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Much has been said and written about the late director Bharathiraja and his corpus of pathbreaking work in Tamil cinema, and how it influenced entire generations of audiences. He turned the spotlight back on nativity, was expressive about love for his ‘sweet Tamizh people’, wrote women with agency, and focused on both creativity and craft. But something not very often spoken about is how he wrote and showcased yearning, or yaekkam, in his movies.
The very agency he wrote his heroines and female characters with ensured they were never wall flowers while pining for someone they loved — they did so with a flourish, and even occasional humour. Even the men pined differently from in others’ cinema — their yearning encased within the contrasting layers of power and vulnerability. Sibling love and the pangs of separation were dealt with with rare sensitivity and intensity. Years later, when Bharathiraja was introduced to audiences as an actor, you could see where the intensity and depth came from — it was all him.
After his directorial debut with the very nuanced 16 Vayathiniley in 1977, three of his films — Kizhakke Pogum Rayil (1978), Mann Vaasanai (1983), and Pudhumai Penn (1984) — had more of a black-and-white approach to their characters. But, even there, in the love stories, there was the yearning to belong to someone. The couples in all three were separated by fate and distance.
In Mann Vaasanai, Muthupechi (Revathi) waits up the entire night because the love of her life, Veerannan (Pandiyan), who went missing, is to return the next morning. She could have been frustrated at the delay, or cried. But her family watches in amusement as she, desire and love written all over her face, wakes up to clean and wash the front yard. Told it is too early, she sits by the door, willing the horizon to take on the shades of dawn. Finally, she spots a rooster, and throws something towards that direction so it would crow — and she runs to everyone insisting it has dawned. The last leg of the wait is simply too much for her.
In Pudhumai Penn, Seetha (Revathi) waits for her husband Ramachandran (Pandiyan) to return from prison, absorbing all the insults his family throws at her. The contrast between her love-filled wait and wrath-filled final showdown is one for the ages. One of those rare films that showed that the same woman can love and scorn the same person with equal intensity.
The seeds for the theme of love lost and regained were first sown in 16 Vayadhiniley, where Chappani (Kamal Haasan), treated as an aberration in a society that expects conformity, yearns for Mayilu (Sridevi) in his own way before they discover the extent of their love.
The auteur’s seminal work Mudhal Mariyaadhai (1985) not only showed audiences a new side of thespian Sivaji Ganesan, but also bestowed a male lead with a not-very-regular trait — the long wait for love and acceptance. Caught in a loveless marriage of compulsion, middle-aged Mayilsamy finds warm companionship in Kuyilu (Radha), a woman who rows a boat across the river, and whose heart is warm with compassion.
Their bond is forged over carefully plucked silver hair, dried fish, and replying to the other’s song. Love, the director says in the movie, is not just pining to be together, but wanting the other to be safe and happy, with their respect intact.
Bringing together people from varied strands of life and putting them on the same relationship path was something Bharathiraja enjoyed. That explains Kadalora Kavidhaigal (1986), starring Sathyaraj as ruffian Chinnapa Das and Rekha as teacher Jennifer. Their love grows silently, in gifted conch shells, the ringing of the church gong, and fleeting eye contact. Forty years later, you can still smile at Das’ expression of love.
Longing and grief took on a different shade in the stereotype-breaking Vedham Pudhidhu (1987), an anti-caste film far ahead of its time. A love story that is not accepted in the village results in a young boy, Sankaran, missing his father and sister, and a middle-aged couple, Balu and Pechi (Sathyaraj and Saritha), missing their son. The sister, Vaidehi (Amala), is in angst — because everyone she loves, including her prospective partner Sankarapandi, is taken away from her.
Each one of them experiences grief and loss, but handles it very differently. Pechi tries to think her son is still away in college because, otherwise, her wounded heart would not let her live. Balu sheds his caste tag and the weapons at home and in his mind. Vaidehi accepts her new reality, and Sankaran learns to call Balu appa (father), and rediscovers life.
Even if you do not have a sibling, Kizhakku Seemayile (1993) is a film that triggers a deep love for all things fraternal. The longing of the sister Virumaayi (Radhika), torn between her brother Maayandi Thevar (Vijayakumar) and husband Sivanaandi (Napolean), is almost tangible.
Bharathiraja’s films were also social markers of their time. But, because there was much heft in the writing, they did not look or sound preachy. So, when female foeticide was a burning issue, he made Karuthamma (1994), a searing tale of the plight of unwanted girl children in rural Tamil Nadu.
A newborn girl is going to be fed poisonous cactus milk by an elderly woman, when a person offers to raise her and give her a new life. Her two sisters grow up longing for their dead mother, and the elder one (Saranya) discovers their mother in the younger sibling, Karuthamma (Rajasree). There’s a silent love story brewing between Karuthamma and the village veterinarian Stephen (Raja). The newborn returns as Dr Rosy (Maheshwari), who rediscovers her family and roots.
Bharathiraja made many films in other genres, primarily thrillers (Sigappu Rojakkal, Tik Tik Tik, Kangalaal Kaidhu Sei, and Bommalaatam), but his heart lay in the varied shades of love he so beautifully showcased.
In quite a few interviews, he has recalled how he fell for someone in school and, decades later, identified her from behind after seeing her grey-specked hair. “Adhaan…love,” he said, his octogenarian face bearing a blush. She then came home to invite him for her granddaughter’s wedding, went to their kitchen, and made him a cup of coffee. The director said this unexpected treat made him feel his life was complete. “That is…love.”
The kind that first hits the eye, enters the heart, and merges with the soul. Of course, with ample longing. We agree, Sir.
Subha J Rao is an entertainment journalist covering Tamil and Kannada cinema and is based out of Mangaluru, Karnataka.
Views expressed are the author's own.