Readers Write In #858: A Scene-Stealer of a Patti

By Vijaysree V

The mottai patti, the shaven-headed widow, was once a fixture of South Indian brahmin households. In that ochre sari, she was expected to embody renunciation, silence, and submission. Considered “inauspicious,” she lived a life stripped of agency, of color. In Michael Madana Kama Rajan (MMKR), a film chock-full of petty criminals, mistaken identities and impersonation schemes, Crazy Mohan made the mottai patti a character who sees clearly and acts decisively.

Did S.N. Lakshmi’s kleptomaniac character have a name? Does it matter? She will forever be remembered as Thirutu Patti—Patti of ThirupuraSundari. She is the grandmother of the orphan young lady who has to quietly return the stolen items each time, careful not to get caught. thiruppi vekkara Sundari. Thiruppu, in fact, meets Kameshwaran, son of the famous cook Palghat Mani Iyer, while trying to put back something Patti stole from his father at the wedding hall. Though Thiruppu and Kameshwaran are attracted to each other, the honest young man feels compelled to expose Patti. And for all he knows, the woman and her granddaughter may be working in collusion.

When Patti thinks her game is up—and it almost is—she weaponizes her helplessness: kastha kalam, yezha patti kaala pudikeren, she pleads with Kameshwaran. In a breathtakingly fast reversal, she turns the tables on the young man, accusing him of impropriety. But sensing the chemistry between Thiruppu and Kameshwaran, she decides to make things happen – from accusation, she pivots to orchestration.

Bold as brass, she buys provisions on the prospective grandson-in-law’s tab. She tells the grocery store owner (cameo by Crazy) that the marriage is arranged – though it isn’t. Patti knows Kameshwaran, or his father, will soon show up and demand some answers, so she makes herself scarce. For good measure, she also tells Thiruppu the marriage is arranged—so she can interact freely with Kameshwaran if he is the one who shows up. And things work to plan. Thiruppu and Kameshwaran get married with the blessings of relatives and friends. No horoscope was matched. No dowry was paid. None of that was necessary.

Though Kameshwaran is a good man, let’s face it, he has limited prospects. So again, Patti decides to act. She senses opportunity when Avinashi, a personal assistant to a rich man, wants Kameshwaran to impersonate his employer. This personal assistant character played by Nagesh is in deep distress. He has eight daughters “Ashtalakshmi” to marry off and has misappropriated 25 lakhs from his employer. Desperate to retrieve money from his employer’s locker—not to steal, but to cover up his earlier embezzlement—he seeks help from the cook’s son.

When the honest Kameshwaran balks at the impersonation scheme, Patti goes to work—manipulating his nearest and dearest with the finesse of a seasoned politician.Thanks to Patti’s “greed,” the couple gets to celebrate their honeymoon in Bangalore, all expenses paid. Once they are in the Garden City, with zero remorse Patti escalates charges – she tells Avinashi things cost more in Bangalore, and he has to pay more than the agreed-upon amount.  When the Nagesh character says, “With a Patti like you, I’d have married off all eight daughters of mine in one day,” it is a genuine compliment to a mastermind.

Crazy Mohan’s genius lies in turning societal archetypes inside out. The kleptomaniac widow, the overburdened father of eight daughters, the skilled wedding cook, and his earnest son – they may be caricatures, yes, but they are written with affection. While everyone else is trying to survive the system, Patti plays to win. Widows like her were expected to fade into the background, but Thirutu Patti even gets to throw a couple of karate kicks and why not?

Patti’s antics may be exaggerated, but she’s lit a spark. “If you’re considered invisible, you might as well take advantage of that invisibility,” seems to have been her motto. I’m now on the lookout for other Tamil pattis in literature— essentially good-hearted older women with agency, cunning, and some comic grace thrown in as kosuru. I know they’re out there. And I intend to find them.