In the face of all misogyny, sexism, classicism and women themselves participating in patriarchal oppression, it's a glass of juice which will become an agent of protest. <br><br> The short film is the story of one evening and how that in itself is sufficient to delineate the normalisation of women's marginalisation. However, one day, when a woman decides to stand up and question it, will she be allowed the space to do so? Juice is a wholesome and skilful product which questions the grossly imbalanced gender equations. Shouldered by the most stellar performance by Shefali Shah, the film is undisputedly a very relevant, subtle and poignant piece of art on gender.

Juice | Short Film of the Day

Hamid is an achingly beautiful film about love, loss, faith, duty, and keeping humanity alive in a
climate of injustice and dangerous politics. Adapted from Mohd. Amin Bhat’s play ‘Play Phone No
789’, the film follows a seven-year-old Hamid (Talha Arshad Reshi) in Kashmir, trying to find his
footing in a world where his father has gone missing. Unable to comprehend the implications of his
father being taken by the police, or his mother’s (Rasika Dugal) isolating grief as a half-widow, Hamid
embarks on a quest to get his father back. When told that his father is with Allah, Hamid puts two
and two together, and calls Allah’s number – 786. His call is answered by a CRPF officer, Abhay (Vikas
Kumar) who decides to play along, and an unlikely connection blossoms between the diametrically
opposite individuals. 

<h2>In recent years, without a doubt, if there ever was a region creatively and emotionally exploited by
filmmakers, “hami asto, hami asto, hamin ast” (it is here, it is here, it is here). Kashmir has become a touchstone for
creating darker, more relevant content for artists, focused on emotionally overwhelming their
audiences rather than actually tapping into and depicting the raw reality of Kashmir. </h2>

Hamid manages to never lose sight of the issues that allow its protagonists’ story to exist, without
continually exploiting them. The film rests on Hamid’s belief that his father is in “jannat” with God,
but everyone other than the young boy is painfully aware that his father is merely a casualty of the
conflicts in “Jannat-e-Kashmir”. Hamid, his parents and their story are casualties of Kashmir’s
trauma; his grief is almost an archetypal one – part of a collective subconscious of the Valley. The use
of a child’s lens to view dark and traumatic events isn’t a new concept, but Hamid never treats its
foundational concept as something unique or ingenious.

<br><br>

The cinematography is wonderful, bringing something novel to even the cliché, quintessential
'Kashmir shots'. As engaging as Hamid’s humorous naivety and heart-breaking determination is, the
film dominated by long shots engulfs him in Kashmir’s expansive greenery and tumultuous politics.
Rasika Dugal’s performance is phenomenal; every posture, every expression and every move
exude destitution and resilience, anguish and numbness, heart-break and anger, all at once. Reshi is an impeccable Hamid; he plays the part of an innocent and stubborn child with
surprising maturity and intuitiveness. <br><br>

The film truly is heart-breaking; I’ve watched it thrice in the span of a year, and I’ve never managed
to hold back my tears when Hamid reads out a letter he’s written to his father, begging him to
return, when talking to “Allah” on the phone. 

<h2>What is even more heart-breaking, however, is the
fact that when Hamid won a National Film Award for best Urdu film and best child actor in August
2019, the filmmakers were unable to communicate the celebratory news to young Talha Arshad
Reshi – a resident of Kashmir - owing to the state-wide lockdown and internet shutdown in the
region. </h2> 

The helpless anguish depicted in the film extends to reality, especially today, when Kashmir’s
state of affairs has so quickly barrelled out of control.

Like most films based on Kashmir, the conventional happy ending is not possible for a film like
Hamid, as there hasn’t been a happy beginning, middle, or end for Kashmir. Giving in to the grief,
burying the past, and moving on seems to be the only form of closure a film like Hamid can offer to
its characters and viewers. 

<br/><br/>
<b><i>Written by <span class="text-gradient">Sanjana Bhagwat</span></i></b>


Hamid | Rasika Dugal | Review

Tanuja Chandra's documentary
‘Aunty Sudha, Aunty Radha’, follows her real aunts who live
in a rural part of North India along with a retinue of their domestic helpers.

<h2>The two nonagenarians are the centre of a peculiar, little, self-sustained community in Mathura. All of their household helpers have been there for decades. They work with reverence, making serving the two women seem almost like a devotional ritual. </h2> In return, for their
sustenance, the vast farmlands in the property are equally divided to provide them surplus crop.
Aunty Radha’s son, who devised the arrangement and bought the property, frequents them
once a week. Rest of the time the house is run at the whims of Sudha, the younger, much more
dominant sibling. <br><br>

It is a unique set-up, one that most people cannot hope to afford, but that is not the point of this
film. It is about what truly matters in life. The relationship between the two women is explored
simultaneously in depth along with the everyday occurrences of their life and
times. It is a symbiotic dependence of two souls that have been together for ages, and cannot
fathom to be apart. In each other, they have found a reason to make the rest of their life worth
so much more. Perhaps it is each others’ company that has prolonged their lives, and kept them healthy. 


<h2>Chandra’s care for the subject is translated well into the film that is profound without ever trying. The
film’s grammar feels as delicate as blown glass. It treats its characters with affectionate care, love and a sense of security that pervades throughout. </h2>

Life is alright in this little community
and there is nothing else, but all-pervasive positivity that has made its home there. The experience of being part
of a loving, synchronised community is visible in the household helpers. The cook who knows she
will never quite satisfy Aunty Sudha’s demands, the experienced gardener who is happy to tend
to flowers and laugh at the women's quips, another helper who is much closer to the old women

and understands the responsibility that comes with it; the sense of spirituality of daily life is found
in every member of the house.

<br><br>
Through characters that are old, and preparing for the ultimate eventuality, the film affirms life
itself in its most rudimentary form. Happiness is not only to be found in success, or grand events that
surround one, but merely the conscious act of living for oneself, and being there for the people
around you is sufficient. This film is an experience that places one’s faith in living, and in the ordinary, mundane experiences of life that remain grossly underrated.

<br/><br/>
<b><i>Written by <span class="text-gradient">Nimish K Sharma</span></i></b>

Aunty Sudha Aunty Radha | Shorted Screening | Tanuja Chandra

A broker in Delhi is not the first character to come to mind while thinking of a film protagonist, won't you agree? This is one of the many points of uniqueness of Kartaa. <br><br> It takes the viewer into the struggles and obstacles of a broker as he tries to keep his family afloat. The short film delves into the murky, seedy aspects of society in the most poignant manner. While revealing the extent of its ruthlessness, it further affirms that sometimes there indeed is no ray of light at the end of the tunnel.

Kartaa | Short Film of the Day

First person documentaries are usually a reflection of the director's idiosyncrasies. They blur the lens
between the observer and the creator. While a third-person documentary would document and let the
camera tell a story, a first person narrative reminds you that you are seeing the film from the
director's perspective. 
<h2>About Love, the latter of the two, is a sincerely heartwarming film that flows like a breeze from start to finish. There is
never a dull moment in a narrative that captures a regular Marathi Brahmin family in their
daily lives. Director Archana Phadke has documented her family in the lead up to her
brother's wedding, trying to explore love in its mundane, overlooked, day-to-day form. </h2>

Love in a family is often never expressed through words, but conveyed through actions.
The mother takes care of the father's eccentricities. The grandmother, who has been married to
her husband for decades, quips that she follows him around all day for the 'sake of humanity'.
The grandchildren irritate the grandfather for fun, but also take care of his medicines. <br><br>
The film documents a family which is dysfunctional, but bound together in a sort of permanence
that only a family allows. Couples firmly believe in "until death do us part". While siblings
banter, the grandparents hurl abuses at each other constantly. <h2>Through all the
nagging, bickering and dad-jokes that land extremely well, a story about love is
documented through the eyes of the director.</h2>
Phadke has a background in filmmaking which is probably why she chose the medium for its intimate nature. Her
filmmaking abilities keep this film smooth, with well-framed shots and the house taking
up a life of itself.The residence has been around since 1901, we are told. A shot composed
of the grandmother, mother and the director herself with the camera standing on three different floors, one
above the other, conveys that the story is not simply confined to a single generation. <br><br>
The film is at its most subtle and mesmerising when it draws the character portraits of
the mother and the grandmother. The mother wears a smile on her face and lifts the house on
her shoulders. She yearns for two things - peace of mind and to be able to write, both of which
continue to evade her. She longs for comfort and recognition as she reads excerpts from her stories, always willing to explain her motifs and themes. She plans to write about love, about 'two
women separated by time' and comments on the nature of the relationship of Radha and
Krishna.<br><br>
The grandmother is from a different time. As she grows old, she becomes one with the house,
alone in a structure too big for her. She clings to memories from her past as her children and
grandchildren grow up and move on. <br><br>
There is a discussion on misogyny to be had, and the nature of love that women learn to give in to
marriage. Both the women form a real life tragedy that everyone is familiar with, all the while
maintaining the beauty of everyday relatability and light-heartedness. With its jovial quips as
well as deep conversations, About Love becomes a film that stays and deeply affects the viewer.<br/><br/>
<b><i>Written by <span class="text-gradient">Nimish K Sharma</span></i></b>  

About Love | Review | Archana Atul Phadke

Samskara translates to 'impressions' - something around which the whole narrative of the film would come to pivot. The visuals make the most skilled use of hand-hold shots and dimly lit frames to build up the tension and suspense of the characters. The viewer is able to participate in it, owing to the manner in which they are weaved. <br><br> The narrative also makes an expert use of parallel narratives. The reason it works visually and manages to drive its point home most convincingly is because of the seamless editing. The film is an exploration of the extent of the effect of abuse and how entrapping childhood trauma can be. The exploration also justifies the title - the cyclical nature of life, constituted by an external repeat of internal impressions. 

Samskara | Namit Das

Kheer is a short film about two generations, a child and her grandfather, and the way they look at love and relationships. It opens with an irritated man, played most convincingly by Anupam Kher, quarrelling with a woman. The intimacy of the quarrel suggests that the two are married. <br><br> The narrative then introduces two more characters, a girl and a boy, Kher's grandchildren. The surprise of these two characters is used most intelligently to reveal that she's indeed not his wife. The short film earns brownie points for the manner in which it navigates around the concepts of companionship and age. It also attempts to normalise the idea that age and the desire to be with someone are two unrelated things. Therefore they should not be judged using this non-existent link as an index.

Kheer | Short Film of the Day

Take some great scripting, add to it beautiful cinematography, good acting and the right amount of emotion, and you get the perfect recipe for a wholesome short film. Ghar ka Khaana is a touching story of a grandmother who refuses to give up on what she feels is the best mode of recovery - home-cooked food. The film also goes to show that the road to someone's heart is indeed through their stomach. So, in case of a difficulty, when all else fails, just present the adversary with a bowl of a home-cooked dal and who knows, victory might just be yours.

Ghar Ka Khana | Short Film of the Day

Gamak Ghar’s charm lies in its simplicity, its ability to stick to the very basics of filmmaking,
showing what the medium is truly capable of, even in its most elemental form. It is like making sushi. How much flavour can you possibly derive from raw fish and
steamed rice with a few drops of a bland sauce? Enough to rule the world. However, when it comes to art, we might need more than just sauce.<br><br>
Achal Mishra, a twenty-three-year-old debutant director, might be walking towards that coveted mastery. His
film reminds one of the monk-like tranquility of Yasujiro Ozu’s films. There is a surety to his craft. The bare, most conventional elements that the masters of cinema have played with are
used innovatively and appropriately in his narrative.


<h2>Gamak Ghar is the story of a family during three different time periods (spanning two decades) and the way 
they come together in their ancestral home for important family functions.</h2>

It is a house built by a man mythologized in the first time frame (1998) itself. He was a playwright, and a respected
resident of a small village in Bihar. His simply yet elegantly constructed house now sees his
grandchildren play hide and seek in its nook and corners, while the memory of his death looms large over their
parents’ memories. <br><br>
The film is as much about the house itself as the family. Its progression through the decades is
harrowing, from a lively place full of light and life, to a gloomy, deteriorating shell of itself. The family
members move out one by one, some die and the house, which represents the roots of the family, slowly withers away with the passage of time. <br><br> Foundations laid by the grandfather lose their strength.
The subsequent generations seek out a new life and foundations elsewhere. Places, much like people, often die of natural causes, finally embracing their end when and after they are remembered for a last time. 
<h2>The narrative is also about progression of memories. Recent memories are often vivid, and induce
immediate emotions. The further they go from us, the more visceral they become. Some emotions
become nostalgia and acquire a strange sense of dreaminess that belongs to neither the present nor
the past. </h2> They are as much imagination as remembrance. Their records are found in old
cases catching pests and rotting with time. Their impact remains poignant. Eventually the bittersweet moments become afterthoughts that one carries in the back of their mind, but unable to ever express them out loud. <br><br>
The film is brilliant in its simplicity. Anand Bansal, the
cinematographer, austerely uses frozen frames in confined spaces, meticulously fixing his
shots to perfection. The use of aspect ratios as a storytelling device works splendidly (the
aspect ratio goes wider with every time frame, as the family spreads out to different areas, and
as there is more emptiness in the house to cover). Brilliantly directed, the earlier shots are
tighter, more focused and filled with people. The wide frames accentuate the emptiness of
the house in the latter parts. Natural elements like fog, darkness and dust are used in their
tradition sense. <h2>Certain shots are used again and again, each time with the house in a different
condition, to show the passing of time. It captures corridors, verandahs, and tulsi plants that die
and are born again in the same pot after decades. </h2>
There are themes and motifs to be found throughout the film, like in the subtleties of real human
behaviour. A cast of actors and non-actors are left to their devices to compose scenes in an
extremely authentic fashion while the camera acts as the eyes of the walls.
The excellence of Gamak Ghar is in many things. However what makes it truly special is the universal
story it so convincingly tells, and the simplistic mastery of craft it uses to tell it.

 <br/><br/>
<b><i>Written by <span class="text-gradient">Nimish K Sharma</span></i></b>  

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