“En iniya Thamizh makkale (My dear Tamil people),” the prefatory line marinated in love and warmth, has now become part of the mists of time. Legendary director Bharathiraja would utter these words as a preamble just before his celluloid offerings commenced.

It was his classic signature, one that hinted at another film rooted in Tamil Nadu’s landscape and pulsating with its rural heart. When Bharathiraja passed away on Wednesday (June 10, 2026), Tamil cinema lost one of its greatest auteurs. Ailing at 84, and being heartbroken after losing his son Manoj last year, the director, who launched a multitude of actors and directors, was in his twilight.

Also Read : Tributes pour in as Bharathiraja passes away | Live updates

The Rajinikanth-Kamal Haasan duopoly may have its roots in the K. Balachander school, but it was Bharathiraja who offered them the road not taken through his stellar 16 Vayadhinile, also starring a wonderful Sridevi. The 1977 hit, steeped equally in the innocence and misogyny typical of a village, was the stuff of legend, and it yanked Tamil cinema from the stuffy confines of studios, and made outdoor shooting the preferred norm.

Dreaded don to dear grandfather: Actor Bharathiraja’s many faces

Paddy fields, sugarcane farms and palm trees may have been his preferred background, but the versatile genius could also make a serial killer film, Sigappu Rojakkal, with Kamal doing a villainous turn. Bharathiraja delved into social issues with gusto, he held a mirror, never flinched and his range was broad.

There was women’s emancipation in Pudhumai Penn, the tender romance between an older man and a younger woman in Mudhal Mariyadhai with thespian Sivaji Ganesan and Radha dishing out a bravura performance, and a scathing expose on female foeticide in Karuthamma. The perils of caste were focused upon in Vedham Pudhithu, and equally, Bharathiraja could helm a commercial revenge saga through Oru Kaidhiyin Diary, also remade in Hindi as Aakhree Raasta.

He launched a slew of heroines ranging from Radikaa to Revathi, and had this fetish of renaming his heroines with names starting with R. Actor Karthik too debuted under Bharathiraja in Alaigal Oivathillai. Fine music was intrinsic in this ace director’s movie adventures, and to this day, there is chatter both about Nizhalgal’s script and songs. Be it Ilaiyaraaja or A. R. Rahman, Bharathiraja could tap into their soul and glean their finest creative outputs.

He also inspired his assistant directors to carve their own path, and K. Bhagyaraj, R. Parthiban and Pandiarajan all evolved from the Bharathiraja school of thought. Bhagyaraj, out of reverence, always referred to Bharathiraja as ‘enga director’, and it was a bond that lasted decades.

As age and ailments caught up, Bharathiraja found a second wind in acting. Be it the wily politician in Mani Ratnam’s Ayudha Ezhuthu or the old stuntmaster in Mohan Lal’s Malayalam blockbuster Thudarum, the former director invested gravitas and believability to these characters.

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Supremely aware of his craft and very secure in his domain, Bharathiraja encouraged young talent. Always effusive in his praise, he would say in his unique English: “What a fellow, what a film, look at that climax, the framing, I told myself ‘dei Bharathiraja nee out’.” When he appreciated Mari Selvaraj’s Pariyerum Perumal, it metaphorically signalled the passing of the baton from one rural cinematic master to another peering hard at the Tamil hinterland.

Like the title of one of his hits, Mann Vasanai, Bharathiraja’s films evoked the smell of the soil. As Tamil filmdom lapsed into grief, his films will stand the test of time, reminding us of a man, hailing from the leeward side of the Western Ghats, moving to Madras, while his affectionate gaze remained locked on the villages he left behind.

Published – June 10, 2026 09:10 am IST

Actor Sivakumar has penned a tribute to director Bharathiraja, who passed away in early hours of June 10, 2026:

There may have been controversies surrounding him. At times, he may have spoken impulsively and emotionally. He may have carried the bitter experiences of youth and possessed the convictions often found in village folk.

Yet, no one can deny that Bharathiraja was one of Tamil cinema’s greatest filmmakers. No one can claim the distinction of authentically portraying Tamil Nadu’s villages on the screen.

He started off as a man from a village and carved a unique place for himself by portraying village life.

A look at the history of Tamil cinema makes this clear. In its early years, cinema adapted Puranas. Later, it focused largely on the lives of the upper classes.

Even Parasakthi, despite its social message, did not truly depict the lives of ordinary rural people. It largely reflected a certain urban milieu. There are films about kings, the wealthy, and devotional subjects.

Even director Bhimsingh, who gave family relationships a central place in his films, largely portrayed urban middle- and upper-class life. K. Balachander’s films reflected the Brahmin and upper-class worlds he knew. You cannot blame him. He grew up in that milieu.

But it was Bharathiraja who, for the first time, brought the villages of southern Tamil Nadu—especially those around Madurai—alive before our eyes.

It was a revolution. A monumental revolution.

He shattered the notion that authentic village life could not be portrayed on screen. He showed the dusty, drought-stricken landscapes, the quiet beauty of rural existence, and the simple yet profound lives of ordinary people.

He captured their affection, innocence, anger, stubbornness, tenderness, and contradictions. He gave voice and form to people who had never truly been seen in Tamil cinema.

What he began was an era.

It was because of him that rural gems such as Ilaiyaraaja and Vairamuthu found opportunities to reach the pinnacle of their careers. His success, the success of kindling the rural sensibility that made people enjoy it, opened doors in Tamil cinema. He broke open doors that had remained shut.

How can Bharathiraja ever be forgotten?

In a world where those who leave their native soil for job opportunities in cities forget their soil and do not respect its people, Bharathiraja remained different. He deeply loved his soil and its people, as they and their lives had left a deep impact on him.

Even after becoming a city dweller, the mind of a villager never changed.

He portrayed the stories he loved through the characters of the people he knew. What he cherished, Tamil Nadu cherished as well. It celebrated him by elevating him to great heights.

From 16 Vayathinile to Kadal Pookkal, how many masterpieces did he create?

Kadalora Kavithaigal, Alaigal Oivathillai, Vedham Pudhithu, Kizhakku Cheemayile, Karuthamma, and so many others have become milestones in Tamil cinema. Above all stands Mudhal Mariyadhai, one of the greatest classics ever made.

Watch his films closely. They did not just promote him; they nurtured generations of artists. Directors, actors, actresses, technicians—countless careers blossomed because of him.

An accomplished filmmaker must take a story that has moved him, transform it into cinema, hold audiences spellbound for 2.30 hours, and leave them emotionally transformed and attached to the film. Bharathiraja mastered that art.

Consider 16 Vayathinile and K. Balachander’s Nizhal Nijamagiradhu. At their core, they share similar themes. Yet 16 Vayathinile remains etched in popular memory in a way that the latter does not. It is because Balachander’s film belonged to an urban world, while Bharathiraja wove the story against the backdrop of a rural landscape. Deep within, many of us are villagers; the DNA of the village runs through our blood. That emotional connection made the film resonate profoundly.

Unknowingly, Bharathiraja accomplished something extraordinary. That achievement will secure him an immortal place for all time.

Today, villages have shrunk. Some have become ghost villages. Others have become extensions of cities.

In just 30 years, many of the markers of rural life that existed for centuries have been wiped out.

There are no houses with verandahs, thatched huts, village elders with big moustaches, grandmothers wearing pampadams, firewood stoves, clay pots, betel boxes, elders and their affectionate words. The lanterns, small lamps, village gatherings, panchayats, kinship networks, and countless customs.

The old ways of negotiating cattle prices by placing hands under towels, seeing the bride without being noticed by others, and so many other charming customs. There are no young women in half-sarees, elderly women draped in traditional styles, or farmers walking behind cattle with ploughs on their shoulders and turbans on their heads.

Bullock carts, bullocks waiting to be shod, farm animals, sparrows in courtyards, ploughing, harvesting, irrigation, and the rhythms of agricultural life have largely disappeared.

The lakes brimming with water, the lush green fields on their banks, the birds they attracted, the scent of fertile earth carried by the breeze—much of it is gone. The paddy fields often resemble a battlefield abandoned after war.

Even village weddings have changed. The old warmth, simplicity, emotional scenes and fantastic food are no longer there.

The humble schools where children arrived in patched trousers carrying yellow cloth bags, and the teachers who cycled miles to educate them, now survive only in memory.

Now every village generation considers itself a great-granddaughter of King George. The old and wondrous times have become just dreams. The villages of Tamil Nadu are clad in a new way. Where will we search for those scenes? Who will show us that there was such a time?

Bhimsingh’s films remain a testament to the emotional bonds of traditional Tamil families and brotherhood. Bharathiraja’s films alone show what Tamil Nadu’s villages were.

It comes to mind whenever I watch his films. He documented every aspect of village life.

From a simple hairpin to a mud-walled chicken coop, he preserved an entire rural way of life on celluloid.

If you grew up in a village, but were later swept away in the swirl of time, urbanisation and circumstance, watch a Bharathiraja film.

The sight of an elderly grandmother wearing pampadams, a farmer working in the fields, women carrying gruel pots, gathering firewood, or boys tending cattle will transport you back to your own village.

The characters he created will remind you of your grandparents, neighbours, relatives, and the people who raised you. Tears will well up in your eyes.

That is the triumph of Bharathiraja—the village man who restored our identity, culture, and way of life through cinema.

It is the success of a great artiste who, without any artificiality, captured rural landscapes, dialects, emotions, motherhood, fatherhood, friendship, love, separation, betrayal, and sacrifice exactly as they existed in village life.

After the success of Mudhal Mariyadhai, Sivaji Ganesan once remarked:

“Bharathiraja is a fine actor. If we actors perform even half as well as he demonstrates a scene, it is enough. He is that brilliant. But if he starts acting, what will happen to our livelihood? That is why I tell him—thousands will come to act, but who will come to make films like you do? Who? So you must continue making more films.”

What else do we have other than Bharathiraja’s films that allow a father to sit beside his son and say:

“My grandmother was exactly like that… We had a cow like that… Our fields looked just like those… We used the same irrigation system in our well…”

He touched the hearts of Tamils everywhere. His sensitive soul and his refusal to forget his rural roots found expression in every frame he created.

You will forever have our love and gratitude, Bharathiraja.

Just as Ki. Rajanarayanan is regarded as the patriarch of Tamil rural literature, Bharathiraja will forever remain the patriarch of Tamil rural cinema.

We offer our heartfelt condolences on the passing of our beloved Bharathiraja.

Farewell, Perusu.

Translated from Tamil by B. Kolappan

Actors Sivaji Ganesan and Radha in the Tamil film ‘Mudhal Mariyathai’
| Photo Credit: The Hindu Archives

Renowned Tamil film director Bharathiraja passed away in Chennai on Wednesday (June 10, 2026). The ace director who had been ailing for a while, was 84.

Celebrated for shifting Tamil cinema from studio-bound film-making to authentic rural landscapes, and for his iconic opening line, “ Yen Iniya Tamil Makkale,” delivered in his distinctive voice, he was a transformative force in not just Tamil but Indian cinema.

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