If not for you, my man...

I still remember it crystal clear. The very same date – last year. My hero walked out onto the ground and stopping at the 22 yard pitch, bent down to touch it. It was his way of thanking the 22 yards that had been his constant companion for 24 years.

I was watching the scene on my laptop along with my roommates, hesitant to cry as it might reveal my tenderness. But sometime later, I got up and walked to the restroom nearby our room and shutting the door, I sat down inside. My mind went blank for some time and I still try to recollect, to this very day, as to what happened to me those 15 minutes inside the restroom.

In a life not completely full of pleasures and joy, there was of course the support of family and friends. But the heart is never satisfied with what it has. And it always keeps searching for a partner to hold onto during times of joy and sorrow. Being dragged out of childhood at a very early age, the search for the partner began quite soon in my case. And at so early an age when romance was too difficult a word to even spell, the heart did manage to find an able partner – a guy born in Mumbai, cricket his profession, who went by the name SACHIN RAMESH TENDULKAR.

The Mumbaikar, along with ALLAH RAKHA RAHMAN who joined him a bit later, have been two of my closest companions ever since I realized that there were things in this world that were out of the control of He-man and Phantom.

There were a lot of days in my childhood when I kept staring around at people crying profusely not knowing why they were doing so. There were a lot of days when I was caught amidst angry retaliations. There were a lot of days when the silence at home deafened me. And during all these periods, if there was anything/anyone that/who kept me going it was only the little master.

I had a lot of friends who would collect toys, Pokemon tazzos, WWE cards and a lot more. I also did collect a few of them. But the most favorite hobby of mine was collecting Sachin snippets from newspapers. Every time he scored a century, the next day in our home could be found at least 4 different newspapers. I knew that every newspaper would report the same event but I experienced a kind of exaltation seeing the praises and appreciation for Sachin over and over again in every newspaper. 

The admiration and the affection slowly grew into a possessiveness so strong that it became equal to a child’s possessiveness of its mother – a child can never stand its mother being shouted at but there is one other thing it totally despises – another person being affectionate to its mother. I hated people who spoke ill of Sachin but I hated more the people who called themselves to be admirers of Sachin. With age, the possessiveness has been healthily pushed aside paving way for beautiful and lengthy conversations with fellow admirers of Sachin but even today, at moments, the ferocious streak of extra-possessive love over Sachin shows its face (to my joy, indeed!).

A few friends of mine, admirers of Sachin, were/are also very good in cricket. They would discuss his square cuts and straight drives and his cricket-textbook-grammatically-correct shots. I was/am very weak with cricketing terminologies and even worse with regard to playing the game. I was included in most of the cricketing teams that would play near our house for the sole reason that I owned a MRF bat. But then I never really cared about it all. Because, unlike for most of them, Sachin is not just my most favorite cricketer or sportsperson. He is a lot more.

I remember the incident when my mom, before the board exams in my tenth grade, stuck a few pictures of various deities above my study table so that they would shower more light for me to shine brighter. And I added a picture with the ones of the deities – Sachin’s – to my mom’s shock. But she is a sensible lady who always gives more preference to my happiness than my beliefs and so let the picture be.

Sachin was/is my equivalent of a God. A religious person gets agitated and infuriated when someone speaks ill of his religion or his God. And I remember incidents of throwing the remote control at the television seeing a news reporter say that Sachin better call it a day instead of trying to score the elusive 100^th hundred and tearing apart a newspaper after reading a report that Sachin should leave way to the youngsters post his tennis-elbow injury. I myself knew that I was being a tad too hyper-emotional at times but then, why lead a life till the wrinkled face and trembling hand come about without loving at least a few people as fully and as sincerely as you can?

Many a day, a lot of my friends would ask me as to why I kept doing all that I did for Sachin and why was I such a crazy fanatic when after all, he did not even know that a guy like me existed. I never had an answer and would simply shout out at them in anger. I did not have an answer even until the 10^th of November that passed.

But that day changed it all.

My brother, as affectionate and as caring as he always is, had sent me a surprise package and as I opened it, I was dumbfounded (I have used this very term – dumbfounded – a bit often and I honestly admit that this post is the first one for which I really typed the word having realized its meaning). Lying inside the package was a brand new hardback copy of ‘Playing it my way’ – Sachin’s autobiography.

I slowly took it out and as I moved my fingers over its glossy cover, tears rolled down. Partly because of my brother’s unconditional love. Partly because of the fact that I had gotten hold of my hero’s account of his life.

But the main reason behind the tears was this – every single instance of my life that had shook me and had made me realize how much a person loved me had only been through Sachin. Be it my best friend (a miniature bat with Sachin’s autograph), be it my brother (Playing it my way) or be it, even my mom (The list is a bit lengthy).

And there lay it. The answer.

Sachin Tendulkar not just gave me hope like he did for the millions. Sachin Tendulkar not just gave me joy like he did for the millions. Sachin Tendulkar gave me a lot more.

He gave me love and more importantly, he gave me my life.

In Sachin’s own words from his farewell speech,

“I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart, and also say that time has flown by rather quickly, but the memories you have left with me will always be with me forever and ever, especially "Sachin, Sachin" which will reverberate in my ears till I stop breathing. Thank you very much.”

P.S.: As for the book – Playing it my way – I find the internet spattered with reviews that call the book a ‘dud’ – one review called it a ‘duck’ from a man who constantly scored centuries – stating that the book offers very less insights about Sachin that that is already known. I would just like to ask this – When you media people make every single happening in the great man’s life a news-report, what do you expect ‘extraordinarily extra and revealing’ to be present?

But then, I honestly know nothing of reviewing books and its better I be quiet. Moreover, it does not really matter for me if the book is not insightful. A religious Hindu would not probably blame Bhagavad Gita for not providing more insights into lord Krishna’s mind/life now, would he?! 

Aaromale and its aftermath!

As the clock struck 4 pm, I was totally clueless as to what to do. Sleep seemed to evade me and for some reason, there was not the seriousness to watch a film. I decided to lie down on my cot for some time but I knew that lying down staring pointlessly at the roof of my room would only lead to an onslaught of thoughts which I needed not. All I needed was peace. And so, I resorted to the only option I could think of - AR Rahman.

As the playlist played on from the playful 'Pennalla pennalla oodhaa poo'  of Uzhavan to the soul-stirring 'Naetru aval irunthaal' from Maryan to the out-of-the-world 'Thirakaatha kaatukullae' from En Swaasa Kaatre, I could feel a sense of serenity spreading over the stretch of my mind. And only if it had continued the same way. Alas! The strumming of guitar strings began. The slow buildup began. And 'Vaamalayeri varum thennal' in Alphons Joseph's voice began. 

It was Aaromale from Vinnaithaandi Varuvaaya.

And I let out a sigh. 

Not because I disliked the song. But because I loved it beyond description. And I loved the scene that followed the song in the film beyond description. Every single time I listened to Aaromale, I needed to play the scene that followed it on my laptop. I just couldn't resist the song. The scene, even worse.

The scene - a sequence where a man and a woman come across each other three years after their break-up (if it could be termed one in the proper sense) and sit down at a bench at the Central park to have a chat that begins with the pair discussing their current lives and ends up with the pair returning to their forlorn romance- is probably one of the best shot romantic scenes of Tamil cinema. 

Right from its start - the sound of the birds chirping heard at the background as fallen leaves lay spread on the ground with Trisha's Jessie seated facing Simbu's Karthik who is shaking his legs (symbolizing his restlessness as well as the joy on seeing his loved one again) as the first dialogue begins - the scene assumes greatness. 

As the camera slowly zooms in on the characters, one cannot fail noticing the slightly bent-about and damaged fence behind Karthik's back - a probable reference to the state of the relationship of the characters. The conversation begins with Karthik thanking Jessie for not walking away and as it slowly proceeds with Jessie mentioning about his dream of becoming a filmmaker coming true, comes a nod - a meagerly shy one from Karthik, putting forth the delicacy. And as Jessie continues with queries about Karthik's family, comes an abrupt 'Hmm.. Nalla irukaanga' (They are fine) from Karthik who quickly turns away, reflecting a sense of disinterest with the trivial chat. His hand hits his lap and Jessie turns away as the score - the strumming of strings with the magical piano touch (as only Rahman could) - begins, peaking the uncomfortable silence that prevails.

Jessie breaks the silence finally asking him if he wants to say something or ask, perhaps. And Karthik looks down slowly and turns away for a moment, signifying so beautifully that anything said or asked might probably have no positive outcome. As Jessie proceeds with the intruding 'Vera yaarum irukaanga la.. Enna Karthik?' (There is someone else right.. Karthik?), Karthik who keeps looking at the ground till then looks at Jesse abruptly, his eyebrows faintly raised, indicating an angry 'How could you?' and as Jessie continues, trying to iterate strongly that he must have moved on and there must definitely be another girl in his life, Karthik's mouth opens and closes momentarily depicting a silent sigh with him nodding in agreement and admitting to Jessie that there is indeed another girl. And now happens the so beautiful 'surprised and shocked' reaction of Jessie's to his statement which she quickly tries to hide with a forced laugh and silence. 

Karthik goes about with his story of how he had met the other girl and as Jessie inquisitively persuades him to describe her, begins the slow zooming in on Karthik (building up the mood) as he describes the girl (every trait of her's matching with Jessie's) and comes to the 'defining' trait - 'Padam paaka avaluku pidikaathu' (She doesn't like watching movies) - with a momentary silence paving way for the melancholic Hosanna background score as Jesse's eyes widen in slow realization beginning to make our hearts heavy. And Karthik goes about with the description, his eyes slowly becoming teary and as he desperately looks at Jessie and delivers the final statement - 'Ava peru Jessie, Jessie!', any boy/girl who has suffered the misery of losing a loved one to the culprit called life would cease to live for a moment. 

I try to remember any other scene that I have so fallen in love with. I try to think about the reason behind the immeasurable attachment towards this scene and as the scene plays again in my head, I find it hard to keep my heart beating at its proper rhythm.

I have faced the ridicule of many of my schoolmates who would call the scene a sappy one and would add that I was trying to over-worship it. But to me, it is one of the most plausible and sensible romantic scenes written and crafted depicting the helplessness of the characters as opposed to the regular norm of the Tamil cinema to always provide a way out of improbable situations for the leads. And moreover, when describing love, one can never be right to the fullest. Because, love in itself is a complicated issue.

And the heavy feeling that the scene left me with would have probably carried on for long if not for my decision to stop the film and continue with my playlist.

The next song turned out to be a continuation of the melancholic setting yet an absolute gem in its own right - the female version of Aaromale.

And I closed my eyes letting myself drown in Shreya Ghoshal's heavenly chants of Aaromale, slightly wishing at a corner of my heart that I had laid down on my cot staring pointlessly at the roof of my room in the first place instead of causing this chaos and this post.

Kadalinu karayodiniyum padan sneham undo?

Mezhukuthurikalayi urukan iniyum pranayam manasil undo?!

Some things are best left, unexplained.

Madras Bashai

(Warning: The post contains many Tamil statements typed with English alphabets sans any translations. So, please do not proceed further if you have no prior knowledge of Tamil or Madras Bashai)

I wanted to type up this post for 2 main reasons. One, Madras (the film). The other, a very short yet very memorable encounter with a flower-seller on the morning I reached Chennai (I had gone home for my study-holidays).

Madras fascinated me for various reasons. The fact that a director had had the guts to make an immobile, non-living thing – a wall – as a character as important as the protagonist, the fact that Santhosh Narayanan seemed to be growing with every film (especially his background scores), the fact that Karthi, after a slew of headaches, had finally acted in a film with a story worth boasting were some of them. But the one main element that really gladdened me was that every single character in the film spoke Madras Bashai. I tried to recall a recent Tamil film that had its female lead speaking all the lines in Madras Bashai and except for Aishwarya (she was actually not the female lead but the closest to one) in Aaru, I couldn’t come up with any.

But then, this post is not an analysis as to why Tamil film female leads are always made to utter the dumbest of lines and wear even more dumb designer clothes. No. This post is a tribute of sorts to my tryst with Madras Bashai.

Studying in one of Chennai’s premier schools has a lot of pros. But of the few cons that it has, everyone around you expecting only (posh) English to come out of your mouth is an important and a terrible one.

“Machi! Ethuna panniye aavunum da. Kandukka kuda maatraa!”, “Sappa matter da! Onniya problem illa! Nee free’aa voodu!”, “Inna thaan da prachna intha Chemistry vaathiyaanuku? Varra gaandu la book eduthu padichiralaam nu thonuthu!” were dialogues often heard in my school-gang circle. And when a friend repented because of a girl, the pain was expressed in its entirety, not by ‘It hurts me a lot’ or ‘She is slowly killing me’ but through a poetic “Novuthu machaan, novuthu! Avalukaandi evlo senjiruppen?Ippa mattum innavaan da?!”

The slow march as we crossed another premier school, on our way to the bus-stand, in order to catch a glimpse of the girls there during when most of my friends would have their mouths wide-opened and would require a comment like “Aiee chiii! Moodu vaaiya! Nallaa aaaa’nu Anna Arch maari!” to close it still lingers clearly on my mind. Certain passers-by would wonder among themselves, quite loudly, as to how ‘local-language’ guys like us were given admission into premier schools like ours. And a quick “Dho daa! Soltaaru Shakespeare maama paiyan!” would fly from our side. Those slow marches and retorts, when thought about now, tend to abase me a bit but they also do infuse me with laughter when I realize that none of it was intentional.

The Madras Bashai that I practised stopped with my school and school gang. But its existence was/is always felt and cherished with certain unforgettable characters I came across/come about in my Chennai life.

How could I forget the tall and rude conductor with the totally worn out leather-pouch inserted under the armpit shouting at a deaf old man:
"Aie perusu! 5'ovaa vechikinnu laam T. Nagar pova mudiyaathu! Aerri varra sollave paaka maatiyaa nee thuttu keetha illaya nu? Pee pee uthikinnu ilichavaayan irupaan nu nenappa unukku?!"

(For which the old man would very politely reply, “Aama aama. T Nagar thaan! Oru ticket pothum.”)

How could I forget the old vegetable vendor at the marketplace near my home who would jump into a fit of rage at the sight of a customer breaking the tips of ladies-fingers:
"Yamma! Nee un paatuku udaichikinnu poiruvae. Naan bonee panna venaan? Venun na vaangikinnu vootla poi udaichi paaru ma!"  

How could I forget the fat barber at my regular hair-saloon who would welcome me with a huge smile and would spread the same old white cloth (the same one for the past 5 years!) over my body and tying it tightly around my neck would sprinkle water all over my head and begin speaking, looking at my image in the mirror:

“Regular cutting thane?! Appalika bossuu.. 2 maasama aalaye kaanum?! Vera ethuna A.C. kadai paathukiniya? Unnakaandi speshaal cutting laam paanikuraen. Maranthuraathe bossuu..”

And of course, how could I forget the old maid servant, at my home, whose face would give birth to a very strange expression if I roamed about while she was sweeping the floor:

“Kannu! Kootinu irukka solla thaan 4 thabbaa ippidikaa appidikaa poviya? Anga engana poi orama kunthu.. Kooti mudicha apaala suthiko!”

Apart from these lines and these characters, Madras Bashai also has to its glory two main features – first, the way it mixes English words amidst local Tamil words giving them completely new dimensions and second, the curse words. I wanted to dedicate an entire paragraph to the curse words since the beauty of Madras Bashai cannot be fully described without the curse words. But I guessed that it might accidentally offend anyone kind enough to give this post a glance and decided against it.

Anyways, coming to the giving-new-dimensions-to-English-words part, I guess there wouldn’t be a word that would have assumed more meanings possible than matter. One of my most favorite English words – more so in scientific terminology (especially with the words dark or anti preceding it) – when thought of in Madras Bashai terms sure does invoke uncontrollable laughter. And so do scene, film, show, party and many more.

Moreover, among the various dialects that exist in Tamil Nadu like the Thirunelveli dialect with its elai, enna la nee’u and makka, the Coimbatore dialect with its endra, undra and aenunga, the Madurai dialect with its vanthaainga, ponaainga and vechu senjitaainga maapla that apply slight modifications to the regular norms, Madras Bashai stands tall with its very own gaandu, bejaru, meiyaalama, takkaru, galeeju, attu, mokka, kasmalam, apeetu, sokku and of course, the now popular mersal. 
(And by "its very own", I only point to the immense popularity and the stronghold of the Madras Bashai terms and not to the words' roots because it seems, after all, kasmalam is derived from a Sanskrit word and mokka from a Burmese one. )

And I guess I would probably go on but the rumination already seems to have become quite lengthy and I guess it would be better to conclude with the second reason behind this post.

It was about 5:30 am as I got down at my stop from the bus I had boarded at CMBT. I had to walk for about 10 minutes to reach my home from the bus stop. And I started walking towards my home, earphones inserted and “Yun hi chala chal rahi” from Swades playing. Being one of my favorite songs, I kept swaying my head to and fro as I walked and for a moment, I got so immersed in it that I forgot to look around before crossing a junction that a few seconds later, I stood dead on my track, my eyes widened, heart in shock and the front tyre of an auto-rickshaw about 2 centimeters from my left leg.

As I slowly retreated a few steps, removing the earphones, the auto-rickshaw moved forward and shouted a voice from inside:

“Yov saavugraahi! Nee vulunthu tholaikka en vandi thaan kadchithaa?”

I stared at the driver blankly when a voice from behind me, to my utter surprise, shouted:

"Aan aan..Ivaru vandi thorai vootu vandi! Ivaru vandi la vula'kaandi thaan thavam kedakuraanunga! Mappu la nee vanthukinnu antha pullaiya aegurriyaa nee? Moothevi! Moodikinnu poda!"

The auto-rickshaw driver gave a nasty look at the lady who had shouted and drove away. I looked at the lady, a flower-seller, and not knowing what to say, I mumbled feebly, “Romba thanks aunty!”

She looked at me and looking at the earphones in my hand, she said:

"Atha maatikinnu innathuku naina roat'la varra? Onnu kedakka onnu aana inna pannuve? Kanda kanda bemaani kaila laam pechu vaanganuma ippidi? Vootla poi atha maatikinnu kelu, mandaiya aatu - inna venaa pannu. Roat'la venaa naina. Inime kaandi paathu iru!"

And she started sprinkling water over the flowers arranged before her. I thanked her again and started walking, now very careful of the vehicular movement on the road with the earphones deep inside my pocket.

As I neared my home, those statements of the flower-seller still kept ringing in my ears and as the statements kept playing continually, I couldn’t help smiling.

Anger and affection couldn’t have been expressed more beautifully in any other dialect/language than it had been, by the lady, in the Madras Bashai.

Madras Bashai meiyaalamave top-takkaru maamu!!

Learning love the hard way!

I woke up suddenly disturbed by a sound. I couldn't locate the sound but as I slowly turned over on my pillow and looked at my mobile screen, the screen flashed '5:43 am'. I let out a sigh and got up, pushing aside my blanket. It was only when I walked over to my shelf to grab my tooth brush that I realized it.

My mom's birthday.

I had decided the earlier night when I had laid down at about 11:30 pm as to wake up about 20 minutes later so that I could wish her at midnight. But I had slept off and it was only the sound in the morning that had woken me up. I immediately placed down my tooth brush and picked up my mobile phone to call her. About 10 minutes later, I ended the call with a large smile spread over my face. 

But the phone call is not the reason I typed up this post. 

It was a thought that struck me afterward as I kept staring at myself in my hostel's bathroom mirror, lazily rotating the toothbrush in my mouth that made me type up this post. It was a thought that kept disturbing me so much that it was all I could think of when one of my professors reviewing my mini-project today asked me to explain about 'Low complexity filter' in BLAST. 

Why is it that we never try to respect the love that comes about easily?

It was my mom's birthday that had triggered the thought.

My wishes, when I had called her, had made her happy. But she was more focused on stressing that I dare not miss my breakfast. It was a love so pure that it had absolutely zero expectations. And it was the same love with the zero expectations, I guess, that had been the reason that I did not take any extra efforts to wake myself up at midnight in case I accidentally fell asleep. I knew within my heart that I did not have the necessity of taking an extra step to make my mom love me more. 

And this was the thought that hurt me.

Why do we always keep trying so hard to satisfy someone who seems very difficult to be satisfied when we don't even care about a person who showers love constantly despite whatever we do? 

I have had the opportunity of observing this scenario more than often in these three and half years of college life. I have seen many of my friends spend hours planning a surprise birthday party and spend hundreds on a gift for the birthday of a loved one (I have also been a culprit on 2 such occasions and the only reason I continue with this post is because of my 'realization' later) whilst so casually wishing their moms and dads on their birthdays only on the evening of their birthdays, that too in many cases, only after having been reminded by their moms and dads about it.

Why does the extra effort go into making a birthday special for a loved one when there is not even an attempt to remember the birthday of a person who loves you dearly?

I would be a fool saying that one must not plan surprise birthday parties and hand over intimate and meaningful gifts for a loved one's birthday. The joy of seeing a loved one smile at your gift and the feeling of having made a loved one happy is inexplicable. Agreed. But why is that these extra steps taken to make a loved one stay in your life not continue on to people who will never ever let you go? After all, aren't the latter people the ones whose love should be reciprocated more?

But I guess that this outlook not just exists in love. Though it seems to be very explicit in love, it seems to exist in most of the other affairs of human life too. A school situated close to the home and a school wherein the admission seems easy is not even given a chance before a school where getting an admission seems impossible (and I often wonder what attracts the people more - if it is the quality of the education or the simple fact that the admission is just difficult). A completely sufficient 'Maruti Alto' is never given the equal respect as a 'Mercedes-Benz B class' (and I often wonder if it has anything to do with the mileage or the simple fact that a 'B class' is much harder to own). A simple yet delicious meal prepared at home is eaten so simply when a meal at a posh restaurant or a foreign dish at a very expensive eatery seems to be worshiped (and I often wonder if it really has anything to do with the taste).

Being attracted to things that are hard to attain is not a crime. But why not give, if not more, at least the same level of respect to things that automatically come your way?

The face of a mom or a dad might not always come to the mind while listening to a melody like a loved one's does but they still require a part of the love they shower, don't they? A grandmother or a grandfather might not always talk interesting stuff like a new friend does but they still require a part of the love they exhibit, don't they?

The human mind, just like its desire to love things that are hard to attain also has an uncontrollable urge to try everything practically rather than just in theory. So perhaps, it would probably not hurt giving the opportunity of making special the birthday of a person who showers love on you a try. 

The trial might probably even lead to a very beautiful realization - the love, which exists so abundantly and in so easy a way all around you is in many ways more heartening and fulfilling than the love that comes the hard way.

That one moment!

Prologue

There is a scene in Jigarthanda that plays out like this:

The protagonist, who comes across a lot of obstacles in order to achieve his penultimate dream of becoming a filmmaker, stands outside the entry doors of a theater. It is the first screening of his debut film. He waits outside, tensed and perplexed. And after about a few minutes as he hears a particular scene ending, he starts a countdown from three. It is a scene where he expects the audience to cheer. And by the time he reaches one, there erupts a huge cheer inside the theater and the protagonist starts jumping in celebration.

His dream comes true. He becomes a filmmaker.

****

Two days back, at about 7 pm in the night, when I received a phone call from my close friend, I did not know that it would be a phone call that would result in a defining moment of my life. 

My friend had called to discuss about making a video. A video about our classmates. A tribute video to be exact. The next day (yesterday) was going to be the last working day of our college life. And my friend wanted to make it a memorable one. So had come the suggestion of making a tribute video. Excited will not be the exact description of the feeling that overcame me when I heard his statement. But I did not want to refuse his request outright and continued listening to what he had to say.

"I don't have a clear concept as to how it should proceed. But it should contain the photograph of every single person in our class. It should be ready before tomorrow noon. Most importantly, it should not be too emotional and at the same time it should not be too funny. They should be moved but they should also laugh. I don't want it to be too serious." - These were the lines that followed the request. I remained silent for a moment and said, "Please do end this call and do something else useful. What you ask for is not possible. That too within tomorrow." 

But my friend refused to listen. He told me that he would collect photographs of all the students of our class and mail me within 10 pm and ended the call. I was really angry that he had not listened to what I had said.

I started watching a film I had left halfway due to his call. But about ten minutes into the film, I couldn't concentrate on it. For some reason, my mind still seemed to be occupied with the video-making thought. I paused the film and laid back silently on my cot. I thought for a few minutes about the video. I knew that making it would be difficult, especially according to his whims but I just wanted to think about how one would possibly approach it. I visualized about 10-15 photographs of our classmates scrolling one after the other but it seemed very mundane. I squeezed my brain trying to think of an idea that would be logical and would connect the photographs. I couldn't come up with any. 

And I decided to do that thing which was/is/will be the main reason I want to become a filmmaker - research. The research that a filmmaker normally does before making a film seldom gets noticed. Though 'research' before a film is more prevalent in European and American cinema (thanks to their solid plots), certain Indian filmmakers also do do their fair bit of 'research' before starting a film. 

When 'Colorblind' became a song of friendship

I was blank for a moment as to what research I could possibly do for a simple video as the one my friend had demanded but I still wanted to see the normal format followed for such videos and I dived into Youtube's 'classmate tribute' videos and 'goodbye' videos. Most of the videos had a standard template - photos that scrolled one after the other with a melancholic song in the background, especially a song that had the words 'goodbye' or 'friend' repeated in them often. I felt that playing out a similar song would be very normal but the songs somehow seemed to be creating the required aura and so I started searching for a powerful 'Goodbye' song. And two did come my way - Goodbye my friend by Linda Ronstadt and Saying Goodbye by Karina Long. 

But it was only then that a song came to my mind which, when heard, created a similar atmosphere - Colorblind by Overtone. One of my favorites, thanks to Invictus. I immediately played it on my music player but hesitated for a moment as to how I could insert a song about the apartheid struggles and the game of rugby in South Africa into a video about friendship. As I lay thinking, listening to the song playing in my music player, I was pleasantly surprised. The lyrics seemed to, in a deeper sense, signify friendship.  

Hear me say it's time we stopped our hate
Eye to eye we see a different fate..
Yes we.. we've conquered the war
With love at the core..
I stumble, I fall, but I'll stay
Colorblind!

Moreover, college was the place where I gave up my bullshit principle of conversing only with fair-skinned and beautiful girls and in a sense, Colorblind was a tribute to my college life as well. And it was the first thing that got me interested in making a video that would instill a much required confidence in my in-a-helpless-state passion.

When photographs became more than just photographs

It was nearly 12 in the midnight when my friend mailed me the photos of our classmates requesting me to begin the video. I downloaded them but I was more than overcome by sleep that I could even take a look at them. I closed the laptop and went to sleep, deciding to give the video a try the next morning. 

As I woke up the next day - yesterday morning - by around 6 am, I opened my laptop again to give the photos a glance. I wanted to see the kind of photos that my friend had got hold of. And as I opened the folder, I was shocked to see that he had collected more than 70 photos of our class's 36 girls (which in it is a big achievement with trying to keep the entire task a secret and I need to thank two other classmates - a special thanks to you 'poet'uu' as you read this) and I copied those photos and put them together with the photos of our class boys that I had already collected. I opened the first photo in the folder and as I slowly moved on from one photo to the other, happened something I had not expected. I was beginning to experience an inexplicable feeling. I honestly don't want to even try describing it here because it was a feeling that I had never ever felt before and one that I would cherish till my last breath. And as I came to the last photograph, I couldn't even think. My mind had gone blank so contrary to my heart that was at its heaviest. 

And it was only then that I realized what my friend had meant the earlier day. The heavy feeling slowly subsided after a few minutes and I opened the photos again. This time, the inexplicable feeling did occur again but in a much more joyous way. And I decided that I had to do the video. Not for Colorblind. Not for my friend. But for that simple inexplicable feeling. 

It just couldn't be kept mine. It needed to be shared.

When 'that one moment' occurred

It was about 3 in the afternoon as my friend and I completed the video. The entire morning had been spent creating collages out of those beautiful photographs and laughing heartily between the two of us thinking about the hash-tags that were about to precede each of the photograph. 

In 15 minutes, the farewell event was about to start. And I wanted to see a preview of the video. My friend walked away saying that he did not want to see it for a personal reason of his. I tried to persuade him to watch it but he refused and I was left watching the video alone. As the video reached its end, I was once again overcome with very same feeling that had happened in the morning. And I was happy and afraid at the same time. Happy that it had come out in the very way I had imagined but afraid if it would create the same inexplicable feeling among my classmates. But it was time to start the farewell event and I accompanied my friend to the room where all the other classmates had gathered.

About thirty minutes of sincere heart-pourings later, my friend called me to connect the laptop to the projector. Projectors had been installed in all our classrooms to facilitate presentations during classes but we were going to use the projector now to screen a video, accompanied by audio as well. I was completely filled with fear - half of it as to what would happen if a faculty passing by our class heard the sound and caught us and the other half as to how it would be received by my classmates.

I had already had a disastrous experience during the screening of a 3 minute video I had made about 'Energy crisis' for an event conducted by the Mechanical Engineering department in our college during which about 30 seconds into the video, every one in the room had started chatting among themselves completely ignoring the video. 

And I decided that I would not stay in the room when the tribute video started playing out. I couldn't take in one more such ignorance. And I told my friend that I would wait outside till the video got over so as to ensure that no faculty came by our class (which was also a part of the reason, though only a part) and stepped outside, closing the door behind me.

I kept pacing around the class for about a few minutes when I kept hearing constant murmur inside. And then suddenly the murmur stopped. I couldn't hear any sound and I realized that the video had started. My heart skipped a beat. 

For a moment, I wanted to open the door and step inside. I wanted to see the faces of every single person watching the video and the reactions on those faces. But I couldn't bring about myself to open the door. I controlled my emotions and waited outside. And then erupted a sudden cheer inside. A large smile spread over my face. 

I knew that the cheers would be heard frequently from that moment as my friend and I had intentionally prepared the video that way. And I was not disappointed.

But it was the end of the song Someday that I was waiting for. The end of the song marked the end of the photographs of our classmates and an intentional 5 second gap had been left before the end part of the video continued. I felt that any person watching that video would feel that the end of the photographs marked the end of the video and the reaction that followed would be the most honest reaction to the video. And as the song Someday started, I waited with bated breath. The cheers kept coming frequently but it was the end that mattered. And as the song came to its end, I stood as close to the door as possible and the moment the song ended, erupted a huge applause that quickly stopped as the video continued after the 5 second gap. But I did not care any more. 

The applause had given a new meaning to every single film that I had watched trying to analyse and learn. The applause had given a new meaning to every single article and every single book that I had read about filmmaking. The applause had given a new meaning to my in-a-helpless-state passion.

I had become 1/1000th of a filmmaker and it was more than I ever thought I would achieve in my lifetime.

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Epilogue

As I entered my hostel room by 6 in the evening after spending one more hour at the farewell event and having a small meal at the canteen, I took out my phone from my pocket. It was filled with messages from many of my classmates, thanking me and my friend for having created the video. Some of them had added that it had meant a lot for them and had made the day an unforgettable one. 

The video had achieved its purpose. The inexplicable feeling had been shared.

But I didn't know how to reply to those messages. Everyone seemed to be thanking me when actually I had to thank them. The video had made it a memorable day for them but it had made a mark in my life like never before. 

But I knew that I had to explain a lot and so I sent a simple reply of 'My pleasure' to many. 

Some time later as one of my classmates who had missed the screening came to watch it on my laptop, I joined him. As I sat watching the video seeing him laugh at many a hash-tag, my close friend with whom I had created the video messaged me - "We just did it for fun, right?! Everyone seems to have become very emotional. Don't know what to reply to all those messages :D "

And I smiled looking at the message. Not for its content but for its sender. 

He had affected my life again.

Window

The birthplace of many a thought in my head. A support I constantly hold on to at times of happiness to gaze at the vibrant blue sky. A support I constantly hold on to at times of sadness to stare at the forlorn blue sky. The first ray of sunlight never seemed more lively than when passing through it. The thunderstorm, ably supported by the lightning, never felt more threatening than when recklessly slamming it. The culprit responsible for tempting me to steal an occasional glance at the neighboring girl. The companion responsible for constituting the wave-of-hand friendship with the neighboring old gentleman.

Many people , when away from home, miss a certain room or a certain corner of their homes. I, for reasons that go beyond the above paragraph, constantly miss the window situated at the far corner of the hallway at my home.

How can I not?

After all, the window does not just signify the entries and exits like the irksome old wooden door at my home.

It signifies something more. 

It signifies the passage.

Compromising (He)Art!

The moment I changed my 'Whatsapp' display picture - a selfie of me and my sister - I knew that I would receive quite a few angry messages from some of my friends, especially after my recent post on 'selfies' and I was not disappointed. The angry messages did come in. But I had not had an option. My sister, after having taken the picture, had requested me with a beautiful smile to upload it as my 'dp' and I had not had the heart to refuse that request. I had for a minute thought about it as I felt that the act would show me a weak person - as someone who had failed to follow his own words - but right then, I felt that making my sister happy was more important compared to sticking to my principles, or to put it more beautifully in the Tamil language - my kolgaigal.

I don't know if this act is worthy of being labeled a 'compromise' but that single minute's thought-process that had occupied my mind during the changing of my 'dp' had later haunted me bringing back thoughts about a topic that was redundant beyond redundancy in the discussions that me and my brother had often - Compromising art for art's sake (with regard to filmmaking, of course).

K.Balachander is a director I have high regard for. The very first time I watched Apoorva Raagangal, I was stunned beyond words as to how a director had had the guts to handle so delicate a subject (the hero loves the heroine's mother and the heroine loves the hero's father - the description might vary depending on whom you view as the hero and the heroine) at so early a time as 1975. The lines - Yaaruku theriyum? Innum konjam thondina Socialism kuda kedaikalaam! (Who knows? If we dig a bit further, we might even find Socialism) - uttered by the character played by Kamal Haasan as he digs up a garbage bin in a scene in Varumayin Niram Sivappu is one of my favorite lines in Tamil Cinema, perhaps even Indian cinema. But the reason I mentioned K.B. (as he is fondly known) is because the song 'Paadariyaen.. Padippariyaen..' and its prelude in Sindhu Bairavi exactly sums up the theme of this entire post.

Filmmaking, being an unmatched form of story-telling with a breathtaking blend of visuals and sounds, is seldom considered a serious business except for a very few who have had the first-hand experience of its magic. The simple fact that it took one of the greatest Indian filmmakers - Satyajit Ray - nearly three years to complete his debut (along with funds from the West Bengal government), Pather Panchali, is in itself a testament to the behind-the-scenes-bigger-story-aspect of filmmaking. The three year duration does seem justified watching every single scene of Pather Panchali and though it might feel clichéd for anyone who admires the masterpiece, the scene where Apu and Durga run across the field to have their first glimpse of a train is one of the finest moments to have been captured on the camera in Indian cinema. 
And talking about Pather Panchali, I just cannot hold myself back from mentioning Veedu and Sandhiya Raagam (two of the greatest films made in Tamil cinema) since I watched the above mentioned three films in the same week (one of the best weeks of my life, if it does not sound too 'filmy'). I sometimes wonder as to what Tamil cinema would have become without Balu Mahendra, the man behind the last two films mentioned, and the thought just sends down a chill. All the three films mentioned above have an extraordinary poetical charm about them, the stories and the characters being rooted in our soil. But the reason that many people in India remain unaware of these classics might be attributed to the slow and lackadaisical way the stories unfold. It might also be the very unsophisticated way the shots are staged and the way the camera remains static - how could one forget Hou Hsiao Hsien's A City of madness and Three Times talking about static camera shots - unlike how the camera keeps constantly moving, as if in a hurry, in most of the mainstream (I hate the word 'commercial') films.
And having laid out the reasons, come flowing the questions - why do the general audience not accept a static camera shot or a languidly paced story? Doesn't the slow pace strengthen the characterization further? Doesn't the static shot give the audience time to take in the scene and ponder over it? But why do such films don't work on a large scale? Why is it that they are sidelined only for a niché audience?

If the slow pace seems a problem, more so does abstraction. How many people would claim to have understood the final act of Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey? How many people would claim to have understood every single reference to death and life in Ingmar Bergman's The Seventh Seal and Wild Strawberries respectively? How many people would claim to understand the various layers embedded intricately in the three different stories of Krzysztof Kiéslowski's Three Colors trilogy or Alejandro Inarritu's Babel and 21 grams? Movies like Memento, Primer, The Fountain do make us squeeze our brains a bit but movies like Full Metal Jacket and Mulholland Drive leave us in a state of confusion as to if the scenes really imply what is being shown or do they carry a deeper meaning within. Whilst it can be argued that a film needs to be outright and simple so as to be comprehensible by the general audience, a counter-argument also can be put forth as to why a filmmaker should be stopped from filling every frame of his film with a deeper meaning of the idea that was conceived in his head.
And this again leads to a series of never-ending questions - Why do the audience not show interest in analyzing a film? Why do they get satisfied by just simple plain entertainment? Is it the fault of certain filmmakers who have been constantly lowering the standard of the general audience by producing works of low quality? Is it wrong to not want to present the facts outright but try to make them abstract? Is it wrong to want the audience to spend more than just money and time on a film?

I try to think of answers for many of the questions asked above and my mind, instead of presenting me with solutions, seems to be presenting me with a list of filmmakers - Mani Ratnam, Steven Spielberg, David Fincher, Ang Lee, Sidney Lumet. And the fog does seem to clear a bit letting the road be seen. Perhaps Nayagan and Kannathil Muthamittaal is the way to go. Perhaps Schindler's List and E.T. is the way to go. Perhaps Seven and Social Network is the way to go. Perhaps Brokeback Mountain and Lust, Caution is the way to go. Perhaps 12 Angry Men and Serpico is the way to go.

But the mind still doesn't seem to be convinced. Should art be sacrificed for a wider reach? Should abstraction be avoided for a studio's financial backing? The questions seem to linger for a while.

And they seem to settle down slowly a little later having come to terms with the fact that sometimes compromises are the best way to take our (he)art further.