Even in the darkest of hours, the rains ask for lightning, to shower the blessed.
Gratitude is one of the most powerful qualities in the world. Imagine, you’re standing at the edge of a sky high cliff, and the world underneath feels like a river of thorns. Life stands still for a long second. Darkness looms over the midnight sky. A lone star awakens you and shifts the very tectonic plates of your life.
The waves of joy and kindness take over, leaving you at a seashore, with the cliff in sight, like a morning alarm that reminds you of your dreams, both good and worse.
Gratitude gives perspective like none other; when the alluring summit may give you vertigo, the seashore jolts the ray of hope within. The moon surrenders to the light, proclaiming it’s borrowed beauty.
Even in the darkest of hours, the rains ask for lightning, to shower the blessed.
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This is something I had written a week back, on the tenth day of grieving. I lost a close person in my family couple weeks back and I think the grief is beginning to settle in. So I revisited this today, and 3 weeks in, I feel grief is a powerful emotion that opens the cracks within you, in ways you didn’t imagine existed in your cells. During these testing times, it brought me closer to my family as we went through phases each passing day. During tragic times like these, we humans choose memory rewind sessions to process, every time the grief hit each person, differently. Rewind sessions of memories as we packed things, habits of the departed soul that reminded us that all we leave is a pinch of existence. A dent in the universe. Living it all in the hope of ‘being remarkable enough’. Memories in little corners, where undisposed boxes lied in cartons, in cupboards, photos hidden under saris, in kitchens, a fresh packet of sugar stored in Britannia tins, and an antique lamp’s flame flickering from the previous day. It feels like a weird tasting potion has suddenly been poured into your brain cells searching an archive of memories, stashed in library looking caves of people existing in your head.
This digression is purely an outpour of reminiscence and gratitude that I have for the dearest who has passed on to another world. I wonder where and how that might be, what it feels like? Is it more peaceful or liberating or are you burdened with superficial tasks there as well? How different is it from the mortal world? Fantasy takes over my imagination, influenced by artwork of the immortal world fills in for the geography, spiritual riches and kingdoms designed for them. Maybe that’s why folklore glorifies those who just dipped a foot in the Death River and came back to Mother Earth in the nick of time. To remember a life gone by is a cathartic and reflective process, that instigates you to rethink and reinvent your views and ways on/of life. All the things left unsaid, compliments unspoken, memories unshared and the memorabilia of events lying around you, with stories left unrevealed.
To satisfy the quench for words and regrets, I began to write letters to each and every person I lost, and the sentences included all the emotions I couldn’t share, the events I didn’t recognise them for, the invaluable lessons I learnt that I didn’t acknowledge enough, the emphasis I didn’t pay to the past they were narrating, the musings that lingered in midnight silences. Ultimately, it became an exercise for the amount of gratitude I have for them for the profound impact they’ve minutely or elaborately had in my lives. Isn’t that always the one that isn’t spoken often when we are living, breathing mortals roaming about the Earth? Doesn’t this thought constantly prick us when ‘one’ leaves? Those last moments last longer than their entire lives and we wish for a miracle to have undone several things and tell a better, satisfying story to our minds. The mind never stops churning these unprocessed thoughts and sugarcoats our experiences into wishful narratives.
In the book Tipping Point, Malcom Gladwell talks about the magic number 150, i.e. in our ‘singular’ lives, we are capable of having social relationships with a maximum of 150 people. This is also known as Dunbar’s number, AKA Robin Dunbar, a British anthropologist who defines 150 as a ‘point beyond which members of any social group lose their ability to function effectively in social relationships.’ Hence, “Be careful of the people you choose to let into your lives.”
When I read this theory, I wondered about the various people who come and go in our lives but how only a few stick on. Unfortunately, many-a-times, I have regretted those who’ve left and being ungrateful to the ones who’ve stayed. I’m sure a lot of us do this and it becomes a circle of life. Why do we not appreciate the ones who stay enough? Why aren’t we grateful for the ones who stood through the sands of time?
To sum it up, I’m trying to adopt this exercise- Gratitude letters. Letters to both the living and dead. Reminiscences of people I know, noted with their important life events and appreciations for their effervescent presence in my life. A.Thank.You.Note. It’s better to toast at birthday parties than read eulogies at funerals, isn’t it?
War, fantasy, history have become the mainstream big-camp content that’s drawing attention to moviegoers, as we march into the 3rd decade of the 21st century. Mani Ratnam’s magnum-opus Ponniyin Selvan I is a razor-sharp adaptation of writer Kalki’s historical fiction novel of the same name. The film boasts of a magnanimous team of technicians and cast who have given their career-best work- the brilliant spectacle on screen tells it all.
The novel, Ponnyin Selvan is a 5-volume phenomenal fictionalized tale of war, treason and political drama set in the 9th century when the Cholas ruled South India. Compressing it into a 2 part film, Mani Ratnam takes a measured approach by carefully balancing the high points using realism with a synchronistic structure. Contemporary dialogues and visuals are almost combating each other, symbiotic in treatment. The film runs on the fastest mode you can find on a treadmill, putting you in a spot to keep up with every single frame. It might appear to be a slow burn, until you miss a scene shift. There are multiple conflicts happening in various geographical and social stratas in the film, which makes it difficult to root for a singular emotion or character. We often forget it’s only the first half of an entire story, and by the end, the film sets you up enough to know, there’s a bigger conflict brewing amongst these characters.
Mani Ratnam sticks to his signature style of minimalism and realism, both visually and audially, keeping the forts and palaces immersive and war sequences bloody and unglamorous. The cinematography by Ravi Varman, initiates you as an audience to be a participant to the story, and not just a mere viewer of a film. For example, the Chola Royal residences feel inhabited- in the sense, it’s believable that someone actually lived in a palace just like this a thousand years ago. The fort that Aditha Karikalan, the crown prince played by Chiyaan Vikram feels dilapidated and dirty, and Nandini’s (Aishwarya Rai is the moon Queen herself) chambers have slightly unpolished lamps, and Ponniyin Selvan wears muddied, stained clothes. Production Design by Thota Tharana and costumes by Eka Lakhani are top-notch and spot-on. The armour, jewellery and makeup never outdo each other, and compliment the style of each character, unlike stereotypical period films. The sort of realism you don’t get to witness in many historical period films or series for that matter, was anew and intriguing. While war sequences are highlights, Mani Ratnam turns conversations between two unspoken rivals, a “mass” scene and takes the high road of subtleties for many others. War sequences capture the messy and bloody essence of conquests, and do not romanticize them. Confrontations and treachery never looked more beautiful and glamourous on screen. Especially when Nandini and Kundavai, the Chola princess played by the ethereal Trisha, is a culmination of witty and aesthetic filmmaking aided by AR Rahman’s mastery.
(Spoilers ahead)
The film begins with the family dynamics established by Kamal Haasan’s mighty voice, as we see two friends, Karikalan and Vandhiyadhevan (Karthi) in one of the conquest battles, north of the kingdom. Entrusted with a mission, the witty warrior ‘Vallavarayan’ Vandhiyadhevan follows his prince’s orders and embarks on an spy adventure, along the banks of the river Ponni. Vandhiyadhevan is our narrator, our eyes and ears to everything that’s happening around in the Chola empire and plotted against the Chola throne by various forces within and outside the kingdom. Vandhiyadhevan is like water, finding his route despite every roadblock, his real self hidden beneath a mask of an unbiased loyalist. Especially when he tries so hard not to fall for the alluring Pazhuvoor Queen, Nandini or his tongue-in-cheek responses to the Pazhuvettaraiyar Brothers. His wit shies away when he meets his best friend’s sister, Chola princess, Kundavai Devi. On his adventures, Vandhiyadhevan’s coincidental confrontations with Azhwarkadiyan Nambi (Superb Jayaram), adds the lighter, humorous touches. All the performances in the film are focused, measured and almost niche in their own spheres- Aditha Karikalan drinking in glorious tragedy, chasing Shakespearian conquests yet a captive of his heart and soul; Nandini’s determined, cut-throat obsession for power, a longing bottled up behind those sensuous and mystical eyes; Kundavai’s understanding of politics and gender, and wisely navigating minds of snobbish, Royal advisors to the King. The serene calmness on Arunmozhi Varman’s face when offered the throne, a subtle twitch in the eye and you know he’s the Ponniyin Selvan. To be honest, I was sceptical of Jayam Ravi’s casting and that one moment sealed my doubts, and locked them away in the sea. Only person I wished to see more of was Ponguzhali played by Aishwarya Lekshmi. Sobhita as Vanathi, was an odd casting choice and felt out of place in the Chola universe. Mani Ratnam always emphasises how much casting is a director’s major job, and he nails it in this phenomenal epic. Rooting the actors unabashedly in the story irrespective of their star value, is the epitome of confidence and trust, that contributes to a film’s success on a creative summit.
The duel between Vandhiyadhevan and ‘Ponniyin Selvan’ Arunmozhi Varman reminds me of the elegantly choreographed spear match in Kurosawa’s Hidden Fortress. A fantastically styled ode to the master, and AR Rahman’s score gave it a wholesome feel. AR Rahman truly reinvents his compositions and nails every bit, with the right balance. Personally, the Carnatic touches added a regal flavour and were my personal favourites especially when Nandini and Kundavai meet, Vandhiyadhevan and Kundavai’s measured flirting, intimate moments between Periya Pazhuvettaraiyar-Nandini to name some. Songs like Devaralan Aattam and Ponni Nadhi were trippy and groovy on a psychedelic level, and I wish the choreography empowered them further on screen. Ratchasa Maamaney and Chola Chola were sophisticated and layered with multiple storylines within them, and keeping the pace intact. Warriors swaying and not dancing in poised ways was fresh and so real, unlike other period films. The placement of Chola Chola, specifically the interludes was fascinating to watch. You can just cannot take your eyes off the characters and dwell into their inner demons.
On multiple viewings, Ponniyin Selvan I is, thematically and structurally, a film of balance and nuance. Striking the balance between realism and grandeur, historical and contemporary and visual minimalism and prose. Can an epic be realistic and individualistic, and yet transport you to a glorious world of a bygone magnificence? Yes, it can and I can’t wait to watch the latter half of this epic.
Filmy Kadhai 
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