Skip to main content

Silent empathy (Kaasav film review)


The sheer sense of relief that is palpable on the curly haired boy’s face when he uses a razor to cut open his wrist, speaks volumes. There are several such scenes in Kaasav, the National Award-winning film. In fact, the storyline progresses with the interminable silence looming over the busy Mumbai’s local railway network and later over the Konkan coastline.

The curly haired boy (Alok Rajwade) is called Niche, by Janaki (Irawati Harshe) who finds him burning with fever on the roadside. Something about his state of mind connects with Janaki, a researcher, who also suffers from panic attacks.

In the process of sifting through her emotions, and trying to put herself in his shoes, she attempts to establish a tenuous bond with Niche. But the lad rebuffs her overtures. And, thus begins our involvement with Niche — who comes across as an ungrateful brat with pseudo-angst up his sleeve. A regular youth, who has it all, and is yet ‘lost’, inviting derision from the ‘sorted’ folk. What is his problem? What reason does he have to complain? Why is he angry? Such questions crowd our mind until we find Niche. That moment is when Niche (who is actually named Maanavendra/Manav) finally opens his mouth to sing. His free spirited joyous cry reaches the skies, alongwith Janaki’s softer tone. The shell cracks open a tiny bit.

There is also a parallel track in which Janaki and Dattabhau (Dr Agashe) are working on olive ridley sea turtle conservation project. The mothers leave behind the eggs on the shore, wading into the waters, hoping that the baby turtles too find their feet in the water. The two, alongwith the villagers, try to provide a safe, nesting spot. Just like Janaki does for Niche, and Niche does for a village urchin. A little warmth and empathy is all that we require.

Without making it ‘pedantic, research-worthy film on depression’, Bhave, Sukthankar and Agashe invite us to ‘crack open the shell’ for ourselves and for others. There is darkness within us and around us. It’s time we stopped being afraid of it.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Valu and more

Visited Poman Pimpale village where Marathi picture Valu was shot. --- Documentary la chala… came the shout and Poman Pimpale villagers slowly started gathering at the village square. The children were already there, jostling each other, eager to see the ‘documentary’ – Marathi film Valu, which was shot in this village, some 14 kms away from Saswad. On the occasion of the film completing 50 successful days, the cast and crew of Valu, decided to host a special screening for the villagers on Saturday as a tribute. As Umesh Kulkarni, the director of Valu says, “ The movie is a collaborative venture of the villagers and myself. Valu is theirs as much as it is mine.” You just need to mingle with the crowd to find out what Umesh says is true - it’s their movie that the villagers have gathered to see. Pradeep Poman, a village elder, says that they enjoyed the whole film making process. “It had become a past time for us. Whenever we had some time to spare, we just went to see the shooting.

Portrait of a poet

This has already been published in the Sunday supplement. Krishnaji Keshav Damle also known as Keshavsut --- Poetry never really appealed to me. And, so it was with great reluctance that I agreed to my husband's plan to visit Keshavsut Smarak – a memorial raised in memory of 'Father of Modern Marathi Poetry', Krishnaji Keshav Damle – in Malgund. We were in Ganapatipule at that time and decided to go to Malgund, a 10-minute drive (a kilometre) from the popular tourist destination. A sign-post told us to take a left turn and what greeted us, at the end of the lane, was tranquil silence. No security guards, no tourists, just a plaque announcing that Damle, popularly known as Keshavsut, was born in the red-roofed house, surrounded by green shrubbery. Keshavsut's house in Malgund  A poem by Keshavsut  The house, renovated in the old style, was near-empty, except for Keshavsut's portrait that was hanging from the wall in the front room. In the

Many ideas of ‘self’ (Review of Pratibimb, Marathi play)

With Mahesh Elkunchwar’s name as a writer associated with Pratibimb (Reflection), you know nothing in the play will be at face value. Nothing is what it seems. It is difficult for commoners to get into Elkunchwar’s mindspace, which is precisely the subject of the Marathi play, which was staged earlier in August and will now be performed again on Friday, September 15 at Sudarshan Rangmanch, Shaniwar Peth. While watching the play, it’s evident that the viewer has to peel various layers to get to the core of the story — Who are you? What does ‘self-identity’ mean? Is it so bad if your reflection goes missing or if you have no identity? Thokale (a white-collared office goer) wakes up one morning and finds his reflection missing. Enters Bai, his landlady, who tries to assure him that nothing is lost. In fact, it could be a ‘breaking news’ for the newspaper. This perhaps could have led to a lot of chaos physically. Instead, we are led to the darkness looming large in our dystopian minds