The Film That Cost My Family Its Home

My family produced a Malayalam movie in 1986. It had big actors in it. The songs were sung by K J Yesudas himself.
The film starred two newcomers as the lead pair.
It bombed.

I have decided airing family business in public is not always a wise move.

But some parts deserve to be shared. Someone might learn something from our mistakes.

Today's family drama becomes tomorrow's forgotten story if nobody bothers to write it down. I am trying to write it down before that happens.

I will still keep some boundaries intact. Just not all of them.

So here is one thing I have been sitting on for years.

My family produced a Malayalam movie in 1986. It had big actors in it. The songs were sung by K J Yesudas himself.

Would you believe that?

I was finishing my adolescence around then, completely unaware of how movies got made. As it turned out, so was my father's younger brother, who happened to be one of the producers.

The film starred two newcomers as the lead pair.

It bombed.

And with that bombing began the slow collapse of our vast estate, our acres of land, our business empire that rivaled the Ambanis.

We had to sell everything to repay the debt.

Alright, I made that last part up.

There was no vast estate. No business empire. Just a small plot with our ancestral house on it, nothing photogenic, nothing grand.

Even that belonged to everyone in the family, managed by my grandfather, the patriarch, our Appachan.

When the film flopped, the producers had to start selling things to cover the losses. My uncle was one of them.

We were not in the same location. We never knew what was coming because he held on a few more years, longer than most.

None of you have heard of this movie, I am sure. It is called Ambadi Thannilorunni.

I will leave a link at the end so you can watch it yourself. Go to the 41st minute. You will see my uncle playing the heroine's father.

Pure amateur acting. The director let it slide because my uncle was paying for the film.

This uncle is no longer with us.

A Legacy of Unmatched Generosity

He had the kind of big heart that never once translated into money for himself or his family. He owned a car that he ran as a taxi, driving it himself.

Like most Malayali men of his generation, he kept a large circle of friends who were very fond of his generosity, especially around evening drinks.

But somehow he always got the car home safely.

One night, during our school vacation, he came home late and called out for someone. We went to see what he needed.

He asked for a lungi.

We were confused. Where were his pants?

That morning he had dropped someone at the airport. Airport duty required a khaki uniform, no exceptions.

I found him sitting shirtless inside the closed Ambassador, waiting. Someone passed him a cloth to wear.

It turned out a colleague had gotten an urgent airport call with no uniform ready.

My uncle handed over his own uniform on the spot and drove all the way home in his undergarments.

That kind of generosity does not really exist anymore.

Eventually he decided driving a taxi was not dignified enough for a man of his standing. He switched trades and opened a vessel shop in the middle of town.

Just like that, he became mothalali. Seth, if you prefer the northern version.

My grandmother sent hot food from home every day, not just for him but for his two employees as well.

I used to hang around the shop during my vacations. His future co-producer once gifted him a pair of Ray-Ban aviators. He handed them straight to me the moment he opened the box.

The following year the same man gifted him a Citizen automatic watch. That came to my wrist too.

I still have both. Kept safely for the memories. Used occasionally, because what is the point of nostalgia sitting in a drawer.

The Movie Dream and Its Cost

Somewhere around this time, the movie business got into his head.

There was enough money coming in from the shop, but not enough to produce a film and still keep the shop running.

So the shop closed.

The house was sold.

Every rupee went to the debtors. Nothing was left for either brother, elder or younger, and both my grandparents were still alive to watch it happen.

One movie managed to quietly take down an entire home.

I think you deserve to watch it. (external link)

A family, like an old house, can survive almost anything except the one debt nobody saw coming.

Here is the movie and you know the 41.22 minute. The man who speaks about quality. That is my uncle.

Feature Presentation: Rajesh Alva/Rediff