A lion in his own lifetime
Reproduced Article
A lion in his own lifetime - Ramanujam Sridhar
``SHOULD we go home?'' asked the father anxiously of his 9-year-old son who was sobbing hysterically in the darkened theatre hall. The theatre (I guess) was Chitra. The film (I am sure) was Pasa Malar and the boy in question (I am certain) was me. Sivaji Ganesan, who for the best part of four decades made eyes moist without batting an eyelid plunged millions into tears when he breathed his last.
It is perhaps not fashionable to proclaim oneself an unabashed admirer of a film maker, particularly a Tamil one at that. But then, one cannot forget the range of emotions which one experienced, first as a growing boy and then as a maturing (?) adult by watching, analysing and discussing the same films over and over again for several years.
It is difficult to pin down the precise nature of Sivaji Ganesan's influence on the post-Independence-born Tamilian. Being one of those, let me put down a few things which we experienced as children and young adults. We most certainly would have been better students had it not been for the great man's films. We bunked class more often than not. Even a theatre in Tambaram (easier to get tickets) was more interesting than the college in Nungambakkam (which, incidentally, was the best college of its time). It was easier to remember Kattabomman's interactions with Jackson, word for word, than it was to remember the theorem of Pythagoras angle to angle.
We all believed that we were elder brothers born to love, protect and sacrifice (for) their younger sisters. We all believed that families are meant to be united (hence joint) and brothers meant to be forgiven when they were in the wrong. We believed (conveniently) that education wasn't everything. We saw likeminded emotional youngsters burn their terylene shirts after being influenced by Kappalottiya Thamizhan. We assumed that Bharati looked like Sivaji Ganesan in Kai Kodutha Deivam.
Yes, we were young, impressionable perhaps gullible even. But, honestly, the actor was a great influence on our lives, perhaps more so in the life of my friend who saw Nenjirukkum Varai 27 times! I think the influence of being a good son, loving brother and a preventer of the disintegration of the joint family was very profound on us. More so in the context of the Chithis and the Vazhkais of today, where people urge their own children to kill, maim or jail their loved ones. Thankfully, we were spared these heinous influences. For however villainous M.R. Radha was, he at least made you smile.
Sivaji Ganesan was good and very often a great actor. Good actors are good because of the things they can tell us without talking. When they are talking, they are the servants of the dramatist. ``It is what they can show the audience when they are not talking that reveals the fine actor,'' said Cedric Hardwicke.
Early in his career, Villupuram Chinnaiah Ganesan came under the influence of arguably the best dramatist of that time, Karunanidhi, whose radical dialogues he brought to life. His dialogue delivery revolutionised the way films were made in the fifties. Films, which had 60 songs suddenly, gave way to films which had six minutes of dialogue delivery in one stretch.
Sivaji (one knows) had a phenomenal capacity to absorb and memorise his lines, which were invariably read out to him. He also had the distressing habit of knowing the lines of his co-actors, sometimes even better than they did, causing embarrassment. In fact, his dialogue delivery showed a whole generation of people how Tamil was to be spoken. Directors cashed in on this and realised perhaps much later that his ability extended beyond mere dialogue delivery. And yet, it is very often the voice of the lion which is at the top of mind when we recall the great man.
Perhaps it' is also important to remember the times Sivaji lived in. This was before teleprompters, slow motion replays and ready availability of DVD cassettes of the best imported films that one could watch time and time again to borrow a look or a gesture. I would see him come on Friday night to Rajakumari theatre in Pondy Bazaar to watch Marlon Brando in The Ugly American. He was a great observer, always seeking inspiration. Rumour has it that barrister Rajnikanth in Gowravam was a famous, pipe-smoking industrialist whom Sivaji had observed and subsequently portrayed, to win hearts, if not awards. In fact, that was a major disappointment for the thespian.
Lesser mortals (and actors) than him won more awards and he found to his chagrin that it was easier to get recognition at Cairo and France than at New Delhi. Such is the way of jurists and politicians. Sivaji faced equal if not greater disappointments in politics where he was marginalised. To cap it all, on the personal front, the travails of his grandson-in-law were perhaps the most difficult of blows to face.
Sivaji was an actor's actor. There was hardly anyone who wasn't influenced by his acting style, whether it was a schoolboy acting as Othello on Parents' Day, an amateur artist mourning his mother's death in a play or unabashed admirers of him such as Sivakumar and Y. G. Mahendran who took pride in aping him.
In fact, it is no exaggeration to say that all Tamil actors found Sivaji's style, mannerisms, range of emotions and dialogue delivery having an influence on them as individuals and actors. A lot of people (myself included) felt that Sivaji had a tendency to overact. Sivaji himself was aware of this criticism and he once said something very relevant. He said Tamilians in particular and Indians in general were warm, effusive, expressive of emotions, prone to laugh loudly and sob openly at funerals. Even the men. Not stiff upper lip like the British who ruled us but open, sunny, emotional, like the Italians. Perhaps the actor knew the pulse of the audience. He knew his consumer.
`I am not a poet' is a famous line from a song in a Sivaji Ganesan starrer, Padithal Mattum Podhuma. It needs a poet of Kannadasan's stature to pay tribute to the lion-hearted actor who perhaps missed out in not venturing on to the small screen. But his contribution to Tamil cinema and life is not a small one. He leaves behind a race that is devastated and only just realising the value of the great actor who had made them laugh, made them cry and made them feel. Today every Tamilian feels the void.
(Ramanujam Sridhar is CEO, brand.comm, a communications consultancy.)
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