Chaman Bahaar

It is only now, when much of Hindustani cinema is losing its originality, that films from the Hindustani heartland have, ironically, started to emerge much more regularly: while many, especially from the Netflix stable, show an exaggerated world of lust-crime-passion, as if Zola were resurrected into Indian films (or as if the B-grade films of the old days have gotten themselves the Netflix gloss and unabashed viewer permissiveness), there are rare gems such as Chaman Bahaar, which are trimmed to the authenticity of India and its people and are important chapters not only in Indian cinematic history but also in a record of Indian people's lived lives in the centuries to come.

The film's title, quite appropriately given that the film revolves around an incipient paan shop owner, is the name of many paan shops in India, with "chaman bahaar" literally meaning something like "a blooming garden" or "a blooming flower-bed" or "a garden in spring." The film, however, is not about paan: one would need to watch many of Saeed Jaffrey's films to appreciate paan. It depicts the mentalscape of many a Indian youth: not well educated but having enough brains, aimless, wanting to be a big shot, idling alone and in company (often around a paan and cigarette shop), and finally getting infatuated with a girl: a girl who is a package of many of the things they are missing in their life, namely "modernity," English, confidence, education, pampered upbringing, money, acknowledgement of feminine-ness, and a role for feminity. Some of the boys end up in a state of overbearing and noxious masculinity (called nowadays as "toxic masculinity," which this film does not celebrate, contrary to some myopic critics' judgements), and many, like Billu (the protagonist of the film), end up in a state of feeling sorely and helplessly their lack of masculinity. The film sticks to Billu and his world: the film is his universe, his emotions, confusions, frustrations, feelings, understandings and lack of understanding. The film is his eyes, his senses, his voice, and the director never compromises on that: staying true and courageous to his story, he remains loyal to his character and that character's universe. Billu never talks with the object of his infatuation, and hence the object of infatuation is even more objectified, with the girl Rinku having no dialogue in the film, simply flitting around and exciting boys' desires. There is nothing demeaning to women in this, as some critics have fallen headlong into such surmises: rather, this is the aesthetic demand of the film, because Billu is in his world, trapped in his frustrations, and although he watches Rinku every day, watches her with a rising crescendo of passions in his heart, yet he never sees her for who she is, as will be realised by Billu himself later in a painful episode of life that may serve him well.

The film paints an extraordinarily authentic picture of India, though reality can be much more scary when politicians' sons start chasing a girl than what is shown in the film, meant to be light-hearted and meant to keep focus on Billu, not the other boys and bees. I know many Billus, and I think many in India would know many of them and would themselves have been a Billu at some stage of their life. To be a Billu is a man's fate in India, especially in small-town India, for a boy and a girl can hardly even walk together hand in hand in India: inevitably, frustrations for some mount, especially (but not uniquely) when presented with a birth that was not in a power-wielding household. The Marathi film Sairat, which deals with requited love unlike here, comes to mind: Sairat is a good (and very different) film and story, but it could have developed its male protagonist's character a bit better at the beginning of the film, giving him Billu-like shades.

A final word about the film's other aspects. Dialogues are brilliant, with humour underlining the film throughout, and lines such as "puus ke jaaRaa men aam phal jaaen" in one of the songs are extraordinarily poetic if Hindi is a language you understand well or you are born in: the very selection of the word for winter here, "jaaRaa," elevates the song to sublime poetry, staying true at the same time to the film's small-town register. Acting performances are all adequate, with Jitendra Kumar as Billu doing the necessary, the two actors who play the characters of Billu's friends Somu and Chhotu putting in the best performances of the film, and Ritika Badiani as Rinku looking the teenage girl whom all the boys find hot. The film is based in Chhattisgarh, a welcome rarity, but the film could have been based anywhere in the Indian subcontinent: this story is to be found everywhere and yet so less and so lackingly told! The film is not celebrating the Billudom of India's youth: the film is showing a Billu's story, with compassion and understanding. The film is rather lamenting the Billudom of India's youth. This is a powerful debut by the director Apurva Dhar Badgaiyann, who is not only directing the film but also donning other roles (such as writing the story and co-writing the song lyrics). I hope he does not chase big banners and starts making inane films, as sometimes happens to young promises.