“I owe it all to cable television. It did not matter if I was beaten up at home for wasting time on it; I would sit and watch the same films over and over again on channels like Star Movies. I was addicted. I was intoxicated by what I was watching. Cinema is an irreplaceable teacher. After everyone at home slept, I would watch cable television all night long, the volume barely high enough for me to hear what was going on.”
“If you remember, it’s a film in which the woman, Anita, tolerates quite a bit. Kathir is ill-mannered and brutish, a quintessential Selvaraghavan central male character if you will. This one also ogles, misbehaves, abuses, stalks… He is pathetic. And she can’t seem to fend him off. Instead, like a germ, he ends up growing on her. He’s almost an infection, a flaw. He’s… human. She’s an epitome of patience, a giver. She’s… an angel, a goddess. He’s a sinner; she’s his saviour.”
For most of us, enjoyment of a song is generally limited to humming along, as though the lines were simply words strung together haphazardly to fit into the tune.