Crazy’ Mohan, a jokesmith par excellence and a protégé of P G Wodehouse and Devan, could effortlessly keep his audience tied to their seats. The playwright, who tickled our funny bones, began his career as a mechanical engineer in the TVS group, but soon changed track (the comedy track, that is), spreading warmth and sunshine into the mechanical lives of many. It may sound funny, but the dogs that reportedly chased him early in the morning on his way to the factory pushed him into a factory manufacturing humour.
The legend, who got his moniker from his play Crazy Thieves in Palavakkam, also acted in cameo or full-length roles. For me, his best play was Chocolate Krishna and among movies, Vasool Raja MBBS. His dialogues catered to the well-informed upper middle class, drawing a repeat audience.
Whenever Mohan crossed Mambalam to meet cine director K S Ravikumar, he had a stopover at my place. Few relatives of mine had shown more bonhomie than Mohan, whose first business would be to have a look at my rows of books, with the wide-eyed enthusiasm of a socialite in a well-stacked, upscale sari shop. The line-up of Wodehouse and Devan books would bring a sparkle to his eyes. He had a special liking for the coffee or Horlicks that my wife offered. After that beverage, he would go for his ritual of betel chewing, enriched by scented tobacco. We had earmarked an appropriate place for him to eject the colourful remnants from his mouth.
As one discovered to possess a depot of cholesterol, I had to go for a bypass at Apollo. Dr Girinath, who mended my heart, had by then performed thousands of surgeries; some said he was the surgeon who paid the most income tax in India.
When I gave Mohan this nugget, he shot back, “He is Vari-nath.” (Vari is tax in Tamil.) Now and then, Mohan would berate me for going to work in a construction behemoth even after the age of 75. My wife would be pleased whenever he raised that topic, more so when he added how free he felt, without having to work for anyone, and could sleep till 10 in the morning.
He used to say the ambience of my room, which had more books than bricks, recharged his creative batteries. Many went to his plays and movies to get elated. But there he was, paying me such a large-hearted compliment. It is a pity that such a darling of many suddenly passed away last month.