‘Getting’ Rajinikanth

First some disclaimers. I haven’t watched every Rajinikanth movie, I did not grow up in Tamil Nadu, I’ve not experienced the intense buzz surrounding a Rajinikanth movie release, I’ve not broken coconuts outside theatres and I don’t know how to whistle. I’ve only heard stories of a crackling electric wave that swirls inside dingy theatres in Madurai and Trichy as Rajinikanth makes his first appearance on screen. I’ve rarely watched a Rajinikanth movie more than once. And I often forget his most famous dialogues.

Yet it pains me to see writer after writer, including one who says he lived in Chennai for 20 years, miss the point completely. Browse through some articles from the past week and you have a half-baked, cliché-ridden smorgasbord. A legend who cannot be understood, a phenom who’s mastered “fist-pumping populism”, a superman who retains a large part of the boy next door …

I can’t help feeling how so many writers just don’t ‘get’ him.

To know the essence of Rajinikanth, strip him to the bone. Take him away from the camera, remove his make-up, hide his fancy clothes, steal his sunglasses, his cigarette, his chewing gum. Then force him to talk in his second, no third, no fourth language. All this when he’s 61.

And see what he’s got. (Watch this video after 1:10. Before that it’s quite traumatic)

Watch the tone, observe the craft of delivery, the exact intonation, the hands pointing at himself strategically – a masterly Wodehousian self deprecation. See the emphasis he puts on certain words, the rustic pronunciation delivered with a naughty punch . Watch those eyes, the quick movements that gauge the audience reaction.

And don’t miss the pauses. Those sensational moments of waiting, where he’s almost toying with us, telling us to laugh a bit more before abruptly jutting in and making us laugh again. Adjusting his modulation accordingly.

Watch how all this comes together in a symphony. All in two minutes. And none of this rehearsed. Watch it again. And again. And realise what a master this man is.

My dad – who grew up in Madras – has a wonderful sense of humour – a typical Tamilian humour that needs an acquired taste. But he cannot tell a joke without laughing out loudly just as he’s uttering the punchline. My maternal uncle is more subtle, yet he often draws out the joke a couple of seconds longer than they should be.

Every Tamilian secretly harbours standing in front of a crowd and being able to entertain. We all pull it off occasionally among friends in college canteens but also know that only the talented ones go further. We also understand how bloody hard it is to make our fellow Tamilians laugh, how we’re just a step away from being out-joked or out-punchlined.

Here Rajinikanth is not even speaking to his core audience (this is in Mumbai – notice the Marathi accent that floats in and out). He looks tired and sweaty. All he has is a microphone.

And yet.

PS: Over my five years of covering cricket, I experienced some of the most breathtaking moments while watching Tendulkar practice in the nets against lesser bowlers. Again, take away the occasion, take away the big bowlers, take away the scorecard and you could see the mastery of his craft. You could observe how particular he was about taking guard, how finicky he got when someone was walking behind the bowler, how he cursed himself for edging, how he held his follow-through, how he replayed his shot if the ball didn’t go where he wanted it to.

I also saw a lot of other players at the nets. But none (barring Dravid occasionally) moved me so much. It took me a while to realise it but genius stays the same irrespective of the context.

And yes, maybe you can’t explain it. But you sure as hell can feel it.