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  Decoding My Day

  Night is upon me and I sit swaddled in the shadows of the room, trying to decode my day. Rewinding to the moment I opened my eyes at the break of dawn. Lying there and trying to squeeze out a few extra minutes under the covers. There has never been a day when I didn’t want to snooze for a little more time. I think about the day ahead and hope it is like our weather, which is almost always predictable—blue skies and sunshine. But life has shown me that I can never know what is in store for me. I go through the routine, some things done out of habit, some out of love, and some that I just want to get through. The kids packed off to school, my better half off to work and my workout out of the way, household duties beckon. The cook is given the menu for the day, instructions are handed out for tidying up and I am out of the door. There are schedules to plan, deadlines to meet. Inefficiency to blow my top at and consistency to greet enthusiastically. By midday, I crave a break and head to my mother’s place—to have lunch and to be bullied to eat more. Amma is serving us food and Appa is in a fun mood. Good food and great conversation. A bit of teasing, a few old memories and, of course, gossip galore.

  I look out of the window, happy with my lot, and everything fades into the background as I see her pottering about. A tiny old lady, raking leaves under the mango tree. She is smiling softly, the lines deep and etched into her wrinkled face. Like someone took the woman I remembered and crumpled her in the palm of their hands. But she is content, lines and all. She has seen me crawling around on all fours, sent me off to school. She has seen me getting married and seen my children crawl and then play around. I am greedy; I want her to go through the same cycle with them.

  I have never seen her idle, she is always working at something or the other, never frowning. I know for certain that her heart has never held anything bitter or false. She does not have any gold or silver on her, just a head covered in grey. She looks so fragile and small, it evokes a feeling so deep, so raw. A feeling I seldom experience, even for my near and dear ones. She looks up, notices me and smiles. It tells a story of all that has gone past her, of all the love and care that she has to offer. A smile that is brighter than a Chennai afternoon in summer. A smile that warms the heart. There are no words exchanged. She goes on with her work and I get on with my day. It’s late, the children are snug in bed and I am in my room swaddled in the shadows, decoding my day. I sit still for a while and realize, the best part of my day was that tender smile.

  a Fan

  His name was Karthik.

  He was part of a Rajinikanth fan club. Appa has five main fan clubs and numerous smaller ones across the world. So what does a fan club do? Apart from the usual first day, first show, first row madness, they do a lot of community work. Like any other club, it’s a gathering of people who share similar interests—and in this case, it’s Rajinikanth the actor.

  It is just before a movie releases that a fan club truly comes into its own. Festivities are organized; social service activities such as blood donation drives, health awareness drives, etc., are conducted. This is something that sets apart fan clubs in Tamil Nadu from others around the world. The day before the release, they go around the city to check on the humungous hoardings and cut-outs, make sure their members have their T-shirts (bought from their own pooled resources) and put the festoons and arrangements in place for the aarti and the milk bathing of the cut-outs. Some spend the night in a theatre, to make sure they get the first tickets. It is exciting, festive and fun! I do not find it strange at all, mostly because I grew up with it. A movie release has always been an occasion to be enjoyed.

  I remember Karthik from such an occasion. He had joined the fan club in 1978 and soon become an integral part of it. When I was around ten, he came home with five boys from the main fan clubs and that was the first time I saw him. Amma treated them like they were her children and they reciprocated the affection. He was tall and dark, with light eyes and a demeanour that made him stand out from the rest. He looked intimidating, but as we got to know him, I realized he was a gentle soul.

  The boys would visit not just during movie release time, but also otherwise, spending time at Appa’s office, sometimes as often as twice in a month. It was not necessary for Appa to be around. They would turn up and help out with anything that was happening at that point. If it was lunch time, Amma would invite them to eat with the office staff. The happy part of it was that they respected our privacy. Never did we feel that they crossed a line into our space. They loved to spend some time around the place where Appa lived, and that was all. It was unconditional love for my father with no expectations in return. At public functions, they would volunteer as bodyguards, forming a protective cordon around my sister, mother and me, keeping us safe when the crowds got too close. There were times when the crowds would get physically intimidating, even hurting these boys with their pushing and shoving, but they protected us. My sister and I became the siblings they never had, and even if they had siblings, I doubt they would have taken care of them the way they took care of us. None of them would accept anything in return. We tried offering money, clothes and other things, but they felt insulted. As far as they were concerned, we were family and they were doing it out of love.

  Karthik was the special one. Back then, Appa would meet his fans in the morning before heading for the day’s shoot and Karthik would be there most of the time, helping control the crowd if there were too many, or making people stand in an orderly line for pictures. He would be having a cup of coffee, supplied from Amma’s ever bountiful kitchen, and I would be getting ready for school or to study. He would give me an encouraging nod before heading out. Karthik would be the one standing next to me when we watched Appa’s films at a theatre or went out. He often remarked on how much I resembled Appa. (Which must have contributed in some way to the affection he had for me.)

  Karthik got a steady job working at the Slum Clearance Board and he was a loving son to his family. First appearances aside (he could come across as coarse and arrogant), he was unfailingly warm and responsible. He soon got married to a sweet girl called Nirmala. After the wedding ceremony, they came to meet Appa. When he asked them if they had gone to a temple to get blessings after the ceremony, he replied, ‘That’s why I have come here.’

  Time went by and Karthik had three daughters, he was a doting father and a good husband, but his love for Appa came first. His family understood that, even embraced it. He visited often and was always at the forefront of the movie release festivities. There was just one thing that he did not do for us. Karthik used to drink occasionally, but he had the bad habit of drinking and then driving his bike home. He was not an alcoholic, just enjoyed his drink once in a while. He was not the type who would get drunk and create a ruckus, in public or at home, so people usually did not stop him from driving. His wife was concerned, but he did not listen to her. Amma tried, but he wouldn’t listen to her either.

  In 1995, Muthu was released and we all got back from the first show, ecstatic at the response. Appa never comes to a theatre, he waits at home and listens to our discussions on how the audience responded. We were sure the film was a winner. The boys (by now grown men) were also present and they filled the backyard, happiness and pride on their faces. It was like Appa had not let them down, they could still hold their heads high as members of his fan club.

  Amma arranged for lunch and everyone dug in. Karthik ate, silent as usual, but beaming with joy. He finished and came up to me to say something, a sheen of happy tears in his eyes, then hesitated and turned away. I was distracted by something at that moment and forgot about it. I wish I had not. In a while, they all left, Karthik looking extremely happy and animated. It was a common effect after watching a Rajini movie. I have seen the magic too many times to count. I waved goodbye. Little did I know it would be the last time I was seeing my father’s favourite fan.

  That evening, one of the office staff came running to my mother and whispered something to her. Amma turned a horrible shade of grey, then
ran to Appa’s room, and I followed her, knowing something really bad had happened. Karthik had gone to a local bar after leaving our house. He had a couple more drinks than usual and as he was driving his bike back home, it skidded on some loose soil and he fell. He passed away on the spot.

  A pall of gloom fell over the house. It was too much for me to take. After a few hours of disbelief, all I could do was rant. It was not fair! Why would god do something like that? Appa mourned in silence.

  I kept thinking over the events of the day, the number of times we had warned him. Should we have been more forceful? Why did his friends let him drive when they knew he had drunk more than usual? He was so sensible about everything else in his life, why not this? Eventually I had to stop and accept the reality of it. Appa had lost a dear fan, Amma a foster son and my sister and I, our guardian angel. God takes away good people too soon, their part in the world much shorter but sweeter.

  It took us a long time to get over Karthik’s senseless death. He was more than a fan, he was family.

  Madras, Movies and the Maestro

  Madras, as it was called then and is still called in the innermost musings of my mind, was once the hub of regional movies in the south. Telugu, Malayalam, Kannada and Tamil movies were all shot and processed in Madras. The city had numerous film studios and flourishing production houses catering to all the southern languages. The bigger hotels had celebrities walking in and out. The busy stars who had families moved to the city as they would be shooting here almost all year round. Shooting in faraway locations was rare; films were mostly shot on sets in film studios. Their children went to school in Madras and I can count a number of friends that I grew up with whose parents were from the Telugu and Kannada film industries. You can see proof of this in most of the star kids of the Telugu and Malayalam industries; they all speak extremely good Tamil.

  Since most of the shoots in those days took place indoors, there was no concept of vanity vans, only makeup and changing rooms. Appa therefore finds it very odd to wait in vanity vans and often pulls up a chair and sits outside, next to where the shoot is happening. The fact that this also keeps him up to date on all aspects of shooting, he can see how the other actors are faring and what’s actually happening in the movie, is secondary. The primary result of this is that there is camaraderie on the set, a feeling that everyone is involved, and it shows when the final product is screened.

  This camaraderie was apparent in the big studios of the day: AVM, Vijaya Vauhini, Prasad, Sathya, Mohini and many more. If you were to walk in on any working day, there would be a Rajkumar shoot happening at one end, an NTR shoot at the other, and an MGR shoot in between. When the different crews broke for lunch, they would all gather together and eat, beyond language, star power and other barriers. This continued with Appa’s generation. They shared a special rapport that went beyond movies. Fans who waited outside the studios to see their favourite star would get a glimpse of others stars too. However clichéd it may sound, they were one big family working under the same roof.

  One thing that has changed dramatically over the years is the role of the producer. Appa tells me that in those days, the producer would be on set the entire time. He was usually very well informed when it came to technicalities such as camerawork, as well as the creative aspects of movie-making. He would provide inputs, put out the minor flare-ups that are a normal part of film-making and also help the team overcome any problems they had. These producers were capable men who knew what they were doing and how to get their money’s worth.

  Among them were stalwarts who were known for their reliability and expertise. Except for the more recent films, Appa has never signed a contract or an agreement. A word was enough. A handshake was as binding as a tightly written, signed and witnessed agreement.

  There was one particular producer whose story thrilled me every time Appa spoke about it.

  Let’s call him Producer T. His banner was so well respected, it was considered an honour to be booked under it. He once hired a well-known director from another language industry to helm one of his movies in Tamil. The shoot took place in one of his studios in Madras. The script called for a large cast and the production budget was huge. Producer T had a lot of money at stake. He would come every day and stay till pack-up, antsy and nervous. Others from the film fraternity who were shooting at the same studio would come around to pay their respects during the breaks and wish him luck. This went on for a few days.

  A certain sequence for the film required a massive, and expensive, set and its fabrication was in progress. The producer called one of the assistant directors and asked him to narrate the scene that was to be shot on this set. He then called the art director and recommended a few changes. The art director was impressed but mentioned that it would cost a lot more. ‘I think the scene deserves it, do whatever it takes,’ was the response he got. The entire team was shocked. Budgets running out of hand usually made producers angry, but here was Producer T, opting to spend more. The incident endeared him to everyone on the set and the shoot proceeded smoothly. Everyone except the director. He wasn’t very happy having the producer on set all day, especially a producer who recommended changes that the art director carried out without question. He wasn’t used to the style of working in Madras and would complain constantly: ‘The producer’s job is to put money into the film and await the results. His job is not to interfere. Besides, what does a producer know about making movies?’

  Those who knew the producer tried to dissuade him from this stance. They told him about the expertise and experience Producer T had, but their words fell on deaf ears and it all came to a head one day.

  The shoot was in progress and Producer T was sitting in a corner with the accountant, going over the expenses. His ears listened to the accountant’s explanations but his eyes were on the shoot. Something struck him as odd and he beckoned to the assistant director and asked him to narrate the scene. Producer T was silent for a while and then suggested some changes. He asked the assistant director to run these by the director and then make the changes. The guy was hesitant. Making changes to a set while it was being constructed was one thing, asking for a change during the shoot was another thing altogether. How would an already antagonized director react to this? He was stuck between the devil and the deep sea. He couldn’t refuse the producer who was financing the film and at the same time he couldn’t afford to annoy his direct boss, the director. His career depended on these people. He stood there undecided and the expression on his face must have been telling, because Producer T told him to relax and went over to the director himself.

  The director was speaking to the heroine of the film. She was a stunner, as were most actresses of that era. As Producer T came up, he realized the director was not discussing the scene or the movie, but generally chatting her up, and she was too well behaved to ignore him. He went up to them and laid out his apprehensions about the scene. He was very straightforward about it and didn’t mince his words. The entire set froze. This was the first time the producer had approached the director, asking for changes to be made. They had all heard the director complain about the producer’s interference and wondered what was going to happen next.

  The director got up from his chair to face Producer T, looked him in the eye and said, ‘What do you know about film-making, sir?’

  There were audible gasps from those around them.

  Producer T didn’t bat an eyelid.

  ‘I am a film-maker. I know what I need to do and how a shot needs to be taken and how my film should look. You are just the producer who puts in the money for creative people like me to make films to entertain audiences. You are only supposed to do that. I will not accept anyone coming to my set and instructing me on how I should be making my film. I will give you the respect that a producer requires, but nothing more. Please step aside, sir. You have no understanding of how a film is made. You might have the knowledge of how to sell it, but not of how to create it. I am the creator here. Do you understand
me?’

  Everyone present there was aghast. The senior members of the unit shook their heads and muttered at the director’s impunity. Some of the youngsters, new to the field, thought the director was gutsy to have spoken up against the system. Most just waited to see what would happen next.

  Producer T smiled and walked away. Those who were waiting for fireworks were disappointed. The director was ecstatic that he’d had the last say, that too in front of the fetching heroine. Pack-up was announced.

  The next day, everyone arrived early to see what would happen. Would the producer appear? How would the director react? The tension was intense. The director walked in and started giving instructions for the day’s shoot. Work started slowly, building up tempo by mid-morning. The actors arrived and were ushered into the makeup rooms. The costume department was on its toes, getting the large cast ready for the scene. The catering department had started serving hot breakfast and the bustle soon matched that of a busy, productive set. Yet, at the back of everyone’s mind, the same thought ran. The man who usually came to the set before everyone else was missing today. Producer T.

  After the first half of the day was done, that thought found its voice. Would the missing producer withdraw from the film? Was he sick? Had he given up so easily? What did his absence mean? The director’s curiosity couldn’t be contained any longer, either. He asked the production manager, who ignored the question and walked away.

  The next day, all the leading newspapers had a massive front-page advertisement announcing a new film under Producer T’s banner. The artists were well known and the director was Producer T himself.

  Later in the week, the unit came to know that the shoot had begun next door in the same studio. It created a storm of gossip unlike anything ever before. Forget the usual gossip about who was having a clandestine affair with whom, all talk turned to the two movies being shot simultaneously. One that had a huge budget and a new-age director, the other being directed by a producer and shrouded in secrecy.