Muzzafar Ali’s first film, Gaman,
is an effort that, at one level, delineates the chasm between the India of the
villages, and the India ruled by urbanity. At another level, it portrays the
multitude of different worlds that inhabit the urban fold. The film keeps oscillating
between two starkly shot geographic settings throughout its duration; Kotwara,
a small village in Uttar Pradesh, and Mumbai, the quintessential metropolis,
simmering with a lure that is almost Pied-Piper-esque. The lead character,
essayed by a tremendously understated Farookh Sheikh, migrates to the big city from
this native village of his, in search for a living, leaving behind a
newly-wedded wife and an ailing mother. This migration (or Gaman), is his last resort, much like how it is for thousands of
his ilk. How his life first interacts, and later merges, with the
all-encompassing landscape of Mumbai, and how he constantly tries to make peace
with the guilt of having left his family behind, while all the time trying to
seek redemption in this choice made by him, is what the film is all about, at
least on the surface. But the director has ensured that deeper connotations are
implied by giving a very unique treatment to the screenplay, where instead of focusing
on the affairs of just the main leads, he has created a mesh of similarly
themed stories of human survival, which suffuse into each other, and construct
an ensemble. And yet the handling is minimalistic, and in most of the frames
the emotions are more explicit through the visuals, than through the words
spoken by the characters.
The movie is also an excellent example of crowd-sourcing
and how ‘real’ people, places, and locations have been used in the narrative
(The director duly metions the natives of Kotwara in the credit roll). In fact,
it is hard to find a frame which looks inauthentic or which might have been
shot on a set or in a studio. Mumbai too has been shot painstakingly, with much
love, and for anyone familiar with the city’s terrains, the cinematography of
the movie is reason enough to give the movie a watch. The language, grammar, and
dialect of the words and the music of the film is rooted in realism and is full
of references from history, and especially that from the history of Islam, for
the lead characters are Muslim, and their native village, as in the film, has a
sizeable Muslim population. The practices observed during Muharram at the village
of Kotwara have been shot guerilla style and are depicted unequivocally. In a
poignant moment from the film, the lead character gets caught in a frenetic
Maharashtrian celebration, and is promptly reminded of the Muharram communal
mourning back at his village. This is perhaps another way to bring to fore the intermingling
of cultures, which the director portrays, not just by setting his film in the
melting pot of all humanity that is Mumbai, but also by relegating the
religious identities of his characters to the background by treating them in a
very matter of fact manner, which in itself is very refreshing. The songs too
are reflective of this timeless convergence that is perhaps the most defining feature
of Indian socio-cultural fabric; the music (by Jaidev) is based on our ‘Hindustani’
tradition and has a classical base with the lyrics in both Hindi and Urdu. Half
of the songs are set against Smita Patil’s incredibly expressive eyes in the
backdrop. She hardly has any dialogue to speak in the film, and yet she says a
lot in each and every frame she is present in.
Signing off with the song ‘Seene
Mein Jalan’, which is the perhaps the best remembered song from the movie…
P.S.- Nana Patekar has a
character role in the movie, while Satish Shah also appears in a scene.
