Land of Lime

His songs play in the background, quietly, melodiously, hauntingly, from every corner of my apartment in Chicago. I am unable to go across the street, to my office in Judd Hall. Work will have to wait. Today and the days to come are about coming to terms with the passing of a man I liked and admired.

Am I glad to be away from Karnataka, from the frenzied crowd of men and women expressing their grief. And oh, being chased by TV cameras. Not to speak of the craziness that unfolds on the small screen as stars, politicians and pundits provide soundbytes, to help us make sense of what this man meant to us.

No, this has to be a quiet, reflective moment. A time perhaps to get away from music too and withdraw into the quiet solitude of the back porch, to stare into the wilderness that exists amidst the urban jungle of Hyde Park. To consider the death of a man, who in our collective mind, remains an immortal. We surely didn’t think he would be afflicted by vagaries of old age, by blocked arteries and failing health. Didn’t he live a clean life and do yoga everyday?

As I get up, a new song begins: Pativrate kurudalu itarara andake. Pativrate is blind to the beauty of another. Doesn’t this one line stand for all of it, as a metaphor for Rajkumar, the man and phenomena? Doesn’t this one line stand for the moral vision he embodied? Do we need to make lists of best films, songs and dialogues? Isn’t this one man, in whose case, the part too stands for the whole and perhaps metaphorically, exceed the whole too?

Rajkumar surely wasn’t the best actor, singer or filmmaker, even in Kannada. Many people didn’t even think he had the smarts to contribute much to the success of his own films and resented the acclaim he achieved. His unwavering restraint from emulating the example of his fellow superstars NTR and MGR and seek political office too was ridiculed by skeptics, who said he wasn’t smart enough to understand the complexities of political process. His innocence, essential decency and somewhat dramatic public persona too were lampooned often.

How then did an Idiga (toddy tapper) boy, from Gajanuru in Karnataka- Tamil Nadu border, become the annavru (elder brother) of all Kannadigas? How then did he create a body of work, which in my estimation ought to be considered along with vacanas, if one wants to say anything significant about the past and present of Kananda speaking people? How then did he embody the best in Kannada culture and articulated through his films all that we may want to say about Kannada and Karnataka.

Indeed, who is this man and what did he mean to us? Why does his death affect us so profoundly today? It is not easy making sense of this personally, let alone explain it to the world, especially outside of Karnataka. When I began my Sundays with Dr. Rajkumar series, I didn’t write a profile. I just couldn’t. The only profile I could think of was to review his 205 films and then suggest how he was bigger than the combined sum of all these films, or for that matter, bigger than all the different facets of his performing self too.

A long time ago, Rajkumar had transcended being an ordinary mortal, a mere human being. He represented and more importantly authored, (along with his scriptwriters, filmmakers and fellow actors) a vision of what life could be and ought to be. The name Rajkumar came to indicate this collective persona, rather than just the person; make no mistake, the person was the driving force yet all these others contributed substantially to the making of Rajkumar. His films and in particular, the characters he played, always tried to present a rationale for why we should be good. Be it the tragic hero of Kasturi Nivasa or sacrificing hero of Bangarada Manushya who cared for others before considering his own comfort or the honest forest officer in Gandhada Gudi or the rustic, rebel of Sampattige Saval. Or consider his historical characters, Krishnadevaraya or Mayura or Ranadhira Kanthirava, all of which presented a robust, strong and dignified conception of a self confident Kannada culture and community. Then the devotional characters, beginning with Bedara Kannappa and then on to Bhakta Kumbara and many, many other devotional films, which captured and made relevant for the present the best of vernacular devotional traditions. The memorable mythologicals, Babhruvahana, Bhakta Prahlada and Satya Hariscandra, all of which focused on the distinguishing virtue of the hero and dramatically focused on the consequences of holding on to that virtue. Finally, the romantic hero of films such as Premada Kanike or Naa Ninna Mareyalare, who offered visions of what it meant to be true to a feeling and an ideal.

As he enacted these characters, Rajkumar made them his own and offered them part of his self. The Satya Hariscandra that Rajkumar enacted is unlike any other Hariscandra; Rajkumar’s own civility and politeness transformed the character into someone who faces unfair suffereing with no resentment but with dignity and conviction. Truth be told, in all the 205 films, - be they social dramas, action films, historical, mythological, devotional or romantic films - Rajkumar played essentially the same character over and over again. Civility, fidelity and decency were the defining features of the roles he played. But in building on and reinforcing the moral vision of his first film, Bedara Kannappa, Rajkumar’s success was perhaps unparalleled, especially in the context of his own personal life. He didn’t seek material wealth, political office or a new wife every decade. The essential dignity of his personal life and conduct mirrored the ethical vision of his films to a large extent and it is that coalescence of these two selves which make us think of his passing as a personal loss.

Sunaad summed it up nicely in Churumuri yesterday:

The manner of his smile; the method of his diction; the rare mystique he possessed; the charisma he was endowed with; his very being that lent an almost incomprehensible dimension to the way he lived; all these so magically consumed and concealed the fact that he was human underneath it all.

Sure, Rajkumar the phenomena and the person had become one in our collective conscience. Our grief is profound precisely because of this merger. As I wrote earlier today, he demanded of us to be good and decent, and he often showed the path.

Personally, this is a huge loss. As I wrote earlier, I began writing this blog as a way to regain my own moral compass, to figure out what my personal life and politcs ought to be. Writing about Rajkumar films was perhaps the most critical part of that exercise. Even when I didn’t agree with them, moral visions of Rajkumar films transcended the existential realm of our lives; they often compelled me to consider my own ontological commitments. A line from Mayura on the definition of a Jnani or a song from Babhruvahana or Sampattige Saval kept buzzing in my head, forcing me to come to terms with the need for fidelity to a feeling, to an ideal and to a person. In the world I inhabit, where contingency and instrumentality rule, it is no surprise that these values are often ridiculed. Yet, engaging with Rajkumar films was a way of reaffirming our quest for moral visions.

In November 2005, I resolved to spend the next four years watching, thinking and writing about his films. I expected this exercise to eventually result in a book that would introduce Rajkumar, the phenomena, to a wider audience. Since then, I have carried at least two of his films everywhere in my bag and two notebooks with notes. This summer and in the summers to come, I wanted to spend a few weeks with him, talking to him about his experiences and seeking his wisdom. That wasn’t meant to be.

Rajkumar, as the collective author of his movies would remain with us, now and forever. That mitigates to a certain extent the profoundity of our grief. Still, this morning I was reminded of what Nehru said when he addressed the country after Mahatma’s assassination: the light has gone out of our lives. For a moment that struck a nerve within me. In what sense does the life of a film actor become the light of our lives? But then Rajkumar wasn’t merely the film actor but a collective agent who authored moral visions for Kannadigas. I spent the day, as I have done very often in recent months, thinking about a line from his film. Pativrate is blind to the beauty of another. Sure, some of us want to critique the notion of pativratya and point out its patriarchal roots; I certainly see the significance of this critique. Sure, the voyeur in us would want to ridicule the inability to appreciate beauty. Sure, we might also want to recognize the transcience and contingency of our relationships and then herald the necessity of being voyeurs.

But for a moment, consider the larger thought behind that line. For one (man or woman) who has found true contentment, what is the need of seeking beauty or anything elswhere? Is our goal to critique the patriarchal notions of pativratya or to seek ways of achieving contentment? If nothing else, Rajkumar makes me think of these questions seriously. But he also has convinced me and many others that the struggle to achieve that contentment too is worthwhile.

Aside: Wrote parts of this entry this morning but then I went to a provocative talk by Zizek, who shared his reflections on what it means to be a true believer. More than once, I wondered and speculated on a meeting between Rajkumar and Zizek. Well, that would be a nice Land of Lime entry too.