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Penned by director N. Krishna and A.C.Durai, SOK has two love stories in it: one, a mature love story of a husband and wife brought together through an arranged marriage and the other, a breezy but passionate college love story. The movie begins with Kundavi (Jyothika) talking about her childhood days with her two best-friends, Tamizh and Subbu. As young girls, they swear on their Gods that when they get married, it will only be through love marriage because they believe that it is the only way that they will be able to find true love. Tamizh and Subbu are lucky enough to have their way, but Kundavi is forced to tie the knot with Gowtham (Surya).
Its ironic how this real life couple (they got married three days after the movie released on 11 September 2006) look utterly dull and gloomy on their wedding day. It becomes clear that Gowtham is also not happy with the union as he is seen sending text messages during the ceremony. Kundavi feels that her life is doomed forever. However, cut to Mumbai, six-years later where Kundavi and Gowtham are both working professionals. They are living a happy and contented life full of romance which they attribute to the fact that they had an arranged marriage and fell in love after getting married. They have a five-year old daughter, Aishwarya, who they lovingly call Aishu.
Gowtham gets a chance to go to New York for a few days and this is when Kundavi comes across an old diary of Gowtham’s from his college days. She learns from the dairy,that Gowtham was not only in love with a girl from his college, Aishu (Aishwarya, played by Bhoomika Chawla) but was also married to her for a while. On the day of their register marriage, Aishu’s father, who is an MP, comes with some of his men who beat Gowtham black and blue and take Aishu away forcefully. Gowtham and his friends try to look for her everywhere but in vain. Eventually, Gowtham, as a dying wish of his uncle’s, agrees to marry Kundavi. At the end of the diary, Gowtham writes that if he could spend one day with Aishu, then that would be equivalent to spending an entire lifetime with her.
Kundavi, still shocked and unable to come to terms with her husband’s past, avoids him after he returns from New York. She even goes down to Gowtham’s village, Kovai, to meet up with Aishu, who has spent the last 6 years in Australia and has come down to visit her ailing mother. Kundavi grants her husband his wish and invites Aishu to spend that one day with him so that he may not have any regrets later. What happens after that, whether Gowtham goes back to Kundavi or not is what makes the story line interesting.
The performances by the lead actors are also commendable. The character changes that Surya and Bhoomika’s characters go through have been well-handled by the two actors. But it is Jyothika who melts your heart with her performance as the selfless wife who goes to extremes to prove her devotion and love for her husband. Also, the chemistry shared by the real life couple, Jyothika and Surya, should be another reason for watching the movie.
Director N.Krishna has done a wonderful job as a director (He has also penned the screenplay and the dialogues). It is difficult to keep the audiences engrossed to a movie where the story only moves forward towards the end of the first half. But he does so with great ease and his talent is seen in the way he manages to maintain the pace of the movie and capture the emotions of the two love stories which are diametrically opposite to each other. He is able to keep the narrative alive inspite of an otherwise static story-line of the first half. However, the narrative suddenly seems to speed up especially towards the end of the movie as if he is trying to make up for lost time.
However, that is just one flaw in an otherwise impeccable narrative. Also the second half of the movie with its twists and turns, keeps the audience glued to their seats. This is another example of a strong script and good direction. Director N.Krishna has an able team of technicians supporting him throughout, beginning with cinematographer R.D.Rajasekhar.
Rajasekhar’s camera-work is the stuff genius is made of. How he manages to infuse life into an otherwise simple story-line is what gives the narrative the extra edge. Watch out for the various camera-angles he has used in the scene where their daughter is trying to take something off the over-head cabinet in the kitchen (a simple but over-used scene in many ads and movies). Such innovations in camera-work are a rarity in case of love-stories, but that’s the creative genius of R.D.Rajasekhar. His creativity is especially noticeable in the song ‘New York nagaram’, arguably the best shot song of the movie.
The movie has been edited by Anthony, who keeps the flow of the movie smooth and easy-going. The music is another winner. With A.R.Rahman at the helm of it, how can it go wrong anyway? Each song in the movie actually helps to move the story forward. Munbe vaa, the love song of the year, captures the pangs of young love beautifully whereas ‘New York Nagaram’ sung by Rahman himself, is an ode to a love that is mature and realistic, yet youthful. The imaginative and romantic lyrics are the handiwork of renowned Indian poet, Vaali, whose lyrics appeal to the both the romantic and not-so romantic types.
All in all, SOK is worth-while effort and a must-watch for all the romantic movie buffs.
That’s what Adam kept whispering as he waited for the ambulance. At 16, he was trapped in a mangled minivan, his spine twisted at the seventh thoracic vertebrae. He was in so much pain he knew he couldn’t be dead.
“I’m alive,” he repeated, both to stay that way and to count his blessings.
I met him 24 years later, when we were both in our 40s. By then he was zipping around in a sporty wheelchair. When I asked how he had become a paraplegic, he told me about the accident (his friend driving, sober but going too fast), about his weeks in the hospital and months in rehab. About the agonizing surgery to fuse his spine, and then counseling, where he was encouraged to mourn his old life and accept this new one.
An “incomplete paraplegic,” he still has some feeling and motion below his injury. Meaning, yes, he could have sex.
Which was good to know. After we started seeing each other, that was the first question my friends asked.
I was crazy about Adam. I told him everything about my life: my abusive father, complicated mother, failed relationships, professional crises (and successes). He told me of his post-college depression, of working in gang intervention programs and litigation, of his relationships with women (which had been good but complicated).
Soon we were living together in my tiny beach cottage with my timid rescue Labrador and his aggressive rescue pug, laughing so hard, the dogs barked. It was joyous.
Joyous and steamy. I had decided that however good the sex was or wasn’t, we would be O.K. But when we crossed that threshold, it was better than either of us had imagined it could be.
A year later we got engaged and bought a neglected but beautiful house three blocks from the Rehoboth Beach, Del., boardwalk. I imagined having sex in the private outdoor shower, in our vintage bed with lemony sheets
WE MOVED IN, AND FOR TWO WEEKS, DESPITE THE EXHAUSTION OF UNPACKING, WE FLOATED ON A CLOUD OF LOVE AND NEW BEGINNINGS. THEN SOMETHING CHANGED, AND WE STOPPED HAVING SEX COMPLETELY.
Here’s the thing about Adam and me. Despite all appearances, with him being disabled, I actually consider myself to be the less “able” person in the relationship. People may assume that Adam is dependent on me, but I think it’s the other way around: He’s the stronger one, and I rely more on him.
At first it seemed he could do almost everything on his own, balancing against his Subaru and tossing the wheelchair into the hatchback, then maneuvering in and driving off, using hand controls. In the morning he would walk the dogs while I slept. He handled most of the grocery shopping and cooking. And he had his emotional house
AS FOR ME, ALTHOUGH I LIKE TO JOKE ABOUT MY “CRAZY” CHILDHOOD (IN SCHOOL UNTIL 3, A SCREAMING MOTHER UNTIL EVENING AND AN ABUSIVE FATHER INTO THE NIGHT), IT WAS NO LAUGHING MATTER. I’M O.K. NOW, BUT FOR A LONG TIME I WASN’T.
After two failed marriages, decades of messes and, finally, self-forgiveness, I was still trying to extricate myself from that emotional cellar when I met Adam. Before him, I had never felt love, security and happiness with a good man I adored.
That’s why people who think Adam would be lost without me have it backward. After his world fell apart at 16, he rebuilt it, year after year, and now he is a fortress. My world was also blasted apart when I was a child, but I’m just getting a handle on it now. In many ways, it’s as if I’m trying to escape from a crushed minivan of my own and having to remind myself, just as he once did, that I’m O.K., that I’m alive.
In my one-story cottage, Adam’s using a wheelchair didn’t affect us much. But in the house we had bought, the entrance ramp wasn’t finished and it had three floors, so until it was fixed up, he had to depend on me to get him in, out and around
In addition to my full-time work, I was the one now running the errands and walking the dogs. I was the one hauling moldy beach umbrellas, warped books and broken coolers to the growing pile of trash in the backyard. To get those ramps and grab bars installed, I was also the one supervising carpenters, painters and stonemasons.
One evening after the contractors left, Adam, trying to help, picked up a heavy box of discarded bathroom tiles and other trash and headed for the pile outside. As he rolled toward our mudroom, the box slipped off his lap, sending dozens of filthy tiles crashing to the floor along with someone’s leftover Big Gulp cup, which splashed soda over freshly painted walls.
I didn’t know whether to scream, cry or run away. Instead, I said: “Leave me alone! I don’t need your help.”
Adam disappeared, and I cleaned up alone, crying.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered as I swept and scrubbed. Not this house or this
AFTERWARD, TOO WORKED UP TO SLEEP, I LEASHED FRED (MY DOG FROM PRE-ADAM DAYS) AND HEADED INTO THE NIGHT. SOON I STOOD AT MY OLD COTTAGE, JUST BLOCKS AWAY.
I admired the striped curtains in the window. Inside I could see my gorgeous old bookcase, which I had carted with me through six moves, having to finally abandon it because it didn’t fit the airy coastal cottage feeling we wanted. Now I missed it, and Fred was staring (with longing, I thought) at his former backyard.
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CreditBrian Rea
“Do you wish we were still here, just us?” I asked.
Immediately I wanted to reel back my words. I didn’t want to return to that life any more than I wanted Adam to “leave me alone.
I THOUGHT OF HOW HE HAD TRIED TO HELP, EVEN THOUGH HE, TOO, WAS EXHAUSTED. I THOUGHT OF THE TIME HE DROVE FOR TWO HOURS SO I COULD RUN INTO STORES TO FIND THE CARAMELS MY GRANDMOTHER LIKES FOR HER BIRTHDAY; OF HOW HE STOCKS ICE CREAM SANDWICHES FOR ME AND QUIETS THE DOGS EVERY MORNING WHEN HE RISES WITH THEM SO I CAN SLEEP. I FELT OVERCOME WITH LOVE FOR HIM.How could I have been searlier?
Back home, he was asleep in our bed. I crawled quietly in to my side, feeling love for him but still not wanting to touch. I hated the distance between us, but I couldn’t overcome it. Sex had always been a positive and passionate thing for us. Now, I not only didn’t want to have sex, I also couldn’t even get close.One night I went online and looked up “spinal cord injuries” and “premature death.” Then I read for hours, confirming what I had always suspected but hadn’t contemplated: how susceptible he is to blood clots, infections and gangrene. The summer before, Adam had fallen asleep on a heating pad, never feeling it cooking his skin. The burn took months to heal, leaving a postcard-size scar.
It made me crazy with fear. “I can’t take it if you die from something we could have controlled,” I told him
HE KISSED MY HEAD. “WE DON’T CONTROL ANYTHING.”I snapped at him to stop the Zen stuff.
Reading online that night, I knew I was right. His injury had devastated him long ago, and he had recovered. He was strong. But he was not as strong as I needed him to be. He was not strong enough to keep me from losing hiWe went about our days, fixing up the house. We bought a couch and cushions for a rocker. From a vintage fabric book, I chose a pattern to reupholster an armchair: faded roses on faded blue. I loved it
Adam hated it. I knew he would.
“This is what I’d do if you died,” I said, tapping the fabric sample, feeling the tears coming. “I’d do the whole house in faded flowers and turn it into a home for troubled ladies. Because I’d want to help people, and I don’t really think I could go on without you. But maybe, if I had some ladies here who had been beaten by their terrible boyfriends, I could tell them how good you were, and help them with their kids.”
“Would there be a portrait of me over the fireplace?” he asked.
I laughed.
“You’d find love again,” he said. “Or have your home for ladies. Or both.
I’M TERRIFIED OF LOSING YOU,” I FINALLY SAID. “AND SOMETIMES I HATE YOU FOR IT.”
He nodded, as if he had been waiting for me to figure that out all along. “O.K.,” he said. “But I’m not going anywhere. At least not this week.”
I had a yard full of trash, a house in disarray and a Prince Charming in a wheelchair. But he was my love, and this was my life. And that night we pulled our bodies close, hoping to press ourselves together for as long as we both shall live.
