Love is war in Pankaj Kapur’s Mausam, and this thesis is most manifest in a minor character named Rajjo (played beautifully by Aditi Sharma). Rajjo loves a neighbour – in other words, a man just across the border – but her desire for a longstanding bilateral relationship is thwarted when another woman invades his heart. This woman, naturally, becomes the enemy, and in a move worthy of a Cold War double agent, Rajjo grants her asylum – at a later point – and subsequently betrays her confidence. Rajjo, meanwhile, has made her peace through a meaningless treaty, a marriage, with another man, but like a homesick NRI, her heart still beats for her neighbour, with whom she has now established an uneasy détente. She gets to voice this film’s summing-up statement when she bursts into Ajeeb dastaan hai yeh, kahan shuru kahan khatam, a song from a film whose title could well be the story of Rajjo’s life: Dil Apna Aur Preet Parai. The song speaks of a strange journey, with no discernable beginning or end, and that’s what this film’s posters promise: a “timeless love story.”
If you think I’m reading too much into Rajjo, you haven’t begun to scratch the surface of this narrative, which is a strange journey indeed, with no discernable sense of beginnings and ends. Mausam gets going in a quasi-realistic mode (in the sense that we are not thrust into the outré tableaux vivants that tip us off in, say, a Bhansali movie that what we’re watching cannot be evaluated with the “realistic” yardstick) and ends under the light of the full moon, with the prince evading the ogres in the forest and crossing the river of fire (the inevitable evolution of the burning coals that formed the film’s first image) and freeing the white steed and walking off with the princess towards happily-ever-after, finally liberated from the decades-long curse on their coming together. What a jaw-dropping (and frankly mad) conception this is, even if the execution leaves you wringing your hands about how much more wondrous this could have been. Mausam is a film where almost as much goes wrong as right, and the fatally lightweight leads don’t have it in them to convey the bitter blight of a star-crossed romance, but the highs are breathtaking and you come away thinking that this is the most that could have been made of this story in the commercial climate of this age, that this imperfect film is the most perfect this moony material could be shaped into for today’s multiplexes.
At least Rajjo’s war is merely metaphorical. Harry (Shahid Kapoor) and Aayat (Sonam A Kapoor), on the other hand, are wrenched apart by literal warfare. Thanks to the Forrest Gump-ian whimsies of Pankaj Kapur’s narrative, their story glides through the troubles in Kashmir, Ayodhya, Kargil, Gujarat – even 9/11. What conspires to keeps the lovers apart isn’t parental opposition or religion but capital-F fate, whose idly malevolent presence isn’t felt in the early scenes which unfold in Mallukot, Punjab, with the same pace at which life unfolds in Mallukot, Punjab. This is the most easily digestible portion of the film, and there’s a fragrance in these mustard fields that we do not find in the overproduced Yash Chopra romances. Harry and his friends play cricket and chomp on sugarcane sticks and dream, lazily, about the future. The director establishes a wonderful sense of time and place and mood, casually hinting that this is a still a world when a professor named Bashir is an unquestioned part of the community, and even the smaller characters like Harry’s sister and her London-returned fiancé are memorably etched.
Their wedding is when the film begins to change gears, inching near-invisibly into the fantastic and the fabulous. As Hindu fanatics demolish the Babri Masjid, these winds of tumultuous change blow into this quiet and hitherto sun-drenched village – literally. Strings of wedding lights begin to sway in unexpected gusts and a storm breaks out and the wedding pictures have to be taken in shelters away from the rain. This is when I suppose you will decide whether to stick with Mausam or not, because the rest of the film builds ever-so-gradually on this hyper-realism until, by the end, we’re completely snapped free from any sane semblance of “reality” (as we narrowly define it in the movies). Even the solidly geometric construction of the first half – first, she enters his life and vanishes without a word, then he enters her life and vanishes without a word – loosens gradually into a vaporous nightmare, and we feel we’ve lost sense of time and are trapped in a fever dream where all we hear are hollow echoes.
If I had to guess, I’d say that Pankaj Kapur’s favourite writer is Marquez and his favourite filmmaker is Ozu. Mausam is suffused with Marquez-like (and Marquez-lite) longing, that dull ache brought about by too much love, and this sentiment – again – is literalised through a song, a classic ode to yearning from an older film, Abhi na jaao chhod kar. And from Ozu we get the dispassionate style and the emphasis on the before and the after but not the during. The big moments, the dramatic moments occur off-screen. The wars play out on television and in letters, and what we see is the effect of these conflicts on the lives of people. (It’s like how Ozu dwells on marriage in many of his films, but we don’t see the ceremonies the narratives have been building towards, but simply the befores and the afters.) When Harry and Aayat meet after seven years, we are not allowed the cathartic wallow through a melancholic song that might have telescoped the passage of these seven years, and instead we witness their parting and subsequently their reunion, where they talk as if they last met seven minutes ago. And later, when they are separated again and when her handwritten letters don’t reach him, we are not shown the natural dramatic conclusion of this contrivance, where Harry would return to his ancestral home and throw open the doors and find these piles of communication and drop to his knees in shock and sorrow. We see Aayat writing out a letter. We then see, much later, a letter in Harry’s hand as he tacitly acknowledges its role in his continuing separation from the love of his life. Hindi films thrive on the during, the big moments where big things happen, and Mausam walks away from these moments with practiced disdain. (The exceptions are a mistake, as when Harry is seen piloting over Tiger Hill, even if we’re not shown actual warfare with enemies whose faces reduce them to real people. There’s a reason Ozu never ventured much outdoors.)
That’s why I think it’s wrong to market these films like regular love stories with pretty people that young audiences relate to and swoon over. These are mainstreamed art films and when audiences are promised, through promos, some sort of commercially viable Vijeta – which, though considered an “art film” in its time is much more accessible than Mausam, and it’s a something of a crushing life lesson to compare the fragile Supriya Pathak from there to her mordant, matronly presence here – they walk in for a romance-infused tale of valour. And instead, they get this languorous odyssey through the mists of time, crossing continents and hinged on historic events, where televisions and trains are as much characters as the people inside them. (Several key moments in Harry’s life occur on trains, most memorably one in which he thinks he has forever lost Aayat. At this point, you can almost imagine him in another movie and on another train, singing, wishing, praying, like Shah Rukh Khan did, Aayat ki tarah mil jaaye kahin…)
Shahid attempts to hide his boyish looks by slapping on a moustache and by sprouting a beard and by concealing the exuberant twinkle in his eyes behind Aviator sunglasses, but like his sylphlike co-star, he just doesn’t age convincingly. We sense the passage of years in the narrative but we don’t see it on their faces and in their eyes. But a bigger problem is that of mood. Every time the director cuts away to a foreign location – especially Scotland, with waltzes and the ballet and Mozart concerts that limit themselves to Eine kleine Nachtmusik – we embark on yearnings of our own, to return to India. This is the geography the director is most comfortable in, and these are the people he’s most comfortable with (a special nod in Manoj Pahwa’s direction), and the heart sinks when the film steps outside, where the happenings become quite risible at times. Couldn’t the same plot about criss-crossed lives and fates been situated in various parts of our own vast nation? But hours after walking out of Mausam, I couldn’t shake the film off. It’s very problematic but it’s also one of a kind, and I was thankful that, save for the odd shot of the shirtless hero meant to showcase his sexed-up star appeal, the film never panders or plays safe. If you go in knowing what to expect, you might be surprised at how unexpected a Bollywood romance can get.
Copyright ©2011 Baradwaj Rangan. This article may not be reproduced in its entirety without permission. A link to this URL, instead, would be appreciated.
pawan
September 25, 2011
Is it just me or your Hindi Film reviews have actually taken a giant leap since you left Express? I wasn’t thinking of watching this film, but now I will. Thanks 🙂
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falconer
September 25, 2011
I saw the movie yesterday
and I agree with every word you say
rajjoo was the better portrayal between the two ladies
but who sang the song “abhi na jao chhod kar”? it was superb
regards
falconer
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falconer
September 25, 2011
I just found out….. Shreya Ghoshal musicless rendition of “Abhi na jao chhod kar” from the yesteryear classic Hum Dono is a scintillating piece of singing..
falconer
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dipali
September 25, 2011
Yes, despite all the unbelievable coincidences and twists and turns, it did stay with me. There is great sensitivity to the turbulent times we live in, how even the most unlikely of us can be damaged by the hatred of the unseen, unknown monsters whose fate it is to be agents of hatred and destruction. The village scenes were delightful. The supporting cast was uniformly good.
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Raj Balakrishnan
September 25, 2011
“As Hindu fanatics demolish the Babri Masjid…”. So Pankaj Kapur belongs to the club of pseudo seculars. Guess I will give this a miss.
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Manish Gaekwad
September 26, 2011
Am guessing that Marquez book might be Love In The Time Of Cholera -all that billet doux roundabout was almost spilling out of that book. Rangan, the film also took me to David Lean’s Brief Encounter – as I suppose Pankaj Kapur set out to give his film a Lawrence of Arabia war canvas with the timid heart of Brief Encounter lovers.
Your reviews are peerless, even when I don’t agree with some. This one I cannot recommend enough, to those who were unable to engage with the film – reading this, I hope they can see why sometimes a critic is a helpful interlocutor. Am sharing the link. 🙂
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Amitesh
September 26, 2011
i saw this on sunday. sometimes this film mesmerize you and sometime disappoint. but overall i msut say this a good lovestory which not looks synthetic. and other vantage point of this film could be the location of love between violence, war and hatred. l
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chhote saab
September 26, 2011
what an amazing review! With all the bad reviews it was getting, I was definitely in 2 minds but now I WANT to watch it. I mean Pankaj Kapur is too brilliant to churn out a run of the mill love story, IMO. You just confirmed it.
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bran1gan
September 26, 2011
pawan: There are those who say I wrote my best reviews when I was writing for the Economic Times, because “I didn’t take myself so seriously.” There are those who say I wrote better in the Express and “now my writing has become Hindu-ised.” And you say the Hindu phase is better. I wish I knew for sure so that I could bottle that formula and keeping using it again and again 🙂
Manish Gaekwad: Yes, Love in the Time of Cholera does have that device, but I wasn’t talking about a specific book so much as the feel of his writing. Where things happen slowly and there’s a determined strain of eccentricity and the fantastical. I wish Pankaj Kapur had been a better filmmaker and pulled off the film he had inside his head, but what was on screen was still engaging enough for me.
BTW, I adore Cholera and when I read Solitude afterwards it was a definite comedown. I mean it’s still a great book and all and the writing was still extraordinary but after the dazzling brilliance of Cholera I think I expected the sun and the moon and ended up a little confused with all the Remedios-es and Arcadio Buendias. I had to keep returning to that family tree they’d helpfully provided at the beginning 🙂 I must pick it up again sometime.
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arijit
September 26, 2011
“I adore Cholera and when I read Solitude afterwards it was a definite comedown.” – this is sacrilegious…coming from a marquez fan (assuming you are one)…the impact of reading solitude cannot even be described in words…one of the most “fantastic” and yet “romantic” books i have ever read in my life…cholera is also amazing…but solitude is unbelievable…you should pick it up right away…btw, both my and my wife decided to give mausam a skip after the unflattering reviews and the yash chopra-ish look of the film…but given your reviews we might revisit…;)…but somehow i am thinking that the review will be better than the film…:D
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Prithvi
September 26, 2011
your reviews are enlightening.. . i need to go and watch the movie now. am a big fan of your writing.
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Ramya
September 26, 2011
I saw it just yesterday night….and I loved the first one hour….but it went downhill after that for me. After a point, I stopped caring about what happened to the leads….get the girl, dont get the girl….fall off the giant wheel, dont fall off….it didn’t matter anymore to me….and when you stop caring about what happens to the leads in a love story, that’s dangerous.
Also, I absolutely love Shahid, but his moustache had me giggling throughout. That didn’t help, no.
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Rajesh
September 26, 2011
Great review. I liked the movie till the first half (with very average performance from the leads) but after that, the movie just went downhill for me especially the ending for which I don’t have words to describe.
Also couldn’t understand the reason for the location of Scotland and Switzerland as didn’t played any part in the story. They could very well have been anywhere from India. Anyways, I guess I had good expectations from Pankaj Kapoor and hence a higher disappointment.
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rameshram
September 26, 2011
“.and when you stop caring about what happens to the leads in a love story, that’s dangerous.”
besh besh!
tarantino level, andha scene la.
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Vivek
September 26, 2011
Yup, I liked the movie too. But two squibbles, which I thought you would address. One – implausible situations – Harry doesn’t have time to talk to Aayat before leaving Scotland (they get a message after hours of waiting), Aayat leaves one message on Pammo’s answering machine, then never calls in many years, Aayat writes innumerable letters to Harry’s Mallukot address, still everyone but her go to sell off her aunt’s house etc. This story was probably better set atleast two decades earlier.
And second – the cliche climax totally unfitting to the movie preceding it – Harry getting on top of the Ferris despite his disability and saving the child with a miraculously timely recovery! And do help me and tell what the white horse signified.
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loverboy
September 26, 2011
waste of my $20. i didn’t care for it. missus didn’t like it either. kaafi bekaar pickchar thi. first half was like buniyaad or nukkad. i was wondering ye saala film banaya hai ya teleserial. very slow. i mean ok you want village reality etc. but there is no tadka. spice it up. why do nri’s watch hindi pickchar ? so we can get rerun of bnuniyaad ?
then that last half with the white horse straight out of kaminey! i thought now this chap will take off his shirt & run besides the horse as that child dangling from the wheel falls into his lap. it was so manipulative.
the highs are certainly not breathtaking…unless you mean i will die out of boredom because my last breath has been taken. after supporting a whole bunch of abhishek bachchan flops, you have now broadened your field to prop up any flop. hope you get AD chance soon.
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chhote saab
September 27, 2011
Regarding Pawan’s comment and your reply, I think the difference from before has been the shelving of the much maligned ‘Bullet point reviews’. In general, I think this format is more popular.
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Abhirup
September 27, 2011
loverboy, you need to grow up. Once you do that, we will discuss cinema. I promise. Till then, spare us your blabbering.
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rameshram
September 28, 2011
I approve.
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Maru
September 28, 2011
Brangan, thanks much for this review without which I likely wouldn’t have watched this film, although the Pankaj Kapur factor did have something to do with it 🙂 . I had many quarrels with the film esp. in the way the found, lost, found sequences played out, but I did enjoy the slow burn of the romance. Didn’t quite see the Garcia Marquez or Ozu influences, or even find the leads lacking in the way you did. It seemed like Pankaj Kapur’s show and he hit out of the park for me in the treatment of the idealistic, fantasy romance – e.g. the date in Scotland over tea. When Harry and Aayat parted for the night to the sound of Shreya’s utterly lovely Abhi Na Jao Chod Kar —- sigh! Longing and love – no words necessary. Just some of those moments made the sloppy and ill conceived parts worthwhile for me.
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bran1gan
September 30, 2011
A friend sent me this legendarily awful video and I just had to share 🙂
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KayKay
September 30, 2011
B, That is awful.
However, the tag of Legendarily Awful should, in my humble opinion, be bestowed on this gem:
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VKSingh
October 1, 2011
It is true that Mausam was good in parts but its good parts were way better than bollywoodian love stories including Imtiaz Ali’s Jab We met, love Aaj Kal and Yash Raj, Karan Johar’s formula love stories. There was a freshness in first half of the film.
Did not like the stunt based ending.
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Raj Balakrishnan
October 1, 2011
KayKay thanks for the post above. Was searching this for a long time.
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vishal yogi
March 15, 2012
I did not leave a comment when I read this first. Luckily, I read it just in time, because it was still playing on the big screen and I had to go after reading your (only?) review which did not pan it 100% like the rest of the world.
I loved it, loved it, loved it , and I still cant get it out of my head.
I happened to come across a thing called the ghanta awards in bombay, and oddly Mausam was on their list for many of their “worst xyz” awards.
It made me ponder how such movies get buried under a barrage of criticism, and if I had never come across your essay, I would not have known.
Thank you so much once again!
Just for the record, I did live in California in that era, and cell phones were not that common – which seems to be a favorite rant for critics about how on earth did they not exchange numbers.
The “abhi na jao chod kar” scene is going to haunt me forever *sigh*
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Sev
January 9, 2013
Didn’t you feel for a minute that any actress would have been better than Anil Kapoor’s talentless progeny? I was hoping (in the bit that I’ve seen of the film) that Amrita Rao would have been far, far better.
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