Opinion Rajinikanth at 50: From my mother to my nephew, there is a Rajini for everybody

I’m nursing a sore throat, a hangover of sorts from my cousin’s wedding, where I screamed, sang, and danced like there was no tomorrow. But it feels oddly poetic. Because here I am, hoarse and croaky, trying to write about a man whose very name, when it flashes on screen, makes me scream my lungs out.

Rajinikanth is celebrating 50 years in cinema. And I, at 42, feel like I’ve grown up alongside his movies, from Apoorva Raagangal to Coolie. I still remember watching 16 Vayathinile, my first major glimpse of Rajini on screen, and being transfixed. The curly hair. The flick of his hand through it. The way he lit and smoked a beedi, not as an actor in a scene but as if the whole act itself was cinema. He played the cruel Parattai, and yet you couldn’t look away. Rajini wasn’t just acting. He was redefining screen presence.

Little did I know then that this bus conductor-turned-actor was about to become a phenomenon. Over the years, countless actors have tried to mimic Rajinikanth. The walk, the cigarette flip, the swag with which he would wear his sunglasses, the dialogue delivery. But just like the old folklore of Charlie Chaplin losing a Chaplin lookalike contest, every imitation feels hollow. You can copy the mannerisms, but you can’t copy the magic.

Take Billa. Rajini, as the suave underworld don, was all swagger, style, and sunglasses. It wasn’t just a remake of Amitabh Bachchan’s Don — Rajini made it his own. Or in Murattu Kaalai, when he roared, “Seeviduven” (“I’ll cut you down”), the line became a rallying cry. This was the birth of Rajinikanth, the Superstar.

Rajinikanth’s movies were never just movies. They were events. In Tamil Nadu, a release meant temples offered special poojas, fans burst crackers outside theatres, and milk was poured over his giant cut-outs.

In Moondru Mugam, he played three roles, including the unforgettable Alex Pandian, the cop with the handlebar moustache and fiery one-liners. Who can forget the lines, “Theepatiki rendu pakam orasina dhan theepdikum, indha Alex Pandian ku endha pakkam orasinalum thee pidikum” (“A matchstick needs to be rubbed from two sides to ignite, but this Alex Pandian will catch fire no matter which side you rub”) or the iconic “Indha Alex Pandian pera sonna, vayithula irukkara kozhandha avanga amma vaaya moodum” (“Mention the name Alex Pandian and the baby in the womb will put out a hand and cover his mother’s mouth as well”).

In Thillu Mullu, he broke his own “action hero” image and gave us a timeless comedy. His portrayal of Indran and Chandran was a riot, and I remember laughing my behind off throughout the movie. For someone who has played action roles most of his life, Rajini’s comic timing is impeccable. If I laughed watching Thillu Mullu, Rajini made me cry watching Aarilirunthu Arubathu Varai.

And then came Muthu. A movie that didn’t just conquer Tamil Nadu, but went all the way to Japan. Japanese fans embraced Rajinikanth as the “Dancing Maharaja.” They watched Muthu for a year in theatres, sang along to “Oruvan oruvan mudhalali”, and even flew to Chennai just to catch a glimpse of him.

Who else but Rajini?

There are actors who deliver lines. And then there is Rajinikanth, whose dialogues become folklore. In Baashha, when Manickam turns and says, “Naan oru thadava sonna, nooru thadava sonna maadiri,” (“If I say it once, it’s as good as saying it a hundred times”), theatres exploded. That single line became part of everyday Tamil vocabulary.

In Padayappa, he looks at his nemesis and says calmly, “En vazhi, thani vazhi” (“My way is a unique way”). The delivery wasn’t loud. It was simple, measured, but packed with an aura only he could pull off.

What makes Rajinikanth even bigger than the superstar image is how little he chases it off-screen. In real life, he’s almost the opposite of the flamboyant hero. No designer clothes. No entourage drama. Just a man in a simple kurta, walking barefoot to temples, speaking softly, laughing heartily. He still flies economy class and goes to the Himalaya every chance he gets.

From being a bus conductor in Bangalore to becoming the highest-paid actor in Asia at one point, his story is the ultimate rags-to-riches fairytale. And yet, he wears it all lightly. That humility, that nonchalance, is what makes him untouchable. Rajinikanth is perhaps the only actor who can bring together a toddler dancing to “Autokaran autokaran” from Baashha and a 96-year-old grandmother humming “Rakkamma kaiya thattu” from Thalapathi. He bridges generations.

My mother found her Rajinikanth in Mullum Malarum, where he played Kali, a fiery character with raw emotions. For my brother, it was Annamalai, where Rajini played a naive milkman who cherishes friendship above everything else. For me, it was Baashha, with the trademark Rajini style and swagger. For my nephew, it was Enthiran, where Rajini as Chitti, the robot, stunned him with action and charm and how he danced away to “Boom boom roboda roboda”. Every generation finds its own Rajini.

Now, in 2025, it’s been a little over a week since the release of Coolie. I’m as excited as I was when I watched Sivaji on a packed single screen in Coimbatore. My throat may hurt, but when the words “Super star Rajini” splash across the screen with that thunderous background score, I’ll scream like it’s my first Rajini movie all over again.

And as I sip my now cold coffee, I realise: Movies may change, trends may come and go, but the joy of watching a Rajinikanth film on the big screen will always remain one of life’s purest pleasures. Happy 50 years, Thalaivar. Here’s to many more. Always a fan boy. Hoping to get an audience with you someday or best, work with you on a film.

The writer is a filmmaker