2.6.2010
Tamil equivalent of 'Aradhanaa'
This is the scene I mentioned in my previous blog. I haven't watched this movie myself, but I became aware that this scene exists. I know that all the songs in this 1974 Tamil film, composed by the legendary MSV, were hits. Besides 'Ullam Rendum' (both hearts), there was 'Iniyavaley' (the sweet one), both featuring equally catchy lyrics and music.
In real life, no sane girl in her right mind would melt away listening to a guy singing on a jeep. On the contrary, it would be a complete turn-off, leaving such a demeaning impression that the girl might think the hero needs urgent psychiatric help and wouldn't even glance at him, let alone blush at the lyrics of the song. Furthermore, it is not humanly possible to hear any singing over the constant loud churning of a train's steam engine. But that is the feel-good aura of Indian movies, promising to carry you away from the hustle and bustle of real life into a make-believe celluloid world of hero worship, coincidences, human values, and self-glorification.
My early exposure to Tamil movies occurred, as far as I can remember, when things improved financially at RRF. Generally, after 1974, there was the mandatory annual family trip to the movies, which would serve as a sort of closing curtain on Deepavali celebrations (if there were any—blog about it soon!). A main person who used to drag Amma along to enjoy this leisurely pastime was Raja Amma. Raja Amma first met my parents when they were living in Brown Gardens in the 60s. She was one of the few faithful friends who would brave taking two buses all the way from Gelugor to RRF just to indulge in a bit of tete-a-tete and lots of gossip involving plenty of dramatic role-playing. She once took us (minus Appa) to watch a Sivaji movie, 'Thanga Pathakkam' (Gold Medal), where I remember we arrived pretty late, groping in the dark about ten minutes into the film. 'Thanga Pathakkam' was a remake of a Hindi film, 'Sakthi', starring Dilip Kumar and Amitabh Bachchan as his wayward son.
A Tamil film that genuinely touched my heart was 'Tholabram'. It was initially a Malayalam movie that was remade in several other Dravidian languages, including Tamil. It depicts the downfall of a college girl (Saratha) who is abandoned after her wealthy father dies of a heart attack upon hearing about his collapsed business empire. (Don't ask about insurance claims, business diversifications, or the wisdom of putting all your eggs in one basket. Don't you know you can't ask clever questions when watching an Indian film?) From there, her life spirals into a series of miseries—dropping out of college, marrying a worker from her father's factory (AVM Rajan), having children one after another, her husband being retrenched, dying in a workers' dispute, becoming unemployed and starving, enduring humiliation reaching its peak, being the sole survivor of the family’s mass poisoning, charged with the murder of her children, and ultimately defended in court by a close college friend. Perhaps many of us see parallels in our own lives, though certainly not as bleak. Every time I hear the song 'Katrunile', beautifully sung by K.J. Jesudass, the hairs on the back of my neck and arms stand up, and I shiver. Have a listen here...
I remember that there were a few times when Amma celebrated ‘Vaikunda Ekadhasi’ – a festival for Lord Vishnu – by watching movies overnight! This event is usually observed by the Vaishnavites at the turn of the moon in the month of Marzhali (Dec-Jan). Legend states that at dawn, the Lord will emerge from the temple and meet ordinary folk to grant their wishes. And you must be awake to ask for yours! In Penang, several cinemas (Odeon, Cathay, Royal, Rex, and Paramount) used to screen two Tamil movies back-to-back overnight starting around midnight. It would typically include a devotional film followed by a more contemporary movie. It would conclude around dawn, just in time to receive the Lord’s blessings. Everyone was happy – the patrons for fulfilling their auspicious duty, the theatre owners for the extra earnings, and the rowdy boys for being able to stay out so late after dark with a legitimate reason.
They would also have similar programmes in some Hindu temples. I recall following Amma to Air Itam Maha Kaliamman Temple to watch three movies in a row on one of these nights. It was free (c.f. $1 at the theatres), but the downsides were mosquito attacks, catcalls from rowdy teenagers, and frequent disruptions in the film reel. This practice was later discontinued after clear complaints from Hindu religious pressure groups. So, it is now only a memory.
I wonder why Amma took me to all these movies – perhaps she wanted me to be her bodyguard or maybe she aimed to inculcate Tamil values in me, as some soothsayer somewhere had told me I would become a convert (or something along those lines)! It seems ironic because, when we were growing up in RRF, we were repeatedly reminded to avoid acquaintances with Indian pupils and to mix instead with Chinese students. Her reasoning was that when Indian students meet, they tend to talk about leisure activities like movies and similar things, whereas their Chinese counterparts would be busy discussing studies and ways to improve their lives! In fact, we were told not to speak Tamil at school so as not to attract bad company (even though we spoke 100 percent Tamil at home!). Essentially, to act like what the local colloquial Tamil saying suggests – A Black As@ed White Man. Talk about racial stereotyping and planting the racial seed at a tender age. You can’t blame her. She did what she thought was best for her at that time, based on her life experiences, and look at all the outcomes. I don’t believe she was wrong!
As I entered secondary school (PFS), the idea of spending three solid hours glued to the idiot box watching Tamil movies suddenly became frightening. Like everything else in life, as time passed, my priorities changed and I moved on to other things, but the memories persist and linger, and who knows when they will fade away!
Anneh,
ReplyDeleteI like the earlier appearance of your blog. More classic look with ancient picture.
The idea that mum imposed on me not to mix with Indian girls still lingers on.. I still don't have an Indian lady as my close friend. I don't find anything common to talk with them. They talk about movies that I know nothing much , fashion which I don't follow much . Anyway life goes on . ....
Just for curiosity, a million dollar question.
Were we really leaving in poverty during RRF days ( Are we really poor ) or did mum purposely put us under those kind of lifestyle to teach us about poverty.
I ask Latha , she also could not answer me.... Mum even now practice the same lifestyle even she has a fat income from us.
Even now I try to impose the same idea as I was brought up on my children.
ReplyDeleteIt is true daughters always think their mum is the best.
i hate tholabram.
ReplyDeleteNow poverty is subjective just like anything else.
ReplyDeleteI was complaining that my shoes were ugly till I saw a man with no legs!
Of course we were better off than most RRFites! But way off compared to the occupants of Jln Brown and Jesselton Rd that Amma had the pleasure (or displeasure) of working in the colonial master's hse as domestic help. Sure, deep inside she must have had the burning desire to one day occupy such a mansion. Dreams are good and healthy. It is what makes the world go around! Everybody had their way of doing things and Amma had hers. Like the lyrics of the song 'It's My Life' by Bon Jovi - like Frankie said I did my way. (Referring to Frank Sinatra's song "My Way' which incidencidentallly is Tun Mahathir Ali Kutty's favourite song who also changed in his way.
The legacy of Rada Mani Devi seem to continue! My kids are in mostly Chinese populated school to minimize exposure to adverse Indian elements, as well as to fight it out in the real world, not an artificial protected environment. They were initially supposed to go mostly Indian-Malay populated school from the same Taman!
ReplyDelete