A movie that crawls into your mind and lingers long after the last shot
“We are one movie away from transforming into a different person”
Movies shape perspectives and in doing so, movies shape people and the lives they lead. I don’t particularly believe that the intent of making a movie should per se deal with giving out a social message or any message at all. It could be jovial, mindless even, and a space to alienate intrusive thoughts. That’s always a win.
But, if you walk out of a theatre, feeling uncomfortable, and close to an epiphany, in all the good ways, it’s a profound experience in itself to have allowed a stranger to impact you.
Peranbu was that experience. An emotional catastrophe. A masterpiece by a genius – Director Ram
Peranbu was a movie I avoided for the longest time fully aware that Director Ram would destroy me. I wasn’t ready to be ripped apart and feel the depth of emotions he would expose me to. So, I ran for as long as I could. Then, I scheduled a day to weep and watched Peranbu.
Life-changing script. There were two scenes that stuck with me and continue to make a difference to this day.
It was a narrative weaved in chapters about a man called Amudhavan who returns years later after receiving a letter from his eloped wife to look after their daughter, suffering from cerebral palsy. Stranded and unaware of how to deal with the situation, he first tries to get close and bond with his daughter. She shuns away from the newness of a stranger, her father, whom she hasn’t been habituated to until this moment due to his unavailability.
Amudhavan persists in building a connection with his daughter, which only leads to her retreating in tears and screams. The neighbors, bothered by the chaos, constantly urge Amudhavan to leave the neighborhood and sell the house. With no choice left, he moves to his brother’s home, where he is perpetually insulted and blamed that this disease might spread to his brother’s daughter.
A disheartened Amudhavan, along with Paapa, leaves the city, moves far off, and resides in the lap of nature. Time stitches their bond and intensifies the father-daughter relationship. Eventually, she comes of age, and a reluctant Amudhavan reaches for help.
Vijji enters their life and changes it forever. Amudhavan and Vijji gradually develop a romantic interest and decide to get married. Their shattered life finally feels like a picture put together perfectly until Amudhavan, one day, realises that Vijji is already married with a child and has been deceiving them all along for the ownership of his house.
She is flushed with guilt, apologises to Amudhavan, and pleads for him to at least listen to the reason of why she did what she did.
And that’s when this happens,
(Translation: When you have a child who has no problems, your choice was to deceive like me going through a rough situation. Then, imagine how many problems you must be facing. It’s okay, leave it.)
Life hasn’t been the same since. There have been moments I have been tested, moments I’ve been filled with anger and resentment towards people for multiple reasons, big and small. Some directly associated to me. Some associated to people I dearly love. After a phase of overthinking, withdrawing, and reasoning, this scene somehow naturally and effortlessly creeps into my mind.
A scene that should have made the audience cynical and frown upon life magically turns into a valuable lesson that people take home. As saddening as it seems, for someone to already be in a terrible position, yet be beaten up by the misfortunes of life perpetually and still be considerate and understanding is just horrendous. Nevertheless, it is a standalone, exceptional cinematic moment that makes me soft, puts me at ease, and brings immense comfort during distressful events.
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The journey continues with Amudhavan and Paapa returning back to the city with Amudhavan single-handedly taking care of his daughter. She grows up to become a woman and finds it difficult to navigate through complex emotions like desire. As she explores aspects of desire, in ways she knows and understands, it is looked down upon by the society. He puts her into a home that claims they can bring upon discipline and control her. The suppression of normal human emotions is only a catalyst for it to rise and surface stronger. And so, it does, stronger and stronger.
That’s when Amudhavan decides to walk into a sex workers centre in search of a male prostitute for his daughter. When he puts forward his requirement, he gets slapped by the incharge, mistaken that he is a disgusting man, a father who wants to sell his daughter for money.
(Translation: Every father looks for a husband, to get married and to meet her needs. My daughter cannot function properly. I can’t get her married but at least I can do everything in my power to meet her needs.)
This was the scene that undoubtedly justified the very tittle – “Peranbu” for me, that literally translates to “Abundant Love”.
It was an expression of love that broke the shackles that are set on a man and a woman by the society. It was pure and intentional. It was kindness with the absence of an ulterior motive – to be able to place her above life itself and want her to experience the pleasures of the world despite, and inspite of how terribly it can be portrayed.
It shattered me.
It was everything.
It was love to me.
I still wonder how a man brought up in a patriarchal system would even consider a factor like “desire” especially when it comes to his daughter where generally the recurring attitude of men is to remain protective and controlling.
A part of me remains skeptical on how Amudhavan displayed a beautiful understanding of the world.
To articulate,
Desire is natural.
Desire does not discriminate.
But then, I look at my father, and I know he would burn bridges and turn the world upside down, if it is matters concerning his daughter.
And instantly, I have my answers on what “Peranbu” truly means.