If Ice Boys in Bell Bottoms was an adolescent Gopi’s life and times in the 1970s’ Madras (see MM, August 16, 2012), Krishna Shastri Devulapalli’s second book Jump Cut is the racy story of a US-based son, Satyajit Ray, flying to Chennai to be with his father, a gentlemanly screenplay writer who is literally heart-broken and lying forlorn in hospital all because of film-maker Raja Rajan who fancies himself to be a prima donna but in the eyes of Ray is a louse who picked the brains of his dear father, associate director T.K. Raman. Jump Cut, a film editing term, is set in a dog-eat-dog Kollywood. But not all the characters are hopeless cases. One of the production companies in the novel, B.K. Reddy Films, is shown as being not only honest but successful as well. In fact, the villain of the piece gets his comeuppance because of the minor characters who help Ray fight the morally just battle.

Right from page 1 of the book, Krishna writes and draws nice vignettes of Chennai. The prologue of the story starts off in a cinema hall where “the hall goes black without warning. No slow fadeout of lights like Satyam or Devi.” Chapter 1 moves to the present with Ray on his flight back from San Josè to Chennai looking out of his neighbour’s window and reflecting over the changes wrought in the skyline over the years from the time he saw Chennai on his first flight to it five years before. Whether it is Madras or Chennai, the one constant that is captured aptly is when Krishna writes about the flight landing at the Anna International Airport (many generations would have forgotten that once upon a time the airport was synonymous with the word Meenambakkam) and describes “a fat man, sweat pouring down his face…” The weather, of course.

Indicative of the fact that Chennai is expanding in all directions, there is one character who commutes to the city from Arakkonam. To be sure, there is also mention of a Karpagam Avenue where the old Madras still lives with the trees holding fort and a Bauhaus-style apartment complex overlooking a forest in the middle of the city, an allusion to the Theosophical Society grounds?

The description of a variety of cars like a Mercedes, BMW and a Maruti Swift parked in the compound of a beach house is suggestive of not only the present Chennai but of it also being one of the auto hubs of the country.

Again reading the depiction of a scene in a hospital, you are reminded of another face this city has, that of the ‘Mecca of healthcare.’ The characters are portrayed making a visit to the Life Smile Hospital, “the best in the city which had managed to woo the best medical talent available.” Of course, in the book there is no fairy tale ending as far as the hospital scene goes.

There are straightforward references to the PSBB Schools, to the mass heroes Ajith, Surya and Vijay, and to the then ruling chief minister M. Karuna-nidhi. The ghee is Aavin, the papers the Times, Express and Hindu, the beach, Kottivak-kam, the sweet shop, Adyar Mitthai Ghar (take-off on Shree Mitthai), the photocopy shop Students Xerox and even the crematorium, the one in Besant Nagar. Straight out of an everyday city street scene is the reference to some of our demonstrative funeral processions.

Offering a nice counterpoint to the now pervasive Hindi taglines in advertisements, Krishna’s characters mouth the local lingo, as like when in the wee hours of the morning the auto driver says, “Engay, Saar, Untime, Saar”, and “Enna Saar” when the auto putters along the East Coast Road. When Ray tries to take the help of a lawyer to seek justice for blatant copyright abuse, the lawyer’s rejoinder is in Tanglish: “Copyaav-dhu, Rightaa-vadhu….” and in another scenario, “Oh, IT-va Super” so on. Even correct Tamil is thrown in when the watchman of Sai Nivas Apartments in Alwarpet actually calls Ray a ‘kirukku’ (jerk) when he goes there at 2 in the morning. Of course, reflecting the reality in our metro today, there are also watchmen who speak Hindi.

Writing more about the book would give away the twists and turns of the plot. Suffice to say that Jump Cut is not only an enjoyable paean of a son to his father but of a cinephile to his craft. A most suitable story for our very own film industry which will soon complete a century.