Kannathil Muthamittal Super Scenes | Adopted daughter's quest to find her birth mother | Madhavan

- Make a wish! - For what? - That we'll soon have a child. - A child? Who knows? Shyama... Dileepan, I want eight children. Is that okay with you? - I don't want any children. - Why not? - Because I don't. - Why not? Dileepa... Until there's peace, I don't want children. Not until there's peace in this country One day we will have peace. Then give me a child. Until then, no. I don't like that! What do you like? You mean when I'm at home? Or out here? At any time! I like some traits in some peopl

e. For example, Mottai Murali. He sent me a love letter in 10th grade. Then there's my brother's friend who comes to see me every holiday. I like him. He writes poems describing my beauty. I like the actor Kamal Haasan. But more than anything... ...I like you. And more than me? - God. - Then? Go home. Tell your father to take care of you. - And you? Don't leave me. - Shyama, I won't. I could never leave you. But we must stop guns firing. Go! Don't leave me, don't go away. Go! Hurry! Dileepa... G

o! Go, Shyama, go. She's nine today. Remember we decided to tell her the truth on her ninth birthday. This evening, not now. You'll have to tell her. I don't have the guts. What did you ask God to grant you? A big ask! To transfer my Tamil teacher to another department. What about you? You take her out. Come on. I'll tell you a true story. But don't ask me to suggest a good ending to you. This is not a story...it's about you, Amudha. I know. I'm 9 now. If I behave badly... ...talk back to my tea

chers... ...or whine about my mother, or... ...hide my maths marks... You're not our daughter. If I behave badly, you'll send me to live in the hostel. Amudha, listen! You're not our daughter. If I behaved badly, I wouldn't be. You weren't born to Indira and me. Indira didn't give birth to you. We adopted you when you were a baby. Come here. We love you more than we love ourselves. Akhil, Vinay? They were born to us. Amudha...sister! Can I sleep with you tonight, Amma? - Amma isn't talking to me

. - Why aren't you talking to her? I'm not talking to you. What's wrong with you? What do you lack here? We've done everything for you. - Sorry. - Throw your 'sorry' in the dustbin. - Didn't I say she's angry? - No crying! You've made us cry enough. Do you care about anyone but yourself? You're selfish. Did I bring you up to be so selfish? We almost died worrying. What have I done to deserve this? Sorry, Amma. Sorry, Amma. Please don't cry. Sorry, sorry. - Forget it. - You're still angry? No. Le

t me put these things away. You're not angry? Promise? Dearest Ma and Appa. Why are you smiling? If you write about this incident, we'll throttle you! How did you read my mind? Describe her to me. Why did you adopt me? We didn't adopt you. You adopted us. Have you started your next story? I want my 50 percent royalty share. - First do me a favour. - Nothing embarrassing, please! Forget it then. Okay, tell me. No, you won't like it. Don't keep me guessing. No, you won't agree. I will! You mustn't

say a word till we get there. - Can you do that? - What? Thiruselvan, I've read the story. You wrote it under another name. He borrowed my name. - How's your father? - Fine. - Your story was so moving. - Can we see the baby? - Sukanya. - Please come. A beautiful story, wasn't it? It made me cry. What's your name? Her name? You're such a great writer, and you can't think of a name? Shall I name her? Her first cry flowed out like nectar, like Amudham. Are you going to adopt her? No? Or are your i

deals confined to your writing? See, she's pointing in the direction of Sri Lanka. Does your mother live there? She left you and went away? You don't have anyone? My mother left me too. Is this engineer writing stories about you to make money? Ask him if writing is enough? Shall we get off at the next stop and go back? What if there's no bus going back? - I need to pee. - Think of something scary! Will the police catch us? Why are we going to Rameswaram? - To see whom? - My mother. Your mother's

in Madras. I saw her on TV yesterday. That's not my mother. My real mother's in Rameswaram. Her name is Shyama. MD Shyama. - Where's the bus stop? - Take an auto. Yes, that's right. Shyama, Mankulam village. A Sri Lankan refugee. 3 April 1991. A baby girl. She had a normal delivery. 2.5 kg. But she isn't here now. Where is she? Who knows! Who are you? What is your name? Name of your parents? Don't hit him. He's just a child. Why don't you listen to me? Stop hitting him! You keep quiet! Amudha!

Aren't you Thiruchelvan? How are you? Do you remember me? Our daughter Amudha came here. Where is she? Amudha? You mean the girl you adopted. I thought as much. My mother's not here, Appa. She's your mother. I'm your father. Where's my mother? She abandoned you nine years ago. She could be anywhere in the world right now. She may be back in her village. We don't even know if she's still alive. Is she dead? You want to see your mother, don't you? I'll take you to her. I'll take you. I promise. Ar

e you a Tamilian? Yes. Are you from this city? Yes. Is that the only Tamil word you know? Aren't you going to the function? - No. - Why not? - I don't like speeches. - Neither do I. They've come for my father. - Is that so? - He's a writer. He's written many stories under the name 'Indira'. - Haven't you read them? - No, I don't read stories. Some people say writing is a gift. And you must be born with that spark. An absolute lie. - Where's Amudha? - In the toilet. Take me for example. I'm an en

gineer. We have no writers in our family. They can write a letter but not a book. - She's not there. - But she was. 'They forgot that... '...they had faces.' - What does it mean? - This is not for you. My father reads books like this. My mother reads ladies' magazines. I have two sets of parents. One mother's name is Indira. My real mother's name is MD Shyama. We're here looking for her. What's your name? Amudha. Your name? Where's your mother? Why is your Tamil strange? It's Tamil too. To write

well, you need to be well educated. You need to observe things attentively. You need to see if someone else... ...can write your story better than you can. Where are your parents? In their village? Answer me.. Amma! I knew she'd be here. What are you doing here? How could you just run off? I was talking to him. He's a Tamilian. Is the meeting over? She's a chatterbox. Hope she wasn't a nuisance? She says her mother is here. So she told you that? We're going to Mankulam tomorrow to find her. Bye

! If you come to Madras, do visit us! 3rd Cross, Ashok Nagar. Anyone will show you Indira's house. All stories start from life and end with it. His book... No one wins in guerrilla warfare. But then no one loses either. It's a slow cancer. It's the same in South America. Palestine, Vietnam, Chechnya... ...Bosnia, Macedonia, everywhere. Why can't we live peacefully? The truth is, the people who make... ...Kalashnikov rifles, mortars, grenades, land mines... ...and bombs have a commercial interest

in war. Developed countries have stopped fighting, but developing countries... ...are used as testing grounds for weapons. Japan is the most peace-seeking nation... ...but they're no.1 in arms manufacturing. - Is there no end to war? - There is. We must throw our weapons in the sea. May be Amudha's generation will find a solution. He's from India. He's a famous Tamil writer. His name is Indira. Indira, say something! 'Our eyebrows are drooping. 'Our eyes closed, lips parched, teeth clenched. He

's a Tamilian! 'We talk, though our backs are bent. We, whom you rule over. 'Lock us up in cages. 'We talk, though our backs are bent. We, whom you rule over. 'Flay us with staves. Let the skin on our backs fester. 'One day our eyebrows will arch again, our closed eyes will open again. 'Our puckered lips will throb, our clenched teeth will grind. 'Rule over us till then. Flaunt your power over us.' Indira! Famous Tamil writer. I've seen his photographs. He's the writer Indira. Are you sure? - Wa

it! What's your name? - Wickram. - Full name? - Harold Wickramasinghe. A Sinhala. Move away! He brought me here. You crazy? You enter this area without permission and with a Sri Lankan. He came to help me. He's taking us to meet a woman called Shyama. - Shyama? - That's right, my friend. Shyama. Why are you looking for her? We have her daughter with us. We adopted her years ago. She wants to see her mother. Do you know Shyama? - Yes, I do. - Can we see her? - My chest hurts. - It's nothing. Indi

ra sir, famous writer. This is the real Indira. And this is Amudha. Won't you sit down? Amudha has brought you something. My album. Photos when I was a toddler. Dance too It has my poem too. I won a prize for it. There are photos with me and Kamal Haasan, AR Rahman. And grandpa. Akhil and Vinay. Won't you look at them? Do you have a photo of you? She's written some questions she wanted to ask you. Twenty questions. May I? Go on. Why did you leave me and go away? There was trouble. I was a refuge

e. I was forced to leave. I had no choice. Who is my father? Can I see him? Did you hold me when I was born? Did I cry? Did I laugh? They took you away a minute after you were born. I touched you once with my finger. That was all. Ask her. You can hold her now. I didn't want to cry. Amma, ask her to come with us. Let's take her to Madras. You tell her, Appa. She'll listen to you. There's no war. No army in Madras. We can watch TV and go to the movies. We can go to the beach. I have work here. Yo

u can do your work later. Please say yes. You have brought her up well. Thank you. Don't go. Come with us. Or take me with you. He is your father. She is your mother. Don't go. Someday there will be peace in this country. - Then come back to me. - But when? When, Amma? When, Appa? Amma When, Ma? Ma! Amma Amma Amma Don't. If you call me like that, I can't go. Mother... Hold me one last time. Then you can go.