Reviews & Musings

For a long time, cinema was a world I wasn’t allowed to enter. I grew up in a home where movies were banned. No television, no glimpses of silver screens, and no songs echoing from old classics. For nearly a decade, cinema was a forbidden word like a secret behind a closed door.  And yet, like all things that carry truth and longing, it found its way to me. Stories have a way of finding you, slipping through cracks, whispered between pages, caught in melodies. Sometimes through the corners of borrowed books, sometimes through whispered summaries from classmates, sometimes just through the magnetic pull of posters and songs I wasn’t supposed to hear. 

If you’ve ever walked out of a movie theater feeling transformed, humming a melody, or quoting a line that hit you right in the soul, you already know the magic we lived during the Lights, Camera, India !  a.k.a. our recent Online  Film Appreciation Workshop by Karwaan Heritage .  If Satyajit Ray had directed a documentary about the love for Indian cinema and invited a few professors, critics, musicians, and die-hard fans to co-write it, it might look something like this workshop. This wasn’t your average academic affair. This was a full-blown cinematic experience. A masterclass. A masala epic of knowledge, nostalgia, and nonstop  naach-gaana . A cinematic pilgrimage.  A celebration of Indian cinema so immersive, so joyful, that even the most punctual of us stopped caring when sessions ran overtime. (And they always did.)

Watching Basu Chatterjee’s Khatta Meetha feels like stepping into a gentle embrace of nostalgia and hope. It’s a film that captures the beauty of life amidst the everyday chaos, a tender reminder that while life never promised to be easy, it did promise to be worthwhile.  In 1978, it was revolutionary: telling the story of widow remarriage and the vibrant yet often overlooked Parsi community, while weaving in the universal struggles of the middle class like unemployment, limited salaries, dreams that stretch further than their means, and the unstoppable rise of inflation. Yet, in the face of these challenges, the characters remain radiant, waking each day with a smile in their hearts and a song on their lips. 

If , a 26-minute short film by acclaimed Bengali filmmaker Tathagata Ghosh, is a sensitive, evocative piece of storytelling that lingers long after the credits roll. Set against the everyday rhythm of life in Kolkata, the film delicately unpacks the story of a lesbian couple torn apart by the weight of societal expectations and dares to imagine a different future, one where a mother's love might just change everything.  What struck me first was the film’s raw, grounded realism. The characters feel like people we know, middle-class families navigating a complex world with quiet resilience. The world of If is filled with silences, glances, and stills, rather than heavy dialogue. Ghosh masterfully uses these moments to speak volumes, allowing viewers to sit with discomfort, interpret the unspoken, and feel deeply.

In Kaagaz Ke Phool , Guru Dutt masterfully crafts a visually compelling first meeting between the protagonists, played by Waheeda Rehman, and Guru Dutt himself. Set in an expansive yet sparsely filled film studio, the scene’s mise-en-scène subtly reflects themes of isolation, fate, and artistic destiny. The setting plays a crucial role in establishing the mood. The studio is mostly empty, with scattered props, hanging lights, and large curtains, reinforcing the protagonist’s solitude. 

Indian cinema has long been fascinated with the village. From the earthy, socialist realism of Do Bigha Zamin (1953) to the melodramatic lament of Mother India (1957), the village once stood as both heartland and hinterland — a space of moral clarity, rustic struggle, and often unyielding fate. But as the urban middle class began to dominate cinematic production and consumption, the depiction of the village increasingly came to reflect an urban gaze, that is, a perspective shaped by distance, nostalgia, condescension, or even outright fantasy.  In recent years, this urban gaze has taken on new shades, evident in the way mainstream and indie filmmakers alike have re-engaged with rural India. While some have tried to explore the village as a site of resistance, authenticity, or even horror, others continue to reproduce sanitized or exaggerated versions of village life that serve urban sensibilities more than rural realities. 

Shatranj Ke Khiladi analysis by Namrata The 1977 multi-starrer Shatranj ke Khiladi made by Satyajit Ray is based on a short story of the same name, written by Munshi Premchand in 1924. Set in Lucknow, 1856, the film narrates two parallel threads: the private, obsessive world of two noblemen, Mirza Sajjad Ali (Sanjeev Kumar) and Mir Roshan Ali (Saeed Jaffrey), who are so engrossed in their game of chess that they remain oblivious to the British annexation of their kingdom; and the political maneuverings between Nawab Wajid Ali Shah (Amjad Khan) and the British East India Company, led by General Outram (Sir Richard Attenborough). Ray enriches the short story by fleshing out the political backdrop with remarkable attention to detail. Wajid Ali Shah, traditionally dismissed as an effeminate and ineffective ruler, is portrayed with surprising sympathy. In Amjad Khan’s nuanced performance, the Nawab emerges as a poet-king, more a victim of history than an agent of his own demise. His artist...

Across the River by Bhaichand Patel (Speaking Tiger, 2024) is a compelling exploration of friendship, love, and the fraught intersections of tradition and modernity in contemporary India. Set in the dense, labyrinthine alleys of Old Delhi, the novel follows the lives of Seema Choudhry and Madhu Gupta—two young women from different religious backgrounds whose friendship transcends the rigid divides imposed by their families and communities. Through their journey, Patel crafts an evocative narrative that examines the power structures shaping women's lives, the weight of societal expectations, and the slow but inevitable tide of change.

Noorjahan Bose’s Daughter of the Agunmukha is a powerful and deeply moving memoir, chronicling a life shaped by hardship, resilience, and the relentless pursuit of justice and knowledge. Born in 1938 near the mouth of the River Agunmukha—aptly named the Fire Mouth River—Bose’s life story unfolds against the backdrop of Bangladesh’s tumultuous history and the ever-present threat of natural calamities. Yet, it is not just the external forces that shape her journey; her fight for autonomy and dignity arises from the complex interplay of personal trauma and political awakening.

Few voices in Urdu poetry have carried the weight of history, resistance, and deep personal introspection quite like Zehra Nigah. One of the first women to break into the traditionally male-dominated world of Urdu poetry, Nigah’s work stands as a testament to the power of words to illuminate, question, and challenge. The Story of Eve: Selected Poems, translated by Rakshanda Jalil, brings together some of her most powerful nazms and ghazals, showcasing both her literary elegance and her unflinching gaze at the human condition, particularly through the lens of gender, social injustice, and political turmoil.

There are some filmmakers whose work doesn’t just entertain; it lingers, like an old melody that finds a way to stay with you long after the credits roll. Basu Chatterjee was one of them. His cinema wasn’t loud or grand, nor did it demand to be dissected and analyzed. It simply unfolded—soft, unhurried, full of everyday lives and everyday people, leaving us with stories that felt like home. 

I picked up Kishore Kumar’s biography expecting to read about the maverick genius behind some of India’s most iconic songs. What I didn’t expect was to find a mirror—a reflection of every creative person who has ever struggled to fit into a world that demands conformity. 

ISBN: 978-9386797360   Genre: Literary Fiction Publisher: Simon and Schuster India Year of Publishing: 2019 About the Book In an elite all-boys’ boarding school run by a Hindu monastic order in late-twentieth century India, things aren’t what they look like on the surface… Anirvan, a young student, is fascinated by the music and silence of spiritual life. He dreams of becoming a monk. But as he seeks his dream, he finds himself drawn to a fellow student, and they come together to form an intimate and unspeakable relationship. The boys sweat at cricket and football, crack science and mathematics in pursuit of golden careers, and meditate to the aroma of incense and flowers.  It’s a world of ruthless discipline shaped by monks in flowing saffron. A sceptical teacher mentors Anirvan and reveals his suspicion of this vigilant atmosphere. Does the beating of the boys reveal urges that cannot be named? What is the meaning of monastic celibacy? What, indeed, holds the brotherhood ...