Brand Ambassador Murali

Being the further of Hanuman Murali and friends

That Sunday was not going quite well, I could look up and the sun was everywhere, it meant two things. One obvious thing is summer and the other meant outdoor assignments.

This particular assignment had me tracking down the purchasing power of those in the city who frequented the jewel shops, it was no mean task. What began as a plain article involving statistics evolved into something 

which delved deep in the psychology of the people.

“Why did people buy gold in the first place?” I asked one of the small shop owners, he thought for a moment before saying “Because bhaiyya it is golden” he then laughed for quite a while, thinking very highly of his humor. I tried to keep up a smiling face, such things come with the job. Later I dropped the idea of a survey and thought of using the methods of iteration in arriving at the answer.

Moments later, I put down my pen and strolled down for coffee.

It was only during this time, that I received a call from Murali; he seemed cheerful than usual. The reason being he was filming again, he had finally landed himself an acting part and this time it was not for some mildly un-popular mythological television series but as a brand ambassador for a decent brand of cement.

 Starbright studios, which was not far from the Jazz office and I had pretty much given up on jewels and my legs naturally found my way there.

Meru Cement was not exactly well known, but people down south could identify themselves with the distinctive mountain logo and the sun orbiting it. As to how Murali was chosen as the brand ambassador is still unknown to 

me, but that doesn’t really matter.

Murali was there, in the chair usually reserved for super stars. He was in his element, talking to people around him as to how the studio looked many many years back; he acknowledged my presence by the raise of an eyebrow.

The director was a tense man and I knew him, I befriended nervous men and women easily. The whole set up kind of inherited the nervousness of the director, who later told me that the shooting was a hush-hush job.

The scene was simple, Murali dressed as Hanuman is supposed to be holding the Meru Cement sack instead of the Sanjivini parvat, this according to the director would instill faith in the minds of the people, as they associated hanuman with strength. A quality much desired in cements.

There was also another minor actor, who usually played the extra marital lover in Tamil serials dressed to be viewed as an engineer, his words again were around strength and trust, if not for visuals the ad might have been mistaken for a life insurance campaign, the high point of the shooting was that I was offered special tea and was offered a place near Murali.

Murali in full costume looked very much like Hanuman or at least’s the public’s perception as to how Hanuman would have looked, I have known frame artists who have used him as a model in their works.

“I could be the next Mr. McDonalds, you know” he said with some pride. “That’s Ronald Mcdonald for you, Murali” I tried to correct him.

He waved his hand in irritation, “you journalists are so entangled in names and facts, and it doesn’t matter. You clearly knew whom I was referring to”

This is the same Murali who walked five furlongs to the Madras Star office in Mylapore and threatened them to issue an apology for misprinting his age as 42, he was only 41 during the event had happened and I clearly remember walking all those five furlongs with him. But I never said a word more, even if I had there was no chance that it could be heard.

It was an attack! It was utter chaos! It was the MMF!

I looked back in the general direction of the noise, atleast forty people were running towards the spot. Even the mental question as to where the bloody watchman was, was answered by the old man being carried by the crowd. He was mouthing ‘Ayyo, ayyo’

The MMF was formed exactly 12 days before, it stood for Murder Meru Force and it meant business. The Meru cement factory which had come up rather abruptly in a Madras suburb and had ruined a small stream in the area, the existence of such a stream came to the limelight only after this outbreak, few people had died.

The MMF, apart from the fact that it had a campy name plunged into action, by breaking down billboards and burning posters of the cement company, much to the displeasure of the investors and to the entertainment of those who watched the afternoon news. I belonged to the happy party and I immediately recognized the seriousness of the happenings around me. Murali was not quite sharp, but he seemed to have picked it up minutes later.

The crowd somehow made order, a small man in the front with the tens of his followers waiting for that one word which could instigate a minor battle which the crumbling studio was not prepared for, it was a battle even the most flourishing of studios would surely be un- prepared for.

An uneasy silence prevailed, if you still didn’t count the non periodical wails of the hurled down watchman, no one showed him any care.

If it had been the time of Jesus Christ, there would have been a possibility of some sort of negotiation, but it was the time of Mafia Wars. Someone who was afraid to lead the group, but couldn’t enough of the action shouted in Tamil, “Even after our warnings, you continue to shoot for Meru cement! Daaaiiiiiii!!!!”

Daaaiiiiii!!! Became the war cry, I didn’t move, I didn’t even think about it; when the speed of action around you is unimaginable the brain and the motor nerves go on a short holiday.

They weren’t after us, it was only the equipment that faced the brutality of the thirty three people and the old studio floor came to the ground. I didn’t even realize how ironical that statement sounded in my head.

By now some big names of the electronic media had arrived, they began transmitting headlines such as ‘Mob demolishes historic studio’ and a t-shirt clad lady newspaper was making almost the same amount of noise as the mob inside, meanwhile I looked for Murali.

He arose from the fallen asbestos, he was mouthing something I was sure, but couldn’t make out because of his mask. I whisked him away from all the happenings and took an auto back home.

The late evening news had a different story to tell, some wise reporter had shot some footage of Murali coming out of the story, the news channel now had the headline “Mysterious Monkey Man behind studio attack” and what followed was a blurred video of a visually shaken man in full costume and the head was circled using red markers to highlight the same.

I immediately called the media office and explained to them the truth and was part of the changing news, the screen now said “Mystery monkey-man Identity revealed.” Disillusioned, I kept the receiver down. Murali while rubbing his wounds “you people never get anything right”

He was right,partially.