Chapter 11: Let's see what happens/ Notes Of A Dream by Krishna Trilok
Mani’s parents were far from delighted at the prospect of their son throwing away his steady, well-paying corporate job to get into that most risky business of films. His mother would often lament about his sitting around at home, perched on the laundry basket, writing stories. His uncle Krishnamurthy though would always assure her that her boy was going to be big. The man was an amateur reader of horoscopes and said that it was clear that Mani was going to be ‘the most successful’ of the family’s next generation.
It was a prediction that came true and how. Mani’s first film was a small Kannada movie called Pallavi Anu Pallavi. It was produced by his uncle and was the tale of a young man who is originally in a relationship with a girl, meets an older woman, falls in love with her, jeopardizes his existing relationship and ends up losing both women. The lead actor was a then-unknown young man named Anil Kapoor (who would one day rise to international prominence with his role in Slumdog Millionaire and also as the antagonist in the Tom Cruise-starrer Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol), and the female leads were Lakshmi (then a big name in South Indian cinema) and Kiran Vairale.
The movie was shot in Mercara, in the Coorg region, on a shoestring budget. Mani got some of the top technicians in the South Indian movie business to work on his film for a fraction of their regular rates-testament to his charisma and ability to get people to buy into his vision.
The film was photographed by Balu Mahendra, one of the top cinematographers of the time, and edited by Bhimsingh Lenin, again, one of the biggest film editors in the 1980s. The music was composed by llayaraja. Pallavi Anu Pallavi was not a big success. It was critically acclaimed and won the Karnataka State Award for Best Screenplay, but it wasn’t a revolution and it certainly did not make truckloads of money.
Mani’s next three films–a Malayalam movie called Unaru and two Tamil projects, Pagal Nilavu and Idhaya Kovil–fared little better. His films were noted for being aesthetically and technically brilliant with offbeat plots, beautiful treatment of scenes and great music, but they were not the best ventures for a production company to invest in. However, in 1986, he made a Tamil film called Mouna Ragam which would change his life and Tamil and Indian cinema- forever.
The story was about a young girl (played by Revathi) who rebels against an arranged marriage as she is still in love with an old flame (portrayed by Karthik) who died before they could elope, and then finally moves on and develops a strong emotional connect with her husband (Mohan).
Mouna Ragam finally cemented Mani Ratnam’s position as a talented and gutsy director. It wasn’t a blockbuster, but it was a cultural milestone. And the movie’s songs (composed by Ilayaraja) were fabulous. They were immediately popular upon release and still are today. (AR, as it so happened, was playing the keyboard at Raja’s recording sessions and programming for the composer at this time and so did work on the film, after a fashion.)
Soon after Mouna Ragam’s release, all the biggest actors in Tamil cinema were suddenly eager to meet and work with “Subbu’, as Mani was commonly called back then. Slowly, financial success and major critical recognition started coming the director’s way. His Tamil films Nayagan, Anjali and Agni Natchathiram were landmark movies that enthralled audiences across India for their superior craftsmanship, fascinating stories, marvellous performances and terrific music. Nayagan is routinely listed as one of the greatest Indian films ever. Time magazine even included it on its list of All-Time 100 Best Films, and it was India’s official entry for the Oscars that year (it wasn’t nominated).
Mani Ratnam became a household name and a director worthy of respect. Much like A.R. Rahman, the man was a brilliant innovator, pushing the limits of his art and giving audiences something new to wonder about each time he created a piece of work. And the ‘Ilayaraja-Mani Ratnam combo’ had, in the words of film critic Baradwaj Rangan, become ‘something to really look forward to’.
If Raja was making music for a Mani Ratnam movie, you knew that you were about to hear some great songs. Mani had a good ear for muse and always managed to get quality work out of his composer. By the time Mani Ratnam and layaraja came to work together on the Rajinikanth-starrer Thalapathi in 1991, their partnership seemed destined to last forever. Ilayaraja really was the king of the film music scene in southern India. The music of Thalapathi, a mafia film set in a small Tamil town, was sublime. Every song -from Rakkamma Kayya Thattu’ and “Sundari’ to ‘Yamunai Aatrile’ and ‘Kaattukuyilu’–was a popular success and, like the movie itself, they remain iconic works to this day.
However, in 1992, things took an unexpected twist. As the truest wisdom holds, everything that has a beginning must have an end. All things pass, and in the entertainment business, this is all the more true. No star shines on endlessly. Raja had revolutionized South Indian music when he came in, during the mid-1970s. His songs and his sound, the likes of which had not been heard up until then, were a breath of fresh air. His melodies were gorgeous and his music never seemed below par or outdated.
A failure to stay relevant on his part was certainly not the reason for the change about to occur in the Indian music scene in the early 1990s. It just seems that it was time for things to be shaken up a bit–there can be no better explanation for the events of 1992. It was just the law of nature taking its course.
Neither Raja nor his vast body of work faded from public memory even after the advent of Rahman. To date, the occasional concert Raja does agree to give is always sold out and lauded by the public and critics alike. People love his music. And he is still active as a composer- as recently as 2016, in fact. He scored for that year’s Shah Rukh Khan-starrer, the Hindi film Dear Zindagi. And in 2018, he was awarded the Padma Vibushan, the country’s second-highest civilian award.
Back in the early 1990s, Rahman was not yet the regular Mani Ratnam collaborator he would soon become, but just another fan. He was, as he says in the preface he wrote for the Baradwaj Rangan book Conversations with Mani Ratnam, obsessed with Hollywood moviemakers when he’d been a boy and fascinated by this Indian director who could give audiences the same standard of film-making in Chennai.
Over the course of working with Trillok and Sharada, AR also discovered that Mani Ratnam and Sharada were cousins. Mani and AR actually met well before Roja, though the director himself has no recollection of the encounter. I will be honest, he says, I had no reason to remember him from then. He was just another guy I was introduced to.’
The first meeting was during the preview show of Thalapathi in 1991. It came to pass because, one afternoon Sharada and Trikok were recording a jingle for an ad they were doing with Rahman- as had become routine for them. The two of them were married by then and they had grown quite close to AR and his family. They weren’t the only ones. Rajiv Menon, Bharat Bala, Mani Ratnam-all of them are good friends with not just Rahman, but also his mother and sisters.
‘How could they not be?” laughs Fathima. We sisters used to hang around his studio all the time back then. We used to sing harmonies for our brother quite often, for many of his jingles.’
Trilok, Sharada and AR socialized together extensively outside of work too. Rahman had even attended their wedding in 1990. Mani Ratnam had been there too, of course, but the two men had not crossed paths on that occasion. On that fateful afternoon, the couple casually mentioned to AR that they were going for the screening of Mani Ratnam’s latest movie, meant only for family and friends, later in the evening. AR was quick to ask if he could come along.
Sharada recalls that she was a little hesitant to say yes, initially. Not for any reason other than that Mani Ratnam is notoriously secretive about his movies before they’re released. His projects are always shrouded in secrecy; he’s sort of made it his trademark. His movie sets are secured and he only lets those who are closest to him see his films before they release.
Sharada and Trilok had, in fact, actually told Mani Ratnam about AR already. They had mentioned his name to the director on several occasions. “Almost once every week, ‘Trilok says. ‘I used to tell Mani, “try this guy out, try this guy out”. I would try to tell him that the fellow made some fantastic music. But he was set with Raja at the time.’
“He’d never asked anything of us, ever, before that, says Sharada. ‘So we just couldn’t say no to him.’ Trilok told AR where to come and when. Then they all got back to work. The recording session for the jingle drew to a close and Sharada and Trilok went on their way, telling AR they’d see him at the preview that evening.
The preview of Thalapathi was held at a small theatre called Goodluck (today known as Four Frames) in Nungambakkam. Poetically almost, it stands right behind PSBB, AR’s former school. AR showed up at the venue with some time to spare before the movie began. There was, however, one little unforeseen catch–he showed up with his mother (who loves movies) and his sisters.
When you think about it, this isn’t entirely strange. In Indian culture, when an invitation is extended to someone to come to an event, like a wedding, it is understood that the invitation holds good for his or her entire family. Or perhaps AR just didn’t really think it through.
I had no idea how Mani was going to react,’ Sharada Trilok recalls with a laugh. ‘One unknown guest he might have been okay with, perhaps, but I didn’t know how he was going to react to this full family–which he didn’t know at all, at the time coming in and watching his film before its release.’
As it turned out, Mani Ratnam was ‘pretty chill about it. He greeted Rahman and his family politely. Mani isn’t never was–a man who talks much, so not much was said. And since he had heard of AR already from his cousin and her husband, he was vaguely aware of his existence.
But that was it. Everyone sat down and watched the movie and, when it was done, they all went home. Mani Ratnam did not speak to Rahman again that evening. The director certainly did not have any intentions, at the time, of reaching out to AR anytime soon for a collaboration. Mani assumed, as most people did then, that he would go on working with Ilayaraja for–if not forever-at least the foreseeable future. He did not have any cause to change the staple composer for his movies.
Not until his next film, Roja, anyway. Mani Ratnam claims to this day that he himself had no issues-creative or otherwise–with Ilayaraja. But the producer of Roja, the veteran director K. Balachander, did.
According to Plum Niyappa writing for Silverscreen.in in 2018,
The year [1989] saw a strike by the film workers’ union in Tamil Nadu, and Balachander could not use Ilayaraja’s dates because of the strike. When the strike ended, and Balachander wanted his movie released right away, the composer was in Mumbai for another recording.
Balachander took Raja’s refusal to dishonour a prior commitment as an insult, and went on to incorporate stock music as background music, an act that drew the ire of the ultra-professional Raja.
In her book, A.R. Rahman: The Musical Storm, Kamini Mathai seconds this rumour’
So, when Balachander approached Mani Ratnam to do a film for the production company that he’d started, Kavithalaya, one of the conditions he laid on the younger director was that he had to find someone other than llayaraja to do the music for the movie in question.
Call it fate or whatever else you want to, but, by this time, Mani Ratnam had started hearing quite a bit about Rahman, from various people. At a dinner he hosted once in his house, one of the guests, actor and director Pratap Pothen, told Mani about a young fellow in Kodambakkam who was making some really good music. The first real meeting with AR that Mani Ratnam recalls was at another party, one hosted by Trilok and Sharada to celebrate the success of an advertisement they had done for Leo Coffee–which AR had created a (now iconic) jingle for.
That was the first time I recall really talking to him and probably the only time I’ve seen him at a party,’ says Mani Ratnam. I had heard about him and we chatted for a while. We did broach the subject of working together sometime. His maturity stunned me.’ Rahman told Mani that he wanted him to come to his studio.
Yeah, I’ll come one day, the director said. That one day eventually arrived, when Balachander told him to find a new composer. Mani got hold of Trilok Nair and said he wanted to meet ‘his friend, the musician’.
So Trilok very happily called AR up and said, ‘Hi. I’m bringing Mani over. He wants to see you and listen to your work. AR was excited, but nervous. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘But what do I do when he’s here? What do I play for him?’
Trilok suggested he pull out some of the bits of music he had created through the years ‘in his free time’ and some of his other works, some of his jingles and band music. Together, Trilok and AR decided on a few pieces that could be showcased.
Finally, on the appointed day, Trilok Nair and Mani Ratnam showed up at AR’s home studio, Panchathan. Greetings were exchanged and hands were shaken. Then they all sat down and AR played some of his tunes. They sat there for a long time, listened to what Rahman had to play. (And he had a lot.)
Mani didn’t say a word. He did not comment. Didn’t say good or bad, nothing. He sat silently, just listening. He only smiled all the while.
When AR was done playing all the musical pieces he had lined up, Mani Ratnam stood up, said thank you and walked out of the studio without another word. He took some tapes and disappeared. Whatever AR had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t this. He turned to Trilok, who was still in the studio with him, looking quite confused, and said, Eh, enna da? Onnumae sollala.’ (What, man? He didn’t say anything.)
Trilok shrugged. We’ll have to wait and see. Whatever it is, he’ll call you.’ AR nodded. ‘Let’s see what happens.’ Those were the exact words he said: “Let’s see what happens”, says Trilok. ‘Of course the rest is history and I have nothing to add that we all don’t already know. My role in the story ended there and I played only a small part in everything that happened from there on.’
We were excited that Mani Ratnam, such a great director, had come to our house and heard his music,’ says Fathima. We all usually pray.
My mother is very pious. She’ll always be in zikr. On Wednesdays and Thursdays we have prayers at home. We leave everything to God. We believe all good things will only come if you do that. Whatever happens, however excited we are, we’ll just pray. We’ve not been brought up to be too emotional. Serenity and acceptance was what Amma taught us. So after Mani Ratnam left that day, we just prayed that my brother would get his chance.’
Mani Ratnam is by no stretch of the imagination an expressive person. He does not show much emotion, except in his stories. But that does not mean he doesn’t feel it in real life. I was stunned that day,’ he says, some twenty-five years later. I could not believe what I was hearing. The music he played for me that day, it was fabulous.’
AR thought, at the time, that Mani Ratnam hated his music. I didn’t think he would ever come back, he says. But a few days later, the director got in touch with AR and told him that he’d like to sign him on for his next film–as music director. I love a lot of stuff,’ he said. ‘Let’s meet and I’ll tell you what will work for me.”
It was a decision that would end up altering the course of AR’s life, as well as Tamil, Indian and world music and cinema.
