Thanga Magan

Firstly, this second outing of Velraj-Dhanush-Anirudh that runs for just two hours is not VIP-2. And yes, I too hated the trailer punchline in which the lead actor Dhanush (Tamil) breathlessly rattles out half of the world languages and seals it up with - '...aanaa Tamil Nadula Tamil thokkavey mudiyadhu da..' ('No one can wipe off Tamil from Tamil Nadu'). But, minus such unintentionally humorous dialogues, sporadic episodes of unseemly heroism and sprinklings of simplistic thinking, it is undeniable that Thanga Magan (Golden Son) is a one with a golden heart. The lead ladies Samantha Ruth Prabhu and Amy Jackson amazingly fit into their roles that are devoid of the usual skin show. (I think the former is seen only in sarees throughout the film.) One is the girl friend, who marries Tamil's cousin after they breakup; the other is the arranged-marriage wife that provides rock solid support to Tamil, after his father hangs himself. Such strong female characters are typical of Selvaraghvan-Dhanush movies; no wonder there are tributes to the director placed within the film that runs for  - just the right length given the hairline story line. Veterans KS Ravikuamr (Vijayaraghavan, Tamil's father), Raadhika Sarathkumar (mother, thank god Kollywood is finding alternatives to Saranya to play the benevolent amma character), Jayaprakash ('officer', as he is addressed throughout) have justified their roles, though special mention is for the ace director KS Ravikumar, who seems to be having an alternative career as a bankable performer. But Vijayaraghavan reminds us of Bhavani of OK Kanmani that had symptoms of Alzheimer's disease; and Raghavan is at par with the memorable Bhavani, if not better. And for Dhanush, it is just another day at the office and he excels both as the clean-shaven adolescent lover-boy, and the desperate and disheartened son, who is on the mission to restore the lost glory of his dear, departed father. 

The initial portions filled with teenage fun are really enjoyable with composer Anirudh Ravichander and comedian Sathish lending a beautiful support, but only up to the scene where Hema D'Souza and Tamil breakup. This particular scene marks the first low in the script, and could have been handled better. (Btw, it is said Hema D'Souza has a British father and a Tambram mother.) The next, weak attempt at a twist is when Tamil looks at his cousin Aravindh 's wedding invite only to realise that his ex is getting married to Aravindh (played by Adith Arun.) While VIP touched upon sibling rivalry, in this itinerary it is about the friction between cousins that is made to turn into a raging fire. But was there a real reason? I'm still wondering. Aravindh (fair and handsome) reminds us of Arun Subramaniam of VIP. He, also resembling Siddarth Abhimanyu, is a villain with a fair skin that the mass Tamil audience will easily start hating. Though the trailer dialogues between the cousins make us expect something like Holmes-Moriarty, nothing could be more disappointing, absolutely. The bold and cunning Aravindh fumbles very soon, and he is reduced to the level of a meaningless, lunatic joker ultimately. There is no punch to it. But moments like the scene where the apologetic cousin falls at Tamil's mother's feet inconsolably keep you awake, connected and moved. The performance sparkles. Instantaneously, the centre of focus shifts to the 'officer' of the IT Dept. and things begin to proceed in the auto-mode with the usual stunts-in-rains (..protecting a pregnant wife too! yes, they were on the way to a hospital for delivery in an autorickshaw, and it was raining too when the bunch of goons stopped them. Can you beat it?) and also some superficial sub-plots, and the quick volte-face of the officer's assistant and 'The end'. But one nice thing is that the hero never even touches the villain - forget chasing him down the streets and bashing his brains out. 

The last portions of the film are a let down. It also gets preachy when Tamil spits out moral lessons to his cousin and us. But perhaps that is the soul of the movie. Money cannot buy happiness. And here is where the movie diverges from the beaten track of the rags-to-riches plots, and manages to score too. In the end, Tamil is not even a penny richer, in fact with the new addition to his family his financial worries are only going to worsen, but - the couple is happy, as the film ends Tamil is seen carrying his wife, Yamuna, lovingly.

Though the film does not take the craft to a new level or dishes out something exceptionally entertaining, this golden son with occasional bouts of fatigue - will not fail to warm your hearts.

(Spoilers above)

Land, air and water

In the recent Maniratnam interview with Peter Webber, jokingly reacting to the Indian ace director's comment on Censor Board being a creature that the colonial British had left behind, Webber said, 'Sorry about that! We left trains as well..' True. There are many, many other things the East India Company and the British left behind for us. One among the million things is the Circuit House in Muzaffarpur, Bihar, under 100km, almost north of Patna. Muzaffarpur region has been under the colonial crooks effectively since the Battle of Buxar (Oct, 1764); it was a part of the biggest booty the British East India Company managed for itself. But it has never been easy for the white man here. Like many other tropical places the district has almost never been free from malaria altogether. Blame it on the rainfall and humidity conditions. The district has the distinction of having a malaria control unit as early as 1949. Soon, the guys carried out indoor house-spraying operations, more technically known as 'Interception of vector species'. Sitting in the Circuit House, I too am tackling the same problem. Also, perhaps with the new, improved variants of the same set of tools. (any research done 'Preference for various skin colours: A field-based study conducted from the socioeconomic perspective of a mad mosquito'?)  Hit, Good Knight and the good old Tortoise are not of much help here. It's the very much tangible, physical, white mosquito net that lets you sleep, though you have a feeling that you are camping inside a white, highly-ventilated tent somewhere by a river. But I'm sure people here have not seen the imported electric mosquito bats that are ubiquitous down south, especially in the mosquito lands of Chennai. In fact, these terminator bats can be distributed by the local government; or any of the budding entrepreneurs can take up the exclusive dealership of such bats. Buddy, it's a booming business!  

But I am happy for one thing. Just across my room, there is Room No.1. In the very same room, over one hundred+ years ago, there stayed Kingsford, an infamous British magistrate. He had come on transfer from Bengal. I am happy I am not put up in his room. (Though it might actually turn out that much worse gentlemen and ladies spent nights in the room where I am now.) It's not that I will be tormented by his spirit or something like that, it's just that it is good I did not end up in his room. Kingsford, during his stint in Calcutta, was pretty notorious in the way he gave sentences that the Bengal group of revolutionaries decided to knock him off. Khudiram Bose (all of 18 years-8 months of age) and Prafulla Chaki (19) were the chosen ones to execute the magistrate. Just like the case of mistaken identity that would be repeating itself in Punjab after two decades, the teenage revolutionaries hurled bombs in a carriage that had in it, instead of that lucky fellow Kingsford, the wife and the daughter of a lawyer. The incident happened just outside the European Club, Muzaffarpur. They both were killed. A servant also got killed. All hell broke loose. It was April, 1908. While Chaki shot himself dead, after a speedy trial Bose was hanged in Muzaffarpur (August, 1908). The cell in Muzaffarpur prison where Bose was lodged before he was sent to the gallows (see photo) has been converted into a memorial and the feeling you get as you enter the memorial-cell - has to be experienced.

But my journey to the district was not an easy one. I was bogged down by barotitis media. Well, this is not some kind of social or antisocial media that gets activated around the election time here. It is the doctor's term for the ear-lock thing you feel when you are unlucky enough during a flight's descent from the heights of say, about 10km, to the narrow stretch of the runway at the near sea level. The term is more relevant in the lives of aircrew, though. Ear-lock and the likely drum rupture are easily avoidable, unless you have very serious nasal block and yet you decide to fly anyway. For grown-ups there is something called the Valsalva maneuver, though it may sound like a weird training session taken out of the Navy SEALs manual and worse, when you actually do it you may look like some amateur yogic practitioner trying to impress a foreigner passenger by performing a magical breathing exercise mid-air, Valsalva is really a cool workout to prevent your ear drum rupture. Though the damage by itself is not as dangerous as it sounds, for the simple fact that the ear drum is a membrane that can heal like it happens with a minor damage to the skin, it definitely irritates you - as the ear with the damaged membrane turns you half-deaf for some time; while you also lose the perception of orientation and depth to an extent. Other easier techniques to avoid such a plight are chewing a gum, yawning, or with the children it is about stuffing their mouths with candies. I'm sure all of us are painfully used to the horrible and helpless cries of small kids during the time of landing. I wish the airlines had started handing out lollipops to kids flying. 

But with certain airlines you cannot wish anything more than a safe landing. Though Air India is generous enough to provide you with decent meals on board, and 4-5 movies to choose from your personal entertainment system, it was a rude shock when a hostess pulled me out of the engrossing Chak de India with the announcement, 'We will be landing in Hyderabad in a few minutes'. Man! I got the tickets for Bangalore-Delhi. And now - Hyderabad?! Luckily, it was just a mistake on her part. Nice. (Was she already missing her home?) Sad that unlike with buses and trains, you do not have the possibility of peeping out of the window and being assured that you are on the right path. You can't take chances these days, you see. Some kind of balloons with neon displays at the upper reaches of the troposphere might be just the need of the hour. Else you feel so left out and kind of scared too, amidst the unending stretch of blueness with those bubbly white clouds jumping around pointlessly. At least, I get scared. 

And every time you use the flush (kind of air suction or something) in a flight, the noise it generates gives you a chilling feeling that something has gone awfully wrong and the flight is about to explode into flying pieces any moment. Again, luckily, things are okay soon and you walk out of the in-flight washroom a much relieved person - if not of anything else, at least due to the fact that the flight is still in tact and you have not messed it up by mistakenly pressing some emergency button or something instead of the flush. Thank God! And, I am not sure about the other carriers, but these days, Indigo, has started announcing the home towns of the pilots and cabin crew flying with you. I don't know how this extra, personal information about the flight's people is going to help me as a passenger. Say even if someone gets really worked up about a particular pilot's domicile, there is no way he can jump out of the flight or throw the pilot out. He has to live with it, fly with it. I cannot as well say 'No, I don't want a Delhi pilot, get me a Japanese.' Same with the flight attendants too. So what is this hometown business all about? Perhaps, given our busy schedules, announcing the horoscopes of the eligible pilots and cabin crew will be a more useful thing to do - a flight in the right direction.

On the way to Darbhanga, about 70km from Muzaffarpur, I made a detour to the Research Centre for Makhana (Near Delhi More, Darbhanga) that was bang on one of those highways of the famed golden quadrilateral network that ran across the state of Bihar. The campus is a part of the ICAR Research Complex for the Eastern Region. I had known makhana (fox nut/gorgon nut) only about a month ago, though I remember savouring something like makhana kheer long, long ago. Surprisingly, these spongy pops are from nuts taken from an aquatic plant that is similar to lotus or say, water lily. With broad leaves that are of the size of the royal meal plates in Chokhi Dhani and serious thorns all over, makhana plant is not particularly inviting. Don't you mess with me! But, I would have ended up a totally different opinion had I been here around in summer when they would have been in full bloom - attractive purple flowers all over the pond. Romantic, but thorns attached. 

Soon, the flowers turn into fruits that burst open under water, leaving the seeds to be painstakingly picked up from the bottom of the ponds, around September. Fishermen, not necessarily farmers, do all this. After some cumbersome processing the seeds pop out to give out the spongy, white, tiny balls of makhana. Lots of work is happening to bring about more and more efficient automation to make the seeds pop up effortlessly, and to usher in ways to plant makhana in farmlands with about just 1-2 feet of water, as against in deeper ponds. With a good water source, these plants are ideal for an integrated pond system that can give you year round returns: makhana-fish-poultry-fruits trees on the bund. The pop has good medicinal value; pooja value; and being gifted with the trait of low fat-high protein this kind of pop is an enviable creation - though we can do much better with thornless makhana plants. And for that matter, even with thornless rose plants or seedless seethaphal. Wow!

Kuttram Kadithal

"Introduction of sex education in schools: Interview with the cross-section of the public." An Assistant Station Director of Doordarshan asks his journalist to cover the subject. The ASD is VK Ramasamy and the journalist is played by Mohan ('mic' fame). The year was 1987. Rettai Vaal Kuruvi. Almost three decades after the adult comedy by Balu Mahendra the issue is still hot and happening in the Tamil society as well as its prime medium - cinema. Kuttram Kadithal ('The Punishment') has won the National Award for the Best film in Tamil recently. It follows the Kaaka Muttai model, which is about planning the theatrical release after a movie does a festival circuit and/or wins some handsome awards. The philosophy: make a semi-arthouse movie with near zero budget, showcase to the world, publicise the accolades and then go about fixing a release date - and whatever you get after that directly goes to your pocket. Kuttram was the only Tamil movie selected under Indian Panorama at the IFFI, Goa, 2014. By the way out of the 26 films selected, seven were Malayalam, and seven were Marathi.

In the 1987 movie the interviews that span across a spectrum of people are presented in such a way to broadly give a thumbs up for sex education in schools. But in this latest outing on the highly debated subject you never can really make out what the film stands for. Perhaps it has got to do with the subject itself which does not readily align itself with black or white. But more than that the problem remains unresolved in this movie as it also tries to attend to another evergreen issue of corporal punishment in schools. The movie revolves round the incidents that are set off after a fifth grade kid collapses instantaneously after a teacher's slap. Aspects of religion, love, child behaviour, forgiveness, state, guilt, compassion, etc. are fitted painstakingly, with an extra dose of red, in the overall canvas to create a hard-hitting movie where even the characters who are out-of-focus excel in their performance. 

Kutram evolves gradually and you take some time to get adjusted to the long sequences devoid of much humour. Once you are in sync with the heart of the movie you start wondering why there are not many such movies being made. With some amazing shots by cinematographer Manikandan, soulful songs and score by Shankar Rengarajan, and a stellar show by the lead artists - Radhika Prasidhha, Pavel, Uayakumar, master Ajay - the movie does not display any sign of compromise in the craft. Bharathiar's famous song (chinannchiru kiliye..) is intelligently placed in the movie; and its picturisation is just awesome with some really deeply connecting montages that breathe more life into the movie.

But somewhere towards the end the movie takes a melodramatic twist and the vital question it raises remain unanswered conclusively. The teacher comes forward and announces it was wrong of her to hit a child, but the education officer crisply puts that it calls for physical punishment to discipline a child. People with kids can empathise with that! And if you take a look at the other issue of sex education in schools, the way things happen make you wonder - was the education required for the children or in fact for the teacher herself? What is the sense a teacher should make when a fifth grader tells her 'On your birthday I will kiss you!'? How should a teacher react? These areas leave you puzzled, but that is possibly because the movie just wants to flag the issues and not address them. Or is it really so? 

In Anjali (1990), there is a series of naughty sequences with a noisy group of kids like - a little boy kissing an equally little a girl  mischievously, a kid trying to propose to a girl secretly, and a group of kids impishly asking an old man - 'How are children born?' - that soon breaks into a peppy number. In the past twenty five years, perhaps the actual Tamil milieu has not changed much outside director Mani Ratnam's vision. The real (off screen) society is still grappling with the issues like sex education, required level of interaction between boys-girls, etc. But that is no fault of Bramma G., the director of Kuttram. He has done justice to his work; and pretty seriously too. The two hours are worth it. However, do no expect to watch a classic.

Love revisited

'What is happening to me? This is not right.' It was well past 2 o' clock early morning and even the yelling stray dogs around the street corner had decided to cozy themselves up in the dirty rags of the overflowing garbage bins. But Badrinatha's mind refused to rest - and it was not the first such night. His entry-level mobile had a photo of a lady, the image was blurred. But Badri did not take his eyes off it. He was not able to.

He had met Priyanka madam for the first time three months back, within a week of landing in Bangalore. Badri came from a coastal town on the other side of the Western Ghats where he was used only to the crisscrossing breezes from the land and the sea. The December chillness of the city was adding some kind of uneasiness to his body and thoughts. 'Who decides right or not?' He had lived his entire life of two decades in and around his native town and only recently he had joined one of the important branches of that leading private bank (not the one with many Is and Cs) in the heart of Bangalore. Badri was an office boy aka peon, not a manager or an executive. And he was not even on the payrolls of the bank, as just like many other companies the bank too had deployed outsourced office boys for all its branches all over the country. The staffing company had conducted mass recruitment drives in many of the Tier-II cities in south India, and Mangalore was one such place. M.Badrinatha had three siblings, and as a stereotyped poor family, all of them were girls - two elder and one younger. The sad part did not end there - his father's death some time back added an extreme dose of pathos to the family. The cocktail of poverty, three unmarried sisters and the departed father foreclosed Badri's dream of pursuing a higher studies in hotel management. But luckily for the family the staffing MNC had camped in Mangalore. Thanks to the shining India. The B.A. graduate from a small town ended up as one more headcount in that mega HR company during the recruitment drive. Badri's mother was thrilled to see her son getting appointed in a big company in Bangalore. The promised monthly take home was Rs.12,575/-. 'Take care ma, I will talk to you daily. Bye Rekha, Hema, Savithri..!' With a broken heart, but full of hope of a bright life, Badri had set out his journey to Bangalore with the usual mother-made pickles and assorted ready-mix powders in his old Aristocrat briefcase; he also carried a family photo that dated to at least ten years back.

Love is said to strike instantaneously. In Badri's case it was so untrue. It was 9:15 in the morning of 8th September 2014, and Badri reported for work at the MG Road branch. Along with Badri the company had recruited 174 other graduates from small towns. All of them had reported in Bangalore on the first day of September. Over the next five days the entire batch of new recruits were - made to complete their joining formalities, given certain basic behavioral and communication training, evaluated after the training and assigned appropriate client based on the results. While the average ones, in terms of pleasing demeanor, dressing sense and the looks, were sent to various government departments and state-run PSUs, the smart-looking lads with a slightly better shade of communication skills were sent to the best of corporate clients like the private sector bank were Badri landed. Office timings: 9:15 AM to 6:00 PM. Weekly off and other holidays: as per the bank's policy. Uniform: Checked sky blue shirt with a pair of navy blue trousers. Job profile: To assist the zonal manager with the entire spectrum of errands from fetching a cup of coffee from the vending machine to attending to the mobile phones as and when asked to.

Badrinatha was exploding with excitement, 'Yes ma, today was the first day at work!'. The networks took his voice across the mountains to his mother, who was equally excited. 'It is comfortable, the bank office has full AC... Bisleri water for everyone..free tea and coffee.. I have blue and blue uniform.. the company provides it. I have three friends here from my company. Telephone is free ..I can give a call to anyone in Bangalore...it will not be charged..' 'Take care of your health Badri, wear sweaters...don't take too much pickle with food.' 'All four of us are staying in a nearby area..we start by 8:30 in the morning. The bank people are very strict about the office timings. Even one minute beyond 9:15..and they will report to my company. There are huge buildings on the way to my office. This Hemanth.. is from our area.. near Udupi. We are staying together.' 'Your sisters are missing you dear, they are managing all the household works. My knee joints are aching more these days...' 'There is a metro train line very close to my house ma, I will take you all when you come here. Take care of sisters.' The conversation between the mother and the son went something like that. Badri told his mother about everything from the exotic flowers of Lalbagh, to the statues of Sir Visvesvaraya and Queen Elizabeth, to the prevalence of other languages like Telugu, Tamil and the like in Bangalore, and to the spick and span toilets of the bank. But he did not tell her about one thing. But it was quite natural. Priyanka madam.

Within the first one hour of reporting at the bank, Badri was assigned to her. 'Good morning madam.' 'OK, I will call you.' She was busy with her iPad. Soon the tiny red light outside her cabin turned on. It meant Badri was being called in. It was the second time he saw her; not the first time. He did not feel butterflies in his stomach. But when you dive into the river from the height of a cliff your heart is filled with a rainbow of themes like fear, thrill, craziness, freedom, adventure, pride, you feel you are supreme, you feel you are at the top of the world though you are actually falling freely, your body piercing the air and the cool wind hitting your face with an increasing vigour, the dark and inviting waters of the river getting closer and closer and very soon that exuberance, that bliss, that nirvana you experience the very moment when your downward stretched arms just touch the icy chill water and instantaneously your head, torso and then the entire body plunges into the deep, dark waters full of life and you keep gliding inside the water like an arrow without any effort whatsoever, again like a free fall from a mountaintop filled with thrill and freedom, but no thoughts, just a blank mind. Badri felt the same when he saw his boss, Ms.Priyanka Krishna, for the second time. 'Hellooo... can you get these things photocopied quickly..' Yes madam!' 'Dumb fellow.'

Piyanka was by no standards attractive, but no one can deny she was something more than just 'beautiful'. A mystic beauty? Perhaps it was the charm, or the peculiar, tasteful way she smiles. Perhaps it was something that could only be seen and experienced. Perhaps she had a very down-to-earth beauty to her; it was that kind of beauty that was not dangerous, generally. The first time Badri met her she was in a pair of simple, dignified, cotton salwars. The small black bindi on her forehead gave her a perceptible sense of completion. It is not very sure what exactly pulled Badri towards her. But there he fell; the very first day; the very second sight. Priyanka's parents had got her married off when she was twenty four, it was sixteen years ago. Both her sons were in higher classes of one of those reputed convents in the city. Their father, Dr.Krishna, was a reclusive professor at the IIM, Bangalore, researching on something exotic falling under the broad umbrella of microeconomics. But the central point was Priyanka did not look like someone who had lived on this planet for forty years; her charm and the aura of dignity and elegance that was always like a halo around her, easily made people believe she was hardly thirty years of age. 'She should be 34 or 32.. so what even if it is 15 or even 55?', Badri told himself.

A month passed. 'Badri do you support your family?' 'Yes madam. I sent Rs.6500 yesterday..through a friend.' 'That's nice! Such a small boy you are ..and you are supporting the entire family... do you like Bangalore?' 'Madam the place is good but very costly... But I miss my family. I talk to my sisters often. I have promised to buy them a mobile phone. They also want to study further..' 'Work hard. You are very sincere. You will come up in life.' 'Thank you madam', Badri left the freshly-filled coffee cup on Priyanka's desk. 'Is it not cheating? Backstabbing? I am cheap..This lady is so concerned about me..but me.. my stupid mind ..this is wrong..'. As he left Priyanka's cabin with the empty tray in his hands, his heart beat grew louder - almost to the point of becoming audible to the customers seated in the longue.

Second month. '...our world was limited to our village and occasionally Mangalore madam... But our father used to take us to all the nearby temples.. and the village fairs. Madam, everyone liked him.' 'Your innocence..it is very ..no, it is impossible to find boys like you here.', Priyanka was handing over a couple of files to Badri, when the tip of her tiny finger touched Badri for a moment. His cousins living in the coastal villages had told him about the stingray, its sharp venom and the unbearable pain it inflicted, but it also gave the victim a type of high not given even by desi liquor. Badri was reminded of that. But this time he felt a thousand butterflies in his tummy that was already filled with the nearby Sagar's masala dosai and sweet sambhar. 'This is...just an accidental touch with her ...golden finger...delicate lotus petal-like finger...but what an effect! And how beautiful she looked today.. that pure pearl necklace hugging her slender neck..and.. the most charming smile I have seen in my life. The way her cheeks turn red like a red rose, like sapphire.. no ruby stones, when she laughs, blushes.. her husband.. that Krishna guy is very lucky. . boring professor...I wish...No.. stop that fool.' Badri was not able to sleep that night. He had a quick talk with her mother before switching off the lights. He closed his eyes, but his mind wandered. He closed the eyes tightly, his mind picked up many strange and ugly things while wandering. He was awake till 2:45 AM. The next morning he did not remember when he fell asleep. The last song he remembered hearing on the FM was 'Ee Sundara..' from Amrutha Varshini. The lines he remembered roughly translated as '...every day, every moment, you made me dance to your song..'

Third month. It was an office picnic in one of those fancy resorts in the city outskirts. The family members were also invited for the outing. Even the peons on contract were asked to be a part of the fun. The IIM-Professor was not present, but Priyanka had got her sons for the get-together. They were lovely boys. 'Please have this..', Badri offered them two 5 Stars bars, while smiling at Priyanka. The kids indifferently grabbed the bar and moved in the direction of the video game parlour. 'Madam..sir?' 'He is in Indonesia, some presentation, research..we miss him' 'That's sad madam.. I hope we will have another picnic soon and he can come for that', Badri told Priyanka while feeling immensely happy from deep within. 'Thank God! The old man did not turn up.. I hate to even see his face. I love Indonesia!' Soon Priyanka too joined her sons, then she was seen hanging out with her colleagues. Badri just could not take his eyes. For a brief period she was out of his sight. Badri felt terrible. Very soon, his heart told him she was near the buffet area. He went there and she was indeed there. He kept looking at her; her beauty was increasing with every passing day. She was just dazzling in her pair of dark jeans and a printed top. Badri did not even try to look elsewhere; he was just staring at her. Suddenly, to his utter shock Priyanka turned towards him. Badri felt his heart jump into his throat. 'Oh! I am badly caught.. no way.. she will not have a clue..' 'Can you come and click us..', Priyanka handed over her mobile. 'Y..yes madam.' Priyanka was with her old-time friends. They were a joyful lot. One of them too gave her mobile to Badri. Soon after some group shots they dispersed, loudly. Badri did not know from where he got the courage. 'Madam...', he collected himself, '.. can I take one photo?' It was only a few moments before she replied, but those moments were like hell for Badri. 'I am sure she will scold me.. she might ask me to even leave the company.. please..please..' 'Hey, sure!'. And since the picnic day Badri spent hours on his mobile every night; looking at the blurred photo of Priyanka.

'What is happening with me? This is not right.' It was well past 2 o' clock in the morning. 'But who defines what is right? God has not given any rules...only the society.. the humans have created rules. God's only rule is do not kill anyone..nothing more. This is not very unusual for a man. . How to control.. forget it..why the hell to control..?' Badri's mind was a hurricane in itself. The same set of questions and reassuring answers kept going rounds, night after night. The hurricane tormented him. The sleepless eyes begged for some sleep, night after night. 'She is so nice to me.. So what..I am not cheating her.. I am only .. it is OK..the two boys.. So..? This is just my feeling...you have only one life..' He just did not know what was happening. 'Why do you trouble me.. why did I come to Bangalore, darling?', he asked kissing the photo, with some element of guilt and lots of pleasure. Then something happened to him. He quickly texted to Priyanka, 'I love you madam'.

Krishna and Priyanka had a rule: Mobile phones were banned in the bedroom. During the nights the phones were usually left charging on the book rack near the dining table. It had become a habit for the couple.

But that particular night, at around 3:30 AM, a low 'Beep-beep' SMS tone came from somewhere under a pillow. It was Priyanka's pillow.

Maari

Maari (Dhanush) is a mischievous goon (of course, with a golden heart and cigarette smoke in slo mo) in total control of his area in North Chennai; he has a godfather in 'coal' Velu (Shanmugarajan, popularly known as Peikkaaman); there are other baddies waiting for the right moment to dislodge Maari and take his throne; Maari has two close buddies (one Sanikizhamai for comedy, the other one Adithaangi to take slaps from Maari: remember Goundamani-Senthil?); then there is a ruthless, deceitful cop (yes, he is newly posted to Maari's area), and a sweet lady (of course, we need her for dance, etc.). Those are the ingredients of director Balaji Mohan's third project. By now you would have made your own story with that recipe. Don't worry, I am sure you will be 99% right with your story development. Add pigeon racing, Maari's unadulterated love for those peace-loving birds and red sanders smuggling. Bingo! You got it 100%. Yes, believe me!

The film opens with a cop (very neat performance by Kaali Venkat) explaining the rise of Maari from zero to dadahood to the newly posted SI. The initial scenes are presented impressively, and you gear up for another quality entertainer from a successful, young filmmaker. You keep looking for something new, something fresh, to happen, if not with the story at least with the screenplay. That is quite natural as a performer par excellence like Dhanush has joined hands with the KSY-fame Balaji Mohan. But the twist in the script is that - nothing really entertaining or engrossing happens. Apparently, Maari's career as a goonda had kickstarted with his murder of a prominent rowdy. But people also consider it as a rumour. But whatever the case may be, the audience is left to wonder how did Maari actually rise to power. (other than due to Velu's grace.) Throughout the movie Maari keeps uttering (punch dialogue) 'Senjuruvaen' (loosely, 'I will wipe you out.') with a nice style. But till the end you keep wondering what was he referring to. When superstar says 'Naan oru thadava sonna...' it is backed by his powerful voice, and some action in the script to reinforce the point.  But to take out the strong voice as well as not to have any supporting action for the punchline leaves us in the middle of nowhere.

Vijay Yesudas, though he has been given only a limited set of emotions (anger, more anger, disappointment, and helplessness) to perform, sparkles as a menacing cop. But some of his dialogues sound outdated and worse - he is a talkative cop. (After Soodhu Kavvum's Bramma, the audience really do not want a tough cop to open his mouth!) Especially the scene where in front of the police station he shows his true colours to the public - it is a new low in the new wave (the era of short filmmakers-turned-successful directors) of Tamil cinema. His dialogues sound like taken out of Konar urai that used to give one-page explanation for a Thirukkural of mere seven words. One more scene that gives a tough fight to the police station scene is the place when Robo Shankar sums up Maari's legend to the lady. And the ploy of using Kajal Agarwal.. come on! How long should the audience endure such tactics? And how did a family like the heroine's land up in that place? And who are those customers visiting a boutique amidst the slums? More attention to characterisation would have made lives easier for us. 

Dhanush has tried to do whatever he can, but the script does not offer much scope in terms of comedy or action or emotions for the immensely talented star. He has attempted to give a mass entertainer with lots of style and music, but somewhere down the line the movie has failed to create a character and identity for itself. The posters say 'A rockstar musical', but the movie goes in a different tangent and there too it fails in its attempt to balance stylish rowdyism with humour. (precisely where Jigarthanda scored). 

If there is one guy who has taken the movie on his shoulders it is Robo Shankar. With his amazing sense of humour laced with butler English and funny expressions and noises, Robo as Sanikizhamai has provided a rock solid support to Dhanush and the movie. The comedy that runs as a constant undercurrent is enjoyable. Anirudh-Dhanush combination has clicked yet again, but at some places the BGM just falls short (luckily) of rupturing the eardrum. The established cinematographer Om Prakash has done a decent job within the scope offered. The climax fight CG work looks childish, as you can easily make out it is only the computer flames that engulf the piles and piles of logs. The major plus of the movie is the length. It is well under 2 hr 30 mins. More scenes would have made us more restless.

A passable movie that lacks soul. 

First half - 50 movies

Most of us have this very basic tendency of doubting any 'round' figures in any report. Even in a water-cooler talk we will go with a person saying, 'Renjith has four (or six) affairs' than with someone, who based on meticulous data collection and thorough third party verification convincingly says, 'Renjith has five affairs'. 

I have completed the first half of 2015 with 50 movies. These fifty fall under different shades of languages, periods, and genres.

Top five:

1. Sunset Blvd. (Eng/Billy Wilder/1950)

This is a 65-year old movie, but Sunset will give a tough fight to any of the black humour/drama made even this date. The film is presented as a narration by a dead man and you get engrossed in it right from the first scene. Set in the times of transition between the silent movies and the talkies, Sunset takes a close look at the peculiar and intriguing relation between a failing screenwriter and a fallen star of the silent era. With a superb performance by Gloria Swanson as the obsolete artist and interwoven with real filmmakers and studio settings, Sunset is easily one of the greatest movies ever made in English. And perhaps the greatest movie ever made on movies.

2. Fargo (Eng/Joel Coen/1996)

This 1996 winner of the Best Original Screenplay at the Oscars, is captivating, enthralling and - cold-blooded. The pace picks up slowly, but it just sucks you into it very soon with a series of unexpected murders, culminating in a scene depicting the (probably) most-chilling way of disposing a dead body ever shown on screen. Fargo is full of an amazing set of characters - right from the lead investigator, the pregnant police chief Marge Gunderson (for which Frances McDormand picked the Academy Award for Best Actress), to the clumsy Jerry Lundegaard who hatches a plan to get his wife kidnapped for a ransom from his father-in-law, to the laconic, sturdy criminal Gaear Grimsrud, and the funny, kidnapper Carl Showalter - whose interactions leaves you guessing 'What next?' Interestingly, the film starts with the lines "This is a true story. The events depicted in this film took place in Minnesota in 1987. At the request of the survivors, the names have been changed. Out of respect for the dead, the rest has been told exactly as it occurred.", though the Coen bros. later acknowledged that while the killings were based on real events, the characters and the plot were imaginary.

3. The Wizard of Oz (Eng/multiple directors/1939) 

One of the oldest talkie movies I have seen. Based on the 1900 book with a similar title this musical is just an amazing take on the fantasies and insecurities of a girl child, and her journey to and from a dreamland, Oz. It was refreshing to experience the use of colours in the film. Unlike the usual colour movies that we are used to - where the flashback scenes are shown in B&W - The Wizard starts and ends in grayscale - but the imaginary world of the girl is presented in colour. That is a masterstroke. The movie has good special effects too. Even after 75 years, The Wizard continues to entertain.

4. Kaaka Muttai (Tamil/M.Manikandan/2014)

A refreshingly simple, original and spectacular take on the rich-poor divide; ironically the beauty of Muttai lies in the fact that it never tries to shout at the top of its voice "I am a leftist movie". Loaded with stellar performances, creative camerawork, fantastic art, a fun-filled freshly-baked script backed by deft direction, Muttai will be around for a long time to come. Success of such movies provides renewed hope for new talents in Kollywood - as well as its audience.

5. The Infernal Affairs - I, II, III (Cantonese/Lau-Mak/2002-03)

Over a Saturday afternoon-evening I completed all the three parts, back to back. (A long back, I had tried this with the three editions of The Godfather, but I did not succeed.) A big fan of The Departed, TIA was always in my to-see list as I was curious to know about the foreign language movie that inspired the legendary Martin Scorsese to remake it in English. After the viewing, I realise the greatness of veteran director Scorsese lies in having an openness of mind to recreate a Chinese spy drama in Boston; and the greatness of TIA lies in converting a die-hard Departed fan into a TIA fan.

Next five:

6. Boyhood (Eng/Richard Linklater/2014)

7. JFK (Eng/Oliver Stone/1991)

8. The Shining (Eng/Stanley Kubrick/1980)

9. NH 10 (Hindi/Navdeep Singh/2015)

10. Wild Tales (Spanish/Damian Szifron/2014)

Bottom five:

46. Komban (Tamil/M.Muthiah/2015)

This is a good paisa vasool movie that delicately and successfully steers away from the Paruthiveeran mould. A slight slip here or there would have rendered Komban unbearable. Luckily, it is not the case. Karthi's screen presence does the wonder. Another trophy in oldie Rajkiran's kitty too. 

47. Naan Kadavul (Tamil/Bala/2009)
I revisited this one after a period of six years. Now the film looks contrived; it just hangs in thin air perhaps just to prove some point to someone. I liked the movie back then. In the mean time, Bala too has gained more aura as a bold creator.

48. Natural Born Killers (Eng/Oliver Stone/1994)

There is something about this Oliver Stone movie. But I am still not able to make out what was the vision he had set for the movie. There are just too many crazy things that do not come together well to deliver a good movie experience.

49. Beyond the Reach (Eng/Leonetti/2014)

I just waited for the film to get over. But interesting casting - Michael Douglas in a purely negative role.

50. Anegan (Tamil/K.V.Anand/2015)

One more case of the talented actor Dhanush getting let down by a big-name director and a seemingly brilliant screenplay. Trying to live up to the inspiration of Nenjam Marapadhillai (Tamil/1963/C.V.Sridhar) and demands of the modern audience, Anegan reminds us no one (including the veteran actor Karthik ver 2.0) can salvage a script gone awry.

Terminator Genisys just missed the list; it was released here on July 3rd. It was my first movie for the second half of the year. Had I watched the movie a few days earlier, very easily Anegan would have looked a lot better. Why was this boring fifth itinerary, bereft of creativity, even made at all? Waiting for another Terminator by James Cameron.

Happy second half!

Summer rains

Apoorva Sagodharargal (1989)

April 14 is the Tamil New Year's day, and I would rate Apoorva Sagodharargal released on this date twenty six years ago as the best masala movie from Kollywood since then. (One of director Shankar's corruption-based movies will come a close second.) Apoorva has a deceptively simple framework of two long-separated brothers coming together to avenge their father's murder. But what a magic on screen! Apoorva demonstrates the possibilities in store when all the A-rated members of an A-rated team click in unison. This is not a movie where you can easily say "The music is wonderful!" and keep quiet after that. With this movie, you cannot leave out P.C.Sriram when talking about Ilayaraja; you cannot miss Crazy Mohan when mentioning about the scriptwriter Kamal or the lyricist Vaali. The same with inspector Janakaraj, mom Manorama and the villain team that includes the veterans Nagesh and Jaishankar. And all the entertainment - three Kamals including a dwarf, four innovative revenge killings, five fantastically shot songs, mother sentiment, great love tragedy, superb comedy, amazing background score and enjoyable circus footage - in just under 2 hours and 30 minutes. Has any other movie managed that? I doubt. 

The movie has a placid start with a close shot of a duck in an idyllic village, only to catapult us to a racy trajectory with a jeep ripping through a thatched hut like an arrow tearing a tender heart. The action block goes on with the father-police inspector Sethupathy Kamal stealing the limelight - behaving like a roaring lion with the foursome villains and at once turning into a naughty kitten with his pregnant wife. Very soon, within 12 minutes, everything is over: Old-time comedian Nagesh gets established as a barbaric villain with a sharp humour, with another oldie, detective Jaishankar joining him as an advocate criminal; the villains are arrested and disgraced by Sethupathy; but court acquits all of them while throwing the upright inspector out of job; soon it is the baddies turn and they ravage the beautiful couple as the couple share some lovely moments; Sethupathy is over-powered and killed brutally; and the title credits keeps rolling as the poisoned, pregnant widow escapes on a boat, with Ilayaraja giving out one of his best melodies.

Only a few other movies might have reached this level of screenplay in establishing so much, so tightly, in just about a dozen opening minutes. Even the the sheet anchor scenes of Thalapathi (1991) shot in black and white - of a teenage, unwed mother abandoning her just born baby in one of the open bogies of a goods train; the baby being rescued by some kids only to be accidentally let to float in a stream; and soon the baby being regained from the flowing water and he growing up into a dejected, angry little boy with a single question that resonates throughout the movie 'Why did my mother abandon me?''; all this with Ilayaraja rendering an emotionally charged melody as the titles roll - that run for the initial ten minutes as the titles roll, and which are equally backed by Ilayaraja's masterpiece melody, is a shade lesser than that of Apoorva's prelude scenes.

The interval block comes around the exact middle of the overall running time of the movie, with Srividya revealing the brutal past to Appu Kamal and the dwarf-clown instantaneously deciding to take revenge. This change of mind of the clown is shown symbolically, beautifully with a shot of the clown shrieking with a long, shiny sword in his arms. The transformation of a despondent dwarf into a revenge machine is complete and conveyed with that single shot. What a thought! The second half is about how the Lilliputian goes about killing the villains - in novel ways. Appu uses one of his circus tigers to maul to death his second target, Nasser. This scene of merciless, gory murder transforms smoothly into a peppy number with Raja Kamal performing the puli vesham (tiger costume) folk dance. And in between this quick and enjoyable transition is ample humour by Janakaraj, as the investigating inspector and his sidekick constable, Sambandham. Neenga engeyo poiteenga sir! And Kamal Haasan, the ingenuous script writer, in an attempt to achieve the desired scene shift, has also used used 2-D cartooning here. It is highly creative, and humourous as well. (In the 2001 movie Alavandhaan, Kamal once again uses 2-D cartoons. This time to mellow down violence and blood flow. It is said QT got inspired by the comic sequences of Alavandhaan, and used the technique in one of the Kill Bills.)

In the scenes in and around Appu's love failure, the actor Kamal and the maestro compete terrifically with each other. These are a set of rare scenes in cinema, that work equally good - without audio or without video. Due to Kamal the actor's sheer brilliance, you can feel Appu's pain even if you cut out Ilayaraja's background score. Well, you have the same effect even when you turn the other side and just listen to the heart wrenching melody. It is like two extraordinary players easily winning the match on their own, yet preferring to come together - not just to win, but to create history. Lyricist Vaali's versatility is legendary. In Apoorva he proves his mettle and range hands down. Sample this: Andha vaanam azhudhathaan indha boomiyey sirikkum.. oozing with pain. Vazhavaikkum kaadhalukku jey! Vaalibathin paadalukku jey!.. pumping love and joy. The visuals too match the high quality of lyrics and music. It is quite interesting to see the car mechanic Kamal Raja dancing his intro song in the shop floor of an automobile factory; same goes for vazhavaikkum song that is made a part of the story, rather than just being left as a prop. That is the beauty of Apoorva. It is quite a task to dissect a scene and say authoritatively who has excelled. It appears the artists, the writer, the composer, and all others associated were in sync, were in flow, throughout the making. Every single frame has everyone's best output.

But if I were to single out one person who raises above the rest, it is probably the cinematographer P.C. Sriram. No hi-tech graphics was used in the movie. It is sheer, old-fashioned camera tricks, real hard work and some good ideas that made Appu look like Appu. Yes, the DOP had a solid support from Kamal. But PC is ultimately the brain of the movie. An angle missed here or there would have made the entire movie look like a high school drama where the kids play dwarfs with their legs visibly folded behind. Even to this day, the making of Apoorva awes everyone around. Even now, in the era of Transformers, Appu does not look childish. Looking back, where did things go wrong with Dasavathaaram (2008). More technology and less sweat?

The crowd of mechanics around Raja Kamal performs really well, though at times it resembles a well-managed stage drama. (Something similar to the kubeer jolly boys of Virumandi, 2004). But every star in the galaxy of artists that include Mouli, Delhi Ganesh and Gauthami shines just the right, best way throughout, and the overall effect it has on the movie is just marvelous. Hats off to director Singeetam Srinivasa Rao. It is not easy to manage talent. It is more difficult to manage more talent. Great movies are made bottom-down and it requires an able hand to weave the individual threads of brilliance into an inimitable tapestry of a very high standard. And the movie was in very safe hands.

A few heavy weights, including Kamal's Uthama Villain, are slotted to release this April - a full 26 years after Apoorva. What is a masala movie? It is not easy to define. What is a successful masala? Perhaps, this is even tougher to describe. But whatever they may mean, Apoorva Sagodharargal will be the most successful, big canvas masala of Kollywood since its release; the run will continue even after this April, may be.

Never say it again

I hate repetitions. The other day when I was at the lobby waiting for those guys to finish fiddling around with their system and allot me a room, Prof.Madhavan bumped into me. After the initial default sentences his talk drifted towards his daughter for no valid reason. She was doing some graduation, somewhere. 'You won't believe me Sanjay! Last weekend she just demanded four thousand rupees...for a night trek. She has a set of equally adamant friends. It is a routine. These girls gear up for the weekend and I am the victim. Yes! She wanted four thousand rupees!' Here! He started to repeat. I hate repetitions. He did not care for the fact my room key was already in my hand. '..Her mother does not encourage her, but she somehow supports her. These ladies… they gang up. Every rupee I earn is .. I mean I struggle so hard at the institute, at the classes, ... during such travels...and you know my problems. But she just does not care. She just wants four thousand rupees. Full stop.' Come on man! That is the third time you are quoting the figure. It is only four thousand rupees - it is not seventy six thousand three hundred and ninety one rupees and thirty seven paise or 3.14159265358. Give me a break! Why do people repeat? I hate repetitions. I do not like it when people repeat themselves. Is it .. 'Sanjay...are you listening?' Madhavan cut my thoughts. He went on to hold me up near the lobby aquarium for the next few minutes. Thankfully his nice daughter gave him a call and I was saved. I quickly said bye and left. Frustrating fellow.

But the world has many Madhavans. Even the last month, the taxi guy. 'There is no real love sir. I have been driving taxis for seven years ..from 2004 December…and not even for a single day I have missed going to the small church near the railway station. Even on rainy days or even on the days when I have a drop at the other corner of the city.. whatever it is, I make it a point to visit the church.' Though I did not start the conversation with the taxi driver, I do not mind such banal interventions as they make you forget your loneliness and the crowded roads alike. 'One day it was raining very heavily sir...my lover called me on my mobile. I was very happy. I was on the way to the church. But suddenly she said she did not like me. I did not know what to say. Everything is a drama. One big drama. There is no real love sir.' Oh my God! He started to repeat. He did not care to see if I was listening. I hate repetitions. 'What is the point sir? Anyway, I pray to the Lord daily. I do not miss to seek his shower of blessings. The same thing happened with my friend also sir. Where is humanity? Where are emotions? There is no real love sir.' The man was not drunk. But when people repeat themselves I feel as if someone is whipping me. And yes, there is no real love. It is simple. He was right. But he was not trying to explain the mechanics behind a flight taking off or the fundamentals of sound market segmentation to a high school girl. I do not like it when people repeat themselves. I can understand if you were to explain to a school boy why mitochondria have a different set of genes. You need to repeat some stuff… perhaps. But just to say there is no real love – do you need to repeat? Every time something is repeated I can feel someone lashing me with a salted stick. Someone whipping me. Why does someone have to repeat? I do not like it when people repeat themselves. I hate repetitions.

'Our Agra trip was just great!' Taj Mahal is.. grand! We have been planning for a vacation since a long time.' Prakash was my neighbour. We have been living in the adjoining flats for the past few years. Our children went to the same school. He helped me a lot when I was struggling to find a place under the sun. Those days... Such angles like Prakash cross our lives once in a lifetime, may be and may be not. After the self-proclaimed intellectuals of the Mumbai campus threw me out, I was like a fish out of water, though as a human being I hate beaches and pools, when I landed at the CHEP. It was about seven-eight years back. Prakash was a common friend then. 'All of us know about the Taj Mahal since our school days. . but man! You just have to see it to believe it! Taj Mahal is.. grand!' Come on Prakash! I can understand when you say that the godamm thing is grand. It is a very simple sentence conveying a very, very simple thought. And I have the basic level of intelligence to assimilate what you say. Do you doubt it? It is just a simple subject-verb-object sentence. What is the need to repeat it? I do not like it when people repeat themselves. And of all people why do you have to repeat? Taj Mahal is one of the best symbols of India. The best symbol of love. All the foreign VIPs waste time in clicking pictures sitting on that tasteless slab in front of that.. grand structure. Their wives too play to the gallery with their plastic smiles. I know. That grand piece of architecture was constructed over a period of more than two decades, by the Mughal emperor Shah Jehan for his late wife...late, third wife, Mumtaz Mahal. And you know how she died? She died while giving birth to their daughter. And you know what.. it was their fourteenth baby. Taj Mahal is in fact a grave. It is not a symbol of love. But the 'Hey Sanjay...are you with me?' Prakash cut my thoughts only to say, 'You should visit it. It is grand!' Another whiplash. This time the cut was very deep. It was unbearable. I felt every cell in my body getting torn into pieces. I felt some kind of an insect, a wasp, drilling into my ears and mercilessly cutting those lobes inside my skull. My hand muscles were getting stiffened as if I had died hours back. I don't know what happened next. I just said, 'I hate repetitions' and I pushed Prakash. We were chatting in the balcony of his home in the ninth floor. I was aware of that. Prakash did not survive. Though his family expected him to live forever.

I am Sanjay's brother. That incident happened three years ago. Sanjay seems to be better now. He is still in one of those rehab wards of NIMHANS. I tried repeating a few things during our conversation. He just smiled.

Yennai Arindhaal

Unlike the usual thala movies, Yennai Arindhal does not charge you with that extra horsepower - even when you are not watching the movie in one of those multiplexes where they heartlessly sell a tub of popcorn for a quarter of a thousand rupees. But what it does to you is something good, if not better, perhaps. Director Gautam (GVM) has finely recycled his earlier cop movies and Vaaranam Aayiram that glorified a daddy-son relation to bring out this film that flows like a serene, beautifully meandering stream which has only the reflection of the sun called Ajith Kumar constantly following it in its journey. And a sail down this stream is definitely pleasant. Full credits to GVM, for convincing the star to be a part of this gentle paced movie; and top score for Ajith Kumar too for grabbing the offer. Here is a movie that does not have an intro song for thala. Here is a movie that does not have flying Sumos, stupid punch dialogues, songs set in Switzerland with the group dancers covered in rangoli, silly slapstick comedy, childish heroines who perform item numbers and classical renditions with equal aplomb, a loud villain with his foolish deputies, and the final climax stunt where the hero kills about four dozen armed men including the loud villain.

Though sprinkled with moments of suspense that at times border on confusions, YA has an overall neat non-linear narrative that traces the life of Satyadev (Ajith Kumar), a cop who is torn between the action-filled world of policing and a small world of happiness. The star, well supported by comedian Vivek (not retd.), has carried the movie deftly on his shoulders with great ease and much needed restraint at the same time. YA once again goes to prove when Ajith is on screen you do not look at anyone else. Special mention has to be made about Trisha Krishnan, for gracefully maintaining her position as a police officer's love interest even a decade after Saamy's release. It is a tough task, actually. The Australian cinematographer Dan Macarthur has given us impressive visuals that blend smoothly with the script. Arun Vijay sparkles as Victor Manohar, the small time rowdy who later takes shape as the big, bad guy in control of the city's organ trade. But the entire ecosystem of the organ business, where people are kidnapped, killed and their hearts and livers harvested by some foreign doctors for lots of money, looks incredible at the surface and insane after a serious thought. Do such gangs really exist? Or is this crazy imagination? Luckily, the movie does not stay here for long. It moves on. The melody numbers are placed well; Harris Jayaraj has given a decent album. But some silence here and there would have made the back ground score more engrossing. 

YA is a good watch for the simplest reasons that GVM has retained his identity in spite of Ajith Kumar; and the star has managed to pull off the movie in spite of the limited scope it offers him to wear blazers and sunglasses. This is a good sign for Tamil cinema, and a strong signal for the other super heroes of Kollywood.

To earth, Yours truly

Dear earth people, 

My name is...well, it cannot be communicated in any of the languages you talk on earth. In our planet we name people based on the body fragrance they carry as new born babies. Just like the fingerprints you have, each one of our babies comes with a unique odour at the time of its birth. And we name a baby based on the way the newborn baby influences our olfactory setup. But, unlike your finger impressions and the palm lines, the body fragrance of our babies remain exactly the same throughout their lives - no matter what. (Even when someone is turning into ash, her body still gives out the same fragrance that she had as a new born, though for one last time.) It means the names we give remain relevant forever. It also means we do not have to bother about remembering anyone's name; we can know the name of a stranger walking down the street by just taking a deep breath in that direction. It is as simple. And if I were to tell you the greatest beauty of our planet, I would vote for the uniqueness in the names we carry. There are no repetitions in our names; the 33 billion of us carry different names. I am sure you will find it hard to grasp that, just like how we found it difficult to understand what was meant by a lie - until, that chap whom you referred by the name PK, kept hitting all of us with that thing called lie.

Things were okay during the initial days of his return to our home, over twenty years back. PK (allow me to use the earth name, please) manned our 17th mission to your planet. Though he was not as smart as the earlier ones we sent, he had an inherent charm that helped him gloss over his certain lack of substance. Yes, we do not talk to each other in our planet, as PK might have told you. But things changed. We had huge expectations from his mission. One of its objectives was to study the life expectancy of the desert animals in various arid zones of the earth. But a rude shock was in store for us. Our efforts to trace anything relating to the mission from the samples PK had brought turned disastrous. There was not a single item that was related to the mission. All that we could find was loads and loads of worn out cassettes; and much worse all the tapes had the very same human's voice. It was just baffling and annoying at the same time. I mean, you spend something around $75 billion and all that you get in return is some strange earth lady's voice? We just could not believe it! PK had taken us for a very long ride. The Body for Inter-galactic Travels and Studies (BITS) immediately blacklisted him from all future missions and slapped a handsome penalty too.

Well, from our earlier mission notes we were aware that something called as love existed in earth and it drove people real crazy. Perhaps, PK was a victim. He was the first recorded case of alien love in our planet. Soon, our fraternity ended up empathising with him. But that is only one side of the story. 

As I said, all this happened before twenty years when PK got back to us. Within a few days of his arrival, we could see there was something strange with his actions, behaviour. But he said "Aall is well". (He actually started talking.) One fine morning he invited all of us to come to his two bedroom house, apparently to have a look at a sample he had collected from the earth. Reluctantly, for the sake of friendship and science, some of us went. It appeared to be something like a brass coin flicked from one of our highly guarded museums. But he said it was a magical talisman that an earth godman blessed him with. He did not stop there. Closing his eyes, he started chanting incoherent and cacophonous couplets, and claimed them to be the namtras taught by the earth god himself. He said the earth god and godmen chose him. He claimed he had acquired supernatural powers. He boasted he did not have the need to go to earth anymore. He announced just by sitting at his home, with eyes closed and the namtras on his lips, he would be able to know what was happening in your lives. He said a lot more. We were all thrilled by his words. The director of our 16th mission, who happens to be me incidentally, was the man who was the most excited one. I wanted to learn every bit of the namtras that PK uttered. He declared he knew the techniques to transfer his super human powers to us. Is there someone whom greed has not touched? Temptation trampled our scientific temper.

Soon there was a beeline in front of PK's house to learn the namtras and acquire the advertised out-of-the-world powers. Everyone wanted to be like that Kryptonian who landed on your planet and who whenever wanting to fly had only to raise his hand towards the sky. Naturally, it was impossible for PK to teach all of us who pestered him, or perhaps he did not want to teach all of us. So he started an education centre with a capacity of one hundred pupils in its first batch. He fancily called it zero2infin2years. The classes were for two hours every day for two years. Good so far. But our jaws dropped when he told us his tuition fees. Normally, we spend about $70,000 for a reputable 2-year MBA course. PK's course was priced at an astronomical figure of $1,50,000! But, though most of us will not be comfortable wearing the briefs over the trousers, who does not long to be a superman? The entire batch got sold out. Most of us took study loans. As planned our classes ran for two hours every day and went on for two years. By then PK had left his job with the laboratory. He acquired two husbands, three wives, and a lot of stones and trees. He just rocketed into the zone of elites in no time. All he did was just sit at his home, make us utter (yes, we too started talking) some gibberish, eat and sleep. 

I was simultaneously pursuing a fellowship program with the linguistics department of the Sentre for Advanced Alien Studies (SAAS). It was the third year of my study on earth languages and it involved analysing about 17,600 fully developed language formats of your planet on a daily basis. And to cut a long story short, gradually, towards the end of the second year of PK's course, I realised four things - that I was poorer by $1.5 lakh, that PK was richer by $15 million, that I was not getting anywhere near the promised infinity, and worst of all, that the blabber of PK did not conform to the syntax of any of the earth languages.

Luckily around the same time I remembered what one of your best detective characters had said "...when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." At last, I realised what he meant by truth. I understood what was a lie. Truth was something like air to us. We were living with it, but we did not know or realise or understand or even define what it was, as it was the default and the only setting we had -  until I realised PK was not speaking the truth; until I realised he had acquired the functionality of telling lies from you, the earth people. 

As you say truth alone triumphs, very soon most of us were aware that there is something called lying. It was an act by which you cover or misrepresent or twist or deform certain events for various reasons like profiteering, wooing others, making fun, seeking attention, so on and so forth. We had the best quality of life among all the planets of the three neighbouring galaxies, including the Milky Way. Perhaps, as I realise now, it was due to the fact that none of us lied; rather we did not know what was meant by lying though we were vaguely aware of such a thing existing in various planets including the earth; we also did not know what was a truth. We just had a mind that was understood by one and all instantaneously, and exactly in the same manner - all without exchanging even a single word. We did not have any hassle ever.

But PK changed everything forever. A lie. Two lies. Many lies. Liars. Good liars. Better liars. Best liars. Super liars. Petty lies. Pranks. Big lies. Betrayals. Crimes. Scams. If you have seen closely in some BBC videos how a zygote multiplies and ultimately becomes a bubbly baby, you can appreciate what I am trying to say. The only difference is that, in our planet a mother lie multiplied uncontrollably unleashing an over-sized, despicable demon. Okay, I think it was more of a cancerous cell than a zygote. 

Today, PK is in total control of our planet. He has assumed the title "The Supreme Lord". No wonder as he is the inventor of lies in our planet. People like me feel earth is a safer place now. I am planning to come there soon.

Yours truly,
.

(PS: By the way, that initial part about the unique fragrance, etc. is not true. Lying is fun.)