Of chores, arguments, and a deep connection

Another birthday went by. Just like every year, I received phone calls from well-meaning associates. They repeated their wish of wanting to see me married and I again brushed it off saying that there is still some more time. Some went ahead to certify that my biological clock isn’t ticking anymore, and it might have stopped. I told them that it doesn’t mean anything to me.

Deep in my heart, I know it means quite a bit at this stage. No, not the biological clock but a solid companionship. A companionship that would provide me with comfort, peace and freedom. 

All my life I have lived with my parents and a younger sibling. We love each other to the core but argue at every possible instance. We have different world views, but the same values bind the four of us together. Some days, when I don’t win the major arguments – I tell them that I will pack my bags and leave the house. I have come so close to doing so, but I just can’t seem to take down the heavy suitcases from the attic and fill them with my favourite things. Because all my favourite things can't be packed in the good old sturdy luggage bags or even the mauve one that I bought some time ago.

The list of my favourite things is endless. They may be some material as old as the many audio cassettes of my recitation recordings or the customary studio visits for a picture dedicated to every occasion. They may also be a variety of emotions – undefined emotions that can only be felt in presence of one’s parents. Then there are also the things that I dislike. For instance - I don’t want to live up to the moral science textbooks all the time. 

But I have realised that my likes are quite solid in nature and often dwarf my dislikes. Now, when I travel out for shoots to another city for 2-3 days – I should be mentally kicked about it as I always was, but the fact is - I am not. It has nothing to do with work/shoots, which I am still quite passionate about. It has to do with not being able to see my parents on the days I am out. I may be in touch with them all the time over the phone, but I feel a strange sense of comfort when they are within my gaze.

This behaviour change has happened over time. With age, I have grown fonder of them – as my parents and as a couple. As a couple, they do most things together. Both have retired from their beloved services and now have each other’s company all the time. They cook and do other household chores together. They also have arguments. They stop speaking with each other and also don’t watch their scheduled shows together. But this sight doesn’t last for long. They make it up to each other very soon. I find it absolutely adorable how each time they let go of things easily without holding anything against each other.

And, here I am – fretting over my relationship because I had some sort of a sane expectation, but things did not work out my way. I pause for a moment and think why is ‘my way’ always more important than the other person’s opinion or way. I never get a satisfactory answer to that.

Maybe someday, I will.

That day, we will live together as one big family – his favourite humans, my favourite humans, his favourite things, my favourite things and the many intricate emotions of real existence.

That day, my way and his way won’t collide. And, even if they do, we will still stick together and find a middle ground where I will savour Old Monk and he will make do with a Lemonade breezer.

Until that happens, I am happily ageing up in the company of this endearing couple that still believes in old-fashioned love - where love conquers everything even the silliest of all arguments.

My mother proclaims – “Love is silent. It is important to understand its beauty amid everyday chaos”. My father nods in agreement.

They keep my hopes alive. 

Year after year.

Piku: Holy sh*t!

I know my system quite well. A good night’s sleep and a glass of lukewarm water, is all I need to take a satisfying dump every morning. This activity is very different for different people. Some go to the toilet at any time of the day when the pressure is right and do their business like it’s no big deal. Some have a set pattern like the way I have. And for some, it is an insanely tough task. Tough to the extent that their entire energy in life is directed towards the amount of stool they push themselves to purge. They seldom feel the euphoria that arises after taking an adequate unload.

My mother (Maani) falls in this category. She has been suffering from constipation for the past one year. We are fortunate that it’s not a chronic one for her, but I know the distress she undergoes every single day for this one chore alone. The preparation for this starts from a night before, as she dutifully drinks a glass of warm milk with Isabgol, in all anticipation that she will be able to relieve herself well in time the next day. Sometimes, it works wonders. Sometimes, it does not. The times when it does not, we all realize it without her shouting it aloud. She tends to become a little sluggish and cranky. We just have to see her face to make out whether or not she had it easy that day. And, the times when it is effortless for her, we all revel in celebration. After all – ‘Insaan ka emotion uske motion se judha hua he!’ We know that better. Seriously!

Shoojit Sircar’s Piku is such a heartwarming real film. The fact that a little chat about bowel movement at the dinner table is not looked down upon as an awkward situation, shows the genuineness of this lovely narrative. I love every bit of this movie. Most importantly - the brilliant writing! Much like Vicky Donor, this one too has a well-shielded script that never becomes a stinky pile of shit, even though that’s the central theme of Piku.

The second most impressive aspect of Piku is Bhaskor Banerjee’s standpoint about his daughter’s marriage. He doesn’t seem to lose his sleep over Piku’s single status; rather he believes that –‘marriage without purpose is a low IQ decision.’ He is not against marriage but wants her to find out a good enough reason to settle down. And for him, Piku’s marriageable age isn’t a compelling one. What a progressive thought that is!

I don’t have the exact stats, but it is a known fact that most Bengali women tend to get married late in life. These women could be single, but lead an intensely happy and independent life. Just look out on purpose and you are bound to discover this lot of Bengali women around you.  I, maybe, a case in point too :-)

Piku took me through an emotional whirlwind. Different kinds of emotions emerged, one after the other. In fact, rarely does it happen that I feel for all the characters in a movie. Piku is special in that sense.

But I still have 2 points to make. Not that these would have made this already beautiful film a notch better, but they did cross my mind.

First - I thought the interval sequence was a smart insertion, but not the cut. Would it not have been better to cut the scene when Piku and her father found the knife and were figuring out why it was there, rather than to elongate it up to the point where there is a spat between Bhaskor and Rana over the knife – and Bhaskor throws a fit and sits on the road with his suitcase and demands the knife to be thrown out? Somehow for me, it lost whatever bit of suspense, it was intended to interleave. I never felt the need to judge Rana’s character after that entire sequence.

Second - I wish I did not have to cry when Bhaskor died. The movie must have served its purpose, but I so wanted him to take another cycle/rickshaw ride to discover the unexplored bylanes of Kolkata. This, again, without keeping Piku and the rest of the family members informed about his jaunt!
I wanted to see more of him and his antics. I wanted him to do anything interesting, except for never waking up from the bed - especially after taking a fairly satisfying dump of his life! Why couldn’t we see him eating and enjoying stuff that a regular bhadrolok does in Kolkata? (There is a lot more in Kolkata than just the roadside Kachoris!) We could have even liked seeing him play a football match with his old friends. Wouldn’t that have made it even more real?

Thankfully, there was absolutely no drama over his death. It was different from other death sequences that we have seen in films so far. But, I wish, some day Bollywood films move over the myriad adversities of life. In particular, those films where it looks more like a forced placing than the real flow of events.

On one hand, I say I love the movie and on the other, I have 2 important points that are critical of it. That’s fine. This thought was jammed up right there and I had to let go of it today.

P.S.
Please don’t look that constipated. You can release your emotions too!