(Note: I wrote two pieces on my Facebook page: one on 5th December 2016 (Part 1) and one on 4th December ( Part 2) – the day it was publicly announced that Jayalalitha had passed away. Part 1 is an eulogy, and Part 2 is a reminiscence about her extraordinary life. Together, they form a tribute to one of the most accomplished female leaders of the last hundred years. At her peak, there was no other leader who wielded more power and authority than her. Her word was command; when she stood, others kneeled. How Jayalalita transformed herself from an intensely private woman with no political aspirations into someone who led a party filled with powerful men ( many of whom despised her) and bent them to her will is still a psychological mystery. On her eighth death anniversary, I bring together both these pieces as I wrote them without any revisions to my blog)
Part 1 ( December 5th 2016)
When I wrote this piece yesterday, I consciously kept the thought of Jayalalithaa’s death away from my mind. But now, she has been officially declared dead, and what was written as a tribute to a living person all of a sudden becomes something of the past—an obituary, a chronicle frozen in time and space. Such is the thin line dividing life and death. It will forever remain a mystery when life actually ebbed out of this tenacious, strong-willed lady. All that we have with us are fragments of press releases and contradictory statements from different sources. However, the hard truth is that for the last two and a half months, the outside world, her devoted fans and followers, had no clue about their beloved “Amma.”
It was an odd predicament for people who adored Jayalalitha—not to see her on television or in person or hear her fluent speeches in chaste Tamil. Prayers and wishes in abundance were offered to all possible gods and goddesses to ensure her good health and return. But she didn’t. To the people of Tamil Nadu, the living presence of their dearest leader was more important than anything else—more than their families and children. We saw that during MGR’s lifetime and death, and this time around, we may have to witness a similar situation with Jayalalithaa as well. Both of them carried the aura of filmdom into their political lives.
The strong influence of cinema on the public psyche and the fiction of immortality portrayed on screen spilling over into public life is nowhere better illustrated than in the governance of Tamil Nadu. For more than three decades, the state has been governed by people with affiliations to filmmaking. And with Jayalalithaa’s death, that era has come to an end. The political landscape now seems clear of the mesmerizing influence of cinema—unless someone else rises to fill that void, which seems very unlikely.
In my mind, Jayalalithaa was a capable leader. Though her origins were in cinema, she groomed herself through fire and brimstone to become what she eventually became. In fact, her last tenure as Chief Minister promised to be her best. She had broken free of all charges against her and was poised to govern the state with the diadem of statesmanship, not with vote-winning measures and tactics. Her erstwhile opposition, in the form of the DMK led by an aged Karunanidhi and his fractious sons, was weak. There was no competition. She could govern with confidence, knowing well there was no opposition worth the name. Destiny, though, had other plans for her.
History may record her chief ministership with mixed feelings, but for sheer grit, determination, and making the best of an opportunity, she had no peer. When I close my eyes and remember those solemn moments during MGR’s funeral, when she sat grieving the loss of her mentor, I recall watching her among hundreds of others. She sat alone alongside her mentor with a sad, silent, grieving face, ignored by everyone present. Little would anyone have realized that beneath her calm and grieving exterior lay a surging fire and insatiable ambition fueled by disappointments and betrayals in her earlier life.
Her biggest strength was that she trusted no one, listened to everyone, and finally did what she wanted. Nobody could take her for granted. She kept an emotional distance from all. Powerful men groveled at her feet, only to be dismissed with disdain and a smirking smile. She wielded power—like Cleopatra—because she was mysterious in her dealings with everyone around her.
I am sure at some point, she must have felt tremendously lonely. Despite the adoration of millions, there was really no one on whose shoulders she could unconditionally cry. Sasikala was the closest she had to a friend, but even that relationship soured in the later stages. In effect, she died as the lonely protégé of Dr. MGR, whose legacy she proudly carried till the last day of her life.
We will remember her for a long time. A well-deserved rest awaits her yonder.
Part 2: ( December 4th 2016)
The first vivid memory I have of Jayalalithaa is of her clad in a white saree, elegant and subdued, 38 years of age then—standing in an open van rearranging flowers and garlands on the lifeless body of her mentor, the late Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu, Dr. MGR, in 1987, alongside his wife and other senior party functionaries. It was a jam-packed funeral procession. Even Gandhi wasn’t sent off with as emotional a farewell as MGR was. MGR was a demi-god to Tamilians, and now they were orphaned.
Atop that van stood all the potential inheritors of his legacy, including his aged and innocent wife and ambitious party veterans. It was clear that one among that motley crowd would assume the mantle of power, but nobody could guess who or how. Furthermore, the slice of memory that stands out from the funeral procession is of Jayalalithaa being pushed, jostled around, and not given her legitimate place beside her friend, political guru, a co-actor in more than 24 movies, and, importantly, a man who inspired her to live a life beyond the world of tinsel town. She was an outsider in the party, and not many liked MGR’s closeness to her. Her presence in that funeral procession wasn’t welcomed at all.
But there, on top of that van, was the true beginning of Jayalalithaa’s political career. She was insulted in public, and she channeled that anger into carving out for herself an astounding political career in the state of Tamil Nadu and, to a certain extent, nationally as well. Until then, her Rajya Sabha membership and the post of party propagandist were only appetizers and a platform for something bigger, vaster, and deeper than anyone could have imagined.
For the next twenty-five years, she would end up ruling Tamil Nadu six times, each time coming back with greater majority and resolve than ever. She ruthlessly subdued any dissension, singlehandedly dismantled the most potent political structure in the state—that of the DMK—and endeared herself to her people, much like her mentor, her guru MGR, did. It was one heck of a life, lived in all its glory and tribulations. Her death, whenever that happens, will be the end of an era—not merely for her and her party but for politics in Tamil Nadu as a whole.
The young girl Jayalalithaa Jayaram could have become anything she wanted. She was an accomplished singer and dancer and could play several musical instruments with flair and grace. She was brilliant, educated in the best of schools, and spoke English, Tamil, Kannada, and Telugu with equal fluency and mastery. She stood first in her tenth-grade statewide examination, winning a gold medal. She could act with effortless ease under the insistence of her persuasive mother, completing films during her holiday breaks and then moving on to resume her studies with no trouble at all.
She was mysteriously beautiful: dove-eyed, with a symmetrical face and an hourglass figure—which every woman loved to possess. She could carry herself with grace, dignity, and coquetry, both in traditional sarees and modern outfits. She was the first female actor to wear a skirt on screen in Tamil cinema. Her contagious smile, childlike laughter, quicksilver tongue, and erudite repartee could captivate anyone within her orbit in no time. She could hold an educated audience spellbound with the depth of her oratory and the width of her arguments. A born leader, friends and colleagues gathered around her like bees around a honeycomb. With her in a room, there couldn’t be a second. What more could a young lady want by way of natural gifts? She possessed all of them in ample measure. It was up to her to decide what she wanted to be, and that decision was made when she fell into the charm and glamour of MGR’s political life.
Dr. MGR inducted her into politics only because he needed an educated, articulate, and savvy face for his party at the national level. Jayalalithaa’s natural flair and grace were felt and are still remembered in the upper houses of Parliament. She didn’t get to make too many speeches, but the ones she did make left their mark on listeners. It was clear she was a lady with great determination and willpower.
MGR knew her well enough. When one has acted in over twenty movies with a co-star, they will inevitably get to know each other deeply. Though MGR had a family and a public image to keep up, he encouraged Jayalalithaa to become his shadow. MGR’s sharp political acumen perceived the pulse of his people well. He realized that after him, if there were somebody they would adore with the same intensity as himself, it would have to be Jayalalithaa. He understood that. But, unfortunately, MGR was not open about it. His death in 1987 tore open the seams of the party, and volcanoes of dissension and hatred erupted. Like a well-mentored protégé, Jayalalithaa weathered those gathering storms with tact and poise, biding her time. And when it eventually came, she proved herself the undisputed queen of the AIADMK party. What had split into two factions now became one—with Jayalalithaa as its unanimous leader. This was in the early nineties, and she has not looked back since.
Over the last two decades, she has matured with every tenure. The initial lure of power, wealth, and sycophancy slowly gave way to a more balanced and refined approach to chief ministership. She was, and is still, dictatorial. One cannot otherwise govern a land that is still predominantly male-chauvinistic. She had to have an iron grip, and she learned that art painfully but quickly—how to hold the reins of a male-dominated party together.
It is not the purpose of this essay to go into her political entanglements. It will suffice to say that every challenge thrown at her was faced with courage, conviction, and bravado that comes when one knows destiny beckons and nothing can stop the outcome.
Personally, I wonder how Jayalalithaa herself would have looked at her life in retrospect. Would she have done anything differently? Gifted as she was in all departments of life, would she have chosen to remain an actor? She was obviously good and critically acclaimed as an artist. Or would she have loved to continue her education? The best colleges were opening their doors to her at a time when not many girls were encouraged to study. Or would she have never traded the allure and taste of politics and power for anything else that life may have had to offer?
Well, she chose to remain in politics. That answers the question, I guess. The inexorable flow of time and circumstances carries each ship on its course. No matter how multifaceted or gifted one is, one realizes that not much is within control. We must accept our destinies with stoic firmness and do the best we can.
This has turned out to be a rather lengthy essay. I began writing this when I heard the rumor today (we don’t know for sure) that she suffered a cardiac arrest and is back in the CCU. It was raining outside, and all of a sudden, I felt like penning my thoughts on this remarkable lady. Hers has been a tiring, struggling, and eventful journey to reach where she is right now—a beloved leader for whom millions will wait in heat and rain to catch a fleeting glimpse of her. Such adulation does not come quickly, and definitely not to everybody.
But for now, she needs rest and peace. I hope and pray she finds both very soon.