’s a home where I learnt how to enjoy my today without any fears of tomorrow. It’s true that we Indians love Goa but forget about Goans.  In fact, I had never read anything written by a Goan author though I was a resident there for four long years, that was two decades back, but then again, it’s rare that you come across Konkani translations, all thanks to Xavier Cota.

“Teresa’s Man and Other Stories from Goa” is written by one of the most prolific and feted figures in contemporary Konkani literature – Damodar Mauzo who is also a Sahitya Akademi awardee.  As a novelist, literary critic, and fiction writer, he has been writing since 1960s till the recent times.  He writes in Konkani and is also proficient in Portuguese, English, and Marathi.  These 14 stories in translation comprise of Mauzo’s wonderfully varied compilation, from across 4 decades that’s 1960s to 2010.  While it is true that a few stories are set in the kind of village culture that does not exist anymore, but passing of time has not lessened the impact of Mauzo’s plots and characters; just a sentence or two and you can’t resist being drawn in.  So, we get to sit among Goan politicians on a hedonistic break in New Delhi, accompany a Dalit cattle herder across the Karnataka border into Goa because he has been told “you’ll live like a human there” and also drive around the back streets of Margao with enigmatic Baboy, who “knew only one thing and that is accept everything with a laugh.”  The stories are either set in Goa or talk about Goan people.  They are more an evocation of Goa through the names of characters, lifestyles, and memories rather than being set in the place itself.  While the stories don’t explore Goan culture, they are mostly focused on people and their indelible emotions. 

The first story is set in Saudi Arabia – “From the Mouths Of Babes” talks about the predicament of Mithila and Rajesh who live in Riyadh.  It finely draws stream of thoughts flowing through the mind of Mithila, a young Goan woman chafing under the strictures of the religious police even as she tries to evoke a more open display of physical affection from her husband. 

‘Coinsanv’s Cattle’ is a heart-breaking depiction of how a farmer couple must make the impossible choice of either send their beloved animals to slaughter or face starvation.  The dilemma of the wife who loves her cattle as her child is beautifully portrayed. 

Yet another story, “Bandh” which is about the “language agitation” of the 1980s, reiterates the futility of riots, you tend to harm the very same people for whom you are protesting.  Mauzo beautifully says language is a vehicle to foster understanding.  It is meant to unite, not to divide.  The motorcycle “pilot” Dattaram is faced with an odd situation.  On the day of Bandh, his friends Caetan and Peter warn him against seeking fares, but after a few hours beg him to take Rosy to the temple at Fatorpa (in Goa, Hindus and Catholics freely pay respects to both traditions).  They depart with Rosy’s mother “putting her hand on Dattaram’s arm, (saying), ‘Son, take care of my daughter and bring her back safely.’  But the two run into trouble.  A dozen men block their way at Cuncolim and try to kidnap Rosy.  For a brief moment, Dattaram is tempted to leave.  In the very next moment though, he sees Rosy’s mother on one side and Shantadurga, the goddess of Cuncolim, on the other.  Dattaram wades into the group of thugs and manages to escape with Rosy. 

He rides straight to Caetan’s house, stops at the doorstep and dismounts.  Alarmed Caetan runs up to them.  ‘What happened, Dattaram?’  Dattaram’s eyes were bulging.  He was speechless.  Finally finding his voice, he spats out; ‘This is our language! This is our culture!’  It very well explores the behaviour of people during bandh versus the actual respect they have for people which we could easily relate to because even today people protest for their mother tongue failing to realize language is meant to bring people together, not to tear them apart!

More than any other writer in contemporary Konkani literature, Mauzo epitomizes the multi-layered, profoundly confluent identity of Goans.  He grew up in a Hindu family surrounded by Catholic neighbours in the gorgeous seaside village of Majorda, where the sense of community blurred all boundaries.  Until recently, Mauzo made his living running the family general store – one-stop shopping for generations of Majorda residents and says his story ideas came to him in conversations with customers.  That’s why a deep empathy is reflected throughout “Teresa’s Man” and Mauzo often packs a substantial political punch on behalf of his people and their distinctive identity. 

In ‘The Vighnaharta’ story a family is worried about the Chathurthi preparations amidst their financial crisis.  And the ‘Happy Birthday’ story is about parents who strive hard to fit in the society of performers with their slow learning child. 

Now coming to the titular story, “Teresa’s Man,” we see how an ineffectual husband finally reaches his boiling point; how his frustration emerges in violence.  Peter is constantly taunted by his mother because his wife is more successful than him.  He doesn’t even try to get a job or to do anything useful and his male ego gets hurt when his friends tease him in a bar.  He decides to physically take his shame and frustration out on his wife, rather than attempting to improve himself.  This story depicts the psychological profile of a man who deliberately ignores his responsibilities and undergoes humiliation, highlighting the frustration, anger, and jealousy that he feels. 

The last story in this book is ‘A Writer’s Tale,’ where an aging writer Manohar and a young writer Jayatha formulate a friendship in the background of Jayatha’s ordeals with her family, depression, and search for a friend and how the senior author becomes the unwitting subject of Jayatha’s fiction.  It may seem humorous on the onset, but the idea of a Tamil lady being portrayed as wanton didn’t excite me and felt more exaggerated.  Old Hindi films have depicted South Indians as dim witted and caricatures which I completely don’t agree with and I still can’t understand why Mauzo fancied this idea in this story.  Well, let me leave it here as this may lead to another discussion. 

His writing spans an enormous range, straddling both urban and rural geographies, and runs the gamut of human emotion—the paralyzing helplessness of the small farmer; the eternal ebbs and flows of the man-woman relationship; and the many humiliations, small and large, of raising a differently abled child. 

Each story in this compilation gives a distinct flavour of Goa and what it means to be a Goan.  Most of the stories have an old-world charm about them since they are written across the decades, giving you a nice nostalgic feel.  They are hardly 10–15-minute reads, but I wanted to know more in most of the stories and since they were open ended, I was left wanting for more.  I do not know if it’s because the translation was amiss or the stories were written so originally.  Almost all of them tug the tender strings in your heart.  These are everyday happenings in the life of both humans and animals, be it a sudden sickness in the family; a water snake’s life in summer, a farmer’s attachment to his cattle; a poor man’s anxiety to celebrate an important festival, you could easily relate to it.  Xavier Cota, the translator of Teresa’s Man and Other Stories from Goa, is a teacher, former banker, and sports administrator who translates fiction and non-fiction from Konkani to English.  He has previously translated two major works by Mauzo namely These Are My Children and the novella, Tsunami Simon.  He has compiled this book too with great care, bringing to readers tales which are as compellingly local in their flavour as they are universal in the ideas and emotions they evoke.  This book is packed with lot of social and political punches.  It is touching, warm, moving, and so is a must-read. 

While Mauzo and his close contemporaries have consistently won Sahitya Akademi awards and national recognition, it is only recently that a substantial corpus of their work has begun to appear in English translation.  Teresa’s Man and Other Stories from Goa was nominated for the Frank O’Connor International award in 2015.  This definitely indicates that contemporary Goan-Konkani writing merits far greater attention than it usually gets.  “Teresa’s Man” makes for prismatic reading as Mauzo’s writerly eye perches on a dazzling variety of shoulders.  His brilliant writing has proved that irrespective of changing times, our emotions have remained the same whether we live in a city or live in a village.  Human emotions are invariably the same across all states, countries, and culture and these genuine emotions always inspire.

Have you read this book already or any of other translations of Mauzo? Do share your experience reading translated books and knowing Indian writers through translations in comment.

Print Pages: 208.

Language: English.

Publisher: Rupa Publication.

Publication Date: 3 October 2014.

Now you can listen this review as podcast on Spotify too!