Pa Ranjith's Rajni Again

Think of a Rajni film and it usually boils down to hyperbole – omnipotent, never with the smallest sign of weakness – invincible! Go on any day (near the release date) to any show of a Rajni film in Tamil Nadu – You are sure to be drowned in whistles, loud intrusive cheering and confetti (sometimes even currency notes!) – fan hysteria comparable in scale remotely only to football mania. Rajni fans are to be found in various shades in the family across generations, some of who went all clad in black for the preview on Thursday before the film was released in India. I grew up enjoying Rajni’s stylish ‘stunts’ but I am not exactly a fan. I have usually preferred Kamal Hassan’s repertoire over Rajni’s repetitive rigmaroles. But that changed with Kabali. Here was a director who could ‘tame’ this superlative superstar’s image into that of a human being. (I also like the way Pa. Ranjith retains the Tamizh way of writing his initials.) He brought to the diehard Rajni fan what she/he wanted to see, even as he gave the discerning audience something unusual in a Rajni film – a decent storyline, a sensitive hero, and deadly symbolism.

The usual opening scene that introduces Rajni in his film is almost James Bond like in its attempt to leverage his mass appeal, but not in Kaala. (And strangely, there was no chest-beating display of emotions from his fans in the audience, no confetti. Just a weak applause, almost an apologetic disturbance of the routine silence expected in the film hall.) Pa. Ranjith gets Rajni to play gully-cricket and at a crucial point in the match, Rajni is clean bowled to a young boy’s bowling. The invincible Superstar is shown as weak and frail in several other scenes as well, throughout the film – taken to jail, made to sit on the floor, asked to fall at the feet of a political leader etc. These scenes are interspersed with several other reminiscent of standard Rajni fare – come out of blazing fire unscathed, survive gunshot wounds with panache etc. Ranjith refuses to feed the crazy, unthinking Rajni fanatic the usual fodder. Rajni cannot take down the powerful establishment single-handedly here. He cannot avenge the loss of his loved ones, all by himself, like he usually does. It is only the people’s support that catapults him into the demi-god status in the film. Without them, he’s vulnerable.

Pa. Ranjith makes caste-based discrimination ooze out of every pore of the film’s skin. The ardent Ram-bhakt who thinks he is ‘born to rule’ like his idol refuses to drink water offered (outside) Kaala’s home. If Kaala’s Karikaalan is named after the local village deity (protector), the villain Haridev is named after Vishnu. If Kaala is usually clad in black or blue (always in a lungi, stylishly worn as a defiant marker of identity in India’s commercial capital), almost deifying BLACK as a symbol of hitting back, Nana Patekar’s character is all clad in white, his home resplendent with white furniture and upholstery, all snowy and ‘pure’ with the stark exception of the black LED TV. When Karikaalan enters this home (after promptly taking off his footwear outside the door!), he drinks the water offered by Haridev’s granddaughter (in contrast to the host who had refused to drink it at his home, possibly due to caste and purity reasons), and disallows her from falling at his feet. Respect for all humans as equals without the demeaning act of paying obeisance is in one stroke a hitting out at casteism, classism and ageism.

Pa. Ranjith’s Dharavi is not Mani Rathnam’s one in ‘Nayagan’. There is no gloss applied. Nothing made palatable for consumption. No euphemisms. It’s crass and crude and black and sooty, like it is. You are made to see it. You are made to feel it, like it is. Iconography is everything for Pa. Ranjith. Periyar, the Buddha and Ambedkar occupy the settings prominently in all the nooks and crannies of Karikaalan’s Dharavi, even as huge political hoardings with Haridev’s photographs (and slogans reminiscent of the ‘Swachh Bharat’ campaign) look down, screaming out his political philosophy – clean and pure Mumbai without the dirty slums of the city. Haridev’s home prominently displays white marble statues of the Ram-Sita-Lakshman triumvirate. The Africa-return NGO-type represented by the clean and suave Zareena has quotations of Wangari Maathai and pictures of herself with her daughter (Who has the Greek word for black, as her name) in a collage on the wall. Flags for the Dharavi masses have the colour blue (Ambedkar-ism) prominently in them and the saffron ones of Haridev (and the lion’s face) are very reminiscent of Bal Thackeray’s Shiv Sena. The Periyar-inspired idea of Raavan as a ten-headed hero whose head is resurrected each time it is slain is used as a motif for Dalit struggles against the Rama iconography representing upper caste and class.

Kaala in Haridev's 'white' house 

(Image: https://scroll.in/reel/874368/rajinikanths-kaala-gets-u-a-certificate-no-clarity-yet-on-release-date)

But the finale/climax was most pregnant with meaning and held some promise for the future. Just like Raavan's head did, did Kaala come back to life by surviving the raging fire and the explosion? Ranjith doesn't make it clear whether that was real or an illusion! In an almost Modi-like pattern, the masses don Kaala's face as a mask, we see the villain decimated by the power of the organised masses and we see three colours run riot against and sully the crisp white of the villain (the pro-corporate political establishment) - black, blue and red. Is Pa. Ranjith clearly calling for a unity of three political forces, namely the Dravidian movement (black), the Dalit-Ambedkar movement (blue) and the communist movement (red)? Will Rajnikant the person, who is poised to take an actual plunge into electoral politics fit into this envisioned kaleidoscope or will he simply turn saffron-wards? We are left wondering...

Deepesh C

This Week's Lessons

The Politics of Hatred

Recent news suggest more than one instance of people being made pawns in the game of politics where only the politician has something to gain and no one else. The pawns who take all this so seriously in the name of loyalty and sycophancy get affected in the process, often much more than they could have ever imagined. Much in the same way, at office or work, we see this happen in small proportions.

The politics of hate has much to do with the way we think- exclusive instead of inclusive. We spend far too much time in our island-selves and often forget that there are genuine people outside these islands - people who probably deserve much more applause than you do. Often, we become so self-centred in our existences that we forget the compulsions that others have.

Another thing that comes to the mind from this week's observation is the fact that often people discuss people more than they discuss ideas. This is such a pity because it is ideas that differentiate the buck from the muck. Let us try to discuss ideas more often and people less often.

Third, is the old communist idea that comes to mind. The all-knowing, all-pervasive, omnipotent state thinks it should take from each the most they can give and give to each the least they need to survive. Does this rule apply for all states? Is this the ideal for administrators all over? I wonder!

I hope to be able to write more often. It is truly cathartic!

Knotty, natty netas

It is election time again.
They serenade well-versed songs
In well-rehearsed tunes,
With voices that seem as exotic
As those of the gypsies who sing
For us in railway compartments.
They blow discarded conches,
Beat mildew-leathered drums,
And rake up fires from wounded embers.
They tear our flesh with gnarled claws
And now look for the poor man’s lost face
In the muddled kaleidoscope,
‘Where has he gone, my golden goose?’
And, ah! The pity is, we do away
With our votes, like we part
With some change, when
Filled with a sense of pity
For the singing minstrels in trains.

C.DEEPESH

From inside the train

Another lazy afternoon whizzed past me.
As I move, something misses out.
I feel as though moving into darkness.
Soon night will come. I can see
The sun on my left, its aura
Through the corner of my eye,
Struggling to stay longer. I know
It won’t, it can’t. There are no
Crowds anymore. People are
Done with their ablutions.
I can smell rain in the cool
Breeze splashing against my face.
I know it won’t rain, it can’t.
I can feel the speed- of my movement.
What will come at the end of my journey?
Most people with me seem to be doubtful.
But I know. I will reach another of my
Worlds. It is only a movement, from one
Familiarity to another.
The faces change and so do the relations.
But I know one thing for sure- I can be myself.
Well, almost!

C.DEEPESH