And Another Thinker Joins Me.. (Dad's Blog)

After a rather long campaign of persuasion and effective psychological warfare conducted by yours truly (pats on the back), my dad, M.N. Jayakumar (thinker, yesteryear actor, literary critic, ex-political activist, ex- mechanical engineer and current General Manager - Projects at Vasco Environmental India Pvt. Ltd., Kochi) has started publishing his own blog in Malayalam titled 'വെറും ചിന്തകൾ'.

At this point let me also add that I'm the one doing the surprisingly interesting task of typing in the actual words upon his dictation in to the blog using Google Input Tools. So any and all spelling mistakes are completely my fault and maybe a little bit of Google's ;). Dad himself is an eloquent speaker and writer in Malayalam and well versed in its rich literary history.

He has promised to give me something to post though his workdays are taxing to say the least. So I hereby declare the entry of another thinker and one of my personal intellectual heroes in to the insanely accommodating but furiously populated blogosphere.

M.N. Jayakumar

Attaboy Dad.. :D

A Conversation to Remember

My usual disclaimer of ignorance on the matter and general naivety not withstanding in this case as the words are not mine, I do however, proclaim potential lack of cohesion of thought in the following words, not due to the intent and form of the narrative of the speaker (who speaks with amazing clarity and restraint), but from my possible inability to remember the details and specifics of articulation and semantic structures.

The speaker in this case is my Ammaavan (maternal uncle). The decision to pen down this conversation (more of a monologue actually), came from the realization towards the end of it, that it tied down intentionally or unintentionally (hmmmm.. leaning a bit towards the former), two very important concepts or rather levels of concepts regarding one's attitude towards life and the living of it as I, personally, favor it.

The whole thing started when, rather unusually and also surprisingly informally, I was asked to sit down and join the evening's usual pre-dinner television news viewing by Ammaavan and these days my Dad (ഇവിടെ ഇരിക്കൂ..).

Now, another disclaimer at this point - I'm writing this conversation down from memory and I'm writing down words that seem impersonal (at least to me) leaving out specific examples which he cited, as his personal views are not mine to publish and also (sheepishly grins) - I'm doing this without asking for his permission. Another big reason will become clear as the narrative unfolds. :D

I always wondered why Ammaavan viewed the news regularly and attentively as he is an ardent believer in the Vedantic philosophy of dis-attachment to tangible objects, material attitudes and ideologies. It is to be noted that he retired as a high ranking civil servant and also served in another important office of public service and tremendous responsibility since. He spoke in Malayalam, as he does at home and other informal situations, which I'm now translating to English to the best of my ability.

" I don't watch these things to actually get intellectually or emotionally involved in them. To me, they are more amusing, at this point, than anything else (referring to that evening's specific heated 'political' debate).

Why is it that we oppose something overtly, socially or politically? (realized he wanted my understanding of the issue he was about to expand upon and gave a short and somewhat hesitant reply). It is because we want to gain something from it. Specifically, the power or other such thing that the object of our opposition represents. This is one reason why studying history would show us that no socio-political revolution has actually succeeded. The thing being opposed is replaced with something different in form and structure but same in essence and nature.

But does that mean that there has been no change? No it does not. There has been. It's called evolution. Not just biological, but social and cultural. Evolution is the only change that we can't go back from. It is steady and natural. Certain people throughout history have been agents of such evolution as far as the human race is concerned. But they did this without looking for personal gain or results (without karthrithva bodha) and often died impoverished and in obscurity. Others however, will always be waiting to take up their idea or message and run with it, more often than not, intentionally or otherwise, gaining personal profit from it (tangible or not).

There is no reason to get indignant about this. It is the way of the world -  human nature. This happens usually when a concept or idea gets institutionalized or organized. It takes a life of its own and we should know that it is never a reflection on the person or persons behind the original idea.

Does this mean then that we do not get involved in society's occurrences, movements etc. or if we do, we should never start an organization/institution? No. As social animals and by virtue of our socio- cultural and human conscience, we may have to. And if a man has to accomplish something large or beyond the scope of his physical capabilities, in terms of resources or other practical constraints, organizing with others becomes necessary. In fact, it is even recommended in some cases. A simple example being - if you need to get a road tarred.. You can't do it by yourself. You need others.

But the ideal thing to do in such scenarios and other larger ones is to dissolve such organizations once the objective is accomplished. Otherwise the chances of it being distorted to serve the private purposes of a few are huge and perhaps inevitable. Another thing one can do, as an individual, is to refrain from joining an organization or institution (based on a particular ideology or concept), in one's personal life. This is something I took from the ideas of J. Krishnamurthy.

We can't choose to not react or get involved against something we find objectionable, especially if it happens before us. And we may even get attacked personally due to our involvement. But we need to have the mind and mental fortitude to do this knowing full well the potential personal consequences. It is illogical and naive to be shocked or surprised when something like that happens and be outraged or despair over the fact that our intentions were good and our actions were founded on a sense of justice and good.

This awareness is what Vedantic knowledge can give us. A certain 'knowing' that dis- attachment can give us peace while making us functioning human beings living in the material world. The knowledge that the events of life are out of our control and is not dependent on our abilities (physical, intellectual or emotional). Often we see people claiming accomplishments as their own and find reasons out of their sphere of control for their defeats or losses. Honest reflection and introspection reveals this to be a falsehood. In the larger scheme of things, we are insignificant. No human being has changed the world. The world changes and moves according it its own cosmic pattern or plan which we cannot comprehend through our limited intellect. As far as we are concerned, it is arbitrary. 'Knowing' this is realizing Brahma itself. It is not for everyone. Through some accumulated good from previous births or so, we can't be sure why, some unique individuals come to 'know' this.

I myself  am just aware of this or rather 'understand' it. I am neither enlightened or to be considered a role model of any sort. In fact, it is best not to consider any human being as a 'role model'. The secret to being happy in life is to find the balance between attachment and dis-attachment. Knowing when to get involved and when to observe. And not to let either case, in victory or defeat, affect you as a person. Live well and live happy. But be aware of the illusion of the world that you see before you and live in and the only truth - the one that's not subject to changes that lies within you. This is what life is about. To live through it as you can with this knowledge. Without Karthrithva Bodha. I am just a human being with my own petty concepts and likes/dislikes.

(conversation moves through various related topics and comes to an end..)

It seems that particular mosquito is not to be vanquished at the moment (moving his trusty mosquito zapper around his body and giving up). It must be destined to live a little longer. After all it is the same as me. We are one and the same (adds with a smile). This is the essence of Vedanta too. From the ant to the Parabrahma - it's one and the same."

Now a further set of disclaimers:
The conversation was much longer and involved a lot of other ideas and things including a lot of specific examples from books, philosophies and his own personal life. There were also brief interjections and words regarding the topic mentioned above and other things from Dad, Ammaayi (maternal aunt - who joined us briefly between her work in the kitchen) and yours truly. The quoted words above are the summarized and translated version from my own memory and understanding of it.

Apologies to Ammaavan if I inadvertently distorted his ideas or the intent behind them. Hmmm.. I guess I have to muster the necessary mental fortitude to suffer the consequences, if any, for my well intended capturing of an interesting conversation for posterity's sake and for self serving intellectual reference.. :D

Signing off.. sleepy but rejuvenated..

P.s. 'Previous births' can be defined or understood in two main ways - our subtle body occupying a new gross body upon leaving this one, or more scientifically (the one Ammaavan refers to) our hereditary history, that of our ancestors, present in us by virtue of our genetic make-up, i.e., recessive and dominant traits.

The balance between attachment and dis-attachment that he referred to (from what I understood) meant understanding that you're attached to your body, though it is not you, but maintaining no attachments to anything else (worldly matters and objects), and so being able to involve yourself in the world you live in without Karthrithva Bodha and holding on to relative inner peace. Vedantic awareness for those determined to live a worldly life (laukika jeevitha). 

To 'Understand' is Beautiful Too..

There are no rules, no paths to be followed but the one that appears before you. There is no becoming, no getting there - only the realization that you are, the moment when there is no 'i' to ask where you are, how you are or what you are. Being. No terms or phrases to explain its existence or attributes (Brahmathathvam mounam vyaakhyaath prakaditha). Just a state of no qualities or features from which any and everything you know arises (Nirguna Parabrahma). Silence from which the the first sound births and then dissolves into. It is I. The only I. The false consciousness that creates the world and its rules and everything it feeds on disappears like the smoke that clouds the fire, the flame. This resides inside. It is that transient mind, the thought that covers the truth - the only truth - the eternal (sadaashivam). This truth was, is and always will be. That is its only definitive quality. The illusion that we hold on to  that begins and will end with the existence of the false 'i' will be decimated when I is seen and realized. Seeing this 'I' is being it. There is no duality. No observer and the observed. How can there be an observer when there is no 'i' anymore. It is you (Thathvamasi). It is I (Aham Brahmaasmi). The projections of the 'i' by virtue of their nature convinces us of their 'reality'. They keep us living in the dream - the dream that is reborn and expands its boundaries with the very first thought of your wakeful state that loudly and silently begins with the 'i' and dies again when the last thought birthed of the 'i' fades in to the 'I' when you drift in to sleep. The dream that keeps us tied to our gross bodies that change and decay and eventually die, all the while carrying within it this seed of truth and then manifests out of the elements again to continue this cycle of ignorant suffering. To realize 'I' is to be it and by extension the world that you know (Swaraat is Samraat). There is 'One'. Only One. No 'i' or 'you' or 'it'. :D 

The Nature of Love

I see gradations of love coming from the mouths and carved in to the minds and false hearts of the sad ones everywhere. And they are sad, no doubt. Even their joys are sad or are shaded by colors of sadness that would eventually follow. Aren't these joys transient? These joys, one supposes can be subject to gradations. But not the true bliss or peace that’s real. And that too seems sure to one now, bliss and peace are one and the same. The emotional overflow of energetic pleasurable feelings that last for a short time is so fragile and inferior when compared to that true and steady feeling of peace that remains and will remain untouched by the mischievous taunts of various stimuli that enter one’s life seen and unseen, announced and unannounced through the various senses. And isn't the objective of joy, stability and peace even when seen through that obsolete vehicle of logic and worldly wisdom? Isn't that what one craves through every action and intentionally oriented, manipulative thought? To be in a state of stability and peace, not from outside but from within. To feel at peace whether a midst the over abundant sights and sounds of a raging concert crowd or on the sandy beaches looking over the unending series of waves that wash over and dissolve on that subtle line where water becomes land.

This bliss comes from knowing and knowing alone. Not of facts or concepts but from the knowing of that truth. The only truth. The form of which can be manifested through the knowledge of smaller realities. Realities of awareness. For example, love is one and all encompassing. It knows no gradations. It is our gross and subtle bodies that attach themselves on to this pure and transcendent feeling giving it many forms, variations and degrees. There is no ‘romantic’ love, ‘respectful’ love, ‘fearful’ love, ‘brotherly’ love and so on and so forth. Love knows no such limitations in its infinitely beautiful and semantically null being. It is a feeling of oneness. A feeling where the manufactured and deceptive ‘I’ ceases to exist and you become one with something other than yourself. It is this same love that one devoid of illusions feels for God. There is no fear or respect or pretentious ‘devotion’. Love takes care of all those details. He is with you, in you, and upon further reflection and realization, is you. So is all that you created in your false consciousness. Everything is you and him. And then there is no duality. Binaries of thought dissolve and there is just one being. No more definitions and categorizing. No more painful intellectual analysis and problem solving. But one eternal, blissful existence that defies descriptive articulation. Is-ness.  Understanding is easy. Knowing is far more difficult. I understand. And still swirling in the churning ocean of binary conflicts,  ‘I’ look to him for a helping hand, which he gives me and points me in the right direction when the pesky assertion of pitiable ego surfaces. My Krishna smiles at me and with effort and focus, one day maybe I shall see him in me and then finally know him. And then there will be I. And bliss. And only love..

Enter Satsung..

Its been a while since I posted something, mainly due to an unpredictable series of hectic days that resulted in me moving out (or being moved out) of my reluctant albeit comfortable cocoon of complacency in the seclusion of unfamiliar rural life of Andhra to the more familiar and surprisingly eventful urban scene back home in Kerala.

I found myself looking at the old, somewhat forgotten features of my native land with new eyes, relatively unclouded by the angst and insecurities with which I left it 18 months ago. In fact, it seems I have been a stranger to it since a few years before that too, though I reveled unrepentant in its many inexpensive joys and pleasures, casually strewn about on the dirt roads of its cultural landscape. Days spent buried in my colorful, seductive imagination and thoroughly unforgiving intellectual campaign to 'make sense of''..

After a rather uneventful but interesting road trip that took me in that red Maruti car choke full of memories, across three states, I am now staying in my maternal uncle's (ammavan's) house ideally located in what I always felt was a serene locale, where the weather never seemed too harsh and the neighbors seemed to value the glory of quiet.

After a day of getting used to the heat and constant sweating (the one thing I really didn't miss), I came upon an intriguing opportunity -  a class on Bhaagavatha given by the erudite Jayashree Ma'am whom my aunt (Ammaayi) spoke of rather highly. A short bus ride later I was seated quietly and dare I say, contently, on the white mat on the upper floor of her Edappally home with my aunt and another lady (who I later came to know was a retired teacher), listening to the profound analysis of the symbolism and message behind the story of Puranjana described in a few verses (28 to 32(?)).

Somewhere between the concept of using 'thought' as a tool to dismantle the transient mind and then sacrificing it to achieve stillness and the realization of self, and the eternal quality of truth, I had a moment of clarity - an epiphany - something I seek every moment I'm conscious and try to cherish in memory for later egotistic use (ah..defining irony ;)).

I had been searching for teachers in all the wrong places. There are no 'gurus' in intellect. Only peers. For the first time in years, I came out of a two hour discussion/ class with answers rather than more questions. It seems so simple.

I am at this moment more aware of what troubles 'me' than I had been in the years I spent searching for answers in the labyrinth of logic and analytic dissection which has become part and parcel of the creed of my senses and resultant perception of life.

Intellectual vanity and skill being the double edged sword I have wielded for the better part of my life, I am now intrigued by the possibility of laying it down for a better awareness of self than my natural inclination to learn to use it more effectively. It has been agreed upon without any argument from my part that there is no way to tell what course life might take or how I will respond to its tempting events and mood swings, but I am now confident that there are answers out there. Not just troubling paradox after paradox.

Either way, I'm happily starting my life in the land of coconut trees and its self deprecating people with a less myopic view of what lies ahead and what lies beneath.

So signing off now to attend another class with my both my aunt and uncle this time -  a discourse on Upanishad Dhara by Swami Chidanandapuri. To my question of how much will I be able to comprehend, entering the topic midway or plunging in to the deep end of the pool, as today's session is the concluding one in the series, I was told " What does it matter which bit of Sarkkara (saccharine) you taste and when you taste it? It all tastes sweet." :D

The New Blog..

During my quest to clear my mind of unexpressed opinions and unformed ideas that plagued my daily rituals, it would seem I overlooked that rather obvious fact - emotions are inseparable from the intellectual aspects of our minds, in terms of causal and formative factors. And it therefore becomes necessary, in the pursuit, of a  'clutterless' consciousness to give credence and an outlet to the colorful emotional faces of the larger theater of cognition as well.. (ഞാൻ ഒരു വികാരജീവിയാണെന്ന്... hehe)

So, I have launched a new blog to specifically address the blatantly evident and subtly indicated feelings manifested within me, through fiction and non-fictional means.

Click the tab in the upper right corner named "The Emotional" or the link below to visit my new attempt at the craft of writing:

"Chronicles of Emotional Fervour"

Colors of Omission

Bright colors yet to be painted everywhere.. the beige-grey walls of my spinning, humming prison cell screaming out to me, beckoning my senses in seductive whispers and commanding screams holding my transient glances hostage with their mocking bare surfaces. Cold, bland, flawed surfaces.....inviting the touch of my soft, poison stained fingertips, conniving creations that emerge in glorious insolence and bastard pride, vengefully magnificent now.. forgetting the cautious and careful movements of my trembling, cracked hands making them whole brick by brick, as the music of my languishing youth played sweet nothings from the hot, shiny light outside.. flickering flames of elusive smiles and spiteful tears burning away against the short, warm breezes of inadequacy and contempt as the walls came to life or birthed themselves in death - brick by brick.. by my drunk, wiry arms.. moving numb to the sway of my wet, drowning memories of slithering dissent against the snide, reproachful words of passionate love and sneering fury crawling out of the thin slits in the white masks of shadows that danced around me.. the glowing embers of my dark visions now ashen in the corners of my cell, lying smoldering and fuming with unsaid red, and breathless blue of careless kisses, fading green of naked envy.. silken brushes of cruel shards breaking away from thoughtless moments dipping in them, moist strands poised to paint the hopeful crevices with insidious desires.. 

Its Only Words...

I'm not an artist. Not in the true sense of the word. Never was, it now seems. After reading up a little on the subject, I've compiled a definition of  art (including within its scope 'Art' and 'The Arts').

Beauty is something that elicits a response of pleasure in someone who perceives it, without arousing desire. Art, then can be broadly and conveniently be defined as something that manifests beauty, in a permanent object or a passing action, through creating or manipulating lines, colors, words, sounds or the body (of the artist or the object) itself, by employing a skill or a craft, with the intent of creation being solely one of expression and not the need to impress or influence. Another interesting and intriguing perspective on art, in terms of recognizing it, is that 'real' art is 'infectious' in the response it generates and it creates within the person who is perceiving it a false sense of ownership (that of creation not possession) and it blurs or erases the boundaries between the consciousness of the artist and the audience.

Now applying and analyzing that rather comprehensive meaning to my life and it's context, I find inconsistencies at several key points.

I started sketching and initially, even painting, from a very young age and was told by the tall people that I was, in fact, an artist. Purely by virtue of my fortunate birth and in no small part, the wicked play and unseemly influence of what I'm assuming is my 'heredity', I soon realized, much to the joy of my emerging narcissism, that I could manipulate, to an extent, sounds and words too. A proud and consequently nurturing and fostering environment helped keep these traits and skills alive and to a point flourishing, in my life and in turn, I developed a keen and admittedly overpowering appreciation for the aesthetics in and the intelligence behind the creations of others as well.

I'm also forced to consider the cultural and social aspects of the unselfish intellectual admiration and at times, selfish, emotional resonance people look for and so find, in their search for personal and collective identities, in recognizing and displaying art and the artist as something to be praised and protected. It has a tendency to paint your unformed image of 'self' with complementary features and add deceptively arbitrary attributes to your otherwise undefined identity in the minds of others.

I have no qualms about admitting that I did consider myself an artist and in spite of rational denial, still do, as it's carved somewhere dark, in to the walls of the twisted and uncertain catacombs of my capriciously but defensively manufactured visage. 

So it falls on my conscious and outwardly visible mind to shape in to communicable thoughts, my epiphany regarding my possible role in the larger scheme of personal and worldly affairs. No, I'm not an artist.

Looking back on the hundreds of pictures my steady hand breathed life in to- on the cheap pages of notebooks in the classroom, designated art books, chart sheets and ambitiously, sometimes on canvases- it becomes clear that my drive to create was not born of a sheer need to express powerful, confusing emotions but more of a product of my overwhelming need to communicate what I observed and saw out there and within me. To be more clear, it was intellect that drove me and not emotion. Communication by definition involves the need to modify that which is being conveyed, to impress and influence the audience, whatever its objective maybe. Art does not.

This is becoming more and more obvious as I browse (by memory.. I never kept them) through the pictures I created. It is and has always been in pursuit of 'realism'. I never felt the need, nor did I have the inclination to venture in to the abstract or the colorfully imaginative. The nature of my work leans toward the descriptive, not expressive.

It is because of this, that I haven't felt the desire to draw in years, instead I switched to language and its manipulation to paint pictures. And it is painting pictures that I do. My narrative and style of articulation relies heavily on descriptive adjectives, long sentence construction and attempted clarity of semantics. The modification of this to appeal to the transcendent aesthetics of skillful wordplay does not interest me. Besides, as far as I'm concerned, to an artist, that should be effortless and instinctual, not resultant of academic yearning.

As I now read the words penned down by my peers, without any intended desire to impress, I'm hit by the subtle and often magnificent articulation of sublime emotions and otherwise incommunicable, elegant imagery.

As admiration turns to introspection, it dawns upon me that this is not what I do, what I can do or what I want to do.

I am a seeker of ideas. Whatever form they take on their course to my cognition or in what shape or through which medium they leave it, doesn't matter to me. And ideas fall within the rigid and fiercely territorial analytic and logical framework of the mind. I simply use the skills handy to convey it.

This makes me a bad student of literature. I'm fundamentally incapable of appreciating the inarticulate joy in eloquent articulation. And as literary analysis deals mainly with the 'whats' and the 'hows', my stubborn obsession with the 'why' can be counterproductive. It dissects the subject matter into pieces and then keeps going deeper and still deeper in to abstractions until I find myself far outside the accepted rules and fluid boundaries of language, stumbling and falling on the profound but intellectually and emotionally unforgiving, practically unanswerable questions of the pointed philosophical kind.

So what am I then? Carefully resisting the urge to go off on a tangential journey in to 'I', let me just say that I believe I am a craftsman and a thinker. Nothing more, nothing less.

The Sixth Lord & Me

These days, quite uncharacteristically, I find myself watching older Malayalam movies over and over again, and I had to admit that my sensibilities when it comes to entertainment, at least the kind that moves me, seems to have shifted more towards the cultural context of my childhood, especially when it comes to admiring the fictional 'heroes' and 'heroines' of cinema. This, of course, says volumes about my preferences than an artistic or technical analysis of the wonderful craft of film making. With that rather insolent disclaimer, let me also add that I have been, for most of my life, an avid viewer and appreciator of movies and shows from multiple industries and cultures, with varying levels of indulgence and pursuit in numbers in each - Malayalam, Tamil, Telugu, Hindi, Hollywood, British, Hongkong, Japanese and Korean. But why write about this now?

It just occurred to me that while movies are almost a culture by itself in India, I don't remember having a discussion with any one I know, about the characters in these elegant and tastefully etched out stories from a literary point of view - in terms of the whys and the hows.

Also, at least among my peers, I don't remember any one (at the time) focusing on some of these movies as great 'romances', in fact, by virtue of our youthful views or superficial temperament I do not know, we saw only the humor, depth and magnificence of the characters and the sheer impressiveness of the eloquent dialogues and colorful plot structure. Now, seeing these movies through a different color of shades, I find  the romantic relationships in some of these movies emotionally resonate with me as well. My tremendous admiration for the subtly handled acting performances and visionary direction of these films are, without a doubt, an influencing factor too.

The movie, in particular, I have in mind is Ranjith's Aaraam Thampuraan (1997) starring Mohanlal and Manju Warrier, masterfully directed by Shaji Kailas. The movie, of course, was a huge success and took its rightfully earned and well deserved place in the pantheon of great works in the industry, and in the hearts of the Malayali movie fans. No small feat considering the masterpieces that came before and after.

Another reason I want to analyse this movie as an ethereal romance between two memorable characters is that there are almost no real 'romantic' scenes between them on camera, with one powerful and delicately captured exception which served as an overt declaration of commitment.

What follows is a free, condensed and personal interpretation of the aspects of the characters and their intertwining lives with regards to their love story and not to be taken as any kind of  an educated or authoritative opinion on the complete story or the movie.

Jagannathan

The transformation of Jagannathan in to that of the Aaram Thamburan, is in no small part due to Unnimaya. In the beginning we see a man who declares that he wants to own nothing and be attached to nothing - live life as a nomadic monk who revels in its pleasures without developing a craving or yearning for them. The vices and general disregard for societal regulations he displays seems to hide a fundamental, deep rooted fear of losing love manifesting itself as a "own nothing, lose nothing" philosophy and the tendency to put on masks in life, even to those closest to him, combined with an act of delusional self assurance (എല്ലാം അറിയുന്നവൻ ഞാൻ). We see this psychological defense faltering in many instances in Unnimaya's presence. 

The first time this happens is when he first sees her in the temple, and as she walks towards him he struggles and then succeeds in turning his initial slack jawed expression back to his normal, defensive self. One has to wonder how much of the taunting dialogue that followed revealed his actual perception of her (കാവിലേ ഭഗവതി നേരിട്ടു പ്രത്യക്ഷപ്പെട്ടതാണോ). This moment of fleeting indecisiveness on the part of Jagannathan in the beginning takes prominence when you consider how much, throughout the rest of the movie you are made privy to his colorful and exciting history and resulting strength and decisiveness of character (കളി കുറേ കണ്ടവനാ ഞാൻ ).

It is after this scene, that Jagannathan's intentional and unintentional armors go up and he tests and needles Unnimaya in many ways until the scene where she displays her softer, vulnerable side by crying about not knowing but loving her mother and again we see Jagannathan's mask slipping for a second as he decides to stop and take stock of his feelings for her (ഗോവിന്ദൻകുട്ടീ, കുട്ടി കരയണൂ).

It is however, when a third character shows up in the mix in the form of an old friend who arrives with serious romantic intentions as Nayanthara Devan (Priya Raman) that Jagannathan is forced to confront his emotions for real, in subtle ways at first and then overtly. The notable scene is where for the first time you see the revealing, awkward smile of comprehension that appears on his face when Unnimaya shows her anger and jealousy at the abrupt end of the impromptu thiruvathira performance (ദേ ഉണ്ണിമായ വിചാരിച്ചാ നടക്കുംടോ).

Finally, when put on the spot with Nayanthara's rather practical and endearing marriage proposal, Jagannathan reveals his true feelings and his intentions regarding Unnimaya and in a way, it's the first true words his character utters in the entire movie ( I'm madly in love, Nayan). It's interesting when you think that Nayanthara is not just a convenient catalyst in the story but also a clever component in painting the depth and nature of the Jagannathan - Unnimaya story as in every other sense she is perfect for him because of their close friendship, mutual respect, common world views, love for family (for the father- parellel to Jagannathan's own theme) , knowledge of and on various relevant matters and most importantly her willingness to compromise her individual sensibilities for the sake of a committed relationship (ജഗൻറെ ഇഷ്ടങ്ങളെ ഇഷ്ടപ്പെടാൻ എനിക്കു കഴിയും). 

Unnimaya

First of all hats off to Manju Warrier for her indelible performance. It's hard to believe she was just 19 when she elicited the necessary depth of emotion and sub-textual understanding of the character.

Unnimaya's transformation is sudden and more evident than Jagannathan's but is paralleled in many ways in terms of themes and events. The sheer elegance of Unnimaya's character is to be applauded - kudos to Ranjith.

Unnimaya's armor which shields her from her depressing reality manifests itself intentionally as a sharp tongue, blunt straightforwardness and overwhelming confidence which is often perceived as unfounded arrogance (അഹങ്കാരത്തിനു കൈയ്യും കാലും വയ്ക്കുക എന്നിട്ടു പെണ്ണെന്നു പേരും ). However, in her private moments, she reveals her fears and helplessness before her fate. It is to be noted that even in the face of losing her home and identity, she displays her righteous self respect by referring to herself not as a tenant of the ancestral home but it's mistress (കോലോത്തേ തമ്പുരാട്ടിയാടോ മാഷേ).

Her mask firsts briefly slips unnoticed by everyone except for Jagannathan when he first reveals himself as the new owner of the home and she perceives the true Jagannathan for a second. However, like him her defenses go up immediately and she reverts back to her normal, angry self. Her love is reserved only for the one man who has always been there for her and loved her unconditionally - the man she calls her father and quite cleverly, the other Thampuran in the kovilakam.

Her hatred and contempt for Jagannathan is genuine until the moment she sees the great artist in him during the classic monologue before the song Harimuraleeravam (മധുമൊഴി രാധേ നിന്നേ തേടി...). The depth and strength of Unnimaya's devotion to the arts, which she held on to for a livelihood and as her only true identity is revealed here when she tears up and bows before him and at the end of the song, touches his feet and quickly runs away unable to show her vulnerable and now respectful self before him.

In a story that heavily paints a picture of forgotten traditions and cultural and hereditary pedigree, Unnimaya's immense love and respect for the arts that transcends her defenses and ego brings one word to mind - കുലീനത. One has to wonder if Ranjith is trying to say something about the unanswered question of Unnimaya's parentage (ഏതു തരക്കാരി ആയിരുന്നു തള്ള എന്നു നിന്റെ പ്രകൃതം കൊണ്ടു അറിയാല്ലോ).

Unnimaya's jealousy rears its head when Nayanthara shows up and it is then that Unnimaya herself might have realized that the nature of her feelings for Jagannathan had grown beyond just awe and respect, in to something more possessive. For the first time, we see subtle hints of her questioning her worth which comes out as vehement spite at Nayanthara's worldliness and daring which had made her an equal in Jagannathan's eyes. Gave her freedom to call him affectionate nicknames when Unnimaya herself still only dared call him Thampuran (കാശിന്റെ ഹുങ്കാ കൊഴഞ്ഞാട്ടക്കാരിക്ക്).

When she overhears Jagannathan decline Nayanthara's proposal and declares his overwhelming affection and overpowering love for her, her initial reaction is one of shock as she faces the prospect that for once in her life she could be happy and how blessed she was, she stands still with her fists clenched at her sides and tears streaming down her face. As she then, once again runs away, her joy and happiness is portrayed beautifully through the song 'paadi' written simply but eloquently describing her emotions.

The Only Scene

The only scene of any kind of intimacy between Unnimaya and Jagannathan is after he tells her stepmother that he will never leave her or betray her, emotionally or physically, in two simple words. It is again of paramount importance that this happens only after the stepmother tells Unnimaya that she always thought of her as a daughter and that for all intents and purposes she was her mother. This resolution of the major crisis of identity being resolved in Unnimaya's life is sub-textually significant for Jagannathan to commit overtly before her mother and serves almost as an engagement of sorts between the now overt lovers. The tearful, short hug between the two is the only time they actually touch each other in the entire movie apart from the time Unnimaya touches Jagannathan's feet in respect. Elegant symbolism. (ഞാൻ കൈവിടില്ല).

The news that sixteen years later another Mohanlal - Manju Warrier- Ranjith project is in the works is happy tidings to any Mallu movie fan. So as I'm wrapping up, let me just say "Welcome back Manju Chechi! Bring it on.."

Underneath The Mask (Fiction)

DISCLAIMER: Purely academic and fictional attempt at gauging a disturbing human psyche.. It's dark, so be warned..

His breathing was growing heavier now, more rapid and labored.. It always did afterwards, the act always calmed him. In fact, in all his, somewhat unreliable, memories of his short life (has it only been 30 years?.. it seems so much longer), those where the only moments of stillness he could remember. Moments when he almost felt like himself.. in control of his thoughts, his careful and meticulous actions, his mind calm and serene, like the algae infested blue-green waters of the small lake near his childhood home on the windless, grey winter day.. untouched by troubling, excruciating emotion or helpless, pathetic sentiment that kept him bound down to mediocrity and ugliness day after day.

He was so much more.. so much more grand and beautiful than what they saw.. what he let them see. Their stupidity and silliness drove him to near insanity, when he would listen to them rant and rave pitifully about their insignificant troubles and problems, he would try to elicit from his bored and exhausted mind some kind of appropriate emotion to display on his well defined, aquiline face. He sometimes had trouble finding the right reaction or there would be an inevitable delay in response, and he would have to spend the next few seconds or minutes looking for clues as to whether they noticed.. they saw or suspected for a brief moment who he was.. what he was.. For a fraction of a second he would almost wish he could see their eyes open wide in amazement and adoration at the recognition. How stupid would they feel then? That thought often amused him, even into uncharacteristic chuckling when he was stuck in traffic, bored as he waited in line patiently for the sheep to get on with their 'important', busy lives..

The woman who came to clean the house was the worst. She came every other day, he had made sure of that.. he couldn't handle her on a daily basis but this way she appeared just when he would get bored.. Oh, the incessant noise that came out of her fat, disgusting mouth as she narrated and explained in painful detail how her son no longer cared about her feelings, how he doesn't remember the blood and sweat she had shed toiling away for decades for him, how she had dreams when she was younger too, how being a mother changes you.. then she would move on to praising him, explaining how it wasn't entirely his fault, how he never had a strong male influence in his young life..blah blah blah.. The day before during this cacophony he started playing with the humorous fantasy of how her high pitched, uneducated, ignorant voice would change if he slowly cut into her voice box as she was chattering away... would it go higher or deeper? He toyed with the idea of doing it then and there. The surgical scalpel he had bought last week would do. Where had he kept it? Oh yeah.. in the bottom drawer of his bedroom desk. How her rancid mouth would fill up with her impure, dirty, dark blood and how her flea bitten tongue would taste it in shock and embarrassment(?). How it would run down his palm and forearm as her flabby jowls would shake and shiver at the mercy of his powerful physique. Wait.. did he have enough liquid hand sanitizer left? It would be disgusting to keep that kind of sticky fluid on his person for minutes. Yes! He had bought a new bottle three days ago. So nothing actually stopped him.. technically.. The thought made him smile. He snapped back to the colorless reality when she smiled back. Apparently, she had been narrating some endearing incident from her or her filthy son's childhood. The sudden realization that she had misunderstood his smile as sympathy or enjoyment or compassion or one of those things, to her useless tale made him feel sick and revolted inside. He had to quickly turn away and walk in to the bathroom. As he washed his face, over and over again, he screamed a thousand curses inside.. at himself for being so careless, at her sheer nerve for considering him.. him.. an equal even if it was just for a second, at the magnificently cruel world that wept and fought for all the worms and maggots - their futile rights and moronic freedoms, when they wouldn't let something as awe inspiring and elegant as him scream at the top of his lungs in to their deaf ears - "LOOK AT ME!! THIS IS WHO I AM!! THIS IS WHAT I AM!!"

She was still outside, waiting to complete her unending saga of woe.. or was it joy now? It took him a few minutes to make a decision regarding her.. not yet.. not here. Too many variables not under his control. He looked for a second in pride and self adulation at his restraint. How many people could boast of such will and determination? He decided it was better to pretend to do some 'work stuff' on his laptop. She would shut up out of 'respect' for his important work, which he was sure, she had no clue what was about.. The main thing that annoyed him about her was the stench she brought in to his home.. After she left, he would have to open the windows for it to clear.. And that meant letting the noises in..

A hint of a smile crept across his face as he imagined her reaction if he had made a different, more reckless, albeit daring, decision. Once, a few days ago, while she was sweeping the floor near his feet, she had accidentally touched him and he felt something he hadn't felt before.. For a fleeting instance he tried to comprehend if this was what the others had meant by attraction, but then he decided against it.. This couldn't be it.. His senses had sharpened and his muscles had tensed, his teeth clenched and he had involuntarily let out a low, audible growl.. The fat sack of nothingness had looked up and he had to disguise it as a cough.. Is this what men felt around women? He had never figured it out completely. He had learned to be masterful in disguising that fact though.. around the others..

His breathing was slowing down to its normal, steady, even rate. Today was not the most interesting or productive day but it was definitely better than nothing. He lifted his head that was resting on the head of the couch and he leaned his slouched torso forward to look at his work. What breed was it? The stupid kid with the ridiculously unruly hair and thick glasses from two floors down had mentioned it the day his family had bought it, something about... what was it.. not having a pet or the one before dying or....whatever.. He tried to sort though his memory of the excited, inarticulate monologue the kid had delivered on the subject- there had been a fly buzzing around his unwashed face at the time.. what was it that he squeeled.. it was a Pomeranian/ Labrador mix or.... something..  Anyway, it was medium sized, had an impressive musculature.. didn't put up much of a struggle though..

His throat was getting dry.. His stomach was growling as well. Acidity had become a real nuisance because of his unsteady and irregular diet. He hadn't had anything since last night. It was 11.25 a.m now. If he hurried, he could get something from the breakfast menu at the vegetarian hotel two blocks down. The thought of changing first, and then walking all the way there to sit in the unhygienic, badly lit dining area listening to the customers whisper and laugh out in loud bursts of uncontrollable hilarity at some idiotic story, irritated him. That would definitely ruin the mood and bring down the overall tone of the day so far. Besides, he was drenching in sweat, he really needed a long, hot shower.

He looked at the mangy, blood coated thing before him for a few seconds and then thought with a certain incipient excitement.. Well, it's always interesting to try new things..

I am a Chettan

DISCLAIMER: Giving due consideration and respect to credible opinions of knowledgeable sources, I'm venturing outside my literary comfort zone in to emotionally introspective,  autobiographical analytic prose.. bear with me :) 

Malu S. , 1991

What is she to me.. practical and theoretical nomenclatures imposed on my very heart, soul and thought by those who knew or should have known since that fateful day in December, 1990, are few and simple - little sister (aniyathi), my best friend, my confidante... Is that all she is? An assortment of definitions that can be built and torn down by the sheer narcissistic 'strength' of my self serving mind or by the unrepentantly churning waters of tumultuous and vociferous experiences of an unpredictable, apathetic life?

A title or position created and defended by a campaign of powerful instinctual emotions perhaps.. protective ones, affectionate ones, possessive ones.. How did I feel when one temperamentally ordinary and historically insignificant day she suddenly existed in my consciousness as a living, breathing being in a clean, white, sterile bassinet in that thoughtlessly colorless room of that small town hospital? Did I feel anything profoundly change in me or was what changed in me was so fundamentally human that my yet forming, fickle mind hardly realized it? If so, is it possible as a self proclaimed, marginally mature adult to remember or impartially and intellectually dissect those first pristine moments? The moments when a 4 year old whose life revolved solely around himself and his impulsive attempts at joy and gratification, allowed and fostered by a protective cocoon of loving, tall shadowy figures by virtue of his innocence and helplessness, saw something more fragile and precious than his limited awareness of his own self, enter into his life for him to play with, to love, to call his own..

What fleeting thoughts raced through his jubilant mind the next morning as he looked forward to the small pleasures that felt like tiny victories over life - the taste of the soft, custom shaped uzhunnu dosas his grandmother might make, the grand stories to be told and heard during the crowded, noisy ride with his 'friends' in the compact, back engine autorickshaw on the way to the new found adventure of school... the possibilities of fun things to be done with or on behalf of the new thing in his life - the personality less bundle of flesh that was being pampered and cared for by all the tall people.. Did he feel the need to do things differently that day since now as everyone kept pointing out with a knowing and incomprehensible, albeit slightly condescending, smile that he was a 'chettan'?  What exactly did that entail as to the routines and events in the day of a kindergartner? What does a child know of 'responsible' love and how to possibly 'protect' the tiny, occasionally loud being that now occupied a pivotal position in his small and gloriously 'eventful' world?

Memories are deceptive images that are colored in various telling shades and distorted by the events that follow their accidental birth.

After 22 years of  'life' and everything that goes with it, do I know her? Will I ever? I doubt it.

I have to fall back with humility on the tragically overused and often justifiably misunderstood word, as I realize that lassoing in the appropriate, descriptive words demonstrating my control over language and articulation will fail me miserably in this instance of introspectively decisive expression, the word that characterizes and signifies maybe nothing or possibly something or perhaps rather optimistically,  everything about how I feel about her - love..

Whatever the steady current of tempestuous youth and eventual maturity and resolutions of adulthood brings, I know that, without the aid of naive but convincing self assurance or now restraint-fully tasteful arrogance masquerading as self confidence in my emotion or intellect, I know that... 

I always have and always will... love my little Malukkutty..

Men are from Mars.. Women are from..

On a whim or persuasive intellectual turmoil, I do not know, but I'm venturing a little bit into unknown territory as far as my knowledge on the matter goes... so nothing new then. :)

A dear friend of mine, Juney Ann Thomas, who completed her Masters in Eng. Lit and is a talented poet and literary analyst in her own right, pointed me towards an essay she wrote during her course work regarding Ecriture feminine theory in modern literature.While my ignorance of literary theories in general and my uncompromising lack of patience to delve completely into something I'm fundamentally unfamiliar with, prevented me from drawing the comprehensive and authoritative meaning behind her words, I, therefore, finished reading the essay having developed, through my clumsy attempts at grasping the literary implications, some profound questions about some rather ordinary things.

The theory (please look it up) deals with the issue of women being depicted and understood in literature from strictly a male thought process and how women should write women for the structure to change. It has an interesting point about how male thinking is always a single path process or phallocentric where you understand and analyze something by direct and linear methodology which can be connected even to the ancient and original scientific Greek mentality of dissection and analysis of the subject matter to reach the underlying truth. The theory declares that this is not the only way to understand or admire the world and that women are capable of thinking non-linearly and it can sometimes be more effective in aesthetic and analytic description of the tangible and the intangible.

Now my friend is a self proclaimed worshiper of words and I came to the conclusion that my strong left brain sensibilities make me a seeker of ideas behind the words, hence my stubborn fascination with direct, analytic prose and why ethereal, beautiful poetry (including hers :) ) is often wasted on me. 

So naturally, I came out of the reading with the idea that surely this linear thinking which I, by virtue of my gender, social context and education, abide by must also mean that I do not perceive the world like a person (not necessarily a female) who is capable of non-linear thought or analysis does. 

But sticking to the framework of the theory, I applied it to the pop culture rant about how men will never understand women. Is this the reason? Do women see the world in a different light, not just because of social or gender based biases, but as a result of a more fundamental approach of thought? Immediately, a joke from the stand up routine of Chappelle (I think) came to mind where he pointed out that men tell stories as a series of facts whereas women tell stories by employing a method of highlighting their emotions causal and resultant of the facts and events of the story.

Juney also mentioned the difference in the fluidity of signifiers in male and female discourse, i.e, the relationship between the word and the meaning being rather 'fixed' in male discourse and its more fluid nature in female ones.  Her exact words were "Remember the age old adage about women saying one thing and meaning another?" My limited knowledge of semiotics kept me from probing the issue further.. Check out her site www.juneythomas.in

I then recapped various conversations with girls where I tried to understand something relating to usually aesthetics or a general sense of wonder from their point of view and failed, leaving the topic of discussion clinging to the rather intellectually complacent explanation that it must be an individual subjectivity issue. However, I come across these issues in smaller amounts when dealing with my own gender. Could the unseen battle between linear and non-linear cognitive philosophies be the problem?

My flimsy footing in the disciplines of gender studies and feminist theory (or just a female perspective) prevents me from going any further but I invite your comments and arguments on this paralyzing suspicion that I now have, in order to put to rest any future misgivings I may have when talking to someone from the opposite sex. :D

Ineligibility Criteria for Applying to Join the Moral Police (Mallu Version)

നാട്ടിലെ സദാചാര പോലീസുകാർ അറിയാൻ വേണ്ടി ഒരു ഇന്ത്യൻ ചെറുപ്പക്കാരൻ ആത്മരോഷത്തോടെ എഴുതുന്നത്‌..

ആരൊക്കെ ഈ പണിക്ക് ഇറങ്ങരുത്......

1. തല്ലു തിരികെ കിട്ടില്ല എന്ന ഉറച്ച വിശ്വാസത്തിനാൽ മാത്രം തല്ലി പഠിപ്പിക്കുവാൻ മുതിരുന്നവർ.

2. പ്രായത്തിന്റെ വില പെരുമാറ്റത്തിലും കാഴ്ചപ്പാടിലും അല്ല സ്വന്തം ജന്മവർഷത്തിനു ശേഷം ഭൂജാതരായവരെ എങ്ങിനെ എപ്പോൾ അടിക്കാം എന്നതിലാണ് കാണിക്കേണ്ടത് എന്നു കരുതുന്നവർ.

3. കൂടെയുള്ള ചങ്ങാതിമാരുടെയും പിന്തുണക്കാരുടെയും ശരീര ബലവും തന്റേടവും അനുസരിച്ച് സ്വന്തം ഉദ്ദേശവും അതിനു പുറകിലുള്ള പൊരുളും മാറ്റിക്കുറിക്കുന്നവർ.

4. ജന്മന ഉള്ള ശാരീരികവും മാനസികവും ആയ ബലത്തെയും കഴിവിനേയും അതില്ലാത്തവന്റെ നെഞ്ചത്ത് കേറി അഭ്യാസം കാട്ടാൻ ബ്രഹ്മൻ ഇഷ്യൂ ചെയ്ത ലൈസൻസ് ആയി കാണുന്നവർ.

5. നിഷ്കളങ്കവും ബാലിശവും ആയ കൊച്ചു കൗമാര പ്രണയങ്ങളെ മുളയിലേ നുള്ളി തല്ലി കെടുത്തിയിട്ട്‌ വൈകീട്ടു സന്ധ്യാദീപം കൊളുത്തി 'രാധേകൃഷ്ണ' ഭജൻ പാടി ഈശ്വരനിൽ അഭയം തേടുന്നവർ.

6. രാമായണവും മഹാഭാരതവും എഴുതിയത് വാൽമികിയും വേദവ്യാസനും അല്ല രാമാനന്ദ് സാഗറും ബി.ആർ.ചോപ്രയും ആണെന്നു തെറ്റിദ്ധരിക്കുന്നവർ.

7. ചെറുപ്പത്തിലും യൌവ്വനത്തിലും ഉള്ള തെമ്മാടിത്തരം മുഴുവനും കാണിച്ചു കൂട്ടിയുട്ട് ഒരു പ്രായം കഴിയുമ്പോൾ സ്വയം ഒരു കാരണവരായി മുദ്ര കുത്തി കുറിയും തൊട്ടു മുണ്ടും മടക്കി കുത്തി ഭാരത സംസ്കാരത്തിന്റെ നന്മക്കായി നാട്ടുകാരെ പറഞ്ഞും വേണമെങ്കിൽ ഒന്നു പൊട്ടിച്ചും നന്നാക്കാൻ തുനിഞ്ഞിറങ്ങുന്നവർ.

8. ഗീതോപദേശവും വേദവാക്യങ്ങളും ടീവിയിൽ കണ്ടിട്ടു പിന്നീടു അതു പശ്ചാത്തല സംഗീതത്തോടെ ഓർമ്മിച്ചു ഭഗവാൻ സ്ലോ മോഷനിൽ വരുന്നതു മനസ്സിൽ  കണ്ടു ആത്മ നിർവൃതി കൊള്ളുന്നവർ.

9. പുരാണത്തിൽ ദ്രൗപദീ വസ്ത്രാക്ഷേപകഥ വായിച്ചറിഞ്ഞപ്പോൾ കൗരവ സഭയിൽ നിസ്സഹായരായിരിക്കേണ്ടിവന്ന മഹാരധികളെ തഴഞ്ഞു ശ്രീകൃഷ്ണ ലീലയ്ക്കു നേരെ കണ്ണടച്ചു ജീവിതോദാഹരണമായി എടുത്തു പാത പിന്തുടരാൻ പോന്ന കേമൻ ദുശ്ശാസനൻ തന്നെ എന്ന് തീരുമാനിച്ചവർ.

10. ഭാരതസംസ്കാരം ജീവിതം മുഴുക്കെ പഠിച്ചാലും അനുഭവിച്ചറിയാൻ ശ്രമിച്ചാലും തീരാതെ അങ്ങിനെ പല മതങ്ങളും ഭാഷകളും സാഹിത്യ കൃതികളും കലാരൂപങ്ങളും ആയി നിറഞ്ഞു കവിഞ്ഞൊഴുകുമ്പോൾ അതിൽ മുങ്ങി തപ്പി തനിക്കാവിശ്യമുള്ളതു മാത്രം ചൂണ്ടയിട്ടു പിടിച്ചു പിന്നീടു  താൻ പൈതൃകമുള്ള ഭാരതീയൻ എന്ന് ലോകത്തിനു മുന്നിൽ സ്വയം വിശേഷിപ്പിക്കുന്നവർ.

ധർമത്തിനു വേണ്ടി മാത്രം ശസ്ത്രം എടുക്കേണ്ടവർ അതു ജന്മാവകാശമായി കണ്ടു അഹങ്കരിച്ചു സംരക്ഷിക്കണ്ടവരെ ദ്രോഹിച്ചു തുടങ്ങിയപ്പോൾ ആയുധം കയ്യിലെടുത്തു ഈശ്വരകോപത്തിൻറെ രൌദ്രവും സംഹാരതാണ്ടവവും എന്തെന്നു അറിയുച്ചു കൊടുത്ത വൈഷ്ണവാവതാരം പരശുരാമന്റെ പേരിൽ അറിയപ്പെടുന്ന മണ്ണിൽ ജീവിക്കുന്നവർ എങ്കിലും ഇതെല്ലാം ഓർക്കേണമേ എന്ന് താഴ്മയോടെ അപേക്ഷിക്കുന്നു..

എന്നു സസ്നേഹം ,
ഒരു സാദാ മലയാളി 

From Goliath to David.... A Journey of Doing Nothing :)

I was just looking at some old pictures I have on my hard drive of a trip to Goa I took with my friends. I just had to post this.. This is just for shock value and has no information or moral/practical/philosophical lesson behind it - the transformation was without any motivated effort on my part.. hehe..

Have you spotted me yet?

Okay, fine... let me help you out..

At a hotel in Goa, 2011

Just to be clear, my natural body type is somewhere between slim and average - I was just really overweight for a couple of years. I lost the weight after that (starting a few months ago) by.... well.. nothing - I changed absolutely nothing about my lifestyle, consciously, that is - I just kinda lost the weight... somehow.. I wasn't even that aware of how much weight I had lost until I looked at the 'before' and 'after' versions side by side.

Me... in Jaganguda, November 2013

Somehow a simple LOL or a WTF just doesn't seem to suffice.. I had almost forgotten that guy existed. Needless to say I was freaked out when I chanced upon the Goa pics. I know I weighed around a 112 kg/247 lbs at my heaviest. Still its kind of weird to actually see it now.

Btw, the 'natural' lighting in the 'after' picture helps a lil' bit in terms of emotional recovery.. ;)

P.s. the guys in the first pic in order from left to right are - well.. me, Vinu Raj, Nipun P.R. and Jayakrishnan N.

The Boy/ Girl Story in Mainstream Indian Cinema

Be warned, this is not well thought out, but I have to put it out there none the less. It's a concern I have with the portrayal of the lead female characters in Indian cinema, specifically though, in south Indian cinema. I don't see as many Hindi movies - but those of you who do, let me know if the situation applies there as well.

First of all, I'm not going into the obvious patronizing patriarchal nature of the plots in the movies, because the target demographic being men, who are still the majority ticket buying audience and the policy makers, it makes sense business wise. You can't get a large production value on just a keen social welfare agenda ;) It's sad, but it is what it is. I'm more concerned with the illusion of change with regards to the popular heroine.

Let me explain. A surface glance at the recent story lines, will show a positive change in the character of the urban female love interest. She was always beautiful but now she also happens to be educated, ambitious, more or less independent, opinionated and strong willed. A far cry from the shy, traditional beauty of the yesteryears. Not that there weren't strong women in the older movies... let's put a pin on that for now.

Simply put the lead female character is now "modern" (whatever that means..). But all her supposedly 'good' qualities are conditional. Conditional on satisfying the requirements of the tragically fragile male ego looming large in the hundreds of seats in the dark cinema hall. Normally, this wouldn't bother me, because its hardly a 'national secret'. We all know this but no one really addresses this. What does bother me is the "old wine in new bottle" scenario that seems to be molding the views of the youth with regards to how they think of and what they expect from the opposite sex. 

In many movies (nope, not naming names), I see precisely the situation that we want to avoid being peddled as 'progress' with some clever disguise. For example, in the generic movie, the girl is intelligent and strong willed but also kind of arrogant and naive when it comes to the reality of the world. The hero could be a down to earth and equally if not more intelligent and smart guy, but whatever happens there always comes a point in the plot, where the girl learns a 'lesson' at which point the hero, out of the kindness of his heart and deep love for her, imparts his 'gyaan'. The girl is now humbled and succumbs to his charms. Now, keep in mind, this can happen in many ways, not just through physical or verbal confrontation which may or may not involve a sleazy third party, and the lesson learned could be emotional, intellectual, or moral. There is suddenly a change in the girl's world view and/or her view of the hero and his world view, and acceptance of her mistake. 

I'm not saying the characters don't make sense, within the framework of the story- they often do. And I'm sure there are many naive girls and super smart guys out there :).. What I am saying is that this becomes a problem when sold as the norm or the fantasy and is implied, in the story, as the foundation for the ensuing passionate, all consuming and committed love affair. 

Also, I keep seeing a pattern of outdated, rigid philosophy of 'the ways of the world' coming out of many a 'modern' hero's mouth tempered with some new age terminology and some clever/cool punch line, to add effect, I'm sure. It doesn't exactly help that in all other respects the hero is a crusader against injustice, protector of the weak and all around good guy, with a swagger in his step and capable of being the lone warrior in a good vs. evil battle.

Let me guess, right now, many of you are thinking the exact same thing - "This guy's talking in hyperbole and making a mountain out of a molehill that's been here for a long time." Maybe I am, maybe I'm not.. I'm not getting into the larger social implications here, but I'm focusing on something as important but more subtle. The romantic relationships of our youth, which may or may not lead to or at least set the tone for our adult, 'mature' relationships.

Many of you might be positive about the fact that this doesn't apply to you or any of the relationships you have witnessed. Somewhat true I suppose.. I can attest to this on a personal level, as the circles I travel in, seem largely impervious to the subtle prejudices of the 'traditional' structure, at least more so than the majority of the larger movie viewing populace of the south.

However, even in urban India, real boy/girl romantic relationships, generally, don't start until college. The problem is that throughout the formative years of teenage we are influenced, overtly or covertly, by the fictional affairs in our popular movies, because, let's face it, movies are almost a 'religion' in Indian culture. I started thinking about this issue when I looked back and remembered gender based prejudices prevailing among many of the guys (well, not my friends ;)...) in college - and this was a bustling, multi-cultural, progressive student body in a major metropolis. By the process of elimination, I came to the conclusion that this can't be coming from the voices of our 'elders' ringing in our ears or from our classrooms, because on principle alone, we refuse to listen to either. It had to be from popular culture. Even those who are keen viewers of movies in multiple languages, including Hollywood products, are not entirely safe from this propaganda, as our peers and cultural context have way more capacity to shape our thoughts. Even scarier is the possibility (though I can't really comment on this) of how much this is influencing the girls and their thoughts and expectations from relationships, maybe even without them being aware.

I'm not against tradition or for change for the sake of change. There is value in established culture. It got established for more reasons than just superficial power struggles between classes or genders. It has its benefits and wisdom and then some. 

All I'm saying is that we should be aware of what shapes our decisions and opinions in both our personal and professional lives. Especially, when it comes to dealing with the opposite sex. So my desi boys and girls, let's deal with each other based on who we are, shall we.. and not based on what we're 'supposed to be' to each other.

The Paradox of Actually 'Knowing'

This might just be the stupidest thought that crossed my mind or one of the more interesting ones. I don't know if its a product of one of those moments of clarity or a naive notion arrived at, solely due to a lack of knowledge or because I'm missing something obvious that's right there in front of my face. It's nothing groundbreaking, I assure you. Just an idea..

I'm calling it a fundamental fallacy in methodology.

In any science, advancement is made by proposing new theories and then either proving or disproving them by collection and analysis of empirical data. This applies to the relatively young field of psychology as well.

How do you collect empirical data about the mind? Yeah, I'm aware of experimental methods, tests, questionnaires, surveys etc. But the problem, I feel with this is, you get very, very limited information and the information is very vague because the nature and scope of the questions, usually are. This is not a problem with the intelligence behind the questions, the reasons have more to do with practicality and context.

I thought, how can anyone ever completely understand me? What I can or do communicate is merely a fraction of my entire thought and the reasons behind the nature and form of my thinking are more often than not unclear even to me. This means that my parents or even my closest friends can never completely know me (I'm not entirely sure as to how to feel about this), the best they can do is form an educated opinion and image of my mind based on the collective pool of my actions (including communication) in life - the ones they know of. Generally, this suffices, in terms of decisions, emotions and problem solving in life.

But, surely, this educated guesswork can't be adequate for scientific analysis and theorizing. I mean, if those closest to me, who have known me my entire life, have pretty much a 'good guess' as to how my mind works, exactly how much can an academic, a stranger no less, glean from me with a few pointed questions or a specific experiment? Also bear in mind that the questions or the experiments are almost always designed specifically to suit the needs of the scientist, which means that, given the malleable and highly dynamic nature of the human mind, the information extracted may be distorted or contaminated by many, many factors -regardless of the precautions and safeguards taken by the scientist (which are, again, constrained within the boundaries of practicality).

So the question then becomes how valid are the conclusions arrived at and theories proved or disproved based on this unreliable data. How often, despite attempted objectivity, does the evidence kind of fit the theory instead of the other way around?

More importantly, what does this mean to the larger human campaign to analyse and understand the mind? Would we have to wait for technology and medical science to catch up, to explain everything biologically? If any or all of these things are even remotely true, then it would be the cruelest irony that the mind that quantifies and attempts to objectively analyze everything in creation that its aware of, is incapable of doing it to the one thing that is fundamental to the rest - itself.

Declaration of Mallu-ness

എൻറെ പേര്  ഹരി കൃഷ്ണൻ ജയകുമാർ . കണ്ണനെന്നും വിളിക്കും. ഞാനൊരു  മലയാളിയാണ് . ശരിക്കും പറഞ്ഞാൽ തൃപ്പൂണിത്തുറക്കാരൻ. എഴുതുന്നത്‌ മുഴുവൻ സായിപ്പിന്റെ ഭാഷേലാണേലും വീട്ടിലും നാവിലും നമ്മുടെ ഭാഷ തന്നെ. ഇത് എൻറെ  നാട്ടിലെ ഇന്റർനെറ്റിൽ കിടന്നു കറങ്ങുന്ന ചങ്ങാതിമാർ അറിയാൻ  വേണ്ടി ചുമ്മാ ഒന്ന് പണിയുന്നതാ .

പിന്നെ ഇത്രെയൊക്കെ അങ്ങോട്ട് ഒണ്ടാക്കിയ സ്ഥിതിക്ക് സായിപ്പന്മാരും ഒന്നറിഞ്ഞിരിക്കട്ടെ എന്ന് കരുതി.

അക്ഷരപ്പിശകുണ്ടേൽ ക്ഷമിക്കണം കേട്ടോ.. 'ഗൂഗിൾ' ഉണ്ടാക്കിയതു കുമാരനാശാനും മഹാകവി വള്ളത്തോളും കൂടല്ലല്ലോ. ഇത്രയൊക്കേ പറ്റിയുള്ളൂ.

അപ്പൊ ലാൽ സലാം... ലാലേട്ടനും സലാം..

എന്തേലും ഉണ്ടേൽ കമന്റ്റ്  ചെയ്ത്  അറിയിച്ചാ മതി.

Top 10 Movie Villains

Okay, so the list is a purely personal one and the criteria of selection is based on what genuinely freaked me out or impressed me, in terms of completely bad ass, sinister behavior. After compiling the list, I noticed that I didn't think of any female candidates in the category. There are many, but the list, as I said, is based on my reaction to 'evil' and it seems I react more to overt, violent and physical shades of evil than the more subtle, deeper but equally deadly emotional/psychotic variety which most of the women in movies seem to display - Kathy Bates in Misery, Faye Dunaway in Mommy Dearest, Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, Louise Fletcher in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and so on. Not that there aren't any physically violent, gory femme-fatales in mainstream cinema, many such women appear in action/thriller movies, especially in the Asian cannon. But in compiling a top ten list, I had to prioritize. Oh, by the way, the list is in no particular order of 'evil'ness.

So here goes..

1. The Joker

Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight (2008)

He finds humor in suffering and mayhem, doesn't want anything material and hates everyone and everything. The prospect of death doesn't even give him pause and his message to the world is simply that "Everything burns.."
Extremely intelligent and unpredictable..

2. Dr. Hannibal Lecter

Anthony Hopkins in Silence of the Lambs (1991)

Certifiable genius, an accomplished psychiatrist and an extremely dangerous psychopathic, cannibalistic serial killer with an unknown body count.

3. Anton Chigurh

Javier Bardem in No Country for Old Men (2007)

Calm, deadly and ever so menacing in his movements, deliberate speech and the coldness in his eyes - an assassin who relishes his work.

4. Michael Myers

Halloween Franchise

The physically imposing, unstoppable killing machine that escapes from the darkest of asylums to pursue his baby sister, the sole survivor of his massacre of his family as a child. Pure animalistic psychopath, driven simply by the need to kill and hides his perceived ugliness in a generic Halloween mask revealing only his soul less eyes..

5. Col. Hans Landa

Christoph Waltz in Inglourious Basterds (2009)

The highly intelligent, soft spoken, articulate Nazi 'Jew Hunter' whose eyes hint at the malevolence and darkness that lies beneath. Piercing but polite conversationalist who slides effortlessly from chit chat to menace to explosions of violence and then returns, smiling, to his charming self.

6. Idi Amin

Forrest Whitaker in The Last King of Scotland (2006)

The real life, brutal Ugandan dictator whose volatile temper, bloodthirsty savagery and paranoid personality formed a dangerous mixture resulting in the horrifying torture and murder of many - those who oppose him and those closest to him.

7. Amon Goeth

Ralph Fiennes in Schindler's List (1993)

Another real life fiend, a cowardly but sadistic Nazi Commandant of a Polish labor camp who kills and tortures the prisoners for work and pleasure - even to alleviate boredom. An example of the atrocities that can occur when evil obtains undeserved power over the helpless.

8. Pazuzu - the demon

Linda Blair in The Exorcist (1973)

The ancient, demonic entity that possesses a young girl, transforming her into a hideous, foul mouthed, powerful and just creepy being who emotionally, physically and spiritually tortures and kills those who come in contact with her.

9. The Devil

Al Pacino in The Devil's Advocate (1997)

Need I even say anything.. Charming, seductive, master manipulator and all powerful bad guy who will take your hand and walk you in to the darkness, laughing and cracking jokes the whole way.

10. Gabbar Singh

Amjad Khan in Sholay (1975)

The eccentric, sadistic and brutal outlaw bandit who became an iconic villain in Indian movie history.


There are so many honorable mentions that I'm having trouble deciding..but  Denzel Washington in Training Day, Stanley Tucci in The Lovely Bones, Jack Nicholson in The Departed, Hopkins again in Fracture and Red 2, Ian Mckellan in Apt Pupil,  are a few that come to mind right now.. Yeah, I know it's a strange selection but then I have specific tastes when it comes to evil..

Gimme a few suggestions of your own..

P.S. Jason Vorhees and Freddy Krueger - you guys make me smile too.. ;)

Looking in to The Abyss..

Time for another one of my ambitious attempts at sparking a conversation aimed towards understanding nature – specifically, this time, the nature of evil. Let us start with a closer look at the scope of its definition itself.

When confronted, as usual, with the lack of a focal point of analysis or even a starting one, I looked to the internet and did a preliminary scan of the discussions on the subject and these are the conclusions I came to on my own, based on varying approaches. Morality and ethics, as human- constructed concepts shall not be referred to much, as they are fluid and redefine their boundaries over periods of time.

We’ll begin with an interesting view explained in a book titled “What Evil Means to Us” by C. Fred Alford. The author, after speaking with a rather diverse sample of the population, who he refers to as his informants, states that many people defined evil as an emotional experience than an entity. Evil, he says, is a feeling of overwhelming dread and helplessness, a feeling of emptiness and  loneliness combined with a fear of loss of meaning, history and by extension - that of life. A complete awareness of human vulnerability. The act of doing evil is the attempt by us to take back some form of control and escape this feeling, by inflicting this same dread on others through pain and suffering.

This was new to me. I must confess, I had strayed from personal emotion and had focused on intellectually accessible psycho-social aspects of the manifestation and origins of evil in the world. No doubt as a result of immature paranoia about losing my way in the labyrinth of theology and philosophy.

Upon some introspection, I agreed with the author to some extent as I discovered the shades of the view of his informants in my own motivations and behaviour.  He goes on to explain and deconstruct several views regarding the concept and reality of evil. Those interested may find his book in Google Books. Note the parallels in scripture and literature that speak of evil as appearing out of a primordial darkness – nothingness..

Another branch of discussion seemed to be related to the application of the template of evil in nature and explaining humanity through this. However, I disagree with the notion of nature, simply as the origin of man and man’s subsequent separation from its structure by virtue of his higher intellect and self awareness. Whatever we are – it’s natural. Man’s loftiest accomplishments and his darkest moments fall promptly within the parameters of nature. Nature is Gandhi and Buddha and Hitler and Bundy. There is no separation of our realities. If it exists, it is by definition, natural.

While nature might not be a conscious being capable of motivated acts, its rules of external ‘macro’ homeostasis and survival have far reaching implications within ourselves than we care to admit. So, the myopic observation of nature as indiscriminate evil, that causes suffering through inaction for continued existence, is like trying to understand physical health by merely noting the symptoms of diseases.

Allegories and metaphors are equally confusing because more often than not they try to explain evil in terms of darkness and light- a futile task if you ask me, as we seem to be living in eternal twilight, where one blends into the other. The more one looks into it, evil becomes faceless, without a discernible shape or identity, dissolving into the abstraction of instincts, fears and reasons buried deep within layers of life itself.

Whether evolution allows us at this point in our journey, to reach a consensus regarding the definition of evil and the scope of its reality in our lives, is at best questionable. The only hope I can find is for us to strive to develop a comprehensive study on the topic by diving into multiple disciplines simultaneously, like philosophy, psychology, theology, sociology, biology, criminology, history, culture studies etc. Unfortunately, we have a tendency to confine our thinking on everything by firmly rooting ourselves in one area and then using the rest in a relational and therefore diminished capacity.. ;)

In the end, we are what we are. But it would be wise to accept that being sapient is not what separates us from the rest of the natural world, but what allows us to be more than just passive participants in its complex and somewhat ‘cosmic’ cycle of existence.

While pain and suffering may be an inevitable and non-negotiable part of our lives, surely we can do something to lessen it, if not control or eradicate it. It would be the worthiest of pursuits and knowing ‘evil’ or at least attempting to, seems like the way to understanding it while not giving up the right to condemn it.

"With everyday, and both sides of my intelligence, the moral and the intellectual, I thus drew steadily nearer to the truth, by whose partial discovery I have been doomed to such a dreadful shipwreck: that man is not truly one, but truly two."

- Robert Louis Stevenson, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde