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Made In Heaven

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

Made in Heaven

I admit I watched Made in Heaven,predominantly, because a dear friend, Anil Lakhwani, worked on the series. I also have a deep respect for the writing and overall aesthetic of Zoya Akhtar (she being my favourite director in Bollywood). I began watching the series with a sense of trepidation, knowing of its premise: the story surrounding the two main leads who are wedding planners, in Delhi. Each episode deals with a different wedding and the stories of the protagonists’ personal lives.

As I watched the first episode, I smiled at the wonderful Neena Gupta, who was such a relatable punjabi lady. And yes, I cringed at the depiction of a gay man, played by a cis-male, Arjun Mathur. Not because of his acting prowess, mind, but, because, I thought, like so many film makers, this depiction would be one that surmised homosexuality as just random sex-seeking and angst, against one’s own different self. The gay kiss was where I rolled my eyes – could they not have found an actor who was comfortable playing a gay man?

Then my friend, who had worked on the series and who I watched the series with, mentioned, “do you know how difficult it is to find an actor who is willing to play a gay man in Indian cinema?” I nodded. I didn’t say anything because I understood and was conflicted. Gay men have been playing straight roles all the time. But that’s our society and a different topic altogether. But a straight man, who should – ideally – value his work ethic and, for that matter, work with someone like Zoya, should jump at this role… Then again, that’s how I think and not how the world operates.

So, I decided to give the series another two episodes, before I called quits on it. However – the second episode got me hooked, and I finished the series, over a night’s viewing. That, in itself, should state how marvellous it is. But if it doesn’t, let me go on with the review.

Each episode deals with a marriage. We have a whole plethora of people being a part of them. Weddings, and the planning of, dealing with the concerns from royal households to that of a common man. Women, who are avaricious and succumb, like all flawed humanity, to the whims of this material world, to women who are empowered and revolt against patriarchal structures, encapsulate this world of marriage, life and love. We are shown grit and determination and then, also, the giving up of the self, love and practicality. Each marriage has something to convey to the Indian milieu – and it’s not just the people speaking English who this refers to. But perhaps, that’s who will end up watching this lovely depiction of the institution that is marriage.

Sobitha Dhulipala, who plays Tara, kept reminding me of Angelina Jolie. And like the latter’s choice of roles, Tara plays this ambitious woman who rises from the lower rungs of society and reaches the place in the ladder she wants to set foot on. Machiavelli would be proud, up to the point, of course, where the character starts her climb and the grey begins to show, soon after.

This is the best part of the show, there is no black and white. There are role reversals and people soaring to loveliness and they being equally capable of plunging into nastiness.

In one of these various shades of grey, falls Arjun Mathur’s character, Karan. Arjun plays the role with an angst unique to the gay subculture. He hits the role with a vulnerability that is discernible, in flashes, to only the most attentive watcher. He makes the character personal and tragic, elevating himself to the stage of coming out and accepting who he himself is. But this journey is not singular, it is taken by all the main leads and is superlative to watch.

The lovemaking doesn’t seem forced (though I will say, Arjun Mathur had to play a top gay man – I guess, showing a passive gay man would push the buck for an actor to pick up the role [?] but then I can also say that showing a femme gay man would also play into one of the many generic stereotypes that gay people have battled against, for so long). Conflict seems to be the name of the game – and alas, life.

Arjun’s love story and the character graph is one of the most intense ones – though I would also say, hurried. It appears most of our lives are encapsulated in nine hours. Most of us gay boys go through what he has gone through. The internalised homophobia, the phobic parent, the sexual abuse by the powers that be, the love gone wrong, the ease of finding sex, the extortion and, yet, the finding of help and succour in the face of adversity. We have all been there in bits and parts. He has brought it out so wonderfully – so sensitively. The scene at the dinner table with his father, where he breaks down and cries, remains my favourite.

I must also talk about the very complex character portrayal of Ramesh Gupta, played by the indomitable Vinay Pathak. The nuanced performance is fantastic, and he deserves a stalwart commendation. He portrays all that could go wrong when one is not true to who he or she is – he is what reality can be.

Homosexual sub culture is neither glamourised nor treated with disdain. It is what it is – another facet of humanity that needs to be recognised and accepted.

It is not just Arjun’s work, but the absolute genius of the side actor casting that needs worthy mention. Ayesha Raza, Kalki Koechlin (shining in a superb portrayal of a kind woman, lost in the understanding of who she is and what she wants), Jim Sarbh (the suave, eligible man who cannot profess his love and cannot be honest about it and so compensates for it in various other ways) – all fantastic!

Two episodes stand out as my favourites: “The Price of Love” where the bride rocks and becomes a personification of women empowerment and “It’s Never Too Late” where Dipti Naval is, as usual, brilliant and such a pleasure to watch. Feminism stands balanced in every episode, with a healthy dose of the portrayal of women who are gentle and cruel, lost and strong, ambitious and content. The best part is that I could feel, as I watched these episodes, that the writers were hardly ever passing judgement. They have tackled the topic of not just feminism and alternate lifestyles but also of drugs, corruption and the helping power of good counselling.

I have not seen such a web series in a very long time. It is, in equal proportions, mature and engaging, liberal and empowering, engaging and staid. I applaud all the makers behind this venture: with a special brava to the writer-directors: Alankrita Shrivastava, Zoya Akhtar and Reema Kagti, and two thumbs up to the other directors: Nitya Mehra and Prashant Nair.

Absolutely cool, will definitely be spreading the word.

Where the lost things go

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Mary Poppins was a wonderful movie. It took me to a place where the lost things go. It reminded me of why I was called Peter Pan by a friend so many years ago.

In the middle of life, I grew up somewhere, some time, and I lost perspective of the things that mattered.

Friends and siblings have grown up. The conundrum is that I look for independence and maturity in people I choose to build bonds with. I look down upon the ones who don’t think, who hope extensively. But I’ve also realized, especially when faced with people who are alien to emotion and responses based on the heart, I do not think that they will be happy in life.

I set a lot of score in things that have no real tangible source of happiness. A good wad of cash gets good things that are wanted, tangible, things that can be touched and – perhaps even loved. But these things, along with the cash, do not really matter, in the end. We are human beings – unfortunately – and we need love and we need the succour provided by the Other.

Death becomes final, if there is no love. Memory makes the person immortal. Experience and history are what carries you into the future, into existence forever. The poets and the writers and the painters tried to capture this into art and transcribe it into the tangible. I have known people who have moved away from sensibility and into sense, but I have also seen them despondent and eventually, I have seen them float into the sphere of feeling, sometimes unwittingly, sometimes deliberately and sometimes, fighting tooth and nail.

I have seen how sense takes flight and sensibility takes over, with a vengeance. It is almost as if she wants to wreck love with a violence. She seeks to punish, and she feels it is right as is her wont. But I have dealt with emotion my entire life. I grow weary of her. Sense has come to me while sensibility has been told to wait in the corner. I haven’t discarded her. I just wanted to talk a bit with her sister. It is as Mary Poppins says, it is the time between the dark and light. And sensibility hides quietly.

Some people I loved died, and some, tragically, have grown up. Yes. These elite have no need now of sensibility. They haven’t just taken a break from her… or so they like to think. They wish to do without her. They wish to draw boundaries. They wish for rules. Lines. Space. Independence. Finding themselves. But they do not realise that sense isn’t the only thing that will lead them to peace and fruition.

I know that when my child died in the middle of my home, she left for good. The floor she lay on is just a floor. The home she breathed her last is just a house. Sense asks me to know that death is final. Dreams are dreams and fears are unfounded. But somewhere from the dark within, sensibility whispers, gone but not forgotten. Trust, she says. Love, she reminds. And I turn to the dark, searching for the place where the lost things go. And I trust and I love and find her in me – sitting right next to Peter.

Monsoon

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

The rain is welcome. The summer is over. Heat has been defeated. I leave home with the kids and stepping out of the air-conditioned house I realise it is raining. Come back home and in a few minutes, the rain dies down, and I take an umbrella (to hold off the drops falling from the line of tamarind trees down the rain, and an occasional shit fall from the herons roosting high in the thin leaves) and ask the kids to follow me down the lane.

There is lightning far up in the clouds and the thunder calls back a second later. Xena is scared and looks around wide eyed. But she follows me as does Zach with his ambling gait. A minute later I see a scared stray, black with a splash of white on his chest, run past. He is not from the area and has obviously been scared away from his by the thunder. I call out to Xena who means to chase him, and he takes off down the street. I scold the girl, and then look up to find him but he has sprinted away.

Halfway back, the rain starts. I thank my brains for they asked me to pick up the umbrella and I trot back to the compound. Xena thinks it’s a game of catch and cook and gallops ahead with Zach on her heels. Of course, Zach is running from the rain, too, just like I do. I come back home, just as the rain begins to form a deluge. The day has been muggy and my partner predicted rain fall by night. Sure enough, here it is.

The whole night sky is filled intermittently with light and the resounding rolls of thunder as the gods fight up in the night sky. Rain falls. I hear the territorial dogs attack and I cringe. The pretty black one (I assume) yelps. I run to the window as does Zach. He owns the territory – in his head, at least. But I cannot spot the black fellow from our window. Lightning doesn’t help. Rain falls in sheets.

The city looks up to the sky, like a thirsty man opening his mouth to a cascading ripple of water. I will not think of the problems today. I will merely look outside the window as I type this, see the cracked edges of a lightning sliver slice the sky, see the black silhouettes of the trees filter the rain onto the lamp bright street and relax.

Morning is here and so are the monsoons.