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Rajni the King and I: A Love Story
Rajnikanth, the hero, the man
through the eyes of an unwilling
inamorata.
BY KSHITIJ BISEN
3 July , 2007
 In
the sepia snapshots of my past, I
remember him. A face full of mischief,
droopy red eyes, the swarthy man with
a pitch black mane, he moved in
mysterious ways. He did things in
mysterious ways. I never believed him.
I do not still.
I forget the name of the movie,
perhaps it was Andha Kanoon, where I
had my first ever glimpse of Rajnikanth.
He was there, I was in front of the
screen. He looked through me, of
course, because I was just a child
then. I watched in amazement as he
spoke Hindi with an accent, and made
crazy gestures with his hands,
changing his thumb print, defying
gravity or stubbing a cigarette on a
rascal’s pate. I was just too proud to
fall for his antics. I made a promise
to myself that I will never see him
again. A promise broken only
occasionally when someone force-fed me
movies starring the Man.
Strangers in the Mists of Time
That was then. I’d long dismissed
Rajnikanth as an unsavoury appetizer. I
moved on. Rajnikanth moved on to become
God. While I was growing up in
anonymity, the man of my nightmares
had a million hearts beating for him.
Every time I heard his name mentioned,
I rolled up my eyes, and with a smirk
brushed off any emotions I ever held.
I wondered, will he ever find out that
someone, somewhere abhorred him to the
core? Or was it denial of an
unmentionable attraction? A Yes
heavily blanketed with a No? The truth
was, I did not know Rajnikanth, and he
did not know me. Yet, there was a
celestial disconnect that caused me
the most revolting fits of guffaws at
just the thought of him.
Shivaji Rao Gaekwad
Shivaji Rao Gaekwad was a humble bus
conductor in Bangalore. But his
passengers loved him. They knew him as
the man who doled out tickets like no
one else could. He was free
entertainment in the otherwise jerky
state transport. Shivaji was happy.
Life was beautiful. Till an angel
crossed his path – his colleague. The
colleague became his friend, and urged
Shivaji to challenge his horizons.
Hesitant, Shivaji took the first
tremulous steps into the tinsel town’s
Tamil chapter. And before he knew it,
he was swept off his feet. When he
came to, Shivaji Rao Gaekwad was
Rajnikanth – the new supernova.
A God Walks among Us, and Shapes a
Nose
Much before there was Matrix, there
was Rajnikanth, performing tricks not
even Neo dared attempt in his sanest
mind. Like lighting a cigarette
mid-air as it flipped. Or slicing a
bullet in two with a half blade.
Unbelievable? The audience didn’t
think so. For them, he was the
ubiquitous Robin Hood, friend of the
poor, enemy of the State. And he was
an action icon. With his dark skin,
and an alcoholic’s orbs, he was the
hope for the masses, suppressed by the
age old caste politics of the higher
ups in the dog-eat-lesser dog pyramid.
As he continued devouring the baddies
on screen, off screen, the shrieking
mass frenzy put him on a pedestal,
idolized him and made him a temple. He
was officially God from India’s Down
Under. The living deity south of
Deccan. He had power, and he wielded
it with aplomb befitting only the
larger than life royalty. Heck, he was
even big in Japan!
Movie after samajik action movie,
Rajnikanth’s conquests grew. Alexander
the Great’s own escapades pale in
comparison. And with each of his
conquests, my nose crinkled even more.
An effect that defined the character
of this appendage of mine that smells
a rat at the drop of a hat. Every time
I looked in the mirror, I cursed the
proboscis I’d gained for blaspheming
the God. How could he do this!
Rajni Strikes Again
It is happening all over again.
They are talking about him. The
hysteria is maddening. I sit with a
throbbing headache. A glass of whiskey
and one masala dosa with sambar
in
front of me. I puff on my cigarette,
blowing the smoke with such gusto that
the fly hovering around my nose dies
an instant death. I am trying to
figure it out. All these years, he had
completely vanished from my
consciousness. I’d only just begun to
live without him.
Yes, I’d heard Rajnikanth’s new release
Sivaji had taken the nation by storm.
I failed to understand why, once
again. What was the magic? This time
around, it was not just his Tamil
fans, he was moving masses outside the
land of Kanjeevarams and Mahabalipuram.
His shows were a sell out. News
channels kept throwing his image at
me. Amitabh Bachchan hugged him, and
paid obeisance. Why was I so far
removed from it all?
It came to pass the weekend before
last. I was with a copywriter friend
of mine, and he proposed. I did a
triple flip, and made a straight face
when I landed back in my chair. Come
again? I asked. He repeated. “Will you
like to watch Sivaji tomorrow? I’ve
got free passes.” I wanted to run
away. I swallowed my words. How could
he know about me and Rajni? My friend
barely knew what happened in my
personal life. Is this what they call
ghosts visiting from your past? So
many questions floated up in my
cerebrum like slag over smelting ore.
Wonderment
Is it all a celestial conspiracy
against me, Cupid avenging my spurning
his arrows at the first sight of
Rajnikanth? What did they want out of
me in all this? Should I shed my
inhibitions, my so-called uptightness
about a man of the masses? Should I
join in the crowd to see what they see
in Rajnikanth? Do I become the tamed
shrew, talking as I am told to,
nodding when I am told to, calling the
night day, and calling Rajni my God?
I have no answers yet. But I promise
you this, I shall get to the bottom of
it all. I shall bring to you what
Rajnikanth is. Even if it means I
finally have to fall in love with him.
Click here for the second part
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