The word “nostalgia” conveys a yearning to return to a cherished past. Rooted in the Greek “nostos” meaning “home,” its sound alone evokes a quiet melancholy, stirring memories of something missed or longed for. Surprisingly, it wasn’t coined by a poet or philosopher but by a doctor, Dr. Johannes Hofer, in 1688, while treating soldiers on war-ravaged battlefields. In his dissertation, Dr. Hofer observed, “Many soldiers sunk into a bad mood originating from the desire for a return to one’s native land.” This “bad mood,” he explained, often affected the brain, manifesting in severe physical symptoms and, at its peak, a profound loss of will to live, sometimes even leading to suicide. Although he considered alternative names like nosomania and philopatridomania, thankfully, “nostalgia” prevailed and entered the English lexicon. Today, it broadly represents a longing for the past. As we age, we become nostalgic creatures, yearning to remember or even recreate our past. In Svetlana Boym’s illuminating book The Future of Nostalgia, she identifies two types: “reflective” and “restorative.” Reflective nostalgia is a bittersweet longing for a place and time we’ve left behind, like a harmless daydream, while restorative nostalgia involves an intense desire to resurrect the past, viewing it as a golden era that must be revived. In politics, this often manifests in efforts to rebuild monuments to recapture perceived past glories.
C. Prem Kumar’s third film, Meiyazhagan, is a tender exploration of nostalgia. Like his 2018 film 96, Meiyazhagan immerses viewers in the bittersweet journey of remembrance, evoking what it feels like to be distanced from one’s roots and formative memories, only to revisit them with a pang of melancholy. In this story, Prem Kumar’s characters recall their past with longing, using nostalgia as an impetus for life rather than as a descent into sorrow. From another perspective, Meiyazhagan is a mystery—not a whodunit, but a deeper exploration of memory’s elusiveness, the incompleteness of reflective nostalgia, and the mystery of human consciousness that lets us remember and re-create a tapestry of sensations while sometimes – mysteriously – failing to retrieve a once-familiar name.
The film revolves around Arulmozhi Varman ( called “Arul”) and an unnamed relative of Arul, portrayed by Arvind Swamy (of Roja fame) and Karthi, respectively. It opens with Arul’s family moving from Thanjavur to Chennai in 1996 following a property dispute. In 2018, Arul reluctantly returns to his ancestral town for a cousin’s wedding, a journey that rekindles memories of a town filled with good moments. At the wedding, he encounters a young man who calls him “Arul Aththan” (brother-in-law). Despite the young man’s genial nature, Arul is unable to place him, yet he responds warmly to his affection and persistent closeness. They share several poignant scenes, including a memorable one where they drink together. These moments showcase cinema at its finest, capturing the quiet resonance of lost connections. The bicycle Arul discarded when he left Thanjavur resurfaces in the home of the young man, symbolizing a lineage of shared history and memory that somehow ties them together. The movie’s screenplay shines in these sequences.
Through their conversations, both characters explore themes of resilience, love, gratitude, relationships, money, and the tapestry of daily life. Their bond, unstrained by expectations or motives, brings to mind Louis Malle’s 1981 classic My Dinner with Andre, where two friends’ dinner conversation spans life’s great and trivial moments. It also echoes Satyajit Ray’s Shatranj ke Khiladi (The Chess Players), based on Munsi Premchand’s story, in which two men play chess and converse deeply. The chemistry between Arvind Swamy’s and Karthi’s characters is uniquely refreshing in Indian cinema—a connection that, despite the mystery of not knowing each other, grows beautifully.
The film’s excellence owes much to the stellar performances of Arvind Swamy and Karthi, who arguably delivered the best work of their careers. Arvind Swamy, in his earlier years, couldn’t quite find his bearing, but he returned to cinema in later years as a refined, complete performer. His portrayal of Arul as a man haunted by nostalgic melancholy is nuanced and resonant. Karthi, too, excels, embodying a character without a name till the film’s end. I have admired Karti’s flamboyance and the ease he brings to his performance. This film is no different. He brings a childlike enthusiasm that perfectly complements Swamy’s reflective mood, creating an authentic dynamic between the two. Together, they provide a masterclass in acting.
The background score by Govind Vasantha is hauntingly beautiful, with Kamal Haasan’s voice lending an extra layer of depth to a song that threads through crucial scenes. Govind Vasantha has always been open about his admiration of Ilayaraaja and has skillfully woven the maestro’s music into his scores in the past. In Meiyazhagan, “Andha Maan Undhan Sondha Maan,” a beautiful Raaja finds a place when Arul and his companion decide to sing a song during their drinking session. I am sure Govind Vasantha meant it as a tribute to his guru and not as an act of plagiarism. The last time around, when Govind Vasantha used a Raaja song, the maestro was irked. Hopefully, this time, that won’t happen. That aside, every note in the background score of this movie is meticulously paced and placed, blending seamlessly with the visuals.
Though Meiyazhagan did not achieve commercial success in theaters, it gained popularity on Netflix—a testament to the current trend of low-budget films finding a second life on streaming platforms. Produced by Surya and Jyothika, this film is an example of the importance of backing directors and stories that might otherwise struggle to enter mainstream cinema. While not all such films are universally acclaimed or as well done as this one, the industry needs supporters who nurture these cinematic experiments. A big shout-out to Surya’s production house for investing in such stories. With current superstars nearing retirement or pivoting to politics, Tamil cinema is ripe for a new era, one that I hope transcends meaningless violence and superficial narratives to make room for artistic depth. Meiyazhagan deserved a larger theatrical audience than what it got. Such patronage is a must to inspire more directors, writers, and technicians to push creative boundaries.
Do watch Meiyazhagan on Netflix. If you don’t understand Tamil, the subtitles will guide you. The film’s themes are universally resonant, and by the time the credits roll, you may find yourself nodding in appreciation.
It is strange that certain childhood memories are forgotten. The Person who drove us to school , the loving gardener , Watchman, connects , friends from senior classes , etc. , etc. Is it willful or way of destiny . we don’t know. Sometimes our passionate remembrances may not be reciprocated , as life moves on. A walk down the lane where you lived three decades ago , the School , the Gardens will whisper a story. And life goes on …..