"Manjaadikkuru" - Movie review

Photo courtesy: http://manjadikuru.wordpress.com/

I never thought that Manjaadikkuru (the word means lucky red seeds)  is a movie that could pull me back and forth in time - it did and it left me floating amidst the vague memories of my childhood that I spent entirely in my native village, and it made me wonder where and what I will be about twenty years from now! A homecoming movie set in the 1980's, Manjaadikkuru is a movie that ambles it way through the mind of the romantic viewer, kindling the humanitarian in him and leaving behind a trail of hope. (Much of what I write these days is on hope, which I think is good because it gives hope). The movie progresses at its own pace, never hustling, and never disturbing its own flow. The slow pace, revels up the striking reality that life at times, and at places, could be frighteningly slow. Events, memorable or otherwise, so many of them, lay scattered randomly like the lucky red seeds on the ground. The collection of those events, define our lives. 

The movie is a must-watch for people of all ages and wages. Actor Mammootty put in his words a precise description of the movie: "Manjaadikkuru is one movie that grown-ups have to watch to understand children, and that children have to watch to understand grown-ups". Hear here what Mammootty said:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLMzyjGnePM

Kudos to the writer-director Anjali Menon, for creating such a good movie, and for leaving the plot as much in harmony with nature and reality as it could get. This could be an exaggeration, because many actors, I feel, fail to pick up the colloquial tones/ styles of Malayalam language that the movie needs, depending on the place(s) where the story is set. It feels awkward when some actors do justice and some others don't, in the same movie. 

Keeping a dream

Termites rejoice, hail the moment-
that brought down a promising dream.
The dreamer, his love and lament
drown in the mighty scream,
of a thousand souls who relish
this state, their familiar taste.
But it isn't time to die, he say, I cherish
memories too precious to waste.

These beautiful girls never sleep...

"I wrote this a few months ago, I don't remember exactly when. Out of the humble expectation that there is something more than litter in this piece, I post it here..."

A refreshing evening after a sunny day slowly drifted into the coldness of the night. The night gifted me welcome shivers as I sat casually, lazy to take out a blanket or sweater out of my bag.  Here, in S9 coach of the Mangalore-Chennai Mail, the crowd was surprisingly sparse for a train to Chennai. I dozed to sleep gradually.

I opened my eyes in response to a sudden gush of air. The search for the source of that gust ended on a window. Near the window sat a beautiful girl in here early twenties - I was grateful to the wind and the window for offering me this delightful sight. Her sleepy eyelids that drooped travelled back everytime, probably because of the fear that she might sleep off, and somebody might snatch her handbag from her. There indeed should have been something inside that handbag that she valued very much. When our eyes met for the first time, I earnestly tried to convey my assurance, but  the fraction of a smile that followed on her lips meant that she knew I adored her. I have no idea how much time passed from then. No moment that passed was dull, but I wished the train sang a lull so that this beautiful girl could sleep. I wanted to see her sleep, for I have seen that girls are more beautiful when they sleep.

And finally, when I  could hold my sleep no more, I rose from my seat, climbed on to the upper berth, and slipped to a deep, peaceful sleep, although surprisingly without any dreams about that beautiful girl. When I woke up in the morning, that girl was not in her seat. I had a week's office work ahead to bother, and so without staying back in search for that girl, I got out of the train. I will meet her probably in my next train journey. Or there is this theory that one of my friends coined - there is at least one beautiful girl one will meet in every train journey!

Book Review: House of the Blue Mangoes

 

Image Courtesy: www.bookadda.com

Book title: House of the Blue Mangoes

Author: David Davidar

The House of Blue Mangoes is an artfully crafted story that meanders through the socially and politically turbulent times that South India witnessed in the 19th and 20th centuries. Although a long read that sometimes drags the reader into the monotonousness of the rustic daily chores of a south Indian joint family,  Davidar's work is meticulously rich in details and takes the reader on a tour along the countryside of Chevathar, and the beautiful green valleys of Pulimed. Davidar deserves as much credit for a plot that has done enough justice in not mentioning any real caste names that would have stirred up controversies, as he does for creating fictitious but beautiful places such as the fervid village of Chevathar, the magnificent settlement of Doraipuram, and the beautiful valleys and bungalows of Pulimed.

It is in a beautiful way that the author describes the strife that every protagaonist of the story, especially the proud members of the Dorai family - Solomon, Aaron, Daniel and Kannan, experience between their ideologies and their love for their family. Equally appreciable is the author's attempt to bring out the feelings of the better halves in the story, the women who ran houses and maintained peace and harmony in the family. As the story shifts from Chevathar and Nagercoil to Pulimed, where the British planters of the tea estates were lords, things change and the royal life of the British starkly contrasts the simple life of the poor natives. The effect of the nationalist movement or rather the freedom struggle on the lives of the British and the natives, especially in the times of the first and second world war, has been excellently portrayed.

And the story, when it ends, gives the reader a feeling which should be equivalent to that which he gets after eating the Blue Mango, the tastiest mango in the country. It reminds one to cherish the good times he has had in his life, and moreover makes him contemplate over the things he lost, the things which he possess and the things which he might lose or gain in the future. It gives the reader a retrospective of his life, and makes him ponder about the relevance of his social existence and the commitments to his family.