About Kadal

“Viswaroopam” did not release on the expected date in Chennai. Many people booked tickets a week ahead but  a day before the release Government became responsible and banned the movie. "Sentiments are very important" they said. "If sentiments are hurt, peace will be lost" they reiterated and banned the movie in Tamilnadu. The people who booked the tickets suddenly fell from their position of envy. To make things worse, all around the world people were watching the movie and Facebook was filled with comments on this being one of the best entertainers from the one and only Ulaganayakan. The angst filled Chennai-ites spent their lunch and coffee breaks discussing their unlucky fate – conspiracy theories ran haywire in people’s mind. Political parties soon jumped in the fray and started throwing accusations and counters at each other. The hurt sentimentalists continued to protest shaking their heads and beating their chest with their fists in anger. Meanwhile, the person responsible for this tamasha, the one and only Ulaganayakan, spent his life on newspapers and television reminding us of Jim Carrey  in "The Truman Show" ("Good morning! Oh in case I don't see you again good afternoon, good evening and good night" is a line I can never forget). A big part of the first page of “The Hindu” seemed to be reserved for “Viswaroopam” every day. The one and only ulaganayakan is now one step away from becoming a martyr for freedom of speech – in the Jesus Christ – M.F.Hussain spectrum. “This is a sad day for freedom of speech”, “My heart bled for him”, “We are with you Kamal sir”, “This could happen to anyone”, “Power star is a star” and many such words flow out of many esteemed mouths. In midst of these events of universal proportion Maniratnam released his latest movie “Kadal”.

'News about “Kadal” started trickling in a few months back with the news that Karthik’s son and Radha’s daughter being the lead pair. The two parents made their debut many years ago in Barathiraja’s much hyped up romance (the most romantic movie of the 80s!) and people started talking about their children coming together in a Maniratnam movie. This seemed too jingoistic for Maniratnam and his saying that it happened by chance did not seem too convincing. Soon Rahman played a song from the movie in some concert and it became a rage. A little later the album came out on the web and it turned out to be a rage. Every mp3 player and all radio stations played the songs all the time. For many days, I religiously played these songs first thing in the morning. Everyone's expectations were on a high when the trailers came out on YouTube. It was a long trailer and seemed to show the movie in its entirety.  I personally did not mind it; it seemed quite unlike a Maniratnam movie – a bit loud and commercial. Some people commented on FB that the trailer turned off their interest and that the hero’s face was made of wood (that is probably true when compared to someone like Sivaji Ganesan but many of us prefer faces made of less elastic material than Sivaji’s). I thought the movie was supposed to be released on Valentine’s day but one day in last week of Jan I saw a picture of the hero jumping up in ecstasy with “Feb 1” written behind. No “Viswaroopam” Yes “Kadal” said my mind.
Life was a trifle busy that week and I missed booking the tickets (and so the yes had to be turned to maybe). All the first day shows were full and for some weird reason Satyam theater was not open for booking on the web (it opened and closed for Escape in a jiffy). Speculations on why Satyam was not open poured in – I was of the opinon that they were waiting for a last minute entry of “Viswaroopam”, another guy said that Maniratnam booked all halls in Satyam for the weekend for his people to see (whatever that means), still another said that Satyam always was opened in the last minute. Whatever the reason, I had made up my mind that I had to keep “Kadal” off for a week or two.

A day prior to the release, I got desperate and started asking people if they could get me a ticket through magic (recommendation type).  A good colleague took pity and SMS-ed me late that night - Satyam has opened up tickets on the web.   I wondered which of our theories about Satyam not being open were right.  Anyway, I was excited at the prospect of getting a chance at the late hour to watch the movie on day one (from day two people's comments start pouring in and that might reduce the fun).  I opened my laptop connected to the web and got into the Satyam website.  Sure enough ticket across different classes were available for the 10:30 pm show and that too in the large hall (what in my younger days was referred to as Satyam; the other two being then called Santham and Subham).  I logged in and placed the request to select my seats.  The next screen went back to the first screen that listed all the movies again.  With a "what the hell" I ran through the same process and with the same result.  I tried again - no difference, again - no difference, again - no difference, again - no difference, again - no difference, again - no difference and then the premium class tickets got sold out.  I went back to again - no difference, again - no difference, again - no difference, again - no difference, again - no difference, again - no difference and then the next class got sold out (don't know the name of the class).  I called the good hearted colleague, he said he was facing the same issue.  The explanation was that the ticket counters are open till 10:30PM and till then online bookings are not allowed. Now exasperation and desperation started playing havoc and my laptop's touch pad bore the brunt of the attack.  Clickety-clack I went on for a few more minutes.  Clickety-clack, Clickety-clack, Clickety-clack, oh god let it work just once, Clickety-clack, Clickety-clack, oh god let the economy class not turn red, Clickety-clack, Clickety-clack, Clickety-clack, Clickety-clack.  Suddenly the theater layout came up and I saw that there were a few seats left.  I quickly selected the seats on the fifth row from the screen.  I did not forget to thank god for I needed his/her blessing for a bit longer.  The damned bank should not mess up the booking.  With shivering hands, I typed in my credit card number with all those other details they required to be sure I am I.  Minutes passed and my prayers continued to bother god who must have by now been tossing and turning on his bed.  I know that god was an early sleeper and he/she must have been frustrated by this guy pestering him/her with those damned prayers for the damned tickets for that damned movie (all those "damns" are from God and not from me).  Finally, I though I heard God scream at the bank's servers "Just pass that damned transaction.  That damned fellow is messing up my sleep.  Let him watch that damned movie".  The next moment the ticket appeared on the screen and my phone gave out the sweet beeps confirming the arrival of the ticket.  I said "THANK GOD" and god said "NO MENTION".

The next day I ran over to my colleague's seat to give him a hug but converted it to an emotional "THANK YOU".  He said "No mention".  "Good heavens" I thought "same voice, same diction, same words; could this be god?".  "The guy is not a rascal" my thoughts continued "so he could be the one but he is too lean to be a god.  Naah, no way, he is too lean.  Since all of us are god's children he seems to have inherited god's words, voice and diction".  I cut this pointless thought process and went back to my seat.  I passed that day doing what I did best - meetings, mails and "vetti pechu". Evening came and passed into night.  Soon that time commonly referred to as 10:30PM came by and I was in the theater.  It was the good old non-multiplexy theater, where the seats looked up to the screen rather than the lecture hellish looking down at the screen.  We wowed a bit at the feel and the size of the theater and then Mani and his epic saga came on screen.

My intention when I began putting down this piece on paper was to give my thoughts on the movie "Kadal".  I had made up my mind to make it intelligent and detailed.  Possibly something that would be used as a prime example of movie critiquing in the Indian Institute of Movie Review Writing (IIMRW).  But when I began writing I felt the irresistible urge to give it an introduction to give a perspective to the discerning reader of the chaos that existed at the time of the release of “Kadal”.  That irresistible urge turned out to be a irresistible itch that stretched on for a few days.  When the time, finally, came up to write the review a week had passed (right down to the hour actually) and the movie has started slipping out of my mind.  Now, I am not sure if the movie opened with the Arjun-Arvindswamy sequence or the sorrowful child sequence.  That pretty much throws the intelligence and details out of the French window.  I am now desperate to finish this damned write up and press the publish button (this damned is from me and not from god).  But there is a problem; I continue to write stuff, which has no relevance to the movie and I have not even started the review.  So there goes my one chance of being an expert – I have to leave that to my good friend who has already had an impact on my feelings for Kadal (I went through his review on the blog and talked to him yesterday; I am contaminated now).  So here is an abridged and not very intelligent thoughts on the movie Kadal (with hopefully very little contamination).

The first fifteen minutes of the movie were awesome.  The scenes touched many a raw nerves.  The titles come in with the pumping "Magudi" in the background.  But post that the the main character starts growing up and the flow of the movie gets jerky.  More than anything what makes a movie captivating is the flow.  When the director gets the flows of the movie right, it results in an enthralling experience for the viewer.  The two recent examples I came across were in the movies "Aakashathinte Niram" and "No country for old men".  The former a luxurious rumination on life and the latter a violent cat and mouse game that takes its time to build and runs into an abrupt end.  These movies were not about what they say, the focus was on the how.  The "how" seems to be more important than "what".  In "Kadal" Maniratnam seems to have focused on the "what", which in this case is a fight of Biblical proportion  between "Good" and "Bad".  The "How" ends up not focusing on any of the characters and ends up being a mess.  Maniratnam has put for too many characters and focused on too many aspects and relationships between them - by the end, none of them seem developed enough for us to care for.

The concept of the movie seemed fine; the cliched good vs. bad played out by a few engrossing characters.  The interaction between the good and bad was electric.  Arjun and Arvindswamy took care of their roles quite well.  The hero was good - expressive but with a slight first film feel.  I am not quite sure what I felt about the heroine though.  Some of the scenes left a very good impression on me, especially the first scene between Arjun, Gautham and Thulasi.  But others seemed underdeveloped, like the one in which young boy breaks down and cries for his mother in front of the priest.  The annoying thing that goes on between the hero and the heroine seems a bit too flimsy and ends up being filmy.  The movie is thus an inconsistent experience that lost out on my interest after the first twenty minutes or so.  The first half  was a decent fare but as the movie progressed it got worse and ends up with a boring climax.  The climactic fight on the boat had all the cliched elements of a climactic fight.  The sequence that ends the movie is even more cliched.  I thought the movie demanded a certain ending but Maniratnam seemed to have thought otherwise and thus  gave it all a more unsatisfactory feel.  Thus all that waiting and teasers proved worthless in the end.

Let us hope we get something better from the Maniratnam factory next time.

A soap and a banana

The guy extended a ten rupee note and asked for a Hamam soap.  The shop keeper took the money and asked "One Hamam is it?".  The guy responded with "Yes and give me a banana for the remaining amount."  The shopkeeper retorted in a annoyed tone "for ten rupees?".  "Yes" said the buyer.  "The soap cost seven rupees.  There is no banana here for three rupees" said the shopkeeper.  The guy did not understand and ended up reiterating "Give me a banana for the remaining money".  Now, the shop keeper was clearly upset. "You cannot buy a banana here with three rupees.  There are no bananas that cost less five rupees".  The guy seemed zapped and only managed to say "five rupees!".  "Yes" said shop keeper and slammed the soap and remaining money in front of him.

Boy on the bike

I was going back home in auto that morning.  We were under a flyover when a bike passed in front of us.  The rider was in his school uniform.  He must have been in the 11th or 12th standard.  The bike had a pillion rider who seemed tense.  The rider's seemed nonchalant though.  I felt that there was something amiss with the rider.  His right shirt sleeve was lying loose on the side and did not contain his hand.  The guy was riding the bike with a pillion using only his left hand.  Is this brave or bravado?  Is he hardy or fool hardy? Did he deserve a pat or a kick on his back?  I sat staring at the guy with a mixture of shock and awe.

The Muddlehead by Ogden Nash

Poetry was never my favorite and it still is not.  Though I have written down some things that I claim fall under the poetry category, it was done out of arrogance rather than admiration.  I felt the dire need to express myself in that manner at that time.  At the present moment, neither do I have the dire nor the need and so that phase seems to have ended (at least for now).  Of course, there are a few poetic lines and words that come from the past.  The earliest ones are about about twinkling stars being diamonds and the violence that struck Jack and Jill.  The one that affected the most was about Johnny wanting to play and being affected by a downpour.

As time went on, William Wordworth praised a rainbow and Robert Frost expressed his disinterest in sleeping.  Of course, there was that appreciation that Ogden Nash sent to me, the born spectator.  I think that is almost it.  I don't think I can think of any other words from poetry other than "Kister Monductor".  I searched for these words in Google this morning and it tells me about the poem "The Muddlehead" written by our good old Ogden Nash.  "Hmmm, Mr.Nash again.  There should be more to this than a plain liking" said my mind.  So I looked up Wikipedia to find out who Ogden Nash is (or is it was).  I did not get past the first line.  Mr.Nash left this world a few days prior to my birth and so my over ambitious and superstitious mind screams "REBIRTH".  That being that here is what Mr.Muddlehead says and does.

(Ogden Nash)
The Muddlehead
I knew a man from Petushkee
As muddleheaded as could be.

He always got mixed up with clothes;
He wore his mittens on his toes,
Forgot his collar in his haste,
And tied his tie around his waist.

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

They told him as he went about:
"You've got u'r coat on inside out!"
And when they saw his hat, they said:
"You've put a saucepan on your head!"

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

At lunch he scratched a piece of bread,
And spread some butter on his head.
He put his walking stick to bed,
And he stood in the rack instead.

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

He walked upto a tram one day
And climbed in very sprightly;
Conductor thought that he would pay,
Instead he said politely:

"Parding your beggon,
Kister Monductor,
I'm off for a week's vacation;
I stop you to beg your cramway tar
As soon as we reach the station."
Conductor got a fright
And didn't sleep that nite.

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

He rushed into the first café:
"A railway ticket please, One way."
And at the ticket office said:
"A slice of tea and a cup of bread."

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

He passed the man collecting the fares,
And entered a carriage awaiting repairs,
That stood on a siding, all by itself.
Half of his luggage, he put on a shelf,
The rest on the floor, his coat on his lap
And settled himself for a bit of a nap.

All at once he raised his head,
"I must have been asleep"- he said.
"Hey, what stop is this?" he cried
"Petushkee," a voice replied.

Once again he closed his eyes
And dreamt he was in Paradise.
When he woke, he looked about,
Raised the window and leaned out.

"I've seen this place before, I believe,
Is it Kharkov or is it Kiev?
Tell me where I am," he cried.
"In Petushkee", a voice replied.

And so again he settled down
And dreamt the world was upside down
When he woke, he looked about,
Raised the window and looked out.

"I seem to know this station too,

Is it Nalchik or Baku?
Tell me what its called," he cried.
"Petushkee' a voice replied.

Up he jumped: "It's a crime!
I've been riding all this time,
And here I am where I began!
That's no way to treat a man!'

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee

Young in Mumbai

The guy got out of the plane first, his wife followed and somewhere in between came their son.  Mumbai was not warm; it was quite pleasant.  At the terminal, they got the prepaid taxi ticket.  Fortunately, there was no queue for the Taxi but some confusion ensued in finding an A/C taxi.  The driver was an old man with truck loads of eagerness for small talk.  The guy handed the prepaid bill and a small pink colored ticket that he received from the counter to the driver.  The driver returned the pink ticket which had Rs.15 mentioned on it.  "Airport waale appse lootne ka receipt diya hain" he said "aap he rakhiye isse".  This seemed like an ominous sign of unpleasantness coming by.  The guy got into the front seat while the wife and son got into the back. 

The sights of Mumbai captured their attention for the next few minutes.  During this time, the driver paid attention to the messiness of the roads.  Soon they go into the free way and the driver took his feet off the attention pedal.  He looked at the rear view mirror at the occupants of the back seat and then asked the man "bachchon ko Mumbai goomane aye ho".  The word "bachchon" touched a raw nerve but the man ignored and said "haan".  The conversation did not end there though.  The inquisitive driver continued with "aur madam?"  The guy turned red with embarrassment and anger.  Through gnashing teeth he said "peeche baitee hain".  "Nahin, mein madam ke baare mein pooch raha hoon" persisted the driver.  The man controlled him emotion by holding his hands in a tight bind and reiterated "peeche baitee hain".  "Oooooo acha" exclaimed the driver.  He took out a pair of spectacles from his pocket, put it on and looked intently at the wife in the rear view mirror.  "Bahut chotti dikti hain, donon ka umar mein bahut farak hain" concluded the driver.  By this time, the guy was looking intently out of the window at anything and everything; wayside scenes had never interested him more.  The thought "such a nice place" forced its way into his mind.

"Nahin nahin" chipped in the wife with a blush.  "Oooo sorry" said the driver "galti ho gaya".  The driver now continued with his apology wherein he touched upon his age, his poor eyesight, the guy having a shave to look younger and so on to make worse an already embarrassing situation.  "Where the hell is that damned hotel?"

Innocence lost

A seven year old boy is desperate to reach his father.  He dials his father's mobile number on his mother's mobile but does not get any response.  He dials again with the same result.  The third time his father picks up and the son tells with a lot of urgency "Dad, Mom's laptop is not working".  Father says "mmmm hmmmm".  "But it is not working" cries out the son.  "Ok ok, I will check it when I get back" says the father before cutting the call.  A few minutes later, the father's mobile receives an SMS.  He notices that it is from his wife.  On checking, the father finds the message "Mom latop not working".  The father mutters a few innocent curses (what can he do; any curse worse than the innocent ones would only insult him).  He shoves the phone into a corner and continues with his work.  The morning was a particularly busy one and the father had very little time to play around with his son.  A little later the phone notifies the receipt of a message, this time on Whatsapp.  Assuming it to be one of those important official messages, the father picks up the phone, only to find that it is a Video message from his wife's phone.  The video takes a few minutes to download.  When it opens up he sees the laptop in question showing garbled data on the screen.  His son's voice in the background says "Mom's laptop is not working".  As he is saying this the camera turns to show his son's face.  The camera then turns back to the laptop as it is restarted.  The screen comes up with some kind of screen with Dell written on top.  His son zooms into the screen to give a momentary glimpse of the screen.  As he is doing this he says "See" and with this the video ends.

The Fathers stares at phone display for some time.  He then replays the video with a smile across his lips.

The name is Bond, Ruskin Bond

One Friday I found myself in Delhi for a not so interesting meeting.  The Delhi branch of my company was planning a trip to Mussoorie.  "Why don't you join?" was the question.  Any response other than no seemed rude and that evening I found myself surrounded by a bunch of drunks, as we sat around a sidey bar in Gurgaon.  Like "the last supper" this was the "last drink" prior to boarding the bus to Mussoorie.  We were soon flying across Delhi towards UP and in the direction of the mountains.  Some 80 odd kilometres from the start there an explosion and our tempo traveler lost control for a moment - Flat tyre.  While the driver changed tyres, we had a few sips of lousy tea at a Dhabba on the other side of the road.  There were no further incidents till Mussoorie.

The place of stay at Mussoorie was fine but I was disappointed by the place itself.  From all those Ruskin Bond novels I had expected a cold and snowy place with a great view of the snow packed (or is it snow capped?) Himalayas.  I had got my geography and season wrong.  So neither were the snow packs (or caps) seen or felt.  To me the place seemed to be a cross between Ooty and Yercaud.  The day's plan did not sound exciting.  A visit to a waterfall close by, which many in the group claimed was lousy and then nothing else.  Evening, I planned to go down to the village where Ruskin Bond lives and try to get a signature out of him.  I did not know exactly how to do it but that was the plan.

The guys were absolutely right about the water fall.  It was lousy - very little water and a lot of garbage all around.  To top it these guys had built all kinds of parks and what nots around the place.  Thus the place looked worse; reminded of those dreadful picnic spots.  The sight seeing was done by lunch and all of us being dead tired of the previous night's journey hit the bed for a siesta.

I woke up at around 4:30 pm and walked down to Jay's room.  Sandeep and Jay had shown great interest in meeting Mr.Bond, who lives in a village called Landour.  Google map claimed that the place was some 6 kilometres from where we stayed and we decided to walk to it.  After some distance we asked someone for Landour.  He informed us to "continue a few furlongs" in what seemed like a typical small town manner.  We  walked some more.  It was now a good 45 minutes since we had got out but we had not even reached the end of Mussoorie.  So we would not have covered more than a kilometre.  We looked around and asked a rickshaw fellow to take us to Landour.  He refused it point blank saying he only went round Mussoorie; for the place mentioned we would need a jeep.  For the jeep, we have to travel back to the hotel; another 45 minutes back that is.  Jay suggested, quite pointlessly I thought, let us walk some more.

We walked past a Tibetan restaurant that Sandeep claimed was very popular.  We were so full of the lunch and the growing disappointment of the pointlessness of the trip that we walked on.  We were crossing a book shop when I suddenly saw the name "Ruskin Bond" written on a board.  Besides the board, the man himself was seated sipping a cup of tea, while a set of people were buzzing around.  My eye ran back to the board and it said that Ruskin Bond usually spent his Saturday evenings at the shop signing books and meeting people.  We thanked God for not having found a way to reach Landour and jumped into the shop.  Then books were bought, hands were shook, signatures were taken, words were spoken and photographs were taken.

What happened earlier and beyond did not matter now.  The trip was a huge success.  We had met Bond, Ruskin Bond.