'Piku', the pick of the season

'Piku' is one of the very few Bollywood movies I have seen which is named after the female protagonist, rather than the male one. That, in itself is a rarity. Add to it, a wonderfully sensitive, understated, elegant portrayal of two very strong characters, and you have a very thought-provoking movie experience awaiting you.
 The director of the movie is Shoojit Sircar, who directed 'Vicky Donor', the scriptwriter is Juhi Chaturvedi and the two main characters are Amitabh Bachan, playing the role of Bhaskar Banerjee and his daughter Piku who is an architect. Peering in from the periphery at first, later becoming a character in his own right, is Irfaan Khan, in the role of Rana Chowhury, the owner of a cab-rental service.
Bhaskar Banerjee is an old widower, father of Piku. He is obsessed with the state of his alimentary canal: and  his constipation and minute-by-minute reports about the state of his motions form the topic of all conversation. He is selfish to the point of being egocentric, and keeps an eagle eye on his daughter, so that she will not go away and leave him to fend for himself. Every time someone introduces a man to his daughter, he makes sure to tell the man that she is 'not a virgin' and that she is 'financially and sexually independent.'
Piku is Deepika Padukone. She carries the entire movie on her shoulders through the conviction in her acting and the complete honesty with which she portrays the character of a fiercely independent career woman, managing her profession and battling it out with the whims of her quirky father. The few times that circumstances seem to defeat her, and the way she emerges from it, stronger and more courageous, are portrayed with a sensitivity that I have not seen in any Bollywood director. I don't think any other actress would have the guts to bury herself up to the hilt in this necessarily un glamorous role.
Looking in at the daily drama of this more or less dysfunctional family, is Irfaan Khan, one of the most stylish actors I have seen. I remember him in 'Maqbool' a re make of Macbeth, in Jhumpa Lahiri's ' the Namesake'  His portrayal of the primary characters in these movies is un forgettable. The sheer amazement felt by this outsider, at the antics of this family, his deadpan expression when he is trying to mask his emotion, and the words he uses to diffuse and sometimes exacerbate situations, in order to get some sense into the father-daughter duo are insightful.
Moushumi Chatterjee as Piku's aunt, is delightfully earthy, and Jisshu Sengupta, as Syed, Piku's harried professional partner, add colour to the movie.
The passage of time, or Time itself, is a central theme of the story, and the erosion and corrosion of time forms a subtle undercurrent throughout the movie. When it is time to move on, we are advised, we Must move on.
The warmth and affection with which the camera lovingly lingers on the landmarks and the essence of Kolkata literally brought tears to my eyes. The soul of the photographer looks out at us in the vignettes. Exceptional!
Above all, the film is about women being equal. It is a message that is brought out without hysteria, and almost without our awareness. No drumrolls herald its presence, it is quietly stated by example, rather than percept, and through the conviction of the central character.
The movie provokes the viewer to think. I know many people who might be uncomfortable with that. To those who are not, do go and watch it. In a theatre.

A trip to Kashmir

Good morning.
My senses are so completely overwhelmed that I need to consciously pause before writing.
First, Kashmir is one of the safest places I have been to. Yes, there are trouble spots, and it would be wise, if you are going the first time, to go with a group and with a seasoned tour operator. And yes, there is visible evidence of the J &K police and the CRPF; but there are not even half as many of them, as we have in Mumbai.
Second, Kashmir is GREEN! There are trees th...ere that I have only seen and heard of, back in school, in my Geography text book. The tree of the state is the Chinar tree and it has leaves like the maple. They grow to a massive size, chiefly because cutting it is considered a crime in the State. Some of them have trunks so large that they could easily straddle the breadth of any large road we have here. The leaves turn brick-and-rust red in autumn, and drop in winter. Then you have the willow, the weeping willow, the walnut, the cherry, the almond, the deodar (cedar) and the pine. There are wild flowers that bend with their own weight, like the laburnum, but each individual flower looks like an orchid. They scent the air and intoxicate any one who passes by. The pine has such a heady fragrance that I felt inebriated and reeling with it.
Third, the State has some of the best human beings I have ever seen. They are warm, friendly, full of life and laughter, and with every word they utter, they tell you, do come back. Come back when the apples are ripe on the tree, they say, in August and September. Come back in March, when winter sports are at their height. Come back any time; but come back.
Fourth, and I am not being flippant here; almost every one I saw is so drop-dead good looking, they would give ALL our supposed Bollywood heroes and heroines a serious run for their money. Sharp features, blue/green/brown/grey/ hazelnut-coloured eyes, and a complexion both fair and lovely, despite being in the sun all day. The sun only manages to colour their cheeks an apple red.
Fifth, the number of schools for girls that I saw during my short sojourn there left me amazed. And if you are out in the city during the time that it is recess in school, the area is full of girls, wearing the hijab, with so much mischief in their eyes, that I was reminded of some of my girls in the Arts classes.
Sixth, for those of you who have been to places like Austria and Switzerland, or who have seen or read the book 'Heidi' by Johanna Spyri, do you remember the cottages that are described in the book/ seen in the place? Well, you will find identical wood-and-stone structures here, tucked away among the trees, laughingly peeping at you from behind a Chinar branch or from among the leaf-needles and cones of a pine tree.
And there is more. But I

 
 

 
 

 
shall stop here for now, and consign the next segment for another day and time.
Let us meet in Kashmir.