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From: bb on: Sun Sep 30, 2007 11:54 pm
Song of the Day: A Hundred Songs of Bhanumathi - Part XIV
http://www.dhool.com/sotd2/897.html
- Saravanan writes:
ippadiyum oru peN
~ A Hundred Songs of Bhanumati ~
Part XIV: kaanal neer
‘Actor P. Bhanumathi's achievements cannot be easily measured by normal standards. Simply put, she was a genius. An actor of repute, a singer with an alluring voice, a studio-owner, a film-director, and a great writer. She was a one-woman film industry. Her dream of building a women's college on her estate and donating it to the Government somehow did not materialise.’
- Writer, director and producer Valampuri Somanathan (The Hindu, 28 December 2005)
Trudging along the Bhanumati trail, we are now poised at the threshold of the 60s. Bhanumati was then 35 years old, an age much before reaching which most actresses would have been consigned to oblivion. All the stars who were in the forefront of Tamil cinema when Bhanumati had made her debut in the late 40s and even in the subsequent years had fallen by the wayside long ago, and Bhanumati had lorded over the next generation of newcomers with becoming hauteur. However, there had sprung a fresh batch of talented performers in the course of the 50s; and in the new decade a younger crop of capable artistes would grace the screen with confidence and aplomb. With playback singing gaining wide acceptance even in the 50s and playback singers enjoying immense popularity, singing stars like Bhanumati and Varalakshmi were merely reminders of another era. Thus in the 60s, Bhanumati’s screen appearances in Tamil were few and far in between, and some of her movies that were released in the early 60s had actually been years in the making. Though she continued to be busy with her Telugu projects, her prolific years were doubtless behind her as far as her career in Tamil cinema was concerned. Nevertheless she was her nonchalant, brilliant self in the rare roles that came her way, and proved time and again that she was a class apart and indeed irreplaceable when it came to powerful, author-backed roles.
In this chapter, we are revisiting a movie of Bhanumati that was her lone release of 1961; and it was her home production, directed by her husband. The movie had its roots in Bengali- it was based on a Bengali novel that had seen celluloid adaptation in Bengali before catching the attention of Bhanumati and Ramakrishna.
29. kaanal neer (21.7.1961/ Bharani Pictures)
Saratchandra Chattopadhyay (1876- 1938) is a name that is familiar to all of us; even if you would not have read his irresistible novels, you have doubtless come across some of his arresting short stories as part of the ubiquitous ‘non-detailed’ that was part of our English syllabus, or even if you disown with disdain such keepsakes of our school years, you cannot claim ignorance of his works like Swami, Khushboo, Parineeta or the immortal Devdas that have been peddled by our dream merchants on the silver screen, or at least Srikanta on Doordarshan.
In a captivating canvas, Saratchandra managed to capture with vibrant hues the highs and more often the lows of the late nineteenth to early twentieth Bengali society. His work is a pastoral panorama that embraces in its scintillating spectrum the plethora of emotions- the dreams and disappointments, the successes and follies, the anger and frustration that simmer beneath the veneer of stolidity that marks the lives of the rural middle-class and poor, with an indulgent, empathetic emphasis on the cruel customs that were unjust to women.
Among Saratchandra’s earliest novels is ‘Bardidi’ (The Elder Sister). Written in 1907 when Saratchandra lived in Khanjanpur, the story was serialized in 1913 in a magazine called Bharati, as a result of the persistent efforts of his friend and novelist Sourendra Mohan Mukhopadhyay. Saratchandra, who was had migrated to Rangoon by then had not consented to this publication, and in the first few installments, the name of the writer was kept secret. The whole of Bengal followed the story with enchanted attention, and when the name of the author was finally revealed, Saratchandra became a celebrity overnight.
The story revolved around a child widow, Madhabi. She grows up to a beautiful, accomplished woman, whom the family members look to for support and guidance in their everyday transactions. Indeed, the entire household runs on the intelligent directions of ‘Bardidi’, as everyone calls Madhabi with affection. Madhabi buries deep within her the anguish and emptiness of her life, and finds solace in attending to the diverse needs of the family. Into this household steps in Surendranath, the young tutor appointed to teach a child in the family. He is gradually filled with awe at the various accomplishments of Madhabi, and aches with sympathy at her widowed state, even as this sympathy is tempered with admiration at her calm acceptance of her fate. And as it is bound to happen, this awe, admiration and sympathy slowly and surely transform into love. What about Madhabi, what are her feelings? The handsome, good-natured tutor evokes long-suppressed feelings in her. It was as though a sudden gust of wind had thrown open all the closed windows of the chambers of her heart- chambers that had remained steadfastly shut all these years. The exhilarating breeze of love fills the vacuum of her inner solitude with tremulous joys. And in the new found freedom from the suffocating confines of self-imposed discipline, she longs to soar like a bird in the sky. But…the fetters of widowhood that society had bound her with remain remorseless in their thrust…… Madhabi suffers from guilt, and then its first cousin, despair clamps its cruel tentacles on her, as society does not hesitate to cast aspersions on her character. She starts shutting with resolution the newly opened windows of her heart, but before each resounding bang, she looks out with a wistful pang at the vistas of joys that would never be hers.. .. Surendra waits with infinite patience and unflinching hope…but it is becoming increasingly evident that Madhabi can never come out of the cocoon of Bardidi. Several twists later, disillusioned, he goes away, yet he pines for her. Finally, when frustration, disappointment and grief clutch him with their vicious claws, he falls on his deathbed…Filled with self-reproach, Madhabi rushes to him. Perceiving her approach, Suren asks her forlornly, “Are you Bardidi?” And at that moment, breaking free from the shackles that held her in captivity, Madhabi asserts her individuality- “I am Madhabi!” she declares…
The story won instant appeal, for Saratchandra’s canvas was life itself; his characters were drawn from his own observations of the Bengal society of the time. Into what was essentially the story of Madhabi and Suren, Saratchandra had interwoven numerous other interesting characters such as Shanti, Manorama, Shibachandra, Nimu, Mathurbabu and Brajababu who helped move the proceedings with engrossing twists and turns. His tale was told with rare sensitivity, and line by line, Sarat had erected an enthralling edifice in print. He had seen in person the cruelty and callousness that society meted out to widowed women, and his novel Bardidi reflected the same with compassion and understanding, its paragraphs laid bare the starkness that was the lot of young widows all over late nineteenth century India. Incidentally, Saratchandra, the human stepped in when Saratchandra the writer had done his bit… Having lost his wife and child to the plague in 1906, he married again in 1910, and his bride was a young widow called Mokshada.
The story was first made into a movie a year after Saratchandra’s demise, and ‘Baradidi’ (1939/ New Theaters Ltd) is revered in the annals of Bengali cinema for director Amar Mullick’s perceptive handling of the story. Produced by B.N. Sircar, the movie’s cinematography was handled by Bimal Roy, who would in future years attain acclaim as one of the greatest directors of Indian cinema. Music was composed by Pankaj Mullick. Molina Devi played Madhabi and Pahadi Sanyal played Surendra. B.N. Sircar got Amar Mullick to make a Hindi version the same year and ‘Badi Didi’ had Shanta Hublikar and Shahu Modak in the lead. The next screen adaptation in Bengali came in 1957, and directed by Ajoy Kar, this ‘Baradidi’ (Sarat Banichitra) had Sandhya Rani in the role of Madhabi and Uttam Kumar playing Suren. Music was composed by Anil Bagchi.
It was Saratchandra’s Bardidi then that Bhanumati and Ramakrishna decided to make a bilingual of in 1961 under their ‘Bharani Pictures’ banner. The movie was called ‘baatasaari’ in Telugu and ‘kaanal neer’ in Tamil. The erudite Samudrala Raghavacharya worked on the screenplay and the Telugu dialogues, while Valampuri Somanathan (who wrote the above eulogy to Bhanumati in the aftermath of her demise) penned the dialogues for the Tamil version. The movie was directed by Ramakrishna. Bhanumati and Nageswara Rao donned the lead roles. Sowcar Janaki got to play an important cameo. Having shed the extra weight that she had put on in the last few years, Bhanumati seemed to have regained in full the regalia of her haunting screen presence of the early 50s. In one of her best performances ever, she lived the role of an austere young widow who finds self-defenses crumbling against the gentle young tutor’s timid advances. Her performance was marked by understated majesty and dignified restraint. Eschewing lengthy dialogues, Bhanumati conveyed a million emotions in subtle gestures and evocative expressions.
And as for Nageswara Rao, he rates his character in ‘baatasaari’ as the as the best of all the characters he had ever played. “I liked Batasari (based on Sarat's Badi Didi) the most, as a character. Characters like Batasari and Devdas are not too explicit. They preserve their inner feelings - to be enjoyed in solitude. I am also a man like that. In Batasari, the hero and heroine do not sing duets with each other. But while dying, they see each other for five shots. Expression of love with gratitude is what Batasari signified”, he mused aloud in a recent interview. Nageswara Rao won accolades for his magnificent performance too- by underplaying his role with astute understanding, he turned it into a never-before tour de force.
I recall watching ‘baatasaari’ on TV many years back in the good old days when Madras Doordarshan used to telecast movies from the other Southern languages on Saturdays. While I do not remember most of the proceedings, two scenes remain part of my childhood memories- One when Nageswara Rao tells the child to ask Bhanumati and get a Geometry box, and the other when a frustrated Bhanumati, exclaiming that the tutor seemed to know only Mathematics, (‘jadam’ is the adjective she uses, if I remember right), pushes his spectacles away. The glasses shatter to smithereens at the inadvertent force of her action. Though seething with emotions, an outwardly unperturbed Nageswara Rao picks up one of the pieces of glass from the floor, and holding it close to his eye, resumes his perusal of a book as though nothing untoward had occurred!
Bhanumati had chosen Master Venu to compose music for the movie, and she sat with the gifted composer and the lyricists to extract the best from them. Samudrala wrote the lyrics for the songs in Telugu while Kannadasan wrote the Tamil lines. The album had 8 songs. The songs, besides the 4 that Bhanumati sang, were ‘manamenum maaLigai meedhu’ by P.B. Srinivas and Jamunarani, ‘aasai mozhi pEsa vaa’ and ‘aruLvizhi paaraai dEvi’, both by P. Suseela, and ‘ammaan magaL paaru’ by Jikki & chorus.
Coming to Bhanumati’s songs in the album, let us listen here to 3 of her 4 songs. I am afraid that I am not able to lay my hands on the 4th song ‘anbaana eNNamE paavama’ (‘upakara chintayE’ in Telugu).
Listen first to the philosophical ‘kaNNil therindhum kaikku varaatha’ (‘kanulaku dOchi chethikandani’ in Telugu) by Jikki and Bhanumati. How beautifully does Kannadasan, as his wont, encapsulate the story within a few meaningful lines, spraying them with remarkable analogies to prove his point -
kaNNil therindhum kaikku varaatha kaanal neeruNdu
kattazhagirundhum vaazhkkai illadha kanniyar palaruNdu
maNNil viLaindhum pasikkudhavaadha kanigaL silavuNdu
manathil irundhum sollil varaadha ninaivugaL pala uNdu
Listen to ‘kaNNil therindhum kaikku varaatha’
We have next the ruminative ‘ulagam theriyaa payirE’ (‘lOka merugani baala’) by Bhanumati. The lines suggest that the song is sung to a child whose innocence would be lost on attaining adulthood. The lines offer a glimpse what is in store for the child when he/she grows up, and though sprinkled with cynicism, the lines seek to prepare the child to face the world with wisdom and foresight…Bhanumati’s delineation is soulful and sublime..
Listen to ‘ulagam theriyaa payirE’
I have saved the best for the last…the poignant ‘vazhi thEdi vandhaai’ (‘O baatasaari’ in Telugu) Just when she has begun to reciprocate his unquestioned love for her, he has gone away. She wails at this cruel twist of fate..
vazhi thEdi vandhaai, puriyaamal nindREn-
purigindRa vELai, pirivaagi sendRaai…
samudaayamE pagaiyaanadhaal, irul soozhndha en thani vaazhvilE-
oLippOla vandhaai- pudhupaadhai thandhaai
kanigindRa vELai thaniyaaga sendRaai…
A moving composition by Master Venu, and Bhanumati’s lament is heartrending in its desolate appeal.
Listen to ‘vazhi thEdi vandhaai’
The Telugu version ‘O baatasaari nanu maruvakOyi’ remains one of Bhanumati’s most popular songs in Telugu.
Listen to ‘O baatasaari nanu maruvakOyi’
‘baatasaari’ was a commercial and critical success, and has attained the halo of a cult classic over the years. Sad to say, ‘kaanal neer’ is almost forgotten today, and not many remember the movie or its songs. Let us escort the songs to center stage once again, and stroll back in time for a brief while…
~ to be continued ~
Tags: Banumathi
Categories: ippadiyum oru peN - A Hundred Songs of Bhanumathi
http://www.dhool.com/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?t=6616
