Onna Vida: Because Being Together Is Enough!

Celebrating the sensual delight that this masterpiece is…

-Mani Prabhu

The piece works best when it’s read with the track playing in the background.

It’s so quiet that all he could hear are her laboured breaths.

And then, there is this startling crackling of her necklace, caught under his neck.

They shudder for a moment, almost losing themselves to the unexpected rustle. But again, she smiles.

He responds with a sultry twinkle and pulls her closer.

Her body is now almost interlaced in his. Just like the creepers braiding themselves under water. For a moment, you imagine an invisible rope tying them down together. She seems lost… somewhere within him, only to find herself reveling in the drift.

அல்லி கொடிய காத்து அசைக்குது
அசையும் கொளத்துக்கொடம்பு கூசுது
புல்லரிச்சு பாவம் என்னை போலவே அலை பாயுது!

The union of their souls. It now seems like the inevitable.

They lay bare, eating into each other, beneath the moonlit sky, enveloped by the stars.

He slithers over her neck. She doesn’t resist. But, she swerves a wee bit.

A gasp breaks into a fiery kiss.

She can now feel his heart-beat on her chest. Does it bother her? Or is it the wet embrace?

He nibbles on her earlobes for a while, as she crumbles in passion. The sensual breeze adds to her torment.

நிலவில் காயும் வேட்டி சேலையும்
நம்மை பார்த்து சோடி சேருது
சேர்த்து வைச்ச காத்த துதி பாடுது சுதி சேருது!

What must be running in her mind, as he pauses to whisper his love in her ears, tightening his grip around her waist, all the while?

A shiver sizzling down her spine, she retracts her head a bit, and manages a half-simper.

He murmurs a little louder, letting his wet lips linger over her hair-line for an extra second, making sure that she gets the playful scorn.

It works. She instantly gives in to the charm. As the ripples get quicker, she pulls harder at his torso, letting her finger-nails run through his bare shoulders, all the way down to his palpable sacrum.

என்ன புது தாகம்…
அனல் ஆகுதே என் தேகம்!

He trembles instantly, giving out a muffled wail – a complicated series of agonized, rising vowels – and as if realizing the unintended breach of quietude, tries to hide it in a manly quiver and loosens his grasp a little.

Has she touched one of his ‘spots’ unknowingly? Had she gripped him too tight? 

And the next moment, their eyes meet briefly, begging for an explanation.

Enough of all the strokes and the tease… Her gaze screams. He didn’t hear it. But, it’s loud and clear, resounding through the shaggy ends of the tall branches.

Between the unlikely sweat in the coldness of the silvery waters, and the slippery rocks – random pieces of clothing scattered on the banks – they consume their love in the shallows, underneath a blanket of stars.

யாரு சொல்லி தந்து வந்தது…
காணா கனா வந்து கொல்லுது
இதுக்கு பேரு தான் மோட்சமா!

How would it be if none of this ever ended? The love, the passion, the overwhelming sense of completion…

As she loses herself in the sensual haze, that’s probably the only thing she could think of.

உன் கூட நான் கூடி இருந்திட
எனக்கு ஜென்மம் ஒன்னு போதுமா..
நூறு ஜென்மம் வேணும், கேட்குறேன் சாமிய!

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The Punnagai Mannan Theme: A Fitting Demonstration of the Riveting Dance of Life!

An attempt at making sense of the Raja-KB duo’s evergreen masterpiece, the ‘Punnagai Mannan’ theme…

-Mani Prabhu

The piece works best when it’s read with the track playing in the background.

Sethu, the lone survivor of a dreadful suicide-attempt, almost dies a second time when he is absolved of all his murder-charges and denied a death sentence.

Wait… What?

This piece of information, as a string of words, might do no justice to the gravity of the situation we are talking about, but try putting yourselves in the shoes of the man, whose world had collapsed in a freaking moment like a deck of cards, and slowly, the unsympathetic play of destiny dawns on you.

A couple of weeks back, he was found, battered and almost-dead, unwillingly hanging on to his unlikely savior – a destined branch. Now, his entire life hung in the air.

Why should death evade you, when it embraces the one you thought you couldn’t live without?

The more you think of it, the more it makes life seem unapologetically muddled.

The clock answers? That really must be some bull, an unrealistic optimist made up out of thin air. Doubt it? Ask Sethu.

A year in prison doesn’t change much. The nightmares continue, even after the release.

Most of his days stretch out, struggling to cope with the unsparing truth that the person who meant the world to him was no more, and on top of it, with the indelible social stigma of abetting an insanely imprudent decision.

To waddle through life, grieving a dear one, is one thing. But, waking up every morning alone in bed, only to be reminded that a moment of reckless impulse had made all the difference, is a whole new ball game.  The latter ends up killing you… again and again. And before you know, you are a zombie! 

Fortunately for Sethu, after a period of a near-aimless actuality, he stumbles upon a new lease of life in art.

How? It’s tough to explain.

May be, as you start gaining years and perspective, you tend to come to terms with this. What lasts, lasts; and what doesn’t, doesn’t. Time solves a few things, but when it doesn’t, you have to work with it.

And that, Sethu does, probably, the only way he knows.

He finds purpose again in his long-lost passion, teaching dance. And slowly, everything starts to feel a tad less suffocating. Is this what they call ‘healing’?

Or, is it just the mind, in an attempt at protecting its sanity, covering the wounds with stripes of scar tissue, making them temporarily numb?

Whatever it is… into this apparently single-minded existence of his, enters a woman.

The name is Malini. Bold. Beautiful. And quite an irresistible personality.

Why? He couldn’t fathom. For he wasn’t done fighting his inner demons yet. The excruciating memory-trips had doused a bit, but they hadn’t completely stopped either.

But the woman had come in, and was persevering to stay put.

Sethu seems to turn a blind eye to the brimming attention, but is the callousness just an excuse to hush his screaming alter-ego?

And suddenly one day, in a gooseflesh moment of heightened emotions, it all bursts, one by one.

First, the ruthlessly sculpted mask of indifference – something the man had so agonizingly garbed over months – to conceal his layers of vulnerability.

Next, his super-ego, exploding into some kind of a beast of an art-form!

It’s weird. Day after day, for months, you hang on to life; avoiding connections in any form… and nothing seems to change. And then, in a second, everything’s different.

He shoves her into a seat. “Clap”, he howls.

Raja starts working his magic.

The cymbals start setting up the tempo, and the beats mesmerisingly synchronize with the claps. The atmosphere turns subtly psychedelic.

And here, Haasan, giving absolutely no hint whatsoever at the brilliance to unspool, starts off with his near-hypnotic terpsichorean trip.

The actor immediately recedes to the background. All you can see is a bottled-up man, exploding his senses off.

The percussions go on a merciless rampage.

The gyrations seem to be emanating from somewhere deep within him, assembled from bits and pieces of his agony, that continue to be reframed, redefined and repurposed with every step. Words belie the sudden paroxysm.

Imaginably, it was about time that this happened.

His soul, perhaps, always knew what to do to heal itself. The challenge was to silence the haunting doubts.

But how did she manage to do it?

Was his ‘bubble’ made too heavy to endure even the slightest of proddings? Or was it, in a way, made flimsier by the day?

The man, in a graceful coup of sorts, displaces all his pent-up torment in an energy-outburst that flows like fluid through the room. It’s truly a sight to behold.

And when you are least expecting it, he picks her up in a breath-taking curvet around her seat, and freezes mid-way in the closed-position dance stance.  And for a moment – probably, the first time in the last one minute – their eyes meet.

The way she looks at him… it speaks a million words. She is shocked beyond emotions. She is scared. She is dumbfounded. But then, there is something else that reigns supreme, superseding the mixed barrage. She feels something that she had never before seen in his eyes.

May be, a glint of love. Or the likes of that. It could also be a shimmer of hope.

Raja’s orchestration, to put it in a nutshell, is astounding at this juncture.

Sethu gasps for breath from the sudden bout of insane ardour. But Malini knows she saw a thing, beneath all the feigned stoicism. The tension is palpable.

As he walks away to continue his graceful thandavam – staging a swift escape from his own ambivalence – he seems truly liberated one moment. And the next moment, he looks possessed. 

What is he possessed with? A form of sinful attraction? Undeserving warmth? Plaguing guilt?

Or is it the detonation of a fatal blend of self-reproach, fear, hesitation, and exhilaration – taking the form of his favourite art form?

Is there a personal masochistic perspective at play?

After another minute of operating at the brutal thresholds of emotional-snapping, Raja reaches a spectacular crescendo with Sethu finally pausing for breath, his hands around Malini.

Strained moments of dyspneic intimacy ensue.

What is he feeling?

Is it some form of exasperation? Or better still, unadorned anger? Of the inability of his heart to listen to reasoning.

He takes her into his arms soon after, a strange heat radiating between them. They flow in sync, the sweat gliding down their skin, each dance-move leaving them a little more breathless.

And Raja, in this last minute of complementary duet, embarks on a riveting penance, where the sensuality meter rises by the second.

If you had even been drunk purely on the dance form, you would know!

It’s almost like they are searching for answers in each other, and at times, even the questions that beget them. Sethu seems to be blooming from the wound; he once almost-fatally bled from. Malini seems to be watering the scars. He appears to be erupting like a long-dormant volcano, releasing himself from the clutches of self-restraint. She appears to be lost in the spark of the moment. Together, as they sway to the magic, they can’t tell if it’s killing them a little more or making them stronger.

But one thing is for sure. Wounds don’t heal the way you want them to; they heal the way they need to. This healing-moment that stretches between what you once were, and what you are now becoming, is where the dance of life actually takes place.

And understandingly so… as this one, made timeless by Haasan, Revathi, Raja, and KB, fittingly demonstrates.

Poonnkuyil Paadinaal: Celebrating the Music called ‘Life’

A heartfelt tribute to the insanely talented, late Mr. Mahesh Mahadevan…

I would urge you to watch the song first if you are totally unfamiliar with it. The write-up works best when it’s read with the song playing in the background. But do remember to revisit the song again, after you are done with this.

-Mani Prabhu

What happens when a couple of brilliant actors battle it out with their respective, legendary vocalists over an absolute peach of a lyrical sequence?

Poonnkuyil Paadinaal kind of magic unfolds.

Two very different persons, struggling to shroud their apparent attraction to each other, loosen up over an eventful night, moving from moments of awkward closeness to those of delightful intimacy.

The beauty of it all? They bond over music.

He invites her over for a stint at the key-board. The lady starts off with a simple jingle. He takes it further with a smug improvisation. A palpable gawkiness hangs in the air.

She proceeds for a charm of a tune. He sneaks in with a couple of complementary keys. They are almost rubbing shoulders now. She responds with a brilliant refrain. He bends over to nurture the spell.

You get the drift. It’s almost like a twin ballad, her chords beautifully segueing into his, setting up the stage for something magical. It rounds off into a bewitching melody. They can’t stop smiling. Neither can you.

You have to hand it over to Mahesh Mahadevan here.  What an unprecedented grip over the fabric of the synergy! Very rarely does a prelude to a song turn out so endearingly spontaneous that it pulls the actors into the moment and lets them steer the happenings by simply being themselves on-screen.

And Haasan and Gautami effortlessly make the most of the setting. It’s one thing to share a great relationship with a co-star. But bringing alive the tricky warmth of an evolving attraction, complete to the minutest detail, is beyond histrionics.

Believe me… it entails much more than mere competency of the craft. Combined with the music, the hint at the chemistry bomb that is about to explode has to be seen to be believed! The timer has been set with aplomb.

With one hell of an intrigue that Vairamuthu pitches in style. What makes music ‘music’ and not just a jumble of sounds or noises? The duo eases into a lovely jam over the apparently intangible conflict.

And Chitra and SPB smoothly take over the reins here.

From the organised rhythm of a birdsong to an infant’s cry, the extempore musings are plain irresistible. Why does this formless ‘thing’ — at its core, a mere figment of the senses — hold such unthinkable intrinsic value in controlling the human mind?

The actors, and the singers, are literally competing with each other now. Is music in the notes, or the lingering silence in between? If ‘sound’ is required for music to exist, what form did it take in Beethoven’s mind? The vibes are alarmingly infectious.

பூங்குயில் பாடினால் நல்ல சங்கீதம்
குழந்தையின் அழுகையும் நல்ல சங்கீதம்

ஓசை எல்லாம் தீர்ந்து போனால் ஏது சங்கீதம்?
சத்தங்கள் இல்லாத மௌனங்கள் சங்கீதம்!

Especially, when Gauthami times the pepper-spray retrieval from her pouch with “சண்டையும் சங்கீதம்!”, sporting a superbly feigned nonchalance, you can’t help but grin.

But, if you think you are sold, remember that the show has just started.

Mahesh stages a strategic power shut-down to unleash one of the most fascinating musical interludes in the history of Tamil cinema.

Kamal’s ripostes continue to draw out the character from his somber mask every passing second. There is a deceptive rustle, followed by a stretch of dramatic silence. Haasan now strolls into the frame holding a lighted candle and a guitar. The picture instantly imbues the moment with an abstract sort of charm. Dramatic shoe-stomps resonate with anticipatory excitement. As he walks towards the lady’s silhouette, the lingering darkness dissolves into a muted glimmer on Gauthami’s face. She breaks into a radiant beam.

A breath-taking pause. And the heavenly guitar makes a sensational debut. Haasan’s stringing beautifully segues into SPB’s mesmerizing whistle, as the couple walk to the lawns. Everything about the setting is so freaking trippy that you could be excused for letting the high in Gauthami’s eyes slide.

The ‘stoned’ feel is understandably too much to handle. But Mahesh is in no mood for mercy. Once in the backyard, Chitra breaks into this ravishing hum, which along with the wizardry of the lead-guitar, is your straight-ticket to nadaville. Dare you resist the offer?

And before you could make complete sense of the ongoing narcosis, Vairamuthu takes over. The lyrical jugalpandi starts writing itself by the second charanam.

If relating to sounds is music, isn’t the whole idea a subjective pleasure?  If music is about structured repetition of sounds, isn’t it all encompassing -always present with us – as life goes on in the background? Is ‘intention’ a criterion for distinguishing music from noise? But again, isn’t it all about perspective?

The singers are almost on autopilot now. Everything flows.

ஸ்ருதியில் சேரும் ராகம் என்றும் கற்கண்டு…

பூவில் பாடும் வண்டு என்ன ஸ்ருதி கொண்டு!

Between accepted forms of organised intonations and free-spirited interpretations like that pollination and rains, the poetic swing ride is a delight to the senses.

With the singers settling into a cosy groove, and the misty moonlit-night nailing the mood, it’s a field day for Kamal and Gautami at work. Watch the way the man, close on the heels of Gautami, acknowledges her with a wry salute when she goes “நாங்கள் போடும் சந்தம் இன்பம் ஆனந்தம்” and then counters her with “மழையின் சந்தம் ஒன்றே என்றும் சுய சந்தம்”, springing a modest hand-fold.

But the best is yet to come. When he follows it up with an emphatic crossing of the arms, the self-assured aura it evokes easily escapes the confines of our limited language-comprehension skills. The moment is aced, Haasan style.

நேசமாக நீங்கள் கேட்பதென்ன பாட்டு?
மூங்கில் மீது காற்று மோதிய பழ பாட்டு.

The electricity is back. They amble inside. The lady’s curiosity about this man is at its peak. And so is the brilliance of the bass guitar in the background. A bookshelf that spills over into the bed and the carpet. Randomly scattered underwear on the couch. What an compelling personality this guy is turning out to be!

Vairamuthu takes it upon himself to elevate the sequence to the next level here. As Gauthami instinctively touches Haasan’s feet for her footwear accidentally brushing on him, she has absolutely no clue what she has gotten herself into. The man chides back casually.

The interplay of ideologies quickly escalates to clash on the ‘divine’. The lady revels at the way a certain kind of ethereal music establishes the omnipresence of the Almighty. Gauthami is in her element here. The pride and assertion of a strong theist shimmers in her eyes.

எங்கும் கடவுள் தேடும் தேவ சங்கீதம்…

SPB, on his part, edges up the drama with a retort that if music could be seen as spiritual nirvana, why can’t it be a quest for the elusive humanity? If music is a science, why shouldn’t it have been a time-worn expression of rationalism?

One look at Haasan holding a book on Periyar in one hand, while he goes “எதிலும் மனிதன் தேடும் எங்கள் சங்கீதம்!” and you could instantly feel the shiver. The goosebumps are for real.

Doesn’t the music of all life flow from the earth to the heavens and back? She knows she can speak her mind. The intimacy – the growing conviction that you would be understood no matter what – shows. He retaliates pronto by calling music as the art-form of the ‘equals’, and not only the select privileged.

தேவலொகம் கேட்கும் ஜீவ சங்கீதம்…

ஏழை குடிசை கேட்கும் எங்கள் சங்கீதம்!

The lady is not going down without a resilient brush. Picking up from where she left, she perseveres. At the end of the day, aren’t rewards the purpose of all art?

With a vehement nod, Haasan strikes back, almost nailing the true labour of love in a single line. The reflexive spurt of moisture in the beholder’s eyes! That’s the thing. It doesn’t come that easy. It needs to be earned. Every single speckle of it. And when it is, nothing in the world would come close to what the artist feels, that priceless moment. After all, it’s not without reason, this piece exists.

காசு மாலை தானே கலையின் சன்மானம்…

கண்ணின் துளிகள் தானே கலைகளின் வெகுமானம்!

FootnoteThe lyricist for this piece is Vairamuthu and not Pulamaipithan as mentioned earlier. The appropriate corrections have been made, and any inconveniences caused, regretted.