The Romance in Gautham Vasudev Menon’s Movies
Tamil movies of the millenium have been under intense scrutiny, in recent years that saw a rise in what can be called ‘political correctness’. From normalizing stalking, to hypersexualizing of women, to countless item numbers over the past ten years, it has become a commonplace academic practice to criticize the South Indian movie fraternity for its lack of moral responsibility towards women.
It is no secret that Tamil cinema has a profound effect on other filmmaking industries of India. Madras (now Chennai) is established as the secondary hub for Hindi cinema. In fact, Bollywood went as far as to cast popular Tamil actor Dhanush in the 2013 romance drama Raanjhanaa, where he continued to play his forte characterization- one that has been constantly condemned. For the larger part of his career, Dhanush was only seen to embody the unconventional, lower-caste, lover boy that obsesses over attractive, higher-caste girls. His antics are all a desperate attempt to be noticed; including stalking, eve-teasing, mentally and verbally abusing women who are ‘out of his league’, in an attempt to woo them. What is bizarre is how often he has repeatedly played this exact same role. 3, Padikathavan, Aadukalam, Yaaradi Nee Mohini, Kaadhal Kondein are some of them. This strikingly similar pattern has earned him his brand of ‘the creepy stalker’, the one you avoid or laugh at if ever encountered in real life. In most cases, the movies show these women to be visibly disturbed by this intrusion in their daily lives, often in public spheres. But in the end, it all works out- she recognizes his affection, they defeat whatever obstacles that present themselves in their path, and ultimately end up together in a climactic ecstasy.
Most often the love interest is someone who is unattainable to the hero in all senses; she’s rich, attractive, and educated- she’s from a strata of society that the hero doesn’t have access to. Therefore, his desire for her could perhaps be read as a desire to be accepted.
Following the continuous release and acceptance of such films, it became only natural to see heterosexual men imitating this predatory behaviour. The horror stories are countless, and often don’t end on such a happy note. For the longest time it was common occurrence to read or hear of men hysterically abusing women who turn them down. What they indulge in can be seen as rather Dhanush-esque romantic gestures.
What this article attempts to explore is a similar, yet entirely different kind of romance in Tamil movies. In 2008, Gautham Vasudev Menon (GVM) released Vaaranam Aayiram and two years later, he made Vinnaithandi Varuvaya; both cult classics for the average South Indian romantic. Despite the former largely trying to illustrate a father-son relationship, it gained the status of GVM’s most admirable works. It subsequently received the National Award for the best feature film in Tamil.
Vinnaithandi was also a top grosser in the box office, but was not devoid of criticism; almost entirely focusing on the climax where unlike most romance movies, the protagonist doesn’t get his happy ending. He’s left alone with no hopes of reuniting with the love of his life. While simultaneously filming the Telugu version of the movie, GVM strategically altered the climax to pander to the audience that will want to see Karthik end up with Jessy. In many ways, the original climax was perceived as a win for GVM; often the movie was quoted as one that tried to put realism back in the equation of contemporary love.
The article hopes to discuss a concept that GVM introduced through these two movies, a concept that caught on like wildfire within the male youth of the South; the train sequence from both the films- and how both these scenes significantly altered train rides for women since.
In Vaaranam, Suriya meets his Lady Love (Meghna, played by Sameera Reddy) on a train as he’s headed back home after completing his college education. The moment she catches his attention he can’t take his eyes off her, he’s love struck, and truly in awe of her beauty. In fact, he oggles at her and immediately thinks of his mother- his voiceover informing us: “I thought you were the beautiful woman in the world Amma, but now there’s someone who’s usurped you.”
This scene is highly appreciated, it is a cinematic delight; the costumes in the scenes have become recognizable and the dialogues are often regurgitated.
But let’s try to parallel this with the first encounter scene from Yaaradi Nee Mohini where Dhanush (Vasu) sees Nayantara (Keerthi) for the first time out on the street and behaves thereafter as though he’s been cast under a spell. One would say, these scenes aren’t comparable in the least to any lay audience although quite clearly it is of the same nature.To understand this, let’s look at what happens after Suriya notices Meghna.
He’s shaken to his core. He doesn’t know how to behave, and in his awkward attempts to regain his composure he catches her attention. Before the train stops the next day at their destination, the following has transpired: he has confessed how he feels, he has asked her to marry him, he is rejected and he is struck by a chord of inspiration and he’s written his first original song. Following this is a song that lasts five and a half minutes.
What happens when Vasu notices Keerthi in Yaaradi?
He too is shaken, but instead of trying to act “cool” he decides that he cannot let her out of his sight. Cue music, instead of a hypothetical scenario where they end up together, the entire song is our hero following the girl as she goes about her life. She walks around the market, eats food, chats with her friends, plays games- all while Vasu eyes are fixed on her, observing her from a distance as though she is a mystical creature that is rare and pure. Ultimately he too, is inspired. But in place of a creative surge, he labours away to get into the company she works for in an attempt to be close to her.
In both these scenes, the women become muses of some kind. Their encounters have inspired their men to do something that prior to this, they were unable to achieve on their own accord. But still, it is uncommon to group discussions that involve the ill treatment of the woman in Yaaradi with that of Vaaranam. The answer is simple: it is not the same. But that doesn’t mean that the often used term “creepy” doesn’t apply to GVM’s Suriya. Then the question remains, what is the difference?
When Dhanush in Yaaradi is being creepy, one can render his involvement with his woman as direct. He does not care for his social image, he does not care for the lady’s comfort, he simply does not care for respect. He wants to be looked at, loved and he’s willing to pester her long enough to make that possible.
But Suriya cares about respect, he cares about how Meghna perceives him. He isn’t creepy because he puts effort into his presentation- he cannot be the person that stalks you through marketplaces, or watches you while you eat. He’s ‘classy’ and sophisticated.
Let’s make an important distinction here, this sophistication isn’t as much in thought, it is more in speech. Suriya speaks to Meghna in fluent english, whereas Vasu struggles to keep up with Keerthi’s english. Hence, Suriya is not Dhanush and Vaaranam is not Yaaradi.
But simply by virtue of not being compartmentalized as ‘creepy’, GVM gets a pass to do something that slips our political correctness radar. While it is collectively acceptable that Yaaradi’s Dhanush is dangerous and must not be imitated- we have trouble in locating a similar danger in Vaaranam’s Suriya.
GVM’s Vinnaithandi Varuvaaya has a very similar train scene. In Vinnaithandi, Karthik (played by Simbu) has already met Jessie (played by Trisha)- he’s already fallen in love with her, he’s already asked her if she wants to be with him, and he’s already been rejected, and although it happens later in the movie he very soon makes his first movie entirely inspired from his relationship with Jessie.
If Suriya’s encounter was a chance meeting, Karthik’s was not. He knew Jessie was going to be on the train and he plans his rendezvous to establish a friendship with her.
Since there is an already established acquaintance between the two, the train scene here is a plot point for them to hit it off. Soon, Karthik gets handsy, he touches Jessie’s feet, moves closer to her, kissing her multiple times. The scene, coupled up with a hypothetical song scenario, ends with Jessie finally snapping and pushing him away.
It is clear at the end of this sequence that Karthik never had intentions of being ‘friends’ with the woman he loves. It was perhaps an attempt to serenade her heart with gestures of affection, as one can see. And yet, Vinnaithandi is never met with criticism on this account. It is never discussed in classrooms where one discusses sexual harassment, or consent. It might be tricky to unravel the problematic nature of the romance in Vinnaithandi’s train scene, as it is shrouded in a similar cloak as that of Vaaranam’s.
Karthik is exactly like Suriya who can talk in english without much hardship. He wants to make his lady love recognize his feelings for her, and in attempting to do so he plants himself in places where she might possibly be. In several scenes throughout the movie, he is seen waiting at Jessie’s workplace, in the hope that she’ll notice him. But Karthik is not “stalking” her because he’s a man with of class. When Jessie declines his proposal, she does so with valid reason and unlike Vasu he doesn’t sulk. He prepares to use ‘friendship’ as a sensible ploy to reconnect with her.
Distinguishing GVM’s characters and that of Dhanush’s would mean to segregate them based on class. Dhanush in Yaaradi and Aadukalam (2010) is a man from the lower economic and social strata, whereas his love interests are from a higher class, with a more stable economic background. The theme of conflict in itself is this class divide, and this is what they hope to overcome to be together.
This is not the case with Suriya or Simbu although GVM does try to introduce a complication of inter-religious affairs in Vinnaithandi. But it is simply not the same. Ultimately, both Suriya and Karthik are charming, conventionally attractive men who can pass as not being creepy, because they possess the privilege of doing so. The conflict in both their stories is a more superficial, dainty issue.
The underlying problem with not categorizing GVM’s characters as manipulators or potential predators is this: both these train scenes immediately become a tactic at romancing someone, be it somebody you just met on a train or someone you followed onto a train.
It is brushed under the mat that this unsolicited attempt to woo someone is in fact, not admirable at all.
At this point we can begin to go back to with which we began our discussion; how have these two scenes altered the experience of travelling in a train for women?
On a purely anecdotal basis, I shall try to make this transition clear; for the last couple of years it has been the case that while travelling in a train alone, men have initiated conversation with me, or my other female friends and acquaintances. They have been awfully kind in their advances- offering seats, food, and help if necessary. It is possible that these men are simply being kind out of their righteous heart, but in that case it must be concluded that only young men are capable of such generosity.
Often female friends and acquaintances have shared incidents of men trying to make conversation while they sleep, or read a book, pretending to be interested in the pins on their bags, or their phone cases. Let’s not forget to mention that you don’t really need to be inside the train coach, you can be anywhere- near the train, the platform, the waiting room.
Despite being strange and unnecessary, this is often a scenario that elicits a lot of fear in the women folk who travel alone on public transport.
In many ways, what GVM has created is a brand of surreal romanticism associated with being in a train with a woman. He has not only altered the ground reality of such a situation, but he’s simply normalized the entire exchange. Often these female friends and acquaintances reciprocate the conversation- they are after all stuck in a moving train for many hours. Unlike what one would think there is no sudden flash of inspiration, there is no music or musing. Yet, these encounters are backed by a sense of security that is intrinsically tied in with class and elitism. These men that receive a positive response are potential Suriyas and Karthiks, and in the women they see a Meghna or a Jessie.
Although, one can swoon over his realistic climax of Vinnaithandi, it is a nothing but a failure that he has fueled the heterosexual male youth to pursue an unrealistic dream of finding and romancing their lady love on a train.
Ultimately the anxiety that one recognizes with regard to these characters is one that is deeply tied to class. What is acceptable, and what is inexcusable is not a matter of action or intent but simply of presentation. Where Dhanush’s movies directly appear to indulge in what is ‘unacceptable’, GVM’s movies successfully mask this.
