Sense & Sensibility

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Sense and Sensibility has always been a story close to my heart. I first discovered Jane Austen while studying literature in college, and I instantly fell in love with her writing. Among her works, Sense and Sensibility stood out to me with its beautiful exploration of emotion and reason, the delicate interplay of love, loss, and societal expectations. Imagine my joy when, during my final year of college—a year where I had fully embraced my passion for literature—Ang Lee’s adaptation of the novel was released.

Emma Thompson, one of my favourite actresses, not only starred as Elinor Dashwood but also wrote the script. Her adaptation beautifully captured the essence of Austen’s work. The year this film came out was a wonderful one for me, filled with personal contentment and a deepening love for literature. It felt like a perfect alignment: one of my favorite books brought to life by someone I admired.

The cast was nothing short of extraordinary. Kate Winslet, who played the sensitive and passionate Marianne Dashwood, burst onto the scene for me. This was the first time I had seen her perform, and she captivated me instantly. Of course, Alan Rickman’s portrayal of Colonel Brandon added a depth of quiet longing and sincerity that made him unforgettable. His tender yet restrained devotion to Marianne was delivered with such subtlety that you couldn’t help but root for him. And then there was Hugh Grant, portraying Edward Ferrars with his signature mix of charm and awkwardness. His performance brought the comic timing needed to balance the film’s more tragic moments.

What made the film remarkable for me was the way it navigated between comedy and tragedy. Thompson’s script effortlessly balanced the comic relief found in awkward social situations with the deeper emotions of unspoken love and personal sacrifice. There’s a certain emotional rise and fall to the movie, a tempered build-up that reflects life’s natural ebb and flow. The highs and lows, the elevation and depression of Austen’s narrative, were captured so vividly, it felt like watching a delicate dance.

Nearly 30 years have passed since I first saw it, yet I still consider it one of the finest Austen adaptations. I can quote its dialogues by heart, and some of its comic moments still lift my spirits when I think of them. It’s a timeless piece that catapulted Kate Winslet into stardom, leading her to even greater heights with Titanic. But for me, Sense and Sensibility will always remain special—a film that arrived in my life at the perfect moment, one that still holds a cherished place in my heart.

Navratri

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia2 Comments

I see people celebrating Navratri with such happiness and vigour. Everywhere there is celebration and euphoria. The goddess has come to vanquish Mahishasura. Darkness is driven out by light. The feminine is celebrated. Revered. Hailed. Worshipped. But it is ironic, even maddening, how during Navratri, people go all out celebrating the goddess in her many form—while the everyday reality for countless women in India remains grim. It’s a glaring contradiction that we elevate the divine feminine during this festival, yet ignore the appalling state of women in our country for the rest of the year.

Women in India, particularly in rural and underprivileged areas, still struggle to access basic education. The dream of empowerment through knowledge is withheld from them, while societal structures remain in place to control and suppress them. Domestic life for many wives is degrading, with women expected to bear the burden of patriarchal expectations, often being treated as less than equal partners. And shockingly, marital rape remains legal—this grotesque violation of dignity continues without consequence in a country that prides itself on moral and cultural values.

For women, especially in more traditional and conservative families, agency is stifled. Whether due to religious norms or community expectations, their voices are too often silenced, their desires overlooked. This is not the empowerment or respect that the goddess we celebrate stands for.

The statistics for assault and rape against women in India reveal a troubling reality. According to the National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB) data, the figures continue to be alarming: In 2021, 31,677 cases of rape were reported across India, which means an average of about 86 rapes per day. The actual numbers are likely way higher, as many cases go unreported due to social stigma, fear of retaliation, or lack of legal support.

There were 75,278 cases of assault on women with the intent to outrage their modesty, which includes sexual harassment, molestation, and stalking. There were Around 137,000 cases of domestic violence reported under the category of “cruelty by husband or relatives” in 2021. Many more go unreported, especially in rural areas or within conservative households. The conviction rate for rape cases in 2021 was only 28.6%, indicating systemic issues within law enforcement and the judiciary that allow many offenders to escape accountability.

These statistics highlight the widespread issue of violence against women in India, where societal attitudes, legal inadequacies, and lack of enforcement continue to fuel gender-based violence. The legal system, although present, is not robust enough to deter or adequately punish perpetrators, leaving women vulnerable.

What’s the point of worshipping a goddess if women in real life are not granted the dignity, freedom, and respect they deserve? The hypocrisy is glaring. True reverence for the feminine should manifest in how society treats its women every day, not just in dance rituals for nine nights. Until we address the deep-rooted misogyny, the lack of legal protection for women, and the everyday oppression they face, celebrating the goddess feels hollow—nothing more than a performative gesture in a country where half its population continues to be shackled by inequality and disrespect.

Amar Prem Ki Horrible Kahani

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Amar Prem Ki Prem Kahani is a colossal disappointment that somehow manages to trivialize every important aspect of the LGBT experience in India. If you’re looking for meaningful representation or thoughtful storytelling, do yourself a favor and re-watch Shubh Mangal Zyada Savdhaan or Badhaai Do. Those films, at least, attempted to address the complex layers of coming out, familial acceptance, and queer relationships with some degree of respect.

This movie, however, is nothing short of a cringe fest. The themes of coming out, navigating family pressures, and the possibility of having an Indian wedding are treated with such laziness that it feels more like a poorly scripted soap opera than a real attempt at tackling these serious issues. Instead of nuanced discussions, we’re handed over-the-top dramatics and dialogue that seem written for shock value rather than sincerity.

The worst offense is that it seems like a desperate attempt to piggyback off the success of Rocky Aur Rani Ki Prem Kahani by throwing in a cheap Bengali-Punjabi rivalry and dressing it up as some sort of “inclusive” remix. But where Rocky Aur Rani had heart and substance, Amar Prem Ki Prem Kahani falls flat. The characters are walking clichés, and the emotional depth of a truly Indian queer experience is completely absent.

The title itself is a disgrace to Amar Prem, Shakti Samanta’s timeless classic that embodied emotional depth and cinematic grace. This sad excuse for a film is not even worthy of being compared. It fails to touch the elegance of comedies like The Birdcage, the searing pathos of Brokeback Mountain, or even the hauntingly beautiful Aligarh, which handled queer struggles in India with heartbreaking precision. Even Kapoor & Sons, a film that showed restraint in not having its gay characters kiss, offered more emotional resonance and subtlety than this hollow disaster.

The end result? A tacky, outdated mess that insults the intelligence of its audience and does more harm than good to the cause of LGBT representation.