‘A source of courage’
Shahi Kabir - Screen writer & director
My homage to M T Vasudevan Nair can be expressed in one line: Had MT not done films such as ‘Thazhvaram’ or ‘Sadayam’, someone like me would never have been able to conceive a ‘Nayattu’ or ‘Ela Veezha Poonchira’. He had broken the mould at a time when the Bombay film industry’s flavours were palpable in Malayalam cinema. MT showed that one could deviate from the commercial line and yet achieve mainstream success. That, I believe, gave many film writers and directors of the subsequent era the confidence to tread off the beaten track. ‘
Sadayam’ is a great example. It’s a film that moved, inspired me. Today, ‘offbeat’ films are celebrated. MT showed that such films need not be boxed up as ‘art’ or ‘award’ films. One must also note that he was juggling highbrow literature and script writing with ease. I do not think any other literary giant has done so. To me, MT’s works are a source of courage. Courage to pen stories that might not sound commercially exciting. Courage to be a free spirit, a lone ranger. That, perhaps, is the biggest legacy the legend has left behind.
‘MT was cartographer of the Malayali soul'
Krishand R K, filmmaker
I was introduced to the world of M T Vasudevan Nair through my father, who adored ‘Randamoozham’. Growing up, our home often resonated with discussions about his stories and his inimitable ability to weave the mundane into the profound. Films like ‘Oru Cheru Punchiri’ and ‘Thazhvaram’ always fascinated me, but it was not until my time at IIT, while working on a project film, that I really got into his books.
Guided by my faculty mentor, Raja Mohanty, I began by reading ‘Iruttinte Aatmakkal’. It opened a door I was eager to walk through. ‘Randamoozham’ followed, and with each page, M T’s words seemed to blur the boundaries between myth and memory, story and self. His novel ‘Varanasi’ became a cornerstone reference for my film, ‘Vrithakrithiyulla Chathuram’.
I first encountered ‘Manju’ at a young age. At the time, I couldn’t fully grasp the melancholy that dripped like dew from every sentence. Today, that quiet sadness feels profound and haunting.
MT is more than a writer or filmmaker; he is a cartographer of the Malayali soul. His dialogues and cinematic frames are both intimate and expansive, capturing the quiet chaos of human lives. The influence of his literature on Malayalam cinema and culture it inhabits is undeniable, almost elemental.
To have existed in the same universe as him, within the same slip of time, feels like an unearned privilege. Truly, we are fortunate to share his era.
A legend among us
Indu Lakshmi, Filmmaker
In my childhood, MT was a superhuman character from stories my father used to tell me. Just like Bheeman or a fairy tale, MT was a constant figure in the tales my father weaved, a legend. Maybe they weren’t tales, he was just explaining M T to me.
It took me years, till I started reading him to figure out he is the author and not a fictional entity.
However, that initial image still stays with me, and that’s why even now, I haven’t been able to believe that he is no more, and we can never meet him or talk to him. Till Wednesday night, I could always dream about meeting him. However, now the dream itself has been erased. His demise is a monumental loss for the world.
I remember all his works, his movies, his screenplays. My initial dreams of cinema began with Malayalam’s own MT and Padmarajan, and not any foreign director. I grew up with MT’s stories, just like any Malayali, and devouring his words. If one asks me what my favourite among his works is, the answer is complicated. I love all of them.
But again, ‘Randamoozham’ is his masterpiece, where he retold the ‘Mahabharata’ with Bhima as the central character. It’s not an easy job to do, however, he made it, his — the tale, the character and the story.
There’s a dialogue in the film Aksharangal. It basically says: Don’t write for money. Since MT wrote it, I always considered this, his words, as his advice to budding writers. And I have been living by it. Never write for money, that’s what I strive for.
‘His women question, resist and defy'
Sivaranjini, filmmaker
M T’s screenplays are absolute treasures — a delight to read and reread, an essential reference for filmmakers. His women characters in all his works are multi-layered — be it Malu, the oft-considered “ugly” elder sister, in Kuttyedathi; Indira, the woman out on parole, in Panchagni; the brilliant Ammini in Aranyakam; the silent Janakikutti; and many more.
How often do we see a woman’s solitude portrayed with such depth and nuance, capturing her inner world with poetic sensitivity?
MTs women question, resist and defy societal and cinematic expectations often not conforming to narrative conventions. Their complexity and resistance to simplification allow them to stand out in a landscape often dominated by stereotypical portrayals of women.
His ‘Oru Cheru Punchiri’ (A slender Smile) remains a comfort movie of mine. It is a personal favourite, and you feel inordinately calm after watching the two characters and their love that shine on screen. This movie is a comfort place you wish to visit time and again. And it came from the same pen that wrote anguish and melancholy like none other.
The beedi quirk
This is not a celebrity tribute. But an anecdote from a common man’s cherished memories. Anoop Augustine, general manager of Calicut Notebook in Kochi, shares how he had an unforgettable “privilege” of serving food to M T Vasudevan Nair, and also helping him light up a bidi. “I used to live about 500m from ‘Sithara’ (MT’s house) while working at Paragon restaurant in Kozhikode. But I never had the courage to talk to him,” recalls Anoop, a devotee of MT. Years later, he got to meet his icon at a Malabari restaurant in Dubai. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw him in front of the restaurant,” says Anoop. “He was smoking a beedi before heading for lunch.”
As Anoop served him, MT complained that rice wasn’t cooked enough to his taste. “He wanted to mash it. I got the rice cooked again. I remember him asking for additional servings of avial and prawns curry. He relished the meal in naadan style,” he recalls. Then came an interesting interaction. “As I guided him out, holding his hand, he wanted to smoke another beedi,” says Anoop. “As he struggled to light it with matches, I offered him a gas lighter. He refused, saying that the combined burning of the match head and tobacco offered a unique taste. I still get the smell of that beedi when I think of him.” - Nishitha Ann John