Pariyerum Perumal: Blue is the warmest colour

After watching Pariyerum Perumal, an acquaintance said that this film was simply a rural love story. This statement reminded me of an interview of Kaaka Muttai director M Manikandan with Baradwaj Rangan.

Talking about the inherent danger in making cinema that sugarcoats bitter pills and hence runs the risk of a lot of people not understanding the layered meanings to the art,  Manikandan said, ” It’s like going to a coffee shop for the first meet. The discussions can come later. If the two people aren’t comfortable with the topic, then it won’t lead to discussions. A film is like that. It is like calling the audience for a small chat. It is okay if someone doesn’t have the sensibility to understand the layers. There’s no compulsion.”

Pariyerum Perumal is this exact kind of film that opens up a platform for discussions about caste, oppression, education and equality. If the audience is ready, then good. If not, they can play catch up later.

When Pariyerum Perumal begins with a card that reads, “Caste and Religion is against humanity”, I mentally prepared myself for a lesson of sorts about a world that I was ‘privileged’ to not inhabit. What I wasn’t ready for was how the film questioned the very idea of my own identity, both assumed and imposed.

The film set in Tirunelveli is about Pariyerum Perumal aka Pariyan(a career-defining performance by Kathir), a person relegated to the lower caste by the powers that be, and his journey to a place of self-actualization. He undergoes humiliation and violence in every step of his life. When he hunts, he is bereaved. When he wants to study, he is marginalised for his lack of English knowledge. When he wants to be respected, he is treated like garbage. When he wants to feel proud of his father, he is made to feel the nakedness of his situation and the helplessness of it all. When he wants to live, he is taken to the brink of death. Pariyan does not get anything that he wants. Neither does he get anything he deserves. All Pariyan gets is what others want to give him. Anandhi as Jothimahalakshmi/Jo wants to teach him English. Pariyan accepts. Yogi Babu as Anand treats him as a friend despite caste and class differences. Pariyan embraces the gesture. Anandhi’s father forces Pariyan’s tormentor to shake hands with him. Pariyan does it.

Even during the moments where you feel Pariyan’s life is moving in the right direction, there is a sense of dread about something untoward waiting to happen. This is a film about a particular person, but the life is something scores of people live daily. When the film ended with a shot of two tea glasses on the college canteen bench, I heard a never-ending stream of claps and whistles. I believe it came from a place of understanding, a place of pained realisation that violence and revenge can never be the answer, a place of unresolved anger that slowly gets buried for the greater good.

Credit goes to Mari Selvaraj for ensuring that Pariyan’s character isn’t glorified and neither is the antagonist made too offensive. The filmmaker offers the audience an insight into what goes into the shackled mind of the oppressor. It also lends a glimpse into the tormented minds of the oppressed, who in turn are capable of showing both bravado and disdain in equal measure for fellow human beings, even to the ones closest to them. It almost feels like Mari is telling us that people born on either side of the caste hierarchy can be cruel and that cruelty isn’t caste-based but a mental state. It makes the characters in the film seem human and not caricatures. Marimuthu, playing the father of Jo, doesn’t prefer violence, but isn’t averse to let someone else do it for him. His fear is more about his caste-mates killing his daughter for hanging out with Pariyan. He is afraid of the normalisation of maintaining the honour of the caste and family through the womenfolk in the family. But, with minimum persuasion, he agrees to order a hit on Pariyan. Probably, it is Mari’s way of telling us that here’s a man who wants to be good but caste pride isn’t allowing him to. So, who is oppressed by caste?

Even the contract-killer of sorts who specialises in killing in the name of caste meets an end that is ambiguous. It can be seen as redemption, a sign of guilt, or even a sign of god. I, however, see it as his last act of defiance, a final attempt to stake claims of his superiority over a fellow human being. Pure violence. Every time this killer wiped off a man from the oppressed caste, Mari cuts off to a newspaper clipping that paints the killings as accidental deaths or suicides. (Spoiler: However, in a definitive touch, after the killer decides his end, the headline below this story is a cricket news that reads, ‘India vendradhu’“)

Despite having enough material to make it a revenge story or the story of an underdog fighting against all odds, Pariyerum Perumal establishes itself very early that Pariyan isn’t interested in revenge. He doesn’t like confrontations and prefers being on the sidelines sipping on a glass of tea while his classmates break tube lights on each other. All he wants is education and the degree of BA.BL. Here’s a guy who knows his capabilities and understands the system is skewed against him. He is extremely content with his way of life and even the education he wants isn’t to gain materialistic pleasure but to be a voice for the voiceless in a state where even police expect people like him to beg for justice rather than demand it.

One of the important plot points of this film is Pariyan’s relationship with Jo. While it can be said that Anandhi’s saccharine goodness is too overpowering at times, her character grounds the film every time it threatens to go on a preachy route. The naivete of her character, irritating at times, is also a stark realisation of her sheltered existence. It reminded me of many people living in the big cities who believe there is no caste system and it is something that is practiced only in the rural areas. It is sad but it is also understandable. Therein lies the strength of the filmmaker and his ideology. He isn’t interested to teach you caste, the meaning of the colour blue or systemic oppression. He is showing the life he lived and the life he knows. It is up to you to make the connection, join the dots and figure out where you stand in the scale of awareness.

And what helps the audience in connecting the dots is Santosh Narayanan’s music and Karuppi, the dog. Every instance Karuppi comes on screen is a way to remind us of the fragility of caste and how we treat our fellow human beings. She is a metaphor for the violence Pariyan is subjected to on a daily basis. A violence that isn’t just physical. It is psychological. It is institutional. It is societal. And Santosh elevates these moments of poignancy with his background score. The songs, with hard-hitting lyrics by Vivek and Mari himself, tells us a story in verses. Be it the angst-filled ‘Karuppi‘ or the utopian ‘Vaa Rayil vida polaama‘, the songs too are layered. If you get the meaning, you are enriched and if you are just attracted to the musical progressions and usage of instruments, and not bothered about the structured meaning, it’s okay, you are bound to get it later.

Sridhar’s cinematography is subtle and at times reflective of his unfamiliarity with the surroundings. A sense of rawness exudes in the frames. There is no lush green to depict the rural countryside. There is a liberal dose of earthiness and dusty brown on screen and it is particularly beautiful that every time there’s a stretch of green, it is during moments when Pariyan is suffering in the hands of the oppressed. For the amount of suffering and humiliation that is showed on screen, Mari doesn’t take the Bala route. There are funny one-liners strewn responsibly by Yogi Babu, who has shown a dimension to his acting capabilities that one hopes doesn’t get overshadowed by his comedy. The endless barrage of suffering is shown as a way of life and not as a means to forcefully overwhelm us. There is a constant undercurrent of struggle. For example, when Pariyan’s father is subject to a completely unprovoked act of violence, it leaves you disturbed. When his mother asks Pariyan to calm down by explaining how this is just the way of life for his father, it leaves us gutted. What are we doing as a society if we just can’t treat another human being with the respect we believe we deserve.

Pariyerum Perumal isn’t an exercise on caste-based oppression but is a cry for equality. A cry that is accentuated with saxophone melodies, guitar riffs and the rustic sound of Tavil. It is a film that isn’t quite bothered with the questions and neither the answers. Pariyerum Perumal is the story of one person among us. A story of thousands of others. Even if you haven’t come across a person like that, the fact that it is happening to a fellow human being should be enough to initiate a discussion. A discussion that the director believes should begin with realisation and end with change. It only makes sense that this film was produced by Pa. Ranjith’s Neelam Productions.

What is being asked through this film is compassion, basic decency and humanity that gives rise to a casteless collective. It isn’t too much of an ask.

So yeah, let’s meet for a cup of tea, discuss and hopefully, change. Vaanga.