Friday, November 24, 2023

Iqraar-naama of resounding and reassuring 'qaraar'




Partition is a highly combustible theme. While propaganda material often incinerates its inherent richness to drive home convenient truths or broadcast clarion calls, even the honest filmmaker can knowingly or unknowingly impair its fertility through an indulgence in either direction – a downpour of hollow sentimentality or an arid, cerebral discourse to no avail.

Precisely why Priyanka Chhabra’s ‘Iqrarnama’ is a whiff of fresh air for the discerning viewer who otherwise clings to timeless work like M S Sathyu’s Garm Hawa (Hot Winds) or Ritwik Ghatak’s Jukti, Takko aar Gappo (Reason, Debate and Story) for fear of having to lock horns with flagrant contamination in the name of fluid imagination.   

Chhabra dexterously brings out the protagonist’s elusive detachment, which looms large despite his obvious vulnerability, without recourse to any fancy cinematic device. As you hear refugee Charandas Bangia recount his multi-hued experiences of his Lyallpur-to-Amritsar voyage, an evocative montage of key transcripts, academic certificates, employment particulars, identity cards, and animated illustrations conveys the untold, as also hints at the consciously forgotten, in as non-intrusive manner as possible. Everyday movements convey a truckload of stories - slow walks to the cupboards, the painstaking search for tattered documents tucked in shapeless plastic bags, quilt-covered, pensive faces and confused minds lost in memory lanes, giving partial anwers while munching softened biscuits dipped in tea...    

Three images left a lasting impression on my mind: 

one, a dignified lady of towering maturity talking of the need to detach one’s past such that the scions can make new beginnings; 

two, an unruffled pigeon outside the window of the protagonist’s house, a stoic surveyor and chronicler of history who has seen it all but won’t ever tell; 

and three, a little boy clinging to his refugee grandfather in the photo frame shop, sole custodian of the present eyeing the camera with innate curiosity, blissfully unaware of the disruption and mayhem of a bygone era.

More than the smart editing and nuanced direction, it is Chhabra’s genuinely probing mind that has made the documentary so relatable. Her curiosity to trace her own roots intrigued by her own “of Delhi yet not from Delhi” identity has led her gainfully astray. This wandering mind helps connect the dots, not necessarily to arrive at conclusions, but more as a look back to help look beyond. 

Aware of the innate lop-sidedness of the chosen narrative, Chhabra has beautifully incorporated the Pakistan-side of things through voice excerpts of Joginder Paul and Krishna Sobti’s enduring literature. 

As an aside, Deewane Maulvi Sahab’s “Lucknow in Karachi” recreation in Paul’s Khwabrau (Sleepwalkers) seems like a great antidote to Bahadur Shah Zafar’s lament of “Jab chhod chale Lucknow Nagari”!  

Wish Chhabra had also made room for Manto’s ‘Black Margins’ as she originally intended, which would have been a wholesome contextual inclusion. Music has been sparingly used throughout the film, which underlines the poignancy, especially the soulful number following the initial frames and the minimal background score of a haunting genre that accompanies the credits.    

More importantly, Chhabra’s work has tangentially underlined the import and enormity of reallocating land and property to refugee farmers and non-farmers in independent India, especially the herculean effort of civil servant Tarlok Singh and his ingenious use of heuristics (twin measures of standard cut and graded cut in accounting for the differing land fertility) and the new townships for traders, artisans and workers among the refugees. These were credible solutions in the aftermath of a horrendous event, notwithstanding the fact that they left many dissatisfied and even fuming, a collateral damage that India had no option but to live with.  


This film is made with a grant under the Arts Practice programme at India Foundation for the Arts (IFA), made possible with support from magnanimous donors like Illana Cariappa and Cholamandalam Investment and Finance Company.

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