Readers Write In #813: Crying over PasaMalar

By Vijaysree V

Crying over PasaMalar

The proprietor of Rani Cable Networks (Kamalahasan) is luxuriating in the last scenes of a black-and-white Tamil melodrama. (kai veesuamma kai veesu). His young assistant, who saunters in just then, cannot resist taking a dig at the boss who has gone all misty-eyed over a movie. The boss dabs his eyes with the edge of his veshti and comes back with: “Even the toothbrush-mustached Hitler wept, watching films.” And besides, the boss demands to know, if someone watches PasaMalar and doesn’t cry, should that person even be considered human?

 Without missing a beat, the assistant asks if Hitler had watched PasaMalar and follows up with another jab, “but you don’t even need the excuse of a film. Seeing ‘Starring Sivaji Ganesan’ in the title credits is enough to set you off.”  Jeymohan, the dialogue writer for Papanasam, likely intended to highlight the fact that the boss was a Sivaji fan. Yet, he must have also recognized how deeply this would resonate with audiences—because it’s easy to imagine the real Kamal Haasan being moved to tears by a Sivaji Ganesan classic. His connection to the legendary actor and the profound impact Sivaji had on Tamil cinema make the moment feel so authentic.

The 1961 film PasaMalar directed by Bhimsingh is an unapologetic tear-jerker, a whole box-of-tissues weepie with a brother-sister relationship at its core. The siblings are Raju (Sivaji Ganesan) and Radha (Savithri) who were orphaned young, and they have always meant the world to each other ever since. They manage to lift themselves out of poverty. The brother, once a factory worker, becomes a factory owner. He learns to speak English, takes piano lessons, and even wears tuxedos on occasion.  The bubbly sister, all nicely turned out, learns to drive. When people see her take the wheel of the Plymouth car, they ask, “which principality is she a princess of!” Her brother, determined to secure the best future for her, wants her to marry an eligible bachelor—someone befitting their new status.

While Raju and Radha rise from poverty together, PasaMalar introduces another pair of orphaned siblings—architect Bhaskar (M. N. Nambiar) and his sister, Dr. Malathi (M. N. Rajam) who come from wealth. A well-wisher introduces the two brothers to each other, so each can marry the other’s sister. Raju is all for the architect marrying his sister. When it comes to the other proposal — his marrying the physician — he demurs. How can an uneducated person like me marry an educated woman, the factory owner asks. For the physician, however, it is love at first sight. At a party, when she hands Raju some sherbet in a nice glass, he politely says, “thank you.” His diction is better than that of our professor’s, a friend observes, and urges her not to miss this chance. Raju accompanies Dr. Malathi on the piano. (pattu ondru ketten, paravasam annen).

The stage seems set for a nice double wedding, when Raju discovers that his sister is in love with his friend, a fellow worker from his old factory days. Now, this won’t do at all, will it? Sivaji gives the lover boy Anand (Gemini Ganesan) a proper thrashing. When Anand asks Radha to elope with him, she says she will only marry him with her brother’s blessings. “He will have to fall at my feet first,” Anand enraged. Radha will not stand for any disrespect to her brother. She is ready to call the whole thing off. The brother, who is secretly watching all this, wipes the tear trickling down his cheek, with the barrel of his loaded pistol. Secure in his sister’s undying loyalty and affection, he throws the firearm away. He has decided to bless Radha and Anand’s marriage. This poignant scene unfolds in a rose garden.

Dr. Malathi marries Raju. A rare female physician character in Tamil cinema, she is depicted as an independent woman—driving herself to work, deeply engaged in her profession. In one scene, she tells Raju she cannot attend a social engagement with him because she has a physicians’ meeting at Town Hall at 5 PM. “I am so sorry,” she says firmly and politely when asked to reconsider. Raju immediately decides he won’t attend the event either. Calling his friend, he lies, claiming his wife is unwell—even though she is about to speak at a public forum. It is an absurd deception. Though Malathi stands firm in that moment, later, she falters, regretting her choice of professional ambition over family duty.

Tamil cinema struggles to portray an independent female physician, without undercutting her, yet real-life examples existed of female doctors who defied convention. Gemini Ganesan’s real-life atthai (father’s sister) was one of the first female doctors in the country. From her biography,  Muthulakshmi Reddy, A Trailblazer in Surgery and Women’s Rights  we learn that she graduated from Madras Medical College in 1912. At age 28, she married a fellow physician Sundara Reddy with the proviso that he “always respect me as an equal and never cross my wishes.” She was the first womanlegislator in British India. As a policy maker, she helped end child marriage and the devadasi system of dedicating girls to temple deities. This champion of female empowerment, dynamic till the end, passed away in 1968. Did she watch this movie, I wonder? After all, her nephew starred in it. Did they ever talk about the portrayal of woman in the Tamil black-and-white classics of the 1950s and 60s?

Memorable songs were another defining feature of films from that era, and PasaMalar has more than its fair share of them. Take the song Mayangugiraal Oru Maadhu. It is meant for the newlyweds; Anand strums the sitar; Radha sings in the living room. An ill-at-ease Raju turns a framed picture of Radha and Anand away from the nuptial bed where his bashful wife awaits him. This awkward beginning to intimacy hints at what lies ahead—two couples struggle to live harmoniously under the same roof. Though the story has its designated villains—Anand’s atthai and her son—it is ultimately Raju’s obsessive love for his sister that ruins everything. Overcome with sentiment, Raju impulsively signs away the rights to the house he built, handing it over to his sister’s family.

When Raju’s financial situation deteriorates, Dr. Malathi is offered a scholarship to study abroad. Though she hesitates, Raju encourages her to go, convinced by Bhaskar that the change of scenery might restore Radha’s spirits. Raju promises to care for their son but does a terrible job of it—dragging the child along on a pilgrimage. He loses his eyesight and dies a blind pauper. Radha rushes to his hospital bedside, along with her daughter, only to collapse and die beside him. Meanwhile, Anand realizes how evil his atthai has been, and rushes out to beg Raju for forgiveness, but it is all too late. 

Dr. Malathi returns to India just after her husband dies. Her last line in the film: “This is such a big punishment for not staying by your side and looking after you!” place undue blame on her. After her initial anguish wears off, hopefully the physician recognizes that larger duties await a person with excellent medical training. “We come from a well-off family of educated individuals who have derived joy from work,” her brother had once told her husband with quiet dignity. Maybe, this pair of siblings go on to lead fulfilling lives and serve society – the kind of thing the other pair of siblings sang about. (vaazhvu vandhaal anaivaraiyum vaazhavaipomae). When we prosper, we will help others succeed too! 

As audiences in the 1960s stepped out of theaters, eyes brimming with tears, PasaMalar seemed to embody the essence of heartbreak; sacrifice and devotion to family is supreme. Watching it now, however, the film’s ending offers an alternate reading— as a story where grief serves as a bridge to resilience. Instead of being consumed by sorrow, Dr. Malathi has a chance to transform her grief into a greater purpose—dedicating herself to medicine and serving humanity beyond the confines of family.