Death & ‘Duniyadaari’: Scenes after a funeral

It’s quite apt to be viewing Ram Prasad Ki Tehrvi at the cusp of a new year and not just because of the period that the film is set in, spanning the last days of December and January 1.

It’s also apt because of the larger theme of a definitive end and the tentative, fresh beginnings; how it reminds us that time is not just a linear progression but is also a circular motion, each moment encompassing the past, present and the future, all within itself. Something one is often prone to philosophise and ponder on a New Year’s Eve.

Film, theatre and stage actor Seema Pahwa’s directorial debut begins with the last moments before the death of the patriarch of the Bhargava family, Ram Prasad (Pahwa’s mentor Naseeruddin Shah in a guest appearance).

As the large family—immediate and extended—gathers together in the sprawling Lucknow home to perform his last rites, it becomes all about sharing the burden of a common grief and brings out intimacies and affections as well as the hidden grudges, the unspoken resentment, the unresolved insecurities and unexpressed anger of the individual members to the fore.

It’s a familiar trope in a number of films, both from India and abroad. However, Pahwa makes it all work by harnessing the immense power of the quotidian. There is an authenticity to the world that she sets it in, the life-like characters who inhabit her canvas, the genuineness of their emotions and the distinctive wit and humour that she often imbues the humdrum situations with.

The camera glides in, in the opening shot, through the street and the neighbourhood into the home where much of the action would take place, the home that is also a character in its own right, bearing witness to the goings on in its folds.

Pahwa’s cinema is essentially that of humility and modesty, not just in the way she thanks each of her actors in the credits but in the larger, unassuming manner in which she tells the story. Right from the start, none of the scenes shout out loud for attention, the conversations are almost inconspicuous.

The chatter in the background as the family members of the deceased arrive, their banal talk about how they rushed on hearing the news, the digs about the daughter-in-law who couldn’t make it, brewing tea at night despite cooking being forbidden in the house of the deceased, the stolen swigs of liquor—it all seems plucked from life.

From the English speaking suave tauji to the crotchety mamaji who spends an hour in the toilet in the morning—these could be our relatives. As could be the loud but helpful neighbour and the many family jokes. For instance, the one about the badi buaji (old aunt)—"Abhi tak hain (Is she still alive)?” asks one character, all a giggle.

The family dynamics and politics are relatable—the band of bahus (daughters-in-law), their quibbles with the saas (mother-in-law); the disgruntled sons, dissatisfied with what their parents provided them in life yet weighed down with the guilt of not having been around for them in their old age. The odd bahu who doesn’t quite belong and becomes the butt of all the jokes. It’s about how money matters and unpaid loans can unsettle the ties that bind. How things can get unjust for some members, how some get to become favourites and yet others get thrust upon with the role of the inheritors, the keepers of the legacy.

The plotless film often meanders, goes adrift but still doesn’t get derailed, quickly finding its way back to holding the audience interest and attention. A major contributing factor is the stellar ensemble cast—besides Shah and Pathak Kapur, there’s a veritable who’s who of acting like Manoj Pahwa, Vinay Pathak, Parambrata Chattopadhyay, Konkona Sen Sharma, Vikrant Massey, Ninad Kamath, Brijendra Kala, Divya Jagdale, Deepika Amin, Sadia Siddiqui and Rajendra Gupta among others. No one tries to dominate over the other or outshine others and race ahead. Each stays in tune with others to create a larger rhythm of the home and the family.

Pahwa’s portrayal of death is emotional—the mother (Supriya Pathak Kapur) having to bid farewell to her husband after years of togetherness, feeling lonely despite all family members being around. But it never gets morbid.

It’s about negotiating loss and grief within the frames of “duniyadaari” or the worldly continuities. There will be fun and games despite the mourning, some rituals adhered to just as others are conveniently done away with. There will be outbursts and battles; but the family will eventually prevail, warts and all.