What better way to start than this timeless classic reimagined into a haunting lament of love?!
The first time I saw the title of the song, I could only imagine the demure, classical original that has been popular for decades in South Indian weddings. A small part of me cringed, wondering if this was also going to be one of those hackneyed fusion versions that ruined the beauty of the original.
But I was in for a surprise!
Solo's version of Sita Kalyanam hit me like a breath of fresh air; but it twinged with crispness like the biting cold air of winter mornings that carries a bite of ozone.
It was electrifying, prompting me to do things impulsively, and quickly found a spot in my playlist.
It was a long while later that I saw the movie and gathered the context of the song in the story.
"Don't love this song so much! You will laugh when you see where it comes in the movie!" A friend warned me.
And no warning could have prepared me for the impact that the song's placement in the movie had on me.
Understanding love and longing is always hard, but trying to make sense of why and how they are ignited inside us is an almost foolish quest into the depth of nothingness.
Rudhra's love was not the magic of discovery, but an emphasis on rediscovery after separation. It's not the brightest idea, perhaps, to gatecrash a wedding. But since when has love seen logic?
How far will you go for love when you know it has to end, and not in your favour?
How long will you stay on a journey if you know you will never reach your intended destination?
How deep would your love have to be for you to convince yourself that it is all one big, bad dream when you see it fall apart around you?
The song begins with one of the most haunting lines between lovers spoken so casually. We have all had this question, and we have all been asked this question at some point in our lives. If not, maybe it was one of those unspoken things left undiscussed to save our sanity.
Ennaikkavadhu oru naal, naan un pakkam illana,
En nyabagam, nenappu, edhuvum illana,
Will you still love me?
(If, one day, I am no longer near you,
And you have neither thought nor memory of me,
Will you still love me?)
This is the question that warrants an unequivocal 'YES' as the only answer. But perhaps this song knew the power of reality, for the words artfully fade into the beginning of the song.
Anyone who has ever been in a long-distance relationship, gone through the loss of a loved one due to life or death, or at least suffered a separation, however temporary, will understand the pain behind these words.
Take me there, I know this journey ends!
Oh, wake me up!
I need to breathe again...
There is nothing more bittersweet than the last part of the journey of love. It is like the vestiges of your favourite lucid dream. The moment when you know it will all disappear like a mirage with time, the moment you properly wake up!
When interspersed with the pain of suffocation, the feeling of uncertainty in what was happening around - and to - you when you are in that relationship, this plaintive cry to be woken up from the stupor becomes a cry for life.
What surprised me the most was the chant of 'Radha Rahasiya, Madurai Madiyinil. Radha Rahasiya, Kadhal Kannanil.'
What was Radha doing in a song about Sita? Where did this mythological mash-up come from? And what, in heaven's name, was this Radha's Rahasiya (secret)?
Maybe this would be one of those lines that made more sense in the context of the movie's story, I thought to myself. And oh, it did! :) But no spoilers.
Even without the backstory, these lines promised to bring that small hint of mischief I would love to have in love. Sita and Rama, the legendary couple who signified everything stable and responsible in the institution of marriage, were glorified in the main song.
But here were Radha and and her beloved Kanna, the couple whose souls had communed beyond the restrictions of marriage, and who were, in some legends, supposedly the representation of one's soul and yearning.
Was this the love that went beyond the norms? The kind of ill-fated love that was supposed to be everything while it lasted and nothing once it shattered?
Somewhere down the line, Rudhra's face faded into the regretful, remorseful faces of people I had known, who had done mad things for love. Whose well-intentioned, well-worded promises had been broken by fate and their own will!
The blend of the male and female voices had removed all distinctions and the next part of the song fascinated me the most.
Vaazhkaiye... Idhum Kadandhu Vaazha Vendum
Ennile... Udal, Uyir, Un Manam...
Arasiye... Manam Adaindhu Vaazha Vendum
Naal Endrum, Nal Vaazhvu Ninaikkum En Manam
In this life... We have to live beyond this
In me resides... a body, a soul, and your heart...
And every day, I shall only wish for your good life
There comes a point in any doomed relationship where the couple parts. So much could be said about what was and what could have been. But very little will be discussed about what actually IS.
Will you be able to hold the shattered pieces of your heart together and, with the proper intention, say, "I no longer have a chance to live with you, for destiny has decided otherwise. But wherever I am, I wish you well."?
A utopian dream of goodness, maybe, but definitely something that selfless love will understand. The plaintive 'Arasiye...' cut me deeper than any other words in the whole song.
The right to call someone 'my queen' only to follow it with 'you must marry (someone else) and live well' is a paradox defined only by the idiocy that is true love.
What could prompt you to give up something that, for a significant part of your life, you have given up almost everything else for?
What could prompt you to build up a relationship, fill it with dreams, water it with promises, feed it with love, and then proclaim that it was okay for it to break for whatever reason?
Perhaps this is one of those places where the strength of courage is understated. It is not about fighting valiantly (and vehemently) for love, but taking a step back, accepting that it has breached a point of no return, and working up the guts to say, "Yeah, this is not happening any more, I can see. I wish you well, and a great life ahead."
Maraiyadhey En Kanave...
Kaatraga Nee Iruppai...
Nee Endhan Aruginil Vaa...
There is perhaps no greater parallel to be drawn in a song than this - a desperate plea that proclaims 'I need to breathe again!' and in the next line, insists, 'You will be the air around me!'
To me, this song has transcended all context with respect to the story/characters and stands alone as a testament to love and pain. It speaks of the biggest sacrifice ever made in love - that of parting ways with a beloved.
Sometimes it soothes, sometimes it stirs, and at other times, it merely heals. Maybe it is not about lamenting a lost love, but holding our chin up and saying, 'Yes, I know this journey ends. This too shall pass. And, of course, I need to breathe again.'
Special mention to Sooraj S Kurup and Renuka Arun, who have lent their magical voices to this song. They have found the perfect blend of mystique and magic that works without tipping the scales.
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