POPCORN REVIEWSS

There is something about the Tier-2 city of Chandigarh, particularly when you also consider the time period, wherein you notice that the political awakening of a young country wasn’t necessarily spread as a pandemic to middle class families. Their motto remained simple – the children must study and lift the family out of ‘mediocrity’ for future generations to prosper. A similar ideology is shared by the patriarch of the family Naresh (Satyajit Sharma) who tries imparting the same to his son Anurag (Aryan Singh Rana). The writing doesn’t choose to blame Naresh given how his generation has been brought up on – with fear, and a sense of disclipline coupled with a stricter outlook to life. But this is where the period has a direct relevance on Anurag – the turn of the century (and the millenium) means that Aryan would have a mind of his own.

Unfortunately for him, his thoughts are often burdened under the fear of his father, who often wishes to exert himself even when noticing that Anurag has scored good marks in his exam (a little subplot includes how Anurag changes his marks from 76 to 86, both scores were good back in the day). Naresh wants the best for his son, but the barter is simple – be the best with no room for mediocrity. In another world, this was the exact same relationship shared by Rohan (Rajat Barmecha) and Bhairav (Ronit Roy) in Vikram Motwane’s Udaan (2010), a film separated by a decade but with literally the same plot. It tells you how the same thought process is passed on for generations, until the chain is broken by an individual with a rebellious streak. But Anurag isn’t that guy, just yet.

Elsewhere, you are also introduced to Gurpreet (Kabir Nanda), a teenager born to a Sikh family who is traditionally expected to don a ‘paghdi’. It is almost an orthodox reality of most families based on their religious beliefs that are passed onto their generations. Gurpreet is a budding cricket, but more importantly, he is infactuated to his classmate Ashima (Mia Magar) who isn’t necessarily attracted to Gurpreet, but instead is to another boy in her school. And here is Gurpreet suffering from an inferiority complex, almost doubting himself with a turban and thinking of it as an obstacle in finding his love. As per Gurpreet, he is funny and good looking only when he would cut his hair, thereby prompting a conflict with his family.

Again the prompt is that of a ‘divide’, but the writing never chooses to take sides – there is nothing like right or wrong, even as the focus extends to his father who is grappling with the thought of his son cutting his hair (which is a sin in his religion). It is more of an issue restricted within the confines of his home, as opposed to spreader it wider with the society. I liked the intimacy of the setting here – also signifying on what the individual and the family thinks is right for them, as opposed to gathering opinions and validations from the society. In a way, it is an anti-thesis of the social media culture that thrives on validation of the most petty things in life! But it is a rat race that most of us have committed to today, but not so back in the day when life was indeed simple.

The third parallel plot point involves the presence of Gaurav (Shhivam Kakar), who is an average joe expected to take care of the optician shop run by his father Rakesh (the late Nitesh Pandey). But in an unexpected moment, you see him stumbling on his father getting intimate with another man, something that scars him momentarily. Again the period plays a part in this track, when homosexuality was a sin and often unheard of (intentionally speaking). And so in a scene you see him frustrated and venting it out on his friend Anurag.

It is interesting how the three boys are just themselves, when spending time with each other. That is the most honest and free, that you see them in the film – from getting into fights, to sharing each other’s insecurities, to also occasionally getting into unfiltered fun. Given the year of the boards, it may not occur to them that this would probably be the final time that they would be together baggage free, and with life willing to kick in around the corner, it would all be either too sanitized or formal or long distance going forward. Their group essentially represents friendship from the late 90s, that wasn’t virtual but more humane and in-person. And that adds to the nostalgia here, given how even I was probably the last generation to witness this kind of unadulterated friendship. A smile with a tear is all I can afford while looking back.

There is an inherent thread of masculinity that loosely connects the three stories, each representing different degrees of it. In a fleeting scene, you witness Gaurav driving a car while coming face-to-face with another car that hosts a couple. You don’t see him backing off until the girl kindly requests him to do so. It is the kind of masculinity that Gaurav is programmed for, until he witnesses the feminine thread in his father Rakesh. Here, Rakesh is sensitive, often hiding himself and his reality from the world but ably supported by his wife Ritu (Geeta Agrawal Sharma). Ritu is the circuit-breaker and a mode of communication between the father and the son in a very different way – she is a giver, willing to understand the other perspective and hoping her son does too. This masculinity is also true for Gurpreet’s father whom we never see hitting his son, even when the ‘sin’ is committed. But it is masculinity in a very different shade for Naresh who doesn’t hesitate to smack his son for an exam score that is mediocre. Ironically, the only time he is mild is the time that hurts Anurag the most, towards the end.

Ultimately, the driving force for the three tales is the 90s nostalgia, that directly connects the three stories. Be it a Shawn Michaels reference, or the poster of Chandrachur Singh on the walls that gives you an ambience. The times of innocence are represented through moments of oblivion and extremism – in a scene, a character exclaims on how eye-contact can spread homosexuality, in another, you see a character writing love letters in blood because that was the symbol of true love apparently. In fact, the nostalgia also extends to the quality of love when a character exclaims on how he won’t pollute his love with a ‘kiss’. There is an inherent sweetness to it, even in the resolutions that ooze of simplicity. But when there is an FM radio playing at the end, it signals the start of a new era that would eventually shape the futures of all the characters, into the next phase that would make lives complicated. And the best part remains, on how everyone is (and was back then) oblivious to the new reality.