Like so many people in the country, I have almost stopped going to a movie hall to see a film. Recently, miserable and fed up of being homebound, I ended up seeing two films in as many weeks. One was a popular Hollywood film, ‘The Devil Wears Prada 2’, and the other that had got great reviews, ‘Main Vaapas Aaunga’, set in the Punjab and a reminder of what Partition did to both countries.
Before I actually talk about the films, let me tell you about the experience. The theatre was in a new mall that has come up nearby and many neighbours had been there to shop, eat or see a movie. When we went for an afternoon show, there were all of nine persons in the hall — a bunch of giggly girls and the three of us greybeards. Imagine the cost of running the air-conditioning, the staff and all that for just nine persons. No wonder many shows are cancelled for the lack of sufficient audiences and most don’t even make it beyond a week. People prefer to watch them at home when they are beamed on the streaming platforms. Since there is now a limit on what such theatres charge for a ticket, the owners have resorted to charging huge amounts for a tub of popcorn or the junk food available for the hungry. The cost of a large tub of popcorn is almost the same as the ticket!
The above description is of the Hollywood movie, but the desi one was much better attended. The hall was almost three quarters full, including a wailing child whose parents had brought him to see a film at a time when he should have been in bed. Where the Hollywood movie was mercifully over in less than two hours (and a huge disappointment after its first version), the Hindi movie was almost twice as long and ended long after that poor child was fast asleep. In terms of the story and acting, ‘Main Vaapas…’ was very engaging. How can one go wrong with the great Naseeruddin Shah as the old grandfather and Rajit Kapur as his son? The newcomers and Diljit Dosanjh rose to the roles they were given with great sensitivity and aplomb. My problem was with the length. For some reason, the very talented writer-director Imtiaz Ali allowed the film to become almost maudlin before bringing it to a close.
Why is it that our filmmakers stretch a plot to a stage where it becomes tiresome? Is it because they want the audience to get full paisa vasool? Or is it because we are so accustomed to fast-forwarding movies on our home screens that we have lost the patience to see a film, no matter how bad, to the end? It’s not as if the films of my youth and childhood days were any better — I recall the silly romantic capers of the 1960s, with long song sequences and costume changes in the middle of a scene. Yet we suffered these long, boring films with improbable plots because we knew how to deal with boredom. In the world before action speeded up and where stories and plots were no longer discussed for days, where we munched cheap peanuts and shared stories about films others had seen, and when everything was rationed and allowed only as a special monthly treat, we had a respect for cinema (however bad) that may be difficult for this generation to understand.
And now for a short comment on Partition and why — almost 80 years after it took place — we have started to understand the trauma that it has left on all those who were affected by it, or who had been told stories by their parents and grandparents. Strangely, it has been only in the past few years that we have created a Partition Museum for people to actually see the evidence of this cruel act perpetrated by the departing British government to drive a permanent wedge between two faiths, communities and neighbours. Burying unpleasant memories is perhaps the only way to deal with such cataclysmic events, yet it puzzles me why nobody tried to tell the truth in the intervening decades.
Two remarkable serials come to mind: Manohar Shyam Joshi’s ‘Buniyaad’ and Bhisham Sahni’s ‘Tamas’. MS Sathyu’s ‘Garam Hawa’ also shook us when we first saw it and it must be acknowledged that it takes a really sensitive writer and director to take up this challenge. We also forget that since many of us do not read novels in languages other than English, we have missed Dharmvir Bharati, Krishna Sobti and Amrita Pritam’s deeply painful novels and short stories. One of my favourite short stories written by my mother Shivani, ‘Lal Haveli’, about a tragic love tale of that time, awaits a film. One day, I hope someone will fulfil my wish.
Finally, do read Sam Dalrymple’s deeply researched book on the many partitions of India. We often forget that India, Ceylon, Burma and Afghanistan were once part of this great subcontinent. The civilisational memories of those ruptured limbs and blood ties are there for us if only we could rise above India-Pakistan binaries. Our food, our languages, clothing and crafts belong to a past that refuses to stop haunting our stories and storytellers.
How many wars will it take for peace to return?
— The writer is a social commentator
