The Poetry of Raasathi Unna

A kite becomes the heart. A cuckoo becomes a voice. A woman becomes a creeper, a river, a star, Sangam Tamil itself. A man becomes an empty sky waiting for a cloud. And yet, strangely, the line that affects me the most in this song is not one of those grand metaphors. It is something painfully ordinary.

“Pozhudhaagi pochu
Velakethiyaachu…”

It has become late. The lamp has been lit. And you still haven’t come.

Core of the song:

“Raasathi unna kaanaadha nenju
Kaathaadi polaadudhu.”

My heart, unable to see you, is fluttering like a kite. At first, it sounds like something you might hear in any village love song. But think about a kite. A kite is never still. It is pulled one way, then another. It responds to forces it cannot control. It rises, falls, trembles, turns. And most importantly, a kite is stable only because something holds it. A string. So perhaps the heart here is not dancing because it is happy. Perhaps it is restless because the person holding it steady is absent.

Naakil Nadanamaadum Varigal:

“Kannukkoru vannakili
Kaadhukkoru gaanakkuyil
Nenjukkoru vanjikkodi needhaanamma.”

For the eyes, a colourful parrot. For the ears, a singing cuckoo. For the heart, a graceful creeper.

Eye. Ear. Heart. Something for everything.

My favorite use of words is Vanjikkodi (a creeper). She is not simply someone his heart loves. She is something that has grown around his heart like a creeper. Intertwined.

Man and his vocabulary for his beloved:

Look at the language used in beginning lines: “Pochu…” “Aachu…” “Onna…”

It is casual spoken Tamil. The kind of language that belongs naturally to a man who is from the village .

And then, when he begins describing her:

“Vanjikkodi…”
“Thanga chimizh…”
“Sanga Tamizh…”
“Natchathiram…”

His vocabulary suddenly becomes poetic. And the best part is tt still feels natural. Almost as though love itself is forcing him to find better words. He speaks in the language of everyday life. But ordinary language is no longer enough to describe what she means to him. So he becomes Vaali!

The lover gives up:

“Yaarodu ingu enakkenna pechu
Needhaane kanne naan vaangum moochu.”

What do I have to talk about with anyone else?

You are the breath I take.

The lyric becomes very direct suddenly. All the beautiful metaphors were attempts to explain her. Now he gives up. You. That's all.

Needhaane.

And then he compares her to perhaps the most basic requirement of human existence. Breath. Something we do without thinking. Something we cannot live without.

And once you know Vellaisamy's story in Vaidehi Kaathirundhaal, that line becomes much harder to hear casually.

Because Vaidehi eventually dies. The person he calls his breath disappears.

And Vellaisamy does not die with her. He continues breathing. That may actually be the tragedy. He lives after losing the very person he once described as life itself.

The broken Vellaisamy we later see almost feels like the answer to this one lyric:

What happens when the person you called your breath is gone, but your body keeps breathing anyway?

The song gives Vaidehi a role in every part of his existence. And then the story removes her. One by one, every metaphor becomes an absence. In a strange way, Rasaathi Unna becomes a blueprint for his grief.

There are many more little details in the song that become more clearer when you read the words slowly rather than letting them pass with the melody (looking at you Raaja haha) To experience the song alongside every line, read the complete lyrics of and then listen to it once again.