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One Hundred Tamils of the 20th Century
Sivaji Ganesan - Nadigar Thilakam
1 October 1928 - 21 July 2001
Sivaji Statute
in Marina, Chennai unveiled on 21 July 2006
Parasakthi - Sivaji Ganesan's First Film,
1952
A Lesson in Gratitude from the Movie
Maestro Sivaji Ganesan
by
Sachi Sri Kantha, 20 December 2005...
It is always enchanting and heart-warming to
read and listen to real life events, which are educational
at any time to individuals of all age ranges.
In this spirit, towards the end of the year,
I provide the following two anecdotes from the life of Tamil
movie legend, Sivaji Ganesan (1928-2001). In these two
anecdotes, Sivaji Ganesan had taught to many, what is
gratitude and why it deserves recognition and
popularisation.
The first anecdote was from a memoir book
about the Tamil movie world which I read recently, It was
authored by distinguished Tamil movie script writer
Aroordhas, who had known personally and professionally
Sivaji Ganesan for decades.
The second anecdote was oral history I heard
in Colombo three decades ago from one of my music
mentors,violinist Vannai G.Shanmuganantham.
Both anecdotes have a few inter-linking
threads. The oral story I heard around 1975 neatly gelled
with the written story which I read recently.
Sivaji Ganesan and his tutor
K.D.Santhanam [written story]
Sivaji with Aroordhas |
Renowned script writer and director
Aroordhas (born 1931) has a five decade track record in
Tamil movie history. His stage name Aroordhas is a clipped
version of his full village cum personal name of Tiruvaroor
Aarokiyadhas. His memoir book, Naan Muham Paartha Cinema
Kannadigal [The Cinema Mirrors I have Looked At; Kalaignan
Publishers, Chennai, 2002, 224 pages] carries a delightful
collection of anecdotes on the personalities who moved the
movie world of South India. I was rather touched by a
reminiscence provided by Aroordhas on Sivaji Ganesan in
section 18 of the book (pages 109-113). I provide my English
translation of this entire section below.
“The Madurai Mangala Bala Gaana Sabha was a
drama troupe managed by Ethaartham Ponnusami Pillai of
Thiruvathavoor, Madurai. This troupe stationed themselves in
Tiruchi and conducted dramas at the Thevar Hall.
From Sangili Aanda Puram, a boy aged 6 or 7
had joined this drama troupe with his friend, a neighbor’s
son. In this drama troupe, there was a Tamil tutor
(Vaathiaar) who taught drama and Tamil to the young charges.
He was short in stature and was extremely strict. With or
without sense, this tutor punished his young charges by cane
beating, even for smallest errors. Because of this, the
young boys had their bowel leaks, when they saw or even
dreamt about this extreme disciplinarian cum tutor. In their
dreams, he appeared like a charging lion.
But that Tamil tutor had a great gift. He
could compose beautiful, rhyming Tamil songs based on poetic
grammar. One day, at the stage, that boy from Sangili Aanda
Puram was acting in the role of a young widow. And by
carelessness on that day, he was wearing a blouse. This had
been noticed by that disciplinatrian tutor.
In that era, wearing blouse by widows was
rather inappropriate according to societal norms. At the end
of the scene, that Tamil tutor harshly gave a cane beating
to that young boy; ‘Can’t you be so careless and unrealistic
in your profession?’ was the complaint against that young
boy.
Guess who was that young charge, who
received such a beating? Maestro Sivaji Ganesan. Who was
that cane-loving tutor? My most respectful and admired elder
and great poet, K.D.Santhanam (S).
43 years ago, during the shooting of the
movie ‘Pasa Malar’, I met elder K.D.S. at the old Neptune
Studio and paid my respects. In that movie, when Sivaji
Ganesan (the hero) becomes rich, he is met by a character
named ‘Rajaratnam’. KD.Santhanam played that character.
That young charge V.C.Ganesan never forgot
about, in his illustrious career, from whom he received the
cane-beating and from whose beating he learnt the alphabets
of acting and Tamil diction. It was he, after establishing
his fame in the movie world, who recommended his harsh
disciplinarian tutor for that particular character in his
great movie.
During the shooting days, Sivaji would be
seated outdoors near the shooting floor with crossed legs
and be in conversation with me, while having a cigarette in
his lips. Then, elder K.D.Santhanam would occasionally pass
us from the make-up room towards the shooting floor. At the
instant when Sivaji sees his old tutor, he would dutifully
stand up in respect, and hide the cigarette behind his back.
Though noticing that homage silently, the old tutor K.D.S.
pretend ignoring us and with bowed head pass us quietly.
It would touch my heart, when watching that
simple, elegant and meaningful respect Sivaji paid for his
old tutor. What a class! What a grateful protégé! I mention
this anecdote because the younger generation should be
informed of this humility and gratitude shown by maestro
Sivaji.
Once, after K.D.S. had passed us and went
beyond the listening distance, Sivaji sat back and told me:
‘Aarooran! On this Santhanam tutor (Santhana Vaathi) who
passed us. The amount of beating I got from him isn’t a few.
During dance training (when a step is missed for a beat),
during dialogue training (when a word is missed), he beat us
severely! Oh Mother – He’d chase and chase us and beat us!
Even when he went to the toilet, he carried his cane. Now he
is passing us like a young girl with head turned towards the
floor. Even when I thought about him in those days, I’d
shiver.’
I asked him jokingly: ‘Then, why did you
recommend him for this role?’
[Sivaji said] ‘You don’t know. Because of
those beatings I received from his hand, I’m now sitting
comfortably like this as Sivaji Ganesan. When I joined the
drama troupe, I was a zero. From him only, I learnt how to
speak dialogue and how to act. Do you know, what a classy
Tamil poet he is? What a poetic touch he carried in his
hands? The songs he wrote for the Ambikapathi [1957] movie I
acted: Ah! What sweet Tamil, and what lilting rhythm! I
tolerated all those beatings because of his blessed Tamil
knowledge. Otherwise, I’d have quit the troupe and ran back
to my home during any one of those nights.’
Later, when elder K.D.S. was alone at the
shooting floor, I approached him and politely mused;
“Elder Sir, I’ve heard that you gave severe
beating to Sivaji Annan in his young days.’
[K.D.S.] ‘Oh! He has told you about that.
Oh! That was in those days. Now I’m becoming senile. I
cannot remember your script now. Not only that, when Thambi
Ganesan stand in front of me, shouldn’t I look at his face
and deliver my dialogue? When I look at him now, I’m getting
nervous! Because of that, can you prepare me for my dialogue
by repeating your script not once but four times? It may be
a bother. Kindly oblige.’
How Time did change? The same great tutor
who taught dialogue to Sivaji Ganesan in his young days,
with disciplinary cane at his hand, now he feels nervous to
stand in front of his illustrious protégé, and ask me to
prepare him well for a scene in which he faces his protégé.”
When I read these pages from Aroordhas’s book, I was touched
by three inter-twined elements;
(1) a thankful protégé’s devotion to an
extremely strict, but sincere, mentor,
(2) repayment of intellectual debt by an
esteemed protégé, and
(3) the mentor’s heart-felt pride on the
grade made by his protégé.
What Sivaji Ganesan said of the touching
poetic feel of his mentor K.D.Santhanam was no exaggeration.
The 16 lines of that one sweet melody in the Ambikapathi [a
historical love yarn set in the 12th century Chola Kingdom,
along the lines of the more popular Romeo-Juliet story]
movie, beginning with the lines ‘Kannile Iruppathenna Kanni
Ila Maane’ and sung by P.Bhanumathi as well as
T.M.Soundararajan were from the fertile mind of
K.D.Santhanam.
Sivaji Ganesan and his boyhood pal
E.Subbiah Pillai [oral
story]
Around the time [in 1961 or 1962] when his
signature movie Pasa Malar was released, Sivaji Ganesan
visited Colombo. I heard the following story from my mentor
Vannai G.Shanmuganantham, around 1975, who was an
eye-witness.
E.Subbiah Pillai |
At a cultural function held at the
Saraswathie Hall, Bambalapitiya, Sivaji Ganesan was the
guest of honor. With his roving eye, he had a glance at the
orchestra performing at the side of the stage. During
intermission, he rushed to the orchestra team and stood in
front of the clarinetist E.Subbiah Pillai, who was calm and
composed. With stretched hands, Sivaji greeted him, “Neenga
Subbiah Annan ille” [Aren’t you Subbiah elder?]. The
clarinetist softly responded in the affirmative. Then,
Sivaji immediately hugged his long-lost boyhood pal, and was
overcome with emotion. The words fumbled from his mouth.
“Anne! Suhama irukeengala? Eppavo,
Ceylonukku oodi poonatha sonnanga. Athukappuram, oru
sethiyum kiddaikale.” [Brother, are you keeping fine? Those
days, I heard that you have run to Ceylon. After that, I
didn’t hear any news about you.]
Then only it became known to the fellow
members of that orchestra team that Sivaji Ganesan [a
junior] and Subbiah Pillai [a senior] were boyhood pals in a
boys drama troupe, and one day [partly because of the
disciplinary tactics of their tutors and partly because of
the lure provided by a sea-crossing trip to Ceylon], Subbiah
Pillai had moved to Ceylon without announcing his decision
to his then clique. Thus, the pals became separated.
In the intervening 25 years or so, while
Sivaji Ganesan became a famous movie star in Chennai,
Subbiah Pillai established himself as a clarinetist in the
Radio Ceylon artiste. Subbiah Pillai, as a senior to Sivaji
Ganesan, might have taught a few ‘steps’ in the art world
then, to the talented rookie. Sivaji never forgot the face
of his senior.
I personally knew Subbiah Pillai ‘Master’ in
the late 1960s and early 1970s. In fact, for my flute debut
performance [Arangetram] held on December 3, 1971, at the
Bambalapitiya Sammangodu Vinayagar Temple, my mentor
T.P.Jesudas honored him by requesting him to ‘keep the Talam
[rhythm keeper]’ in front of me.
Then, after I entered the university, due to
demands on time, I lost much contact with those older
generation of musicians. One day [before I heard this Sivaji
Ganesan anecdote from violinist Shanmuganantham Master] I
received the news with shock that Subbiah Pillai ‘Master’
had died in Jaffna hospital, following a medical
misadventure after an operation. Even now, I get a lump in
my throat when I think about the calm and composed Subbiah
Pillai Master – a senior to Sivaji Ganesean of old drama
troupe days - who was the only clarinetist I knew in Colombo
in those days.
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...from Sri
Lanka Tamil Daily 'Thinakaran',
11 November 1972 - on Death of Subbiah Pillai
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Sivaji Ganesan: Autobiography of An Actor. Compiled
and edited by T.S.Narayana Swamy (in Tamil), English
translation by Sabita Radhakrishna; Sivaji Prabhu Charities
Trust, Chennai, 2007, 250 pp.
Book Review by
Sachi Sri Kantha, 11 November 2008
Brando and Ganesan
Marlon Brando (1924-2004) in USA and Sivaji Ganesan
(1928-2001) in South India were talented contemporaries.
Both set the definitions for what acting is, both in stage
and in movies in their cultural milieu. Both were school
drop outs; while Brando left school during his high school
years, Sivaji Ganesan never even completed his primary
schooling. Both blossomed as talent that has been unseen and
unheard of; Brando in the hands of Elia Kazan, and Sivaji in
delivering the scripts of Anna and Karunanidhi. In late
career, both had their critics; Brando was lampooned for his
‘method acting’ and Sivaji was critiqued for his
‘overacting’. One day in 1962, both Brando and Ganesan met
for lunch and exchanged pleasantries in Hollywood.
The motif of a new face seizing an opportunity of a life
time when the chosen star rejects the role in stage or
cinema is a recurrent theme. In his autobiography, Marlon
Brando noted that his big break in stage in 1947, for a
Tennessee Williams play, A Streetcar Named Desire,
came when he was the third choice as the lead male cast. Two
established movie stars, first John Garfield (1913-1952) and
then Burt Lancaster (1913-1994) had to turn down the role.
Then, the director and producer of the play felt that he was
‘probably too young’, but left the final decision of
selection to playwright Tennessee Williams, who wanted
Brando to ‘have the role’. A Streetcar Named Desire
play opened in New York on Dec.3, 1947 and a 23 year old
Brando became the talk of the town.
Akin to Brando’s story, we have Sivaji Ganesan, hailed as
the Marlon Brando of Indian stage and screen, who seized an
opportunity of his life time in 1946, at the age of 18, when
he was offered the role of Maratha king Sivaji, for a play
authored by C.N.Annadurai (Anna) – a role that was rejected
by M.G. Ramachandran (MGR), at the last moment. Here are
excerpts from Ganesan’s reminiscences of his lucky break:
“Anna wrote the play Sivaji kanda Hindu Rajyam.
Originally, M.G. Ramachandran was chosen to play the
role of Sivaji and the costumes tailored for him. For
some reason MGR turned down the offer. With hardly a
week left for the play, D.V. Narayanaswamy, the stage
manager, was extremely worried. He told Anna that MGR
had refused to act this role. Both had a brainstorming
session to find alternatives…Anna thought a beard would
look good on me. He put the question to me very
directly. ‘Ganesa, are you willing to act as Sivaji?’ I
perspired profusely at this question…Anna asked me to
try it out. Moreover he had the confidence that I could
do it. He handed me a 90 page dialogue manuscript and
advised me to go through it. He was going home and on
his return would audition me for the role. Anna gave me
the manuscript at eleven in the morning and he came back
around six in the evening…I managed to memorise so much
in merely seven hours. ‘You are Sivaji’, he announced,
his voice choking with emotion. If I could memorise a 90
page manuscript in a relatively short time, it was only
because of my passion for acting, you could even call it
addiction…There were only four days left for the play to
be staged and all the costumes tailored for MGR had to
be downsized to suit me. They had to pad cotton in some
places to correct the size difference as I was a mere
boy and was slightly built at that time.”
Thus, at the age of 18, Ganesan received his moniker
‘Sivaji’ in 1946, and comfortably carried it to this tomb.
“I am not very sure of the day of the week, but I know I was
born on October 1, 1928.” said he. That day was a Monday,
and on that day his father Chinnaiya mandrayar was arrested
for taking part in an anti-British campaign in Villupuram.
This autobiography of Villupuram Chinnaiya Ganesa Moorthy
(Ganesa Moorthy was his original name) first appeared in
Tamil on Oct.1, 2002, on the first posthumous birthday of
Sivaji. It consists of a question and answer format. The
questions were formulated by Dr. T.S. Narayana Swamy, and
Sivaji provides reminiscences of his notable life. The
English version appeared five years later on Oct.1, 2007.
For a comparison on the influence of maternal love, here is
Brando’s reminiscences: “The money that came with A
Streetcar Named Desire was less important to me,
however, than something else: every night after the
performance, there would be seven or eight girls waiting in
my dressing room. I looked them over and choose one for the
night. For a twenty four year old who was eager to follow
his penis wherever it could go, it was wonderful. It was
more than that; to be able to get just about any woman I
wanted into bed was intoxicating.” Brando was unlucky in
that his mother turned out to be an alcoholic and he
suffered badly from lack of maternal love and direction.
For Sivaji, his mother Rajamani Ammal, though illiterate had
a mother’s common sense in directing her prodigious son’s
family life. Ganesan reminise’s in gratitude: “The film
Parasakti was released in 1952 and I got married the
same year…My mother decided that it was time for me to tie
the knot and arranged to get me married to my cousin’s
daughter Kamala…The simplicity of the wedding made it a
revolutionary ceremony. I was married on May 1st 1952 at
Swamimalai, a place close to my cousin’s house. Sri P.A.
Perumal, annan MGR, Sri Karunanidhi, the poet Kannadasan,
Smt. T.A. Maduram, Sri. S.V. Sahasranamam, along with
directors Krishnan and Panju attended my wedding…Nowadays
much emphasis is placed on celebrating weddings
extravagantly with glitz and glamour. My wedding was devoid
of that and my total expenditure was only five hundred
rupees! I confess that I did not have the means to spend
more.”
For the uninitiated, P.A.Perumal was the producer of
Sivaji’s first movie Parasakti, who stood by his
talent when other influential personnel (like AVM’s studio
boss Meiyappa Chettiar and director P. Neelakandan) in the
studios griped about him. Karunanidhi was the script writer
for the movie, veteran Sahasranamam was a fellow actor in
the movie and Krishnan-Panju were the directors of
Parasakti. The mention of 500 rupees for his wedding
seems to be a dig and rebuke to the well-publicized wedding
of his grand daughter N. Sathyalakshumi to Jeyalalitha’s
then adopted son V.N. Sudhakaran, that made news on Sept.7,
1995.
In a profession rife with polygamy, paramours, dalliances
and affairs, Sivaji practiced monogamy and attributed his
mental health and vigor to his wife’s devotion and love. His
sincere compliments to his wife Kamal were, “She is the
captain of our home and my boss. I will act only in
accordance with her wishes.” The book is dedicated to
Kamala, who died on Nov. 3, 2007.
Hard Work
In the first edition (1963) of their landmark book,
Indian Film, Eric Barnouw and his protégé
S.Krishnaswamy, allocated three paragraphs to Sivaji’s role
and relevance to Tamil movies. (Krishnaswamy was the son of
K. Subramanyam, one of the pioneers in Tamil films.)
However, in the second edition (1980) of the same book, the
three paragraphs had been condensed into a single paragraph.
For record, I provide the first, adulatory paragraph that
appeared in the first edition below, to reflect the
importance of Sivaji the actor in the then Madras in late
1950s and early 1960s, when his influence was at its peak.
“In Madras one of the most astonishing phenomena is film
star Sivaji Ganesan. Among southern film stars only M.G.
Ramachandran, the star associated with the Dravidian
movement, has in recent years come close to him in
status. For some years a leading Madras theatre has
shown only films starring Sivaji Ganesan. This has not
been difficult, for he stars in innumerable films. For
some years it has seemed risky for any producer to
produce a Tamil film not starring Sivaji Ganesan.
[italics, as in the original.] He produces films himself
but also appears in the production of others. He is
always involved in many projects simultaneously, dolign
out a morning of shooting time here, an afternoon there,
while numerous producers wait nervously for his next
moment of availability. It is common for films made
under these circumstances to be in production one, two
or three years, or even more. For some years in the
Madras film industry scores of film workers – producers,
directors, actors, writers, technicians – have at all
times been dependent on the favorable decisions of
Sivaji Ganesan. His nod secures financial backing.
Because of his central importance, script, cast and
choice of director are all subject to his approval.
During his precious appearances at the studio he works
with speed and precision, and can be so charming to
co-workers that he is adored by all. Then he is off
again, leaving anxiety as to when he will return once
more. In appearance he does not especially conform to
any hero pattern. He is, on the contrary, squat and
stockily built. But his fine voice has a large range of
expressiveness, and he can play such a variety of roles
that almost any starring role is offered to him – comic
or tragic – without regard to suitability. Such is his
standing, so precious his time, that no director dares
direct him, and his scenes are often completely out of
key with other portions of a film. Seldom has a
substantial talent been used so recklessly – or so
profitably. He has amassed a fortune and carries on
well-organized and well-publicized charities.”
Sivaji concurs with the profile of him provided by Barnow
and Krishnaswami. Before his first invited trip to USA in
1962, he notes: “I had signed up for the film Bale
Pandiya. I went into the studios on the second of the
month and left the sets on the twelfth after completing the
film. I probably hold the world record of completing a film
in eleven days time. I had acted in three roles in the film
and annan M.R. Radha in two.” In another page he had stated:
“During the period of my life when I was extremely busy, the
studios would assign rooms exclusively for me during the
different shifts. I worked in three shifts (7am-1pm),
(2pm-9pm), (10pm-5am). I used to work twenty hours a day,
and on odd days return home for four hours of rest. Many a
time I would run through the day’s schedule and move to the
next studio to begin the following day’s work. I compensated
for my sleep deprivation by napping whilst traveling in the
car and during breaks.”
An Autobiography in Three Shots
A technical dictionary defines a shot as ‘what is recorded
between the time a camera starts and the time it stops, ie.,
between the director’s call for ‘Action’ and his call to
‘Cut’. The three common shots are, (1) A long shot or
establishing shot, showing the main object at a considerable
distance from the camera and thus presenting it in relation
to its general surroundings; (2) A medium shot, showing the
object in relation to its immediate surroundings; (3) A
close-up, showing only the main object, or, more often, only
a part of it.
The gamut of this autobiography consists of 155 questions
and answers. Among these, the first 49 questions provide the
long shot, covering Sivaji’s life from childhood to the
release of his first movie Parasakti in 1952. In
this, the hero remembers with gratitude those who helped him
in kind and cash – drama troupe leader Yathartham Ponnuswami
Pillai, his senior actors Kaka Radhakrishnan, M.R. Radha,
N.S. Krishnan, MGR, Anna, Karunanidhi, producer of his first
film P.A. Perumal and the directors of Parasakti,
Krishnan and Panju. Following 63 questions offer a medium
shot, covering the period from 1952 to 1970, when Sivaji’s
influence in the Tamil movie reached its peak. He remembers
affectionately his guru in politics, the Congress leader K.
Kamaraj, and a few in the movie world – like
producer/director B.R.Banthulu and directors A. Bhimsingh
and A.P.Nagarajan. Final 43 questions spanning the period
from 1970 to 1993 were more or less close-up shots, when
Sivaji dabbled in politics and became a flop. He also nursed
a hurt feeling that his contributions to the Indian movie
world had been slighted by national politics, indifference
and professional politician ‘termites’ (his term), who used
him for their wants.
In Politics
Sivaji Ganesan’s political career lacked direction and
commitment. From 1946 to 1957, he was aligned with DMK
leaders like Anna and Karunanidhi. He says: “I have never
been a member of the DK or DMK. No doubt, I accepted the
ideologies of Anna and Priyar and tried to spread their
message. I accepted the principles for which the party
stood, but did not become a member.” Then from 1957 until
1975, Sivaji’s mentor in politics was Congress leader
Kamaraj. After Kamaraj’s demise, he shifted his alliance to
Indira Gandhi, until her death in 1984.
Indira Gandhi nominated Sivaji, for the Rajya Sabha (Upper
House) in 1982, after this post became vacant following the
death of Hindi actress Nargis (1928-1981). A bout his
performance at the Rajya Sabha, Sivaji reminisces: “If I
spoke my mind just became I was an MP, it would lead to
squabble. I went to Delhi to represent the woes of the film
industry. I attended the Rajya Sabha sittings, spoke about
the ideals of Kamaraj at opportune moments and instigated
others to follow them. What more can one do?” After Indira
Gandhi’s assassination, Sivaji’s ties with the Congress
Party soured, which he attribute to tale carriers in the
party who are professional politicians. Strangely he never
mention a Congress Party big-wig’s name in Tamil Nadu (the
likes of R. Venkataraman, G. K. Moopanar, Kumari Ananthan,
V. Ramamurthi, Maragatham Chandrasekhar and P. Chidambaram)
in his recollection.
About Rajiv Gandhi’s selection and tenure from 1984 to 1989,
Sivaji’s thoughts are as follows: “I also played a part in
making Rajiv Gandhi a politician and worked to make him the
prime minister. One should not forget that, should one?
Prior to the elections I met Rajiv Gandhi at the Governor’s
residence. I told him rather pointedly that there were many
termites in the party and that he must get rid of them,
otherwise he could not become the prime minister. Rajiv
Gandhi’s face reddened on such a delicate issue being
brought out in the open. Quick to seize advantage, certain
persons of our State thought that the moment was just right
to eliminate me. They passed on some unsavoury information
to Rajiv Gandhi about me. They made me a scapegoat. I
thought to myself that I did not need this party and if I
stayed, they would humiliate me further.”
On Jan.28, 1988, Sivaji quit his ties with Congress Party
that sustained him for over 30 years. Soon after that, he
established his own party named Tamizhaga Munnetra Munnani
(TMM) on Feb.10, 1988. He considers this decision as one of
his mistakes. “Many of the people with me were professional
politicians. They had to remain in politics necessarily to
make a living. I was compelled to start a party for their
sake, although I did not require it.” Egged on by those who
pampered him, his TMM party contested the January 1989 Tamil
Nadu state legislative assembly elections, in alliance with
one faction of AIADMK (that of MGR’s wife Janaki
Ramachandran). Of the 49 TMM candidates who stood for
election, none were elected. Sivaji himself lost at
Tiruvayaru constituency to DMK candidate Chandrasekaran
Durai by a margin of 10,643 votes. He notes, “The votes that
I secured came from people of another party. It is true that
I was defeated. This was a big disappointment and a very
difficult situation that I faced. What could one do? When we
take wrong decisions, we have to face disappointments.”
Later, Sivaji dissolved his party and on invitation from his
friend V.P. Singh (later to be prime minister), he joined
the Janata Dal and functioned for a while only to quit
later. His advice to artistes with political inclinations
were: “Be a friend to politicians but do not become a
politician. Do not become a member and get caught in the
web…Remain a singer, don’t become the song…this is my
message.”
Plus and Minus
The plus points of the book include, (a) a memorable
assemblage of retrieved old photos of stage plays and clips
of movie stills, (b) an appendix providing a listing of
Sivaji’s 10 plays, staged by his troupe Sivaji Nadaga
Mandram, 287 movie titles and another 18 movie titles that
featured him in a guest/honorary role. A notable demerit of
the book is the absence of an index, a common omission in
Tamil books.
I located a slip in Sivaji’s famed memory. He had noted that
on his way to USA in 1962 as a guest of cultural exchange
program, he first landed in Rome. “I was scheduled to join
His Holiness the Pope for a meal, but unfortunately the Pope
died a week before my arrival and I did not get the chance
to meet him.” The fact is that Pope John XXIII died not in
1962, but on June 3, 1963.
Though he had seen three generations of performers from age
7 to 70, Sivaji had been diplomatic on commenting about the
performances of fellow artistes – actors, lyricists, music
directors, playback singers, script writers and directors.
His comment was: “I am an actor and it would not be ethical
to comment on another performer. I will only say that he or
she performed well but will never comment on anyone’s ‘bad
performance’.” It appears that he never had his likes and
dislikes. To the question ‘What was your salary for the film
Parasakti?’ Sivaji had replied: “The highest salary I
got those days was 250 rupees per month. This was my
remuneration for Parasakti. I received 25,000 rupees
for each of the other projects. The 250 rupees salary was an
honorarium and the 25,000 for my expertise as an
entertainer. As Sri P.A. Perumal was instrumental in giving
me the first opportunity, I agreed to a small remuneration
from him.” That was in 1952. One would be curious to learn,
how much he earned for his 100th movie,
Navarathri (1964), 200th movie, Trisoolam
(1979) and for his final 287th movie
Pooparikka Varukirom (1999). Information of his earning
when he was at his peak are sadly missing.
On completing the 250 page book, one gets a feel that much
has been left out in this autobiography. May be, the
question and answer format adopted has a role in such
omissions. Proper, penetrating questions may have been
omitted for reasons of causing inconvenience for those who
are living. Sivaji’s taste on sporting interests (wild game
hunting) had been noted. But we are left clueless about his
taste for books and authors – how big was his library? his
taste for music and movies (actors, directors and
technicians) in other languages. Not much information was
forthcoming on the business angle of his cinematic
involvement in Tamil Nadu. A few of Sivaji Ganesan’s
professional associates (such as MGR, Karunanidhi, poet
Kannadasan, director C.V. Sridhar and script writer
Aroordhas) have left their impressions in Tamil. Among those
I have checked, quite a few details on Sivaji presented by
Sridhar and Aroordhas in their memoirs, are missing in this
autobiography.
To sum up, as an actor Sivaji Ganesan was a class act, as a
politician he was a flop. As an autobiographer, Sivaji’s
performance – like many of his movies – provides glimpses of
some class in a flop, leaving much to be desired. Eric
Barnow and Krishnaswamy, in the 2nd edition (1980) of their
book, Indian Film, summed up on Sivaji: “He could
view his own eminence objectively. Those who sought his
favour, he said, had mixed feelings toward him. They wooed
him but would also like to destroy him. Asked if the
dominance of the star was good for the industry, he said
without hesitation that it was not.” Ganesa Moorthy the
gentleman, when he passed away on July 21, 2001, took to his
grave the hurt feelings and the misdeeds of those who had
benefited from him and who attempted to destroy him. The
$45.00 price I paid for the book in net purchase from a New
Delhi vendor seems marginally off-base for a 250 page book,
and the price has not been inserted in the book. But for
fans of Sivaji, it is a good memento to cherish.
Sources
Consulted
Aroordhas: Cinema – Nijamum Nizhalum. Arunthathi
Nilaiyam, Chennai, 2001.
Aroordhas: Naan Muham Paartha Cinema Kannadigal.
Kalaignan Pathipakam, Chennai, 2002.
S. Barnet, M. Berman, W.Burto: A Dictionary of
Literacy, Dramatic and Cinematic Terms. Little,
Brown & Co, Boston, 1974.
E. Barnow, S.Krishnaswamy: Indian Film. Columbia
University Press, 1963 (1st edition), Oxford University
Press, 1980 (2nd edition).
M. Brando: Brando – Songs My Mother Taught Me,
1995.
S. Chandramouli: Thirumpi Parkiren – Director Sridhar.
Arunthathi Nilaiyam, Chennai, 2002.
|
"If
there was a matinee idol in the realms of Indian cinematic
history who received as much accolades and an equally strong
bout of criticism for his histrionic abilities, it was
Chevalier Sivaji Ganesan. Given that he never achieved the
national status that he deserved perhaps is a reflection of
the complexities of the language of his mother tongue that
required strong grammar, poetic undertones and louder
decibels for dialogue delivery.
