The disturbing men of Sivaranjiniyum Innum Sila Pengalum

Chandranum innum sila aangalum - The oppressive men of Vasanth’s recent anthology may not be so far removed from the men we know and the men we are
Chandranum-innum-sila-aangalum
Chandranum-innum-sila-aangalum

When we look in the mirror, who do we see? Do we see ourselves for what we are, or for what we want to be? Often, do we not see what we would like to see? It is this carefully constructed image of self that got distorted as the end credits of Sivaranjiniyum Innum Sila Pengalum rolled. Here were three women, born decades after each other, but still facing unkind treatment from society. Here we men are… getting reminded of the women in our lives, and realising they are likely not all that different from Saraswathi, Devaki, and Sivaranjini.

If we can see Saraswathi, Devaki, and Sivaranjini in the women of our homes, you can be pretty confident that the women see Chandran, Mani, and Hari (the husbands in the film) in us. These are common men, and that’s what makes Vasanth’s Sivaranjiniyum Innum Sila Pengalum a disturbing watch.

The Dictator

Chandran, is a short-tempered chauvinist, whose authority is never questioned by Saraswathi. He orders, she listens. He likes that she satisfies his ego of being the ‘provider’; he likes to insult her for being ‘less important’ to the home. “I bring the money, you are just sitting at home, right?” This is a line all of us have heard at some point in our lives. As an alpha male, Chandran assumes that physically abusing Saraswathi is his birthright. A casual remark is enough to trigger his rage.

Even when he walks, you can see him come down harshly on his wife for ‘walking slowly’. And this again is a fairly common insult. What is the hurry though? Why does the woman always have to be the walking school van?

We learn little about Chandran’s life away from Saraswathi. Does he have friends? Does he have living parents? Why does he despise Saraswathi so much? Was Chandran once a nice guy? Was he a nice colleague? Was he a funny guy? Vasanth doesn’t think it important to indulge in the why or how of his behaviour. So what if he were the epitome of goodness in a social circle? Would it make the abuse at home feel more palatable, or would that make it worse?

Ego is a curious thing, as Chandran discovers to his chagrin. The more it swells, the higher the chance that it might get deflated. And yet, Saraswathi, after deflating his ego, ends up apologising. Such is the way of life for many. No woman enjoys being in a relationship that is emotionally and physically taxing, and yet, they may stay for reasons that make sense only to them. He leaves, and this poor woman can’t take it. She searches and searches and at one point, even bribes the police, despite being so crushingly poor. Why does she do it? We don’t know, but independence takes time. When you are in the dark for too long, light feels uncomfortable.

Where did Chandran go? Perhaps to a place he could claim as “his”. Why?

He is just another man.

The Faux Nice Guy

Mani is a nice person, a chocolate boy from the 90s who isn’t swayed by others’ opinions. He doesn’t mind being the pillion rider in the Kinetic Honda Devaki owns. He is a romantic who steals a kiss or hug from his wife despite the overbearing presence of his own family. Unlike a Chandran-Saraswathi relationship, this feels like a relationship among equals. He understands the need for Devaki to be a working woman. For the longest time in this second film in Vasanth’s anthology, Mani, in fact, feels like a model husband.

And then, things change.

There’s something about a woman’s privacy that unsettles even the nicest of men. “How dare she have a diary?” ask Devaki’s in-laws. The problem isn’t about what she has written; it’s about the very idea of keeping secrets from them. In the most crowded of places, our privacy becomes most valuable, and this is what Devaki tries to do, living as she does in a joint family.

Mani begins by asking his family to stop breaching her privacy. However, when the family’s ‘honour’ is put at stake, Devaki comes into crosshairs. When Devaki continues to stand her ground, we see another side to Mani. “How dare you mistake my niceness for weakness?” When he takes the diary by force and reads it aloud, Devaki snatches it back and burns it down.

How different is Mani from Chandran really? Like the latter, Mani too couldn’t tolerate an act of perceived defiance. Perhaps he was always intimidated by her independence. Did he always need the reinforcement that this independent woman was still his wife? Does he even understand privacy, and if he does, is he willing to allow it?

Mani is more educated than Chandran, and yet, we see that a degree doesn’t necessarily translate to education. Why is his ego so fragile? Why did he break at the slightest provocation?

He is just another man.

The Owner

Hari, from the final film of Vasanth’s anthology, is a stand-up guy, an accommodative provider. He doesn’t slight his wife, Sivaranjini, for being ‘just a housewife’. He doesn’t abuse, he has no qualms about not being the alpha. When his mother passes an insulting remark about Sivaranjini’s parenting habits, he stands up for her. He is a model husband, it seems.

Unlike Chandran or Mani, Hari isn’t one to be rude either. He isn’t evidently chauvinistic, you see, but he is perhaps the closest reflection of many a man who thinks he’s liberated. These are men who won't find their socks on their own, who won’t clean their plates after eating, who will systematically not allow women to have a life outside the family. These are men who may argue that it’s good for women to run homes.

Is it a surprise that Sivaranjini is so tired? Hari would tell you that office work gets tiresome too, and he wouldn’t be wrong. The problem though is that the Sivaranjinis are taken for granted and their work is not recognised. How revealing that Sivaranjini’s life is no different than that of Saraswathi or Devaki? For how nice Hari seems to be, Sivaranjini still has no privacy, time, or even a sense of identity. She’s a champion athlete at college, whose dreams have been chopped by patriarchy’s insistence that she get pregnant soon after marriage. No one asks Sivaranjini what she wants.

Unlike Saraswathi and Devaki, Sivaranjini doesn’t really come to terms with the need to be independent. That’s because she is making the most of the cards she’s dealt with. Not everyone can afford to leave the status quo, literally and otherwise.

Why doesn’t Hari see that Sivaranjini has it so hard at home? Was his support a farce? Perhaps he sees his domesticated mother in his domesticated wife? Why cannot he understand that she is more than the wife she is to him and the mother she is to their child?

He is just another man.

So... what do we do with the realisation that there could be traces of Chandran, Mani, and Hari in us? 

What do I know? I too am just another man.

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