It was the 3 idiots. This blog is not a review of the movie or anything near it. It’s more of a chain reaction. A scene that reminded me of several other scenes. Aamir and Madhavan visit Sharman Joshi’s house to get an earful from his mom. The milieu is like this. An ailing father in a god-forsaken bamboo cot, perilously coughing with bottles of Benadryl stocked up next to him. He is not wearing a shirt so that visitors to his house (rare, though) can have a look at the outline of his lungs and count his ribs. Surprisingly, no Horlicks bottle beside him. Oh, he is poor, and can’t afford it, you see. Dare not ask what he is suffereing from. It could be anything from a fatal cough, minor lung cancer, or stick-it-to-d-man-neosis, the seriousness of which will be decided based on the director’s mood. There could be a ‘medical miracle’ that would heal him from advanced lung cancer, or could be a bullet piercing through the throat removing the cancer or just a couple of heart wrenching songs by the heroine with the family cow ringing the temple’s bell vigorously with tearful eyes, or just about anything ingenious as these.
Moving a little aside, we see the subservient wife of the ailing old man, clad in a torn saree, graying hairline with thick dark circles around her eyes drawn with the same kajal used to mark her dark bindi. At any time of the day, she can be seen coughing and struggling to kindle the cooking fire. Much like Ekta Kapoor’s serial killers, be it midnight or broad daylight, the women of the house are shown with their makeup intact. Not a hair out of place. The only difference when it comes to our dear old lady is her makeup (or the lack of it, in this case). If there are no more rotis to be made, or fire to be rekindled, she warbles on songs in high pitch near the dying man even after the doctor warning her not to subject the poor man to any kind of shock. Some people never learn, I tell you.
Anyway, the life of this ailing man depends on how he is related to our hero. If it’s the hero’s dad, he would deliver a page long monologue and dies before uttering the last and the most important word the hero wanted to hear. ‘You take care of your mom, sister, brother, your cousin, uncles and auntys, dog, cat, cattle, (y dont u just say ‘everyone’ instead). Ennoda kadaisi asai enna theriyuma… nee, nee, nee, …. Damaal. The head drops sideways and the hero shouts in his highest decibel possible. ‘Appppaaaaa’ followed by ‘Ennangaaaaaa..’. A violin in single string plays Murari.
Some intellectual directors show indicative sequences like a branch falling from a tree, waves stopping mid-air, a flickering candle, or worst of all, a volcanic explosion.
The milieu is different if the ailing old man belongs to the nouveau-riche. He would be dressed in a dhinchak dressing gown (~ a red satin oversized sleepwear) with a battalion of nurses fussing around his bed. If you take a closer look, one of these pretty girls would perpetually be checking the thermometer and adjusting the glucose bottle. The old man is propped up with a dozen pillows for support. And the family lawyer would be ready with a stack of neatly folded papers in hand. Major Sunderarajan would most probably be the eldest son. As is the custom, the soda-putti doctor after making appropriate faces over the xRay sheet, mumbles a few dialogues to the nurses and leaves the room. The son follows him carrying the doctor’s kit. ‘I am sorry Mr. Major. He is suffering from terminal cancer. His only cure is to bring back his youngest son who ran away 15 years ago.’ ‘ What are you saying, doctor.. enna solreenga neenga ?’. The camera shifts to rotating psychedelic circles resembling mosquito coils and we know it’s the flashback.
Certain actors were exceptions. I was watching Gauravam, when the celebrated artist on screen says ‘Kiliku Rakka Molachiduthu. Koonda vittu parandhu poiduthu. (Parrot got its feathers. It flew off the cage.)’ and then shouts ‘Kannnnnaaaaaaaaaaa’ in a tone that’s only reserved for the above cited ominous instances. I thought the older Sivaji was about to die. Then for a good 10 minutes, he warbles on ‘ Neeyum Naanuma’ in a pitch that taught me to expect the unexpected from the veteran actor. Like the way he enacted during the saxophone interlude in ‘Unnai Ondru Ketpen’. Guy made me think he is about to froth with the effervescence dripping in his mouth and pass away right on. Miscalculations like these would make for an entire blog post.
There is this one movie, a classic of all times, which took a deviation from cliché. The forlorn hero is bed ridden, again with a terminal illness. The wife cheers him up, plays Sitar, croons lovely songs in the hospital room, audible to every other person in the neighborhood. The doctor is the wifey’s high school sweetheart. The climax is heart wrenching. The doctor forgoes his food and sleep, forgets the hour of day, does a lot of research work to find a cure for the disease, sacrifices his life while saving the patient. Another song and more violin follows. Whattey twisht!
The new movies are not to be left out either. I still remember Monsieur dragging me out of the theatre when we were watching Ghajini, the Hindi one. I could not suppress my laughter when one of the gangsters died murmuring ‘Woh woh .. ‘. Gritting teeth, flaring eyes, the villain’s face was a treat to watch. After sufficient assurances from yours truly that there would be no laughing over intense tragic scenes, we continued watching the rest of the movie.
Thereafter, I don’t laugh. I blog. Muhaha!
