Crazy Me
I cried. After a long long time, I cried. How does it feel when someone you think of, every single day, doesn't exist anymore? I felt it today.
When someone mentioned in a WhatsApp group that Crazy Mohan was no more, I refused to believe it. I immediately googled, and came across a tweet that he was doing just fine, recovering in a hospital. A few minutes later, there were media reports, and I still refused. But the moment was short-lived. A few tweets of first-person accounts confirmed his demise. Tears welled up that very second, and I got off my chair at work, crying all the way. Downing a few glasses of water didn't help, and I was nearly choking, as much to a concerned colleague checking one me. I said I was fine, and masking my tears, got out of the building to get some fresh air. It took me a full 15 minutes to come out of it, reading others' experiences, prayers and eulogies, including sharing mine. It's been an odd day, to say the least.
Apoorva Sagodharargal released on the 14-April, the Tamil New Year, in 1989, and my mom told me that she and my dad watched it together, in a theater in Pondicherry. She also told me that she was she was pregnant with me then. I must've listened to the dialogues well, like Abhimanyu listening to strategy on padhma vyooha. Crazy Mohan's influence on me was in effect even before I was born.
My earliest memory of Crazy Mohan himself are from the teleserial nil-gavani-crazy, and although I remember it only in fragments, I do recollect enjoying it much, especially this one Monty-Python-esque sequence where a thief (Crazy himself) enters a compound where the family members stand in a circle & play tenniquoit. The thief, quite enthusiastically, joins them, takes a spot, plays for a while and leaves, while the family being oblivious to him all along, and simply carrying on as if he was never there, much in joy all along.
One of my best friends from college, by name Sriram, is the first person I texted and shared my sorrow with, and the first thing he said was, "no more kabadanAdagavESHaDHAris!". This sums up our shared fandom of the man, and no other 3 words could've expressed ourselves better. This might sound clichéd, but no exaggeration - not a single meeting of ours has ended without at least a single mention of one of his lines, especially MMKR, which has been one of the most definitive (pop) cultural things to ever happen in our lives, at least in terms of humour & wits & puns.
As much as we both adore MMKR, our absolute favorite that wins over everything else of Crazy's is the following exchange from Chocolate Krishna.
Madhu's பாட்டி keeps bothering him for some reason or the other, and at one point, after பாட்டி exits the scene, Madhu asks Krishna (Crazy himself), "க்ருஷ்ணா என் பாட்டி எப்ப போவா?" (When will my grandma die?), to which Krishna nonchalant replies, "மாது, நா சொன்னா வருத்தப்படக் கூடாது..." As the worried Madhu looks on, he resumes, "நீ இருக்கற வரைக்கும் உன் பாட்டி போமாட்டா..."
While the crowd is yet to stop laughing even after half a minute, Krishna wonders, "உன் பாட்டிய நா எங்கயோ பாத்திருக்கேன், மாது...", by when பாட்டி comes back, says something to Madhu's annoyance once again, and leaves. Krishna enthusiastically continues... "ஞாபகம் வந்துடுத்து மாது! கடைசியா த்ரிதராஷ்ட்ரன் சபையில ஆடிண்ட்ருந்தா!"
All of us in the audience were first responding to the humour in there - that she's so old that she had been alive in a whole difference epoch, and by the time we got to appreciate the layers, there was more already awaiting us.
Madhu casually remarks with a smirky insult: போயும் போயும் இந்த மூஞ்சியா!
Damn this was ruthless. While something on the lines of என்ன தான் இருந்தாலும் தன் பாட்டிய இப்படியா பேசற்து was going on in me, the absolute gem, for me, and for Sriram, was what followed -
Krishna: அவனுக்கு தான் கண்ணு தெரியாதே!
We love this exchange, to the bits, and would have referred to this tens of times. We are influenced so much by him that, this may sound too proud, we sometimes end up talking just on the same style like that of முன்னாடி, பின்னாடி, என்ன இருந்துது. And even there, my personal favourite is again its end -
When there was a felicitation for Madhu Balaji at Narada Gana Sabha, he narrated an incident on how sincere Crazy is in getting a line right. In Marriage Made in Saloon (sadly, I haven't listened to this, so I might get the characters wrong here), after nearly 15-20 days of silence from Crazy on the progress in writing, a worried Madhu & Kanthan asked him on what was wrong and why there was no progress. Crazy said he had written upto the scene where Cheenu, a barber is disguised as a doctor, and Janaki meets him for the first time. He said he couldn't get the following line right. A few days later, he wrote -
Janaki: உங்கள நா எங்கேயோ பாத்திருக்கேனே...
Cheenu: இல்லையே, பாத்திருக்க முடியாதே, நா gents only!
Applause and laughter followed for a full few minutes, and Madhu said, "இத்தனை வருஷம் கழிச்சும் இப்படி ரசிக்கறீங்க இல்லையா... அதான் Crazy Mohan".
There are so many of his lines that will live forever, not just in conversations with others, but feeling within oneself. e.g. every time I shave after a long time, I look so different to myself, that I'm reminded of Bheemboy's "ராஜு... மீசை எடுத்துட்டியா..."; or after considering a lot of options to solve a problem, but finally realizing that leaving it as it is the best solution, RamC's "மைதிலியையே திருப்பி கல்யாணம் பண்றதுக்கு எதுக்கு வீண் செலவு-ன்றேன்!"; and every time I used to avoid marriage talks, my mom used to go, "பையன் மாட்டேங்கறான்!", and her oft-used "like-like same-same" whenever I say I like something that she likes too. There are many many others, if I were to mention them all, they'd run into pages.
I learnt later that he's also a poet, a வெண்பா writer at that, and also a painter! It's only unfortunate that I couldn't enjoy his other works of art as much as I could his wit & humour. His demise is nothing but a loss to all of us, and this feels so so personal, unlike any other's passing ever before. At one point a few years ago, I sincerely considered quitting work and joining his troupe. The one time I met him, backstage at Google Gatothgajan, I was speaking with him, for over half an hour, not wanting to leave before he did. He was all praise for artist Keshav's sketch of the main character, which went on to be chosen as the costume! There were many other things, but I remember the most his smile all the way, with not a drop of pride / condescension despite being the great man he was!
Crazy's presence in my life has been much like that thief in nil-gavani-Crazy, except that he was one of the star players, keeping me from quitting the game, albeit subtly. Thanks for everything, sir!
When someone mentioned in a WhatsApp group that Crazy Mohan was no more, I refused to believe it. I immediately googled, and came across a tweet that he was doing just fine, recovering in a hospital. A few minutes later, there were media reports, and I still refused. But the moment was short-lived. A few tweets of first-person accounts confirmed his demise. Tears welled up that very second, and I got off my chair at work, crying all the way. Downing a few glasses of water didn't help, and I was nearly choking, as much to a concerned colleague checking one me. I said I was fine, and masking my tears, got out of the building to get some fresh air. It took me a full 15 minutes to come out of it, reading others' experiences, prayers and eulogies, including sharing mine. It's been an odd day, to say the least.
Apoorva Sagodharargal released on the 14-April, the Tamil New Year, in 1989, and my mom told me that she and my dad watched it together, in a theater in Pondicherry. She also told me that she was she was pregnant with me then. I must've listened to the dialogues well, like Abhimanyu listening to strategy on padhma vyooha. Crazy Mohan's influence on me was in effect even before I was born.
My earliest memory of Crazy Mohan himself are from the teleserial nil-gavani-crazy, and although I remember it only in fragments, I do recollect enjoying it much, especially this one Monty-Python-esque sequence where a thief (Crazy himself) enters a compound where the family members stand in a circle & play tenniquoit. The thief, quite enthusiastically, joins them, takes a spot, plays for a while and leaves, while the family being oblivious to him all along, and simply carrying on as if he was never there, much in joy all along.
One of my best friends from college, by name Sriram, is the first person I texted and shared my sorrow with, and the first thing he said was, "no more kabadanAdagavESHaDHAris!". This sums up our shared fandom of the man, and no other 3 words could've expressed ourselves better. This might sound clichéd, but no exaggeration - not a single meeting of ours has ended without at least a single mention of one of his lines, especially MMKR, which has been one of the most definitive (pop) cultural things to ever happen in our lives, at least in terms of humour & wits & puns.
As much as we both adore MMKR, our absolute favorite that wins over everything else of Crazy's is the following exchange from Chocolate Krishna.
Madhu's பாட்டி keeps bothering him for some reason or the other, and at one point, after பாட்டி exits the scene, Madhu asks Krishna (Crazy himself), "க்ருஷ்ணா என் பாட்டி எப்ப போவா?" (When will my grandma die?), to which Krishna nonchalant replies, "மாது, நா சொன்னா வருத்தப்படக் கூடாது..." As the worried Madhu looks on, he resumes, "நீ இருக்கற வரைக்கும் உன் பாட்டி போமாட்டா..."
While the crowd is yet to stop laughing even after half a minute, Krishna wonders, "உன் பாட்டிய நா எங்கயோ பாத்திருக்கேன், மாது...", by when பாட்டி comes back, says something to Madhu's annoyance once again, and leaves. Krishna enthusiastically continues... "ஞாபகம் வந்துடுத்து மாது! கடைசியா த்ரிதராஷ்ட்ரன் சபையில ஆடிண்ட்ருந்தா!"
All of us in the audience were first responding to the humour in there - that she's so old that she had been alive in a whole difference epoch, and by the time we got to appreciate the layers, there was more already awaiting us.
Madhu casually remarks with a smirky insult: போயும் போயும் இந்த மூஞ்சியா!
Damn this was ruthless. While something on the lines of என்ன தான் இருந்தாலும் தன் பாட்டிய இப்படியா பேசற்து was going on in me, the absolute gem, for me, and for Sriram, was what followed -
Krishna: அவனுக்கு தான் கண்ணு தெரியாதே!
We love this exchange, to the bits, and would have referred to this tens of times. We are influenced so much by him that, this may sound too proud, we sometimes end up talking just on the same style like that of முன்னாடி, பின்னாடி, என்ன இருந்துது. And even there, my personal favourite is again its end -
Policeman: பின்னாடி வீட்டுக்கு போனதுக்கப்புறம், முன்னாடி உங்க friend இருக்காரே, என் brotherஅ பத்தி கொஞ்சம் சொல்லி help பண்ண சொல்லுங்க, sir.
Ram: ஆங், அது பின்னாடி பாக்கலாம்.
When there was a felicitation for Madhu Balaji at Narada Gana Sabha, he narrated an incident on how sincere Crazy is in getting a line right. In Marriage Made in Saloon (sadly, I haven't listened to this, so I might get the characters wrong here), after nearly 15-20 days of silence from Crazy on the progress in writing, a worried Madhu & Kanthan asked him on what was wrong and why there was no progress. Crazy said he had written upto the scene where Cheenu, a barber is disguised as a doctor, and Janaki meets him for the first time. He said he couldn't get the following line right. A few days later, he wrote -
Janaki: உங்கள நா எங்கேயோ பாத்திருக்கேனே...
Cheenu: இல்லையே, பாத்திருக்க முடியாதே, நா gents only!
Applause and laughter followed for a full few minutes, and Madhu said, "இத்தனை வருஷம் கழிச்சும் இப்படி ரசிக்கறீங்க இல்லையா... அதான் Crazy Mohan".
There are so many of his lines that will live forever, not just in conversations with others, but feeling within oneself. e.g. every time I shave after a long time, I look so different to myself, that I'm reminded of Bheemboy's "ராஜு... மீசை எடுத்துட்டியா..."; or after considering a lot of options to solve a problem, but finally realizing that leaving it as it is the best solution, RamC's "மைதிலியையே திருப்பி கல்யாணம் பண்றதுக்கு எதுக்கு வீண் செலவு-ன்றேன்!"; and every time I used to avoid marriage talks, my mom used to go, "பையன் மாட்டேங்கறான்!", and her oft-used "like-like same-same" whenever I say I like something that she likes too. There are many many others, if I were to mention them all, they'd run into pages.
I learnt later that he's also a poet, a வெண்பா writer at that, and also a painter! It's only unfortunate that I couldn't enjoy his other works of art as much as I could his wit & humour. His demise is nothing but a loss to all of us, and this feels so so personal, unlike any other's passing ever before. At one point a few years ago, I sincerely considered quitting work and joining his troupe. The one time I met him, backstage at Google Gatothgajan, I was speaking with him, for over half an hour, not wanting to leave before he did. He was all praise for artist Keshav's sketch of the main character, which went on to be chosen as the costume! There were many other things, but I remember the most his smile all the way, with not a drop of pride / condescension despite being the great man he was!
Crazy's presence in my life has been much like that thief in nil-gavani-Crazy, except that he was one of the star players, keeping me from quitting the game, albeit subtly. Thanks for everything, sir!
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