Depiction of Terror and Politics in

Mani Ratnam’s movies

BY
NARESH SINGARAVELU
PRINT STREAM
PGDJ18088

A dissertation submitted in partial fulfillment

of the requirements for the degree of Post Graduate Diploma in Journalism

at the Asian College of Journalism, Chennai for the academic year 2018-19

under the supervision of Prof. K. S. MEENAKSHISUNDARAM.

1
 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to express my sincere gratitude to my mentor Prof. K. S.

Meenakshisundaram for giving me the freedom to pursue this topic and for
his guidance and support throughout the course of this project.

I would like to extend my thanks to Prof. Baradwaj Rangan whose elective

‘Talking Cinema’ provided me with valuable insights on the art of movie-
analysis. Further, his book “Conversations with Mani Ratnam” provided a
profoundly illuminating picture of Mani Ratnam’s work.

Finally, I would like to thank my family for encouraging me to pursue this

topic, and for their undying support.

2
 Declaration

This dissertation is a presentation of my original research work. Wherever

contributions of others are involved, every effort is made to indicate this clearly,
with due reference to the literature.

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 Table of Contents

Chapter Title Page No.

Introduction 5

1 Roja, and the mainstreaming of nationalism. 8

2 Bombay, and the illusion of secularism. 13

3 Dil Se – terror again, with a change. 18

4 Kannathil Muthamittal, and the Sri Lankan 23

conflict.

5 Iruvar, and the (mis)representation of Dravidian 28

politics.

Bibliography 34

4
 Introduction

In a career spanning 35 years, Mani Ratnam has touched upon a staggering variety of topics.

From dealing with a woman who is wrenched from a carefree existence and pushed into an

‘arranged’ marriage in the cult classic Mouna Ragam (1986), to exploring the theme of sibling

rivalry based on the historical Tamil novel Ponniyin Selvan in his latest movie Chekka Chivantha

Vaanam, Ratnam is an auteur by its truest definition.

But, perhaps his most famous (and controversial) movies were centered around the themes of

terrorism and politics. Despite the fact that most of these movies predominantly explored

relationships of different kinds, the portrayal of the underlying conflict situations (in the case of

Roja, Bombay, Dil Se, and Kannathil Muthamittal) and political backdrop (Iruvar and the

Dravidian movement) was imprinted on the minds of viewers.

The aim of this dissertation is to dissect the representation of terrorism and religious conflict, the

portrayal role of the state in these situations, and the implicit messages given out by Mani

Ratnam in the five films mentioned below.

Roja (1992) is about a rural Tamil Nadu girl marrying a suave, urban RAW agent who gets

kidnapped by Kashmiri militants. The movie, first of the legendary Mani Ratnam-AR Rahman

combo, had overt nationalistic overtones which was one of the major reasons for its box office

success. In this analysis, I discuss the nationalistic overtones, the portrayal of Kashmiri militants,

and the portrayal of the common Indian man in an extraordinary situation.

Bombay (1995) is a portrayal of the communal riots that plagued the Maharashtra capital

following the destruction of the Babri Masjid mosque in Ayodhya, on 6 December, 1992. The

5
story is narrated through a Hindu-Muslim couple’s experiences in the riots. In the retelling of

these events, the film can be interpreted as giving expression to two divergent perspectives —

one that promotes communal harmony and religious tolerance, the most obvious example being

the representation of an inter-religious marriage; and the second being the movie’s portrayal of

Hindu hegemony in a secular guise. In this chapter, I discuss about the message of secularism,

and present two different arguments about the same: one which agrees with the secular message

of the climax and the other which argues that the couple’s relationship implicitly upholds the

Hindu hegemony.

Dil Se (1998) traces the story of Delhi-based radio broadcaster named Amarkanth Varma (Shah

Rukh Khan), who falls in love with a mysterious woman who calls herself Meghna (Manisha

Koirala). It is later revealed that Meghna was raped by the army when she was a child, and she

seeks revenge by becoming a part of a North East insurgent-group which plans multiple suicide

attacks in New Delhi at the Republic Day celebrations. I analyse the two different portrayal

styles of Amarkanth Verma, the representation of northeast insurgency in the form of Meghna,

and how Dil Se differs from Roja and Bombay in the subject of national integration.

Kannathil Muthamittal (2002) explores a child’s emotions when her father reveals to her that she

was adopted – in the backdrop of the Sri Lankan civil war. The family arrives in war-torn Sri

Lanka and discovers that the biological mother is part of the militant Liberation Tigers of Tamil

Eelam (LTTE). The various visual motifs used by Mani Ratnam to portray the conflict are

presented in this chapter, in addition to talking about how the Sri Lankan civil war is dealt by

him.

Finally, moving away from Ratnam’s four movies on conflict-torn backgrounds, I discuss Iruvar

(1997), a fictional account of the complex relationship between M. G. Ramachandran and M.

6
Karunanidhi, two giants of Tamil Nadu politics, through the characters of Anandan, a struggling

actor, and Tamizhselvan, a scriptwriter and an emerging, idealistic politician. I chose this movie

to discuss Mani Ratnam’s portrayal of the Dravidian movement, which forms the implicit

backdrop of the story while the main focus is on the relationship between the two political giants.

7
 Chapter 1: Roja, and the mainstreaming of nationalism.

“When he says Kashmir is a part of India, it’s not a statement made in innocence. It’s a

statement that comes from arrogance” – Mani Ratnam

The year is 1993. A cinema hall displays the “house full” board for every show of the Telugu

version of Mani Ratnam’s Roja, months after its release on Independence Day in 1992. From the

opening minutes of the film, the morning show audience (mostly male, middle and lower-middle

class, possibly college-going) indulges in loud cheering and shouting, their slogans calculated to

strike a special chord after the destruction of the Babri masjid just a few weeks previously: Jai

Sri Ram, Pakistan Murdabad, Bharat Mata ki Jai. 1

Not only did this unprecedented commercial blockbuster receive the implicit blessings and very

direct support of the ministry of defence, it was also awarded a prize for national integration

from the government of India. The government even waived the entertainment tax on it.

Originally made in Tamil, it was dubbed and released in Hindi and Telugu as well.

Roja (Madhoo Shah), a young girl from a village in Tamil Nadu, is unexpectedly married off to

the urban, suave Rishi (Arvind Swamy), a cryptologist with the Indian government. On an

assignment in conflict-torn Kashmir, he is kidnapped by militants. How Roja fights against all

odds to rescue her husband forms the plot.

Roja is not merely a love story. It portrays Kashmir as the quintessential paradise lost—for the

tourist, and for the larger Indian state. It is set against the backdrop of the demand for azaadi

(freedom), but the contestations around it are dismissed in favour of a unified India. In the early

1990s, the raised political consciousness around the unfulfilled plebiscite evolved into civil

8
uprisings and the region saw a rise in armed militancy. The then ruling government used

excessive means to thwart such opposition. In this context, the film is significant as it was in a

position to create consent towards this violence among a new emerging middle class, and re-

design India’s patriotism and nationhood vis-a-vis Kashmir. 3

Roja essentially has two beginnings. One shows the Kashmiri militant Wasim Khan being

captured by Indian army soldiers after a fierce gun-battle and a chase. This is immediately

followed by the ‘other’ opening scene, which depicts, with an eye straight out of National

Geographic, the waterfalls and coves and shining green fields of the village of

Sundarapandianpuram in the Tirunelveli district of Tamil Nadu, with the heroine Roja singing

and romping through the landscape.

Given the logic of the narrative what should have followed immediately after the arrest of

Wasim Khan is his torture by the army authorities. Instead, our attention is displaced to the

idyllic locale of the southern-most part of India. On the whole, the violence with which we

witnessed the action of the state in the beginning is never repeated directly. 4

“He is the classic ordinary man in an extraordinary situation.” That’s how Mani Ratnam

describes the male protagonist of Roja. 2 It was surely a phenomenon—a box-office hit film (in

urban markets, at least) that evoked from its audience displays of 'nationalistic' fervour. This

response is enabled in part by identifying the nation with the heroine, who is then alternately

motherland and lover/devoted wife. 1

The 'ordinary' middle class person is suddenly inserted into a national conflict, and what helps

him/her is just being who they are: simple, decent, patriotic people who successfully appeal to

the 'human' in both militants and army officers. Rishi usually appears only in jeans and shirt or

9
sweater. On the other hand, the Kashmiri militants always appear in clothes marked as ethnically

Muslim; their ethnicity reveals them as anti-modern (therefore anti-national or anti-Indian),

intolerant and fundamentalist, while Hindu ethnicity as displayed by the chief protagonists is

merely part of the complexity of being Indian.

Roja interpellates the 'common man’ to protect 'national interest' by fighting terrorism. The

correspondences between family and nation serve to 'bring home' larger problems like terrorism

by turning abstract concepts like national security into immediately recognizable ones like family

well-being. Such a relationship between the subject and nation renders irrelevant any other kind

of commitment except in the most mechanical and cliched terms. The moral: fight terrorism or

your family will go to the dogs. 5

A romantic song sequence in the movie, which shows snowcapped mountains, placid lake, green

fields, functions as an allusion; indicating to the middle-class tourists from other parts of India

that they can no longer visit Kashmir, a place of ravishing natural beauty, as the camera

insistently points out—that should be rightfully 'ours' but has now been made inaccessible by

militants.

Certain kinds of ethnic markers (Rishi and Roja's wedding rituals, Roja going to the temple in

Kashmir) are presented as normative, while others (the militants' clothes, Liaqat' s constant

praying) are signs of illegitimate otherness. 6 In a strategically altered mode, Ratnam is 'selling'

the hottest brand of nationalism and to make it not just palatable but desirable, he is setting the

mood not only with sharp cuts and a rousing soundtrack but through the juxtaposition of negative

images of the 'enemy'— some hyperactive 'terrorists' beating the hero up; one absolutely still, a

man lost in prayer. 7

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But in the end, Roja's phenomenal effort to free her husband proves to be ultimately fruitless;

strangely because, for no apparent reason or cause, Liaquat fails to exchange Rishi Kumar for

Wasim Khan. It is the other woman (Liaqat Khan’s sister) whose desire works in favour of Rishi

Kumar that is instrumental in making his escape possible, along with his own bravado, and last

but not the least, the transformation of Liaquat who in that act of transformation is reduced to an

unchallenging double of Rishi Kumar, his sister’s desire is equated in the film with that of the so-

called beauty of Kashmir which can now be deferred as a promise for the future tourist. 5

Arvind Swamy, the patriotic Indian man who put out the burning flames, has evolved from

playing the charming hero to a stylish villain now, but the brand of patriotism sold to us remains

unchanged.

References

1. Niranjana, Tejaswini (1994), “Integrating Whose Nation-Tourists and Terrorists in Roja,”

Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. 29, Issue No. 3, 15 Jan.

2. Rangan, Baradwaj. (2013), Conversations with Mani Ratnam, New Delhi: Penguin

Books.

3. Bhandaram, Vishnupriya (2018), “Cinema and the State: How Mani Ratnam's Roja

Made You an Unsuspecting Nationalist,” Economic and Political Weekly, Available

from: https://www.epw.in/engage/discussion/mani-ratnams-roja-made-you-an-

unsuspecting-patriot

4. Pandian, MSS. and Chakravarthy, Venkatesh. (1994), “More on Roja,” Economic and

Political Weekly, Vol. 29, Issue No. 11, 12 Mar.

11
5. Srinivas, S V. (1994), “Roja in Law and Order State,” Economic and Political Weekly,

Vol. 29, Issue No. 20, 14 May.

6. Niranjana, Tejaswini. (1994), “Roja Revisited,” Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. 29,

Issue No. 21, 21 May.

7. Bharucha, Rustom. (1994), “On the Border of Fascism-Manafacture of Consent in Roja,”

Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. 29, Issue No. 23, 04 Jun.

12
 Chapter 2: Bombay, and the illusion of secularism.

“We thought Bombay was the most metropolitan, cosmopolitan city in our country. IF this can

happen there, you fear that it can happen anywhere.” – Mani Ratnam.

At the heart of Bombay (1995), is hope for communal harmony. In the face of strident

opposition, a young Hindu boy Shekhar (Arvind Swamy) marries Shaila Bano (Manisha

Koirala). Both leave their village for Bombay (erstwhile Mumbai), in the hope of a happy future

in that most cosmopolitan of cities. This happens to coincide with the Babri Masjid demolition,

and the ensuing communal tensions make Hindus and Muslims begin to lunge at each other’s

throats. The city burns. The couple’s children go missing. An arduous search ensues; for the boys

and for peace. 1

According to Rustom Bharucha, secularism is defined as “coexistence through a respect for

differences within and beyond religion”. 2 Does Bombay uphold this definition with its ultimate

message? There are mixed opinions on this.

Bombay was a significant film at that time not only because it represented love between a Hindu

and a Muslim, but also because it was one of the first mainstream movies to go beyond romance

by portraying the possibility of having a cohesive family despite religious differences. By

choosing to have Nassar essay the role of Shekhar’s father Narayanan Pillai, and Raja

Krishnamoorthy (aka Kitty) to play Shaila Bano’s father Basheer, Mani Ratnam successfully

made a subtle statement even in the unlikely arena of casting to underscore the secular

credentials of the movie. The twin children of Shekher and Shaila Bano are named Kamal

Basheer and Kabir Narayanan, who ultimately end up becoming the reason why the two proud

in-laws unite.

13
A scene which shows how the conflict around them changed the tense relationship between the

in-laws to a more understanding one is where Basheer comes to the rescue of Narayanan and the

twins when he is confronted by a group of Muslim rioters. Basheer intervenes and informs them

that Narayan is his brother. The acting by Nassar and Kitty in this sequence is a delight to watch.

In the end, it is a moving monologue by a defeated Shekhar, who by that point had seen enough

destruction around him, spurs the rioters to drop their weapons and hold hands to the soul-

stirring music of A.R. Rahman. This climax underlines the secular message of the film and

makes it stay on the mind of viewers.

However, Angie Mallhi argues that “Shekar’s and Shaila Bano’s relationship upholds Hindu

hegemony by using the position of the secular patriarch, Shekar, to assimilate the Muslim body

into Hindu society”. 3

In the initial segments of the movie, it is Shekar who generates the momentum for the romance,

in terms of meetings, the ultimatum to both his and her parents, the bonding with Shaila Bano,

denial of parental authority, the mastery over movement by his sending of rail tickets to his

beloved, and ultimately the setting-up of the registered marriage. Perhaps most significant of all:

it is his non-religiosity which defines the non-identity of the children. 4 Shaila Bano’s passivity

in this process is determined from the opening scenes, when Shekar pursues her. He attempts to

talk to her several times, to which she reacts by simply running away, never actually voicing an

objection to his advances. In this way she is constructed as submissive, thereby setting up her

subsequent subjugation to the male protagonist. 3

After the hero and heroine’s love becomes mutual, Shekar goes to Shaila Bano’s house to inform

her parents of their wish to marry. Her father reacts violently, threatening Shekar with a sword

14
for even daring to make such a proposition. In reaction to her father’s assertion that even their

blood is different, Shekar cuts his hand with the sword and proceeds to make a cut in the arm of

his beloved, who is both shocked and fearful, joining the two wounds together to emphasize the

bonding of their blood. This overt physical control of Shekhar over Shaila Bano’s body serves to

aggressively mark the Hindu male’s possession of it, argues Mallhi. 3

In the song Uyire, Shaila Bano runs towards Shekhar when her burqa gets caught in a hook. She

immediately proceeds to remove it, in a way foreshadowing her assimilation into the Hindu

society. In this light, the erasure of religious difference points to the secularism espoused by

Bombay: the assimilation of Muslims into Hindu society, rather than an acceptance of their

difference.

The politics of censorship

Bombay’s release was hindered by major issues with the censor board and with political leaders

such as Bal Thackeray.

The Shiv Sena is a right-wing Hindu party established by Thackeray in 1966 and gaining

political hegemony particularly in the 1980s and 1990s. In its 52 years of existence, the Sena has

often stood against creative freedom with its trademark street violence. Shiv Sena supporters had

stormed cinemas in Mumbai and stopped the screening of Deepa Mehta’s Fire. Shiv Sena

supporters had stormed cinemas in Mumbai and stopped the screening of Deepa Mehta’s Fire. 5

According to Mani Ratnam,1 the censor board in Chennai did not want to take responsibility to

clear the film, which was made in Tamil. Instead, it was sent to the head office of the Central

Board of Film Certification in Bombay (CBFC). The head of the CBFC also did not want to take

the decision to clear the film, and sent it to the Maharashtra government.

15
This cat and mouse game finally culminated with Amitabh Bachchan, the distributor of the film,

setting up a meeting between Bal Thackeray and Mani Ratnam prior to its release. In accordance

with the discussion, certain cuts were made based on objections raised by Bal Thackeray. The

first was a four minute speech in which Tinnu Anand, the actor who plays the leader of a

hardline Hindu organization called Shakti Samaj (alluding to Bal Thackeray and Shiv Sena),

“spoke of ‘ethnic cleansing’ in Bombay and preserving that city only for the Hindus whose

ancestry is Maharashtrian,” dialogue apparently taken directly from actual speeches made by the

Shiv Sena leader. 6 The second scene depicted Anand repenting the riots.

These were clearly problematic from the point of view of Bal Thackeray and his organization

because they would directly point to Shiv Sena’s involvement in the riots; for repenting them

would be to admit a role in instigating them. As such, Thackeray’s intervention ensured that the

film’s narrative depicted the riots “as a Hindu retaliation against Muslim aggression”. 4

Despite this, Thackeray masterfully changed the narrative post the release of the film. When

several Muslim groups called for the ban of the film, 7 Thackeray called it a hindrance to free

speech. Thus, there was a lot of politics involved even in the censorship of the movie, which in

turn subtly tweaked the final product to fit a certain narrative.

To conclude, Bombay is a visual treat, with soul-stirring background score by A.R. Rahman. The

premise of the movie is one of secularism and communal harmony. But the political situation

post Babri Masjid and the heated nature of the time during its release has played a part in

changing the sociopolitical implications.

16
References

1. Rangan, Baradwaj (2013), Conversations with Mani Ratnam, New Delhi: Penguin Books

2. Bharucha, Rustom. (1998), In the Name of the Secular: Contemporary Cultural Activism

in India, New Delhi: Oxford University Press.

3. Mallhi, Angie. (2019), “THE ILLUSION OF SECULARISM: Mani Ratnam's Bombay

and The Consolidation of Hindu Hegemony”.

4. S. Vasudevan, Ravi. (2001), “Bombay and Its Public,” in Rachel Dwyer and Christopher

Pinney, Eds., Pleasure and the Nation: The History, Politics and Consumption of Public

Culture in India, New Delhi: Oxford University Press.

5. Ganguly, Arnab. (2018), “Thackeray's prescription for Thackeray the Film,” Available

from: https://www.telegraphindia.com/india/shiv-sena-chief-uddhav-thackeray-s-

prescription-for-thackeray-the-film/cid/1680087

6. Pendakur, Manjunath. (2003), Indian Popular Cinema: Industry, Ideology, and

Consciousness, Cresskill, New Jersey: Hampton Press, Inc.

7. Chandra, A. (1995), “Mani Ratnam's film 'Bombay' incenses Muslim leaders of city,”

Available from: https://www.indiatoday.in/magazine/indiascope/story/19950430-mani-

ratnams-film-bombay-incenses-muslim-leaders-of-city-808273-1995-04-30

17
 Chapter 3: Dil Se – terror again, with a change.

“The papers were full of articles about what we’ve done in fifty years, all our achievements, and

I felt that there were some things that could be looked at…some problem areas which had not

been tackled.” – Mani Ratnam

Continuing his tryst with portraying personal relationships in political scenarios, Mani Ratnam’s

Dil Se is a love story between All India Radio journalist Amarkant Varma (Shah Rukh Khan)

and Meghna (Manisha Koirala), a mysterious and elusive woman who turns out to be a militant

from the northeast.

The movie released in 1998, months after India celebrated 50 years of independence. At a time

when media coverage as all about the achievements of India during the 50-year period, Mani

Ratnam felt that “some problem areas had not been tackled.” 1 That’s how the idea of Dil Se

came about. The film, shot across picturesque locations such as Assam, Leh, Himachal Pradesh,

Kerala, and Bhutan, explores the seven stages of love mentioned in ancient Arabic literature.

These are: Hub (attraction), Uns (infatuation), Ishq (love), Akidat (trust), Ibadat (worship),

Junooniyat (obsession and madness), and finally, Maut (death).

Amar first sets his eyes upon Meghna at a railway station in New Delhi, as he waits for the Barak

Valley express to go to Assam. He is immediately smitten, but she leaves before he could even

learn her name. In his own words, it was the shortest love story in the world. Meanwhile, as part

of his investigative journalism, Amar interviews a militant leader in a remote jungle in Assam,

and through this, we are shown glimpses of how insurgents from that part of the country

function.

18
However, Amar spots Meghna again, this time at a phone booth in Assam, and this is where he

starts getting magnetically drawn to her. What follows is Amar’s unrelenting pursuit of Meghna,

which takes him to Leh, where she continues resisting his advances. But even here, Meghna

chooses to leave him. She is shown to be preparing for a suicide bombing during the Republic

Day parade in Delhi.

Meanwhile, Amar’s family sets him up with Preeti Nair (Preity Zinta), an open-minded,

charming and bubbly individual; quite the anti-thesis to the elusive and recalcitrant Meghna.

With no hope of ever meeting Meghna again, Amar agrees to marry Preity, but as luck would

have it, Meghna shows up at his doorstep asking for accommodation and a temporary job at All

India Radio. Amar remains oblivious to obvious clues regarding her terrorist identity, and agrees

to accommodate her, and gets her a temporary job.

Subsequently, Amar realizes her identity and questions her. Meghna then reveals the reason for

her suicide mission and gives a harrowing account of her childhood rape by the Indian army. She

accuses him of a complacent ignorance: “You sit in Delhi playing songs on AIR.” “We’ve been

oppressed for fifty years.” Her flashback then replays images of explosions, gunshots, and fire on

snow.

Meghna’s body is repeatedly evoked in several parts of the movie; when a forced kiss triggers a

traumatic childhood memory of rape, another consensual near-smooch almost distracts her from

her goal. Amar views Meghna bathing in one scene, leading to a fantasy of intertwining bodies

and souls in the Ladakh wilderness. Meghna’s brutalized body becomes her weapon, so it is

fitting that when Amar decides to stop her, he offers his own and death comes to both. 2

19
Throughout the movie, Amar repeatedly declares his identity as a government employee and a

legitimate Indian citizen by thrusting his name and badge, “Amarkant Varma, All India Radio,”

to all and sundry (to Meghna; to the police; to security guards who man border controls). Amar is

interpellated by the identifiable codes of the contemporary “hero”: he is an urban, middle-class

Hindu male, full of his own charm and as confident in his bluster and patriotic idealism as he is

in his ability to stalk a woman in the name of romance. Moreover, as the son of an Army officer,

he commands a certain notion of secularism and nationalism, which is an oft-repeated notion in

the movie.

So comfortable is Amar with the notion of what it means to be a secular Indian that he can joke

about terror: as the taxi approaches a checkpoint at the border, he asks the taxi driver, “I hope

you don’t have a bomb in the boot of your car.” When Meghna’s friends threaten him with a

beating, he says, “I have terrorist friends, you know.” Later, to security officials who consider

him a “suspect” as they are attempting to bust the terrorist plot, he announces, “I am the son of

an Army officer.” If terrorism functions as an infection that spreads among traumatized children

such as Meghna, secularism/nationalism becomes a genetic inheritance, biologically and

indelibly passed on. 3

However, what makes Dil Se markedly different from movies like Roja and Bombay is the fact

that rather than validating this identity position, the film seems to undermine the certainties of

such heroics. Amar’s unshakeable belief in his own legitimacy is also undermined by Meghna’s

refusal to comply with expected rituals of romantic coyness and banter. At the level of plot and

storyline, then, Amar the journalist and Meghna the terrorist seem to unsettle expected social and

gender norms. 3

20
The title song Dil Se portrays a fantasy account of both terror and romance as spectacles. In the

fantasy realm of the song, Amar protects Meghna in typical hero-saving-vulnerable-heroine

fashion and enacts the risk of romantic love against the background of thudding boots of the

army personnel. The obvious level of irony that unfolds is that it is Meghna who is the terrorist

in reality, while Amar, the complacent, middle-class journalist, is the one under threat and is

beaten up by her “comrades” later in the film. When Meghna reveals her childhood trauma, the

ensuing flashback replays images from the song: explosions, gunshots, and fire on snow. The

striking difference is that while in the song sequence, death and destruction are continually

thwarted through Amar’s narcissistic presence, Meghna’s flashback shows the effects of state

terror: her parents are killed, and she stumbles upon a room where her sister is being raped by

soldiers, followed by her own horrific rape. 3 This mode of juxtaposition gestures that reality is

elsewhere, and Amar’s unshakeable authority and belief in his identity as a government worker

is questioned.

In Roja and Bombay, which were both successful at the box-office, there is a concrete re-

integration of the respective couples in each movie within a family fold (it is explained in the

chapter covering Bombay about how Shaila Bano is subtly assimilated into a Hindu identity), and

thus into the nation. However, in the case of Dil Se, rather than heterosexual fulfillment and/or

reclamation within the family fold, at the end of the film, Meghna, strapped up with bombs, en-

route to disrupt the proceedings of Republic Day in the capital, is intercepted by Amar, finally

accepts his embrace, and the film ends with an explosion. In this aspect, Dil Se seems to be a

more radical account of a love story set in the backdrop of macro conflict.

21
References

1. Rangan, Baradwaj. (2013), Conversations with Mani Ratnam, New Delhi: Penguin

Books.

2. Ramnath, Nandini. (2014), “BODY POLITICS - From Dil Se to Mary Kom via Dansh,”

Live Mint, Available from:

https://www.livemint.com/Leisure/tNUgRdAMi7GY9tOxi6W3SN/Body-politics--From-

Dil-Se-to-Mary-Kom-via-Dansh.html

3. Boehmer, Elleke; Morton, Stephen. (2009), Terror and the Postcolonial, West Sussex:

John Wiley and Sons.

22
 Chapter 4: Kannathil Muthamittal and the Sri Lankan

conflict.

“The Sri Lanan issue has been happening in our backyard for so long. You see various shades of

it. You see the way people react changing so much, within Tamil Nadu.” – Mani Ratnam.

After having completed Roja, a nationalistic portrayal of the Kashmir question, Bombay, which

is set on the backdrop of the post-Babri Masjid riots, and Dil Se, which touches upon northeast

insurgency, Mani Ratnam, through Kannathil Muthamittal (A Peck on the Cheek), explores the

Sri Lankan civil war in the eyes of a young girl. Thiruchelvan (Madhavan), a fiery writer, reveals

to his young daughter Amudha (Keerthana) that she is adopted and that her mother Shyama

(Nandita Das) is a Sri Lankan. The young Amudha is devastated and begins to spurn her mother

Indra (Simran), demanding to see her “real” mother who abandoned her. The family enters strife-

torn Sri Lanka amidst bloodshed all around.

The film draws its title from a Tamil poem by Subramania Bharati (1882-1921). Rejecting a

literal link to the film's narrative, Ratnam borrows from the poem "Chinnanjiri Killiye." The

poem is part of a series of songs (called "Kannan paattu") well known in Tamil literature and

alive in contemporary music.

According to Mani Ratnam, 1 the germ of the idea came about after an article in the Time

magazine describing the story of a child adopted in the Philippines and brought up in the US, and

how her parents brought her back to Philippines to see her birth mother.

23
Shyama is the pivot of the film; it begins by showing her marriage and ends with her leaving her

daughter for the sake of duty. The interim period showcases the search by Amudha’s adopted

family to find Shyama.

We are introduced to Amudha’s world through her voice. Her father is a writer and an engineer.

Her mother is a newsreader and the chief of the household. Her grandfather sits and reads books

all day, and secretly indulges her with pocket money. Her little brothers run around and cause

havoc. Her father’s sister visits them a lot along with her older cousins. This is her life,

everything has its place, including herself. And she is right in the centre of this.

In the early parts of the film, the camera is kept quite close to her, to indicate that we are literally

in her world. Amudha is also often seen narrating directly to the camera. She’s the device that

draws the viewer into the story, and her narration is used as her bridge into the story. And then,

events unfold again without this sort of first-person narration. It’s reintroduced when she is on

the plane to Sri Lanka, possibly to emphasize that it’s where her journey really begins. She is the

vehicle through which we travel from a Chennai household to conflict-torn Sri Lanka. And we
1
are introduced to the conflict itself in the eyes of a girl who is totally unaware of it.

Motifs

Mani Ratnam employs a couple of visual motifs in the film. The umbrella is seen in several

scenes in the film – a big yellow umbrella is used by Amudha in a song, she uses a white

umbrella when she leaves the church in Sri Lanka, and the father holds a protective umbrella

over his family at the end. The umbrella as a motif conveyed a sense of shelter, a family or a

country. One talks about adopted kids, but it could also be an adopted land, an adopted

24
immigrant – all become a part of it under one common roof, one common sky. The umbrella

kind of represents various people under one cover. 1

The motif is extended in a short story that Thiruchelvan writes, about Sri Lankan Tamil refugees

who come to India seeking, according to his metaphorical story, no more than the shelter of an

umbrella.

Similairly, the ‘earth’ as a motif is used to convey the attachment of the characters to their

homeland. Shyama and her husband smear mud on each other’s faces while declaring that he

land is what is most precious to them. Shortly afterwards, the idyllic wilderness that surrounds

their home is brutally crushed by the onslaught of Sinhala tankers. The child Shyama flings
2
herself to the earth in a refusal to leave the scene of conflict without meeting her mother.

The Sri Lankan Conflict

The film expresses the displacement and the de-territorialisation of the Eelam-Tamils of Sri

Lanka. One such scene shows the forced evacuation of the Eelam-Tamils from Maankulam

closely monitored and controlled by the military force. The mise-en-scène shows several military

vehicles forming barriers restricting the people from moving away from the military controlled

route. The scene also shows an assault helicopter hovering watchfully as the Eelam-Tamils

slowly make their way out of their native land. The sense of constriction and suffocation is also

established through the visual renderings of heavily cramped and overcrowded vehicles that are

used to carry the evacuees away from their homeland. 3

In the strife of Sri Lanka’s LTTE territory, a scattered Tamil identity finds emotional solidarity

when a Sri Lankan/Indian child is held and kissed by her Chennai-based family as well as her Sri

Lankan mother. The movie stages an encounter between two kinds of Tamils- the first belonging

25
to an upwardly mobile Chennai family and the other to Sri Lanka’s militant Tamil separatists- in

a coming together that makes the militants less threatening to the former, and less anomic in their

anti-statist, territorial passions. 4

Shyama’s work as a militant is not portrayed in detail. Towards the narrative’s conclusion, we

see and LTTE camp for female recruits, where Shyama coordinates their training. Like several of

Ratnam’s filmic narratives, Kannathil Muthamittal is elliptical in construction. Shyama’s

transformation from a carefree young woman to a grim LTTE fighter remains unseen.

Narratively, Kannathil Muthamittal, like Dil Se, suggests that a woman accepts killing as an act

of duty or conscience because she has borne or witnessed unbearable deprivation. The film

abstracts state oppression, which is represented through a series of impressionistic images of

4
attacks directly or indirectly experienced by the female.

The other side of the conflict is represented through Harold Wickramasinghe (Prakash Raj), a Sri

Lankan who escorts Thiruchelvan and family throughout their time in the country. In a

seemingly preachy discussion between Harold and Thiruchelvan about war, both echo pacifist

views, with a sense of detachment and the entitlement of the “majority”. There is even a line

about how Amudha’s generation might perhaps be able to find a solution to end the fighting -

this, right after Ratnam follows an irate Amudha into a marsh where she is suddenly surrounded

by child soldiers with AK-47s in hand.

In the film, Sri Lanka remains an unreal fantasy, Shyama a mystery and both a troubling

presence for India. Several Sri Lankans remind Amudha to not forget them, and they tell

Thiruchelvan to ‘write something nice about Sri Lanka’. By doing this, the film ultimately puts a

middle-class Tamil family face to face with a militant.

26
References

1. Rangan, Baradwaj. (2013), Conversations with Mani Ratnam, New Delhi: Penguin

Books.

2. Chandarahasan, Geethika. (2002), “Portrayal of Separatist movements in Mani Ratnam’s

Cinema”.

3. Loganathan, R., Pillai, S. and Krish, P. (2018), “Space-time formations in the South

Indian Tamil popular film Kannathil Muthamittal,” International Journal of Asia Pacific

Studies 14 (2), 143–164.

4. Jaikumar, Priya. (2009), “A New Universalism: Terrorism and Film Language in Mani

Ratnam's Kannathil Muthamittal,” in Narratives of Indian Cinema, New Delhi: Primus

Books.

27
 Chapter 5: Iruvar, and the (mis)representation of

Dravidian politics.

“There’s a friendship – but there’s also mutual suspicion. There’s also the assessment of whether

the other guy can help me” – Mani Ratnam.

The very premise of Iruvar makes it a very bold movie - a fictional account of the complex

relationship between M. G. Ramachandran and M. Karunanidhi, two giants of Tamil Nadu

politics, through the characters of Anandan, a struggling actor, and Tamizhselvan, a scriptwriter

and an emerging, idealistic politician. Tamizhchelvan writes politically-charged lines which

Anandan brings to life on the screen, sending Tamil Nadu’s cinema-crazy public into frenzy. But

when power starts oozing into the picture, there is a clash of egos, and therein begins a

formidable rivalry.

Iruvar is set in the period when Tamil cinema and Dravidian politics grew together and used

each other to grow – a fascinating phenomenon unique to Tamil Nadu, according to Mani

Ratnam. 1 Though it starts with a disclaimer that reads “Idhu unmai kadhai alla” [This is not a

real story], Mani Ratnam also claimed "I have lived in this region for about forty years. I have

observed with keen interest all the events that have taken place. I know the consequences of

depicting these events as they have occurred. Despite that, I did not wish either to make

compromises or to give up my objective " (Ananda Vikatan, February 2, 1997).

Iruvar captures the real-life journey of the two men with ample anecdotal references. Like MGR,

Anandan is shown to have Keralite roots. He is accidentally shot by a reigning villain during a

movie shoot. MGR’s move to provide every unemployed man with a cycle-rickshaw to earn a

28
living is referenced in a song. MGR’s first wife and Jayalalitha bear a striking resemblance and

this came through in the dual role played by Aishwarya Rai’s Pushpa and Kalpana. And this very

quality of the film was perhaps its undoing, for Ratnam failed to fictionalize his script enough to

escape the wrath of political parties during its release. It was a disaster on the commercial front. 2

But critically, it fared much better. Besides winning Best Film award at the Belgrade

International Film Festival and two National Film Awards, Iruvar was included by critic Rachel

Dwyer in the 2012 British Film Institute Sight and Sound 1000 greatest films of all time.

Stylistically speaking, Iruvar is considered to be the best work of Mani Ratnam. Sweeping set-

ups, lengthier shots and fluid camera movement were employed with generosity. 3 Departing

from his usual style of being a ‘scene director’, Ratnam instead employed the vignette style of

fleeting glimpses of the characters’ lives. In addition, the movie is filled with glimpses of the

dynamic power balance between the two protagonists. This changing power balance is

masterfully illustrated through the characters’ positioning with regards to one another, and how

much they dominate or fill the frame.

Anandan’s aspirations and desires are foreshadowed in his first meeting with Tamizhselvan. As

he enters an empty throne room set, he slowly sits on the throne, allowing himself to fully bask

in the potential power and notoriety he may one day have. He is then interrupted by

Tamizhselvan, introducing a power dynamic and influence at the beginning of the film. In this

scene, the camera is anchored on Tamizhselvan, and it tracks his movement in a seamless flow,

indicating that he is the one who wields power at that juncture.

In another scene, Anandan enters a courtyard lamenting a lost movie chance. Tamizhselvan

appears from far above on a building ledge, looking down, establishing a sort of God like role.

29
He both figuratively and literally talks down to Anand, telling him not to worry and he will have

another opportunity. Even at this point, he has the power and the prestige that Anand so

desperately craves. 3

In both these scenes, the power lies with Tamizhselvan, and Anandan is shown following

Tamizhselvan’s movements, foreshadowing his craving. When the power balance starts shifting

towards Anandan, the camera starts tracking his movements as opposed to Tamizhselvan. It is

now the latter’s turn to follow Anandan’s movements, as illustrated subtly in a scene where

Anandan is made a member of the party. An iconic scene in the movie shows Anandan

delivering a speech after the death of the party leader (C. N. Annadurai in real life). The camera

continuously rotates during the speech, which is muted for dramatic effect, focusing instead on

the huge crowd, Anandan and the subtle change in facial expressions of the jealous

Tamizhselvan. The rotating shot is used yet another time at the very end, when Tamizhselvan

delivers a moving eulogy for his dead friend.

Portrayal of Dravidian movement

In an essay in the Economic and Political Weekly, MSS Pandian and Venkatesh Chakravarthy

argue that “Anandan (read M G Ramachandran), who is initially positioned as a subject of desire

and object of spectators' empathy, is finally transformed into an object of adulation. In a similar

vein, Kalpana is transformed from an objcct of desire into an object of veneration. In contrast,

Tamizhselvan (read Karunanidhi) who is positioned as a subject of excessive (evil) desire, is

finally transformed into an object of pity”. 4

Take for example the way the masses are shown to treat Anandan and Tamizhselvan. The people

are depicted as if they are naturally more eager to gather around Anandan than Tamizhselvan. In

30
marking out Tamizhselvan as a figure alienated from the masses, the film always situates him in

a relationship of power with them. He visually always appears as addressing them from above. In

contrast, Anandan, specifically when he fights his first election after breaking away from

Tamizhselvan, is shown to be one among his followers being placed under a tree among an

informal gathering. 4

The opposing ideological stances of Karunanidhi and MGR, for example, their perspectives of

social justice, are portrayed. MGR was someone who believed in economic based reservation,

whereas Karunanidhi shaped his politics based on the self-respect movement started by Periyar

and equality in terms of caste as a means to reduce economic inequality. This fundamental

difference is portrayed through an exchange between the two, where Anandan says “Poverty

must end, hunger must go” when Tamizhselvan discusses his political goals.

The treatment of women by both Anandan and Tamizhselvan is given a lot of attention by

Ratnam. Tamizhselvan, who astounds his wife (Revathi) with a lecture on gender equality on

their first night, is shown to have no qualms about leaving for a political meeting when she's

writhing in labour pain. Tamizhselvan later falls in love with Senthamarai (Tabu) and marries

her, while still being married to his first wife. In an effort to show how a state dominated by a

brand of politics that was born in the rationalist and socialist movement continues to be heavily

patriarchal, Ratnam inadvertently reduces Karunanidhi’s image to a poetic womanizer.

Unlike Tamizhselvan, Anandan's relationship with women are presented in the film as if they are

inevitable and natural outcome of the flow of events. Pushpa, his first wife, is screened by his

mother and a reluctant Anandan is teased into wedlock. After Pushpa's death, he marries a co-

actress as she seeks his refuge being exploited and molested by her own uncle. 4

31
MSS Pandian has this to say 4 about the inevitable consequence of the film’s portrayal of the two

political giants, “As we have seen, the entire film, but for its closure, takes pains to establish the

ideological difference between Anandan and Tamizhselvan by inscribing the former as pro-

poor/pro-nation/religious and the latter as pro-Tamil/rational/atheist. It is this unresolved

contradiction which the film attempts to displace and mask by inventing and privileging the

friendship between the two. It is not the case here that friendship somehow transcends narrow

political beliefs. It is rather an attempt to make the estranged and excluded other suddenly

disavow his most passionately held convictions. It is in this manner that the film subsumes and

tames Tamizhselvan and mutes his (read the Dravidian movement's) politics beyond

recognition.”

Viewing it now, at a time when Tamil Nadu is once again staring at a period of flux, with

Jayalalithaa's and Karunanidhi’s deaths, the film becomes all the more interesting. Who are these

people? Where did they come from? What explains the sway that they hold over Tamil Nadu?

What are their human stories? "Iruvar" has some answers which may dim the cynicism with

which we're used to looking at these giants. 5

References

1. Rangan, Baradwaj. (2013), Conversations with Mani Ratnam, New Delhi: Penguin

Books.

2. Venkataramanan, Vijay. (2012), “Iruvar – The Doomed Masterpiece,” Available from:

https://madaboutmoviez.com/2012/04/05/iruvar-the-doomed-masterpiece/

32
3. Sudhakaran, Sareesh (2018), “Camera Angles and Blocking: Iruvar by Mani Ratnam,”

Available from: https://wolfcrow.com/camera-angles-and-blocking-iruvar-by-mani-

ratnam/

4. Pandian, MSS. and Chakravarthy, Venkatesh. (1997), “Iruvar: Transforming History into

Commodity,” Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. 32, Issue No. 47, 22 Nov.

5. Rajendran, Sowmya. (2016), “The Mani Ratnam classic which captured the rise of 3 TN

CMs but bombed 20 years ago,” Available from:

https://www.thenewsminute.com/article/mani-ratnam-classic-which-captured-rise-3-tn-

cms-bombed-20-years-ago-54427

33
 Bibliography

Books

1. Rangan, Baradwaj. (2013), Conversations with Mani Ratnam, New Delhi: Penguin
Books.
2. S. Vasudevan, Ravi. (2001), “Bombay and Its Public,” in Rachel Dwyer and Christopher

Pinney, Eds., Pleasure and the Nation: The History, Politics and Consumption of Public

Culture in India, New Delhi: Oxford University Press.

3. Pendakur, Manjunath. (2003), Indian Popular Cinema: Industry, Ideology, and

Consciousness, Cresskill, New Jersey: Hampton Press, Inc.

4. Boehmer, Elleke; Morton, Stephen. (2009), Terror and the Postcolonial, West Sussex:

John Wiley and Sons.

5. Jaikumar, Priya. (2009), “A New Universalism: Terrorism and Film Language in Mani

Ratnam's Kannathil Muthamittal,” in Narratives of Indian Cinema, New Delhi: Primus

Books.

Journal articles

1. Niranjana, Tejaswini (1994), “Integrating Whose Nation-Tourists and Terrorists in

Roja,” Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. 29, Issue No. 3, 15 Jan.

2. Pandian, MSS. and Chakravarthy, Venkatesh. (1994), “More on Roja,” Economic and

Political Weekly, Vol. 29, Issue No. 11, 12 Mar.

34
 3. Srinivas, S V. (1994), “Roja in Law and Order State,” Economic and Political

Weekly, Vol. 29, Issue No. 20, 14 May.

4. Niranjana, Tejaswini. (1994), “Roja Revisited,” Economic and Political Weekly, Vol.

29, Issue No. 21, 21 May.

5. Bharucha, Rustom. (1994), “On the Border of Fascism-Manafacture of Consent in

Roja,” Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. 29, Issue No. 23, 04 Jun.

6. Bharucha, Rustom. (1998), In the Name of the Secular: Contemporary Cultural

Activism in India, New Delhi: Oxford University Press.

7. Mallhi, Angie. (2019), “THE ILLUSION OF SECULARISM: Mani Ratnam's

Bombay and The Consolidation of Hindu Hegemony”.

8. Loganathan, R., Pillai, S. and Krish, P. (2018), “Space-time formations in the South

Indian Tamil popular film Kannathil Muthamittal,” International Journal of Asia

Pacific Studies 14 (2), 143–164.

9. Pandian, MSS. and Chakravarthy, Venkatesh. (1997), “Iruvar: Transforming History

into Commodity,” Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. 32, Issue No. 47, 22 Nov.

10. Chandarahasan, Geethika. (2002), “Portrayal of Separatist movements in Mani

Ratnam’s Cinema,” Asian College of Journalism Library, Dissertation - 046.

Websites

1. Bhandaram, Vishnupriya (2018), “Cinema and the State: How Mani Ratnam's

Roja Made You an Unsuspecting Nationalist,” Economic and Political Weekly,

35
 Available from: https://www.epw.in/engage/discussion/mani-ratnams-roja-made-

you-an-unsuspecting-patriot

2. Ganguly, Arnab. (2018), “Thackeray's prescription for Thackeray the Film,”

Available from: https://www.telegraphindia.com/india/shiv-sena-chief-uddhav-

thackeray-s-prescription-for-thackeray-the-film/cid/1680087

3. Chandra, A. (1995), “Mani Ratnam's film 'Bombay' incenses Muslim leaders of

city,” Available from:

https://www.indiatoday.in/magazine/indiascope/story/19950430-mani-ratnams-

film-bombay-incenses-muslim-leaders-of-city-808273-1995-04-30

4. Ramnath, Nandini. (2014), “BODY POLITICS - From Dil Se to Mary Kom via

Dansh,” Live Mint, Available from:

https://www.livemint.com/Leisure/tNUgRdAMi7GY9tOxi6W3SN/Body-politics-

-From-Dil-Se-to-Mary-Kom-via-Dansh.html

5. Venkataramanan, Vijay. (2012), “Iruvar – The Doomed Masterpiece,” Available

from: https://madaboutmoviez.com/2012/04/05/iruvar-the-doomed-masterpiece/

6. Sudhakaran, Sareesh (2018), “Camera Angles and Blocking: Iruvar by Mani

Ratnam,” Available from: https://wolfcrow.com/camera-angles-and-blocking-

iruvar-by-mani-ratnam/

7. Rajendran, Sowmya. (2016), “The Mani Ratnam classic which captured the rise

of 3 TN CMs but bombed 20 years ago,” Available from:

https://www.thenewsminute.com/article/mani-ratnam-classic-which-captured-

rise-3-tn-cms-bombed-20-years-ago-54427

36