Arthi's words - cigarette, baby, Kamalhassan
Neha's take
Being married to a man in the Army wouldn't be easy. This much she knew. But it was in the moment that her son was born that the first vein burst. Smelling of cigarette and red sand, the Brigadier walked in and congratulated the Officer and the Wife. He looked down and said, "What a handsome Baba!". Baba? In Army parlance, Baby had become female and hence, the male offspring was referred to as Baba. Postpartum, the word reminded her of the Rajnikanth in that awful movie. Maybe she should have married Gangadhar. He had preferred Kamal Haasan anyway.
Chandru's take
So, there I was, smoking the last of the day's cigarettes, listening to my whiny radio tear asunder Ilaya Nila. Thoughts fly on tangents, as they are prone to. I wonder what happened to that cousin of mine, whom we called Baby, and his obsession with clean bathroom floors. Which reminds me, I wanted to see Raja Parvai. Where Kamal Hassan is a blind man. I might have something to teach him - after all, I have been blind for 20 of my 20 years.
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"Baby chellam, I need some coffee as I need a cigarette. This Kamalhassan is driving me nuts with his over acting." He screamed, pausing the DVD.
In the kitchen, she froze. And as rage turned her face crimson, she spat into his coffee cup before she stepped out to serve him.
He often wondered if he should let go off everything and just smoke a cigarette. As if burning that piece of stick and breathing in the smoke it procreates would make all the difference. No difference, it would make, he seemed to reason. Having come to terms with that, he started smoking, quite incessantly like Kamal Haasan in Nizhal Nijamaagiradhu. And, then, like any man with a likable degree of indulgence would do, he romanticized it, as if on general principle.
"Ah! The smoke that goes out in the air, you know, seems to have a life of its own!" He beamed at his wife in a moment of vulnerability. Now, his wife wants a baby.
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