Film Rewind | Kandukondain Kandukondain: Tabu, Aishwarya Rai and Ajith in a romance that still rains poetry

It sounds strange to say, but some films possess a persistent fragrance.

 And, 26 years later, Kandukondain Kandukondain still smells of earth after the rains. Fresh and earthy, with the hope of flowers blooming somewhere.

 Directed by Rajiv Menon, the film starred Tabu, Aishwarya Rai Bachchan, Ajith, Mammooty and Abbas, and was a loose adaptation of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility. It’s usually a task to transpose a story from an 1800s British setting; but with musical flair, Menon brought the tale of the two sisters closer home, moving them around in Tamil Nadu, from Karaikudi to Chennai.

 The beating heart of the story resides in the two sisters and their different approaches to love: One embodies ‘sense’, the other ‘sensibility’ that's almost overwhelmed by emotion and perception. Tabu played the restrained and reserved Sowmya, who has to shoulder the family’s burdens and agrees to the idea of arranged marriages. Yet, beneath all the ‘sense’ and rationality’, she carried the fear of being bad luck.

Aishwarya, was the emotional, dreamy Meenu, who envisions a grand romance that would be just as consuming as poetry. Sowmya encounters Ajith’s hot-tempered budding filmmaker Manohar, and after a misunderstanding, the two form a close friendship that blossoms into love, though Sowmya’s own fears of being a misfortune almost separate them. But finally, her own reservations break free like a dam by the end of the film, and we get a cinematic reconciliation.

 On the other hand, Meenu falls madly in love with Abbas’s Srikanth, only to learn that he had to sacrifice her for his own financial interests. A near death-experience motivates her to reassess her sensibilities and leads her to the one who has been there all along: Mammooty’s Bala, a close friend of the family’s.

 Yet, while the storytelling holds its own, the film is still entrenched in its own motifs and symbolism. Love is lyrical, as is loss.

Every scene is a painting, from the introductory scenes of Aishwarya’s Meenakshi stepping out of the pool, to her song Konjumminakkale in the fields, or the artistry of Kannamoochi. In this sequence, Aishwarya, dressed in a green sari with jasmine flowers in her hair, does a little playful taunting dance for Manohar, who is already falling in love with Sowmya.

And then there’s the entire visual delight and charm with the title track Kandukondain Kandukondain, where Meenakshi gives in to her dreams and sees herself as a trapped princess, waiting for Abbas’s Srikanth to rescue her.

Each musical dream sequence, far-fetched as it is, feels majestic, even with Enna Solla Pogirai, where Manohar dreams of chasing down Sowmya in deserts, against the will of her ‘clan’ and even getting beaten by them. Somehow, the lyrical enchantment of the songs doesn’t allow you to dwell on these eccentricities.

You might just find yourself surprisingly trying to analyse the theatrics of it all. Maybe that’s what Menon wanted too: Looking for the hues of love, be it the feverish rushes, the restraints, the sorrow or the whimsy. And perhaps, because it is so well-executed with verve, down to the sights of flowers and rains, the little flaws of disjointedness pale in comparison.

 Even raw grief and reality  are a reverie. After Meenakshi learns of Srikanth’s deception, she walks through the rains and floods, while the money she earned from her musical enterprise fall into puddles and are washed away from memory. The rains meld with her mood and changing perceptions: A life stripped away of illusions. And, the feeling is exacerbated after she falls into a pothole.

In Menon’s world, even heartbreak is still framed like poetry. Sorrow arrives scented with jasmines.

And so, 26 years on, the rains of Kandukondain Kandukondain still fall, softly.