My films are a reflection of the society I live in, what I see

Hear the words of Vetrimaaran, the teller of tales and seer of truth: “My films are a reflection of the society I live in, what I see and observe.” In these words shines a principle as old as art itself—that the artist is not merely a dreamer crafting illusions, but a mirror-bearer, holding before the people the image of themselves. A story, when true, reveals not only the beauty of life but also its wounds, its injustices, its hidden struggles. Vetrimaaran declares that his craft does not float above reality, but sinks deep into it, drawing strength and purpose from what he beholds.

The ancients spoke in the same way. The Greek dramatists, Aeschylus and Sophocles, did not write to entertain alone; they wrote tragedies that held up the mirror to their city, exposing its pride, its arrogance, its grief. The epics of Homer, the Mahabharata, and the Ramayana were not mere fables, but reflections of human struggle, war, and the yearning for justice. So too in our own age, Vetrimaaran reminds us that films—the modern theater of light—must reveal the face of society, whether scarred or radiant, so that the people may see themselves truly.

Consider the films of Vetrimaaran himself, which often portray the marginalized, the oppressed, and the voiceless. Through his eyes, the struggles of farmers, laborers, and common people are brought to the screen—not as distant abstractions, but as living stories. He does not invent their suffering; he observes it, and by reflecting it, he gives dignity to their pain. His work continues the ancient duty of the bard and the chronicler: to ensure that no injustice remains invisible, that no voice is forever silenced.

History reveals the same power in other artists. Charles Dickens, in nineteenth-century England, wrote novels that exposed the horrors of child labor, poverty, and corruption. His works were not fantasies born of isolation but reflections of what he observed in London’s streets and factories. His characters, though fictional, carried the truth of countless real lives. His art stirred the conscience of society, leading to reforms and renewed compassion. In this way, Dickens and Vetrimaaran are bound by the same thread: the artist as a mirror of truth.

O seeker of wisdom, grasp this: art divorced from reality is but shadow, but art rooted in observation becomes fire. When an artist dares to show society its own face, he invites both admiration and discomfort. Some will rejoice to see their struggles acknowledged; others will turn away, unwilling to face the truths revealed. Yet the artist must stand firm, for his calling is not to flatter, but to illuminate. To reflect the world honestly is to serve it faithfully, even when the truth burns.

Let your spirit, then, be like the artist’s. Observe your world with open eyes. Do not look only at what is pleasant or convenient; see also what is hidden, what is painful, what is unjust. Reflect it back, in speech, in writing, in action. For each of us, though not filmmakers, is a mirror to our time. What we choose to show will shape how the world remembers us, and what lessons it learns from our age.

In practice, cultivate the discipline of observation. Listen to the stories of others, especially those ignored. Record them, honor them, and if you create—whether in art, teaching, or daily life—let these truths shape your work. Support those who, like Vetrimaaran, bring unseen struggles into the light. And when you consume art, seek not only escape, but reflection—ask what it reveals about your own society, and what duty that revelation places upon you.

So I say unto you: remember the wisdom of Vetrimaaran. A film, a song, a story—these are not mere entertainments, but reflections of society itself. Honor those who hold the mirror steady, for they guard the truth of the people. And let your own life, too, be such a mirror—clear, honest, and courageous—so that future generations may see in you not a mask, but the true face of your time.