'HARISHCHANDRACHI FACTORY' BY PARESH MOKASHI

- AN ANALYSIS

The movie is about a man from a lower-middle class who starts the trend of movie-making and establishes the movie industry in India.

Inspired by the movie ‘Amazing Animals’, the protagonist begins to film his own ‘moving picture’. Despite facing financial problems, we find him trying to make ends meet, balancing his family as well as keeping his dream alive. He gets so deeply influenced by his own ambition that he is not able to move from in front of the cinema, which was his source of inspiration. This, however, resulted in his acquiring an eye power. His apparent ignorance to the use of spectacles makes him believe that he has lost his eyesight.

As the movie goes on, we realize the most popular belief that was prevalent during that time, that of ‘losing one’s caste on stepping out of the native soil’ plays no part in preventing Phalke from going to London for ‘further studies’. In fact, the issue of caste has been entirely excluded from the movie content, as even sex workers and eunuchs have been given much prominence. However, the movie brings out the irony of the Indian society where a woman is not humiliated when she puts herself ‘on sale’, but she is definitely humiliated when she acts in front of a camera. It also brings out the myth that most of the sex workers are females, for no male has been depicted as being engaged in such activities.

The movie also projects the ‘civilising mission’ of the West, as Phalke undergoes a drastic change in terms of his clothing style, during his stay in London. We see him shifting from the traditional Indian dhoti to a tie-and-suit attire. However, Phalke refuses to let European thoughts influence his own, as he rejects the opportunity to shoot his films in London, believing that India needed to experience movie-making so that they could make use of this source of entertainment.

We realize that the protagonist does not lose sight of his objective and remains true to his roots, as he refrains from brewing up arrogance and ego within himself; Phalke remains humble throughout.

The movie also projects the initial unwillingness of the people to accept anything that is new and different from the conventional things. Thus, Phalke’s initiative to shoot his films was treated with a lot of suspicion and hostility, so much so that he was soon termed as a ‘madman’. The people had associated his craze for shooting with the impact of British influence on the people.

The movie also brings out the Indian belief of having a deep sense of belongingness towards one’s family. It brings out the fact that even a nuclear family can have a strong sense of togetherness. Usually it was seen that siblings, especially brothers, were not always in genial terms with each other. In the movie however, we see that the three siblings had a jovial relationship which also portrayed them being a strongly knit family.

Most importantly, though, is the fact that the movie shows the family as being a supportive backbone for Phalke’s ambition. No possible job can ever be completed without the support of family members. And so, despite facing financial loss, Phalke’s family pampered his dream till it was finally achieved. The movie also brings out the general idea that ‘behind every successful man, is a woman’.          

The movie also acts as an encouragement for parents to support the girl child and be happy for the birth of a baby girl. The movie does not project any bias towards the male child, but gives enough prominence to the baby girl.

It is also worth noting that Phalke’s work crazed mind is obsessed with meeting the deadline. Even the accident of his elder son does not stop him from discontinuing with his shooting. Though he was not being a careless father, he had still preferred his job over the well-being of his son. This showed the gradual inclination of mankind to overlook any kind of interference or interruption that may hamper with the ‘job-at-hand’. It showed the gradual assimilation of the Indian society into the rat race where competition is a predominant factor.

In terms of the technicalities, we notice that the actors in Phalke’s movie had made use of white sheets that acted as the fill light, key light being naturally present (the sun).

Lastly, the actors, while filming Phalke’s ‘motion picture’, were aware of the cinematic time and space, as they had rightly pointed out the presence of a jackfruit tree that would have hampered with the cinematic time portrayed through the script.    

NUANCES OF LIFE

I woke up early in the morning that day. On peeping outside, I was welcomed by the lush greenery and the orange sun that seemed to wish me a good day. I let out a long sigh, content with how things were working out for me. Jumping out of the bed and grabbing my toiletries in quick succession, I dashed out of my room and bumped straight into Sam. Not knowing how I could have allowed myself this slip-up, I soon recovered, and in time to see his deep blue eyes turn up in a smile. Torn between the fervent wish to escape into the safety of the washroom walls and the desire to gape at him for some more time, I tried to hide myself behind the curtain that separated the toilets and the living quarters, but did so unsuccessfully. The result was my yanking the curtain off its railings and it falling to the ground dramatically. Before I had time to react at this second goof-up, I heard the rapid clattering of stiletto heels.

“Now this is something I’d rather not witness. But then again, you’ve always gotten me into trouble for your own wrong-doings, no?” he smirked.

It took every ounce of energy that was there in my still-asleep body to actually respond to the situation. But swift though I was after that remark, I could not cover up the evidence fast enough; I soon heard the presence of my landlord.

“How can you manage to tear this place down within a week of your coming here, when I have been living here for the past thirty years? Do you know how much these railings cost nowadays? Do you even care? Just because it’s not your own house, does not simply mean you do what you wish to do!” ejaculated Your Highness, who looked like a brinjal in the purple dress she had on. 

Accepting her admonishes meekly, I mumbled an apology, picked up the fallen curtain and went back to my room. No sooner had I closed the door that a knock announced a visitor. I opened the door and saw Sam standing there, looking way beyond handsome in his grey t-shirt that was soaked up in sweat; he looked as delicious as ever.

“Hey”, I managed to say.

“Are you busy?” he replied back.

As if it was not evident. “Um, I could tolerate you wasting two minutes of my time. What’s up?” I said. I wondered what he was here for. Our landlord, Ms. Smith, would kill us if she saw him hanging around.

“Do you mind if I come in? Ms. Smith would kill me if she saw me hanging around”, he said, while casting furtive glances in the direction our landlord had gone.

I sigh and let him in, double checking if she were coming this way again. Before I could even shut the door properly, I smelled the sickly sweet stench and felt his arms around me. I allowed myself two seconds of unabashed pleasure before giving in to suspicion.

“What are you doing? Are you out of your mind, or what?” I said cautiously, trying to free myself from the iron grip. Unable to do so and partly curious as to what his intentions were, I stabbed him on the toe with all my might.

“Ow! Stop fidgeting, will you? What are you afraid of? I won’t rape you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

His words caught me off guard. He allowed me to turn and face him in the limited space of his sudden embrace. I looked up in his eyes, which were soft and pleading as ever. He bent his head low and stopped short of a few centimetres from my mouth, pulled a flighty strand off my face, and pressed me harder against him. His soft lips then began probe mine, begging for more, searching for something. Finding an opening, he continued the delicious assault with his tongue. Moaning into his mouth, I felt a sudden change in him. His unusually soft and loving kiss became more urgent. I did not know what he really wanted, did not know if he was having troubles with his family again or not. I thought he wanted to let go of all the frustrations through this passionate kiss, and at the same time, show me how much he needed me.  

The problem was, I sensed that something was different this time.

I could sense it in his urgency. I tried to pull away but he persisted. He did not even stop to let me catch my breath. No matter how hard I tried to break free, he did not seem to budge at all. If not anything else, I was sure he pulling me towards him even more. I did not get what had gotten into him and I didn’t like it either.

After what seemed like eternity, he let go of my lips, but only to continue down my neck. He slid the top’s strings out his way and would have gone further had I not been able to reach for the table lamp, and hit him hard on his head.

What I saw in his eyes that day, and what happened afterwards, would haunt me forever.

He cursed under his breath and launched himself at me, pulling me, picking me up and throwing me onto the bed as if I were a piece of rag. Astounded with what was going on and unable to bring myself to realize what was happening to me, I could not even to even yell out for help. He was on top of me in a split second, tearing at my top and continuing the torture with his lips again. He had me securely under his full body weight and the sheer terror of what was happening made me a mute. Which had definitely made things for him easier.

The tears were spilling incessantly now and no matter how hard I tried to overcome the assault, I just could not match his strength and break free. I felt him pull my pants and underpants down, which made things worse for me as being incapable of crying out for anyone. I thrashed and jiggled as furiously as I could, but he held on to me as if I were simply pushing him lightly.

Many things happened in quick succession. I felt, rather than saw, him pulling his own pants down. This was followed by what seemed to me the most horrific sight ever. I saw the thing, which was as humongous as one could draw or imagine it to be. I heard the crash of my table mirror as well as the food bowl, which made so loud a clatter that it hurt my ears; and the subsequent pattering of heels.

I do not know how things lead to the horrific act after this, for my mind had stopped functioning as I grew more panicky by the minute. That last thing that I remember before the dark enveloped me completely, and before I could take this no longer, was that sharp jab of pain down there.

******

I had woken up early in the morning that day. On peeping outside, I was welcomed by the dry grass that now stood up like dangerous thorns and the pale yellow sun that seemed to wish me a good day. I let out a long sigh, discontented with how things were working out for me. Jumping out of the bed and grabbing my doll in quick succession, I dashed out of the living room by making slightest of noise possible; I did not wish to wake my six younger siblings up. No sooner had I run out of the room, that I bump straight into Uncle Sam. Not knowing how I could have allowed myself this slip-up, I soon recovered, and in time to see his dull brown eyes turn up in a smile. Torn between the fervent wish to escape into the safety of the washroom walls and the desire to gape at him for some more time, I tried to hide myself behind the curtain that separated the toilets and the living quarters, but did so unsuccessfully. The result was my yanking the curtain off its railings and it falling to the ground dramatically. Before I had time to react at this second goof-up, I heard the rapid clattering of bathroom slippers.

“Now this is something I’d rather not witness. But then again, you’ve always gotten me into trouble for your own wrong-doings, no?” Uncle winked.

It took every ounce of energy that was there in my still-asleep body to actually respond to the situation. No sooner had Uncle finished that remark, did I feel the presence of my poor mother.

“How can you manage to tear down this place so effortlessly? Do you know how much these railings cost nowadays? Do you even care? Just because you have been forced to stay indoors, does not simply mean you do what you wish to do!” ejaculated my mother, who looked as pretty as a new bride in the red saree she had on. 

Accepting her admonishes meekly, I mumbled an apology, picked up the fallen curtain and went back to the common room. I looked at my fast-asleep siblings lovingly and allowed myself a quick look in the cracked mirror, before shutting the door panels. No sooner had I done that, that a knock announced a visitor. I saw my Uncle standing near the entrance of the room, looking way beyond handsome in his grey kurta that was soaked up in sweat.

“Good morning”, I managed to say.

“Are you busy?” he replied back.

“You know I am never busy, Uncle. Why ask?” I said. I wondered what he was here for. Mother would be deeply distressed if she saw him in here and not in the fields and Father would simply kill Uncle if he saw him hanging around.

“Do you mind coming with me to the nearby market? Your father needed a few things and I thought you might as well enjoy the cart ride while you can”, he said, while casting guarded looks in the direction Mother had gone. I grinned and let myself out again.

“Don’t make any noise, or else your mother would come to know about your escapade!” he said, laughingly. I grinned again and shook my head, in response.

We soon reached the bullock-cart. It looked so grand, with all the paintings on the horns of the bullocks and the cart that had been painted bright green. He pulled me up and set me upon the cart, holding me a tad bit longer than was necessary. I did not mind, for I was used to this; he always did it to show how much he loved me, his eldest niece. I would always swell up with pride at this attention, for no one ever recognized me as different, despite being the first born child. He hauled himself up next, and pulled me closer to him. But instead of taking the road that went towards the market, he manoeuvred away from it.

“I have a secret hiding place especially built for you”, was his means of explanation. I did not complain and looked complacently at the fields. Most of them had writhed away, under the unrepentant assault of the sun. But the little that was left, had me enraptured completely.

We soon reached a shady house, that I immediately nicknamed ‘The Haunted House’. He pulled me out of the cart and led me to my much awaited hiding place. Once inside, I realized it was a barn that had been recently evacuated for reasons unknown to me. No sooner had these formulated in my mind, did I feel my Uncle’s arms around me. I was surprised at this sudden display of affection but allowed myself two seconds of pleasure before allowing my mind to grow suspicious.      

“What are you doing, Uncle? Are you out of your mind, or what?” I said cautiously, trying to free myself from the iron grip. Unable to do so and partly curious as to what his intentions were, I stabbed him on the toe with all my might.

“Ow! Stop fidgeting, will you? What are you afraid of? I won’t hurt you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

His words reassured me. He allowed me to turn and face him in the limited space of his sudden embrace. I looked up in his eyes, which were now soft and pleading. He bent his head low and stopped short of a few centimetres from my mouth, pulled a flighty strand off my dirt-stained face, and pressed me harder against him. His soft lips then began probe mine, begging for more, searching for something. His unusually soft and loving kiss suddenly became more urgent. I did not know what he really wanted, but I thought that he must be missing his own daughter, and so must be passing on his love for her, to me.

The problem was, however, that I felt something was different this time.

I could sense it in his urgency. I tried to pull away but he persisted. He did not even stop to let me catch my breath. No matter how hard I tried to break free, he would not seem to budge at all. If not anything else, I was sure he pulling me towards him even more. I did not get what had gotten into him, but I didn’t like it at all.

After what seemed like eternity, he let go of my lips, but only to continue down my neck. He slid the shirt’s strap out his way and would have gone further had I not been able to reach for the wooden plank, and hit him hard on his head.

What I saw in his eyes that day, and what happened afterwards, would haunt me forever.

He cursed under his breath and launched himself at me, pulling me, picking me up and throwing me onto the heather as if I were a piece of rag. Astounded by what was going on and unable to bring myself to realize what was happening to me, I could not even to even yell out for help, useless though it may have been. He was on top of me in a split second, tearing at my dress and continuing the torture with his lips again. He had me securely under his full body weight and the sheer terror of what was happening made me mute as ever. 

The tears were spilling incessantly now and no matter how much I tried to overcome the assault, I just could not match his strength and break free. I felt him pull my underpants down, which made things worse for me as being incapable of crying out for anyone. I thrashed and jiggled as furiously as I could, but he held on to me as if I were simply pushing him lightly.

I do not know how things led to the horrific act after this, for my mind had stopped functioning as I grew more panicky by the minute. That last thing that I remember before the dark enveloped me completely, and before I could take this no longer, though, was that sharp jab of pain down there.

NOTHING LIKE THE MOTHER'S HOME

She woke up at the sound of pattering of footsteps outside and yawned without covering her mouth with her hand. It had become a habit of hers, to yawn after waking, by stretching her mouth as widely as possible. But she dared not do so loudly, for fear that her husband might wake up and beat the daylights out of her.  She was cautious more so now because of the baby, who would be hurt more than her. Or so she liked to believe. Dragging her unwilling feet out of the bed covers, she made her way to the kitchen, where she found her mother-in-law and sisters-in-law cooking away. Stifling a sigh, she went about doing her work, amidst the reprimands she received from her in-laws for being so late and therefore, neglecting her duties. Taking the milk container out of the poorly-working refrigerator, she poured a considerable amount into a glass for her husband. She then made her way back to the room, which, she felt, was calling out to her, tempting her into ditching the household chores and lying on top of the soft bed, with the fan whirring softly over face. Shaking these sinful thoughts out of her mind, she called out to her husband of two years into wakefulness. Eyeing her with contempt and disgust, he snatched the glass from her hand, nearly spilling its contents on the bed-sheet. After he was done, she sorrowfully made her way back to the kitchen which seemed to her like a personal Hell.

While doing a boring chore that had been assigned to her by her second mother, she tried to remember how all this had happened; how, without her even realizing it, she was made to let go of her happy childhood and was sworn into a wedlock with a man she barely knew; how, despite being the second child, she was married off earlier that her elder sister was. She knew not that her parents had been promised a better dowry in exchange for their second daughter and that how, in the name of money, they had pitifully married her into a family whose history was not known at all. But what she did know, was that she had no feelings for this man whom she called her husband. She did not wish to be married, for she preferred the carefree childhood to this tyrannical household where she was expected to behave like a grown lady. She wanted to scream out that she was no lady, that she wanted to play ‘stones’ the way she used to, before the marriage happened. She wanted to tell everyone that her sixteen year old shoulders were not ready to take on such heavy responsibilities, that she was not ready yet. She wanted to kill the baby that was to arrive, wanted to pull the mangalsutra out of her neck, wanted to return to her mother. This house, unlike her own, back in the home-village, was stifling her. But she knew that this would not be possible. Young though she may be, she was still well aware of the responsibilities of a good wife. Unlike the things she wanted to do, a caring wife was expected to be meek and submissive, one who is ever ready to be of use to the husband or any other member of the family, to forget her father’s place and consider the husband as God, Allah, Bhagvaan. But was she not doing all those things? Was she not being a loving wife, despite being uncomfortable with the swollen belly? But despite trying so hard to fit in, she saw only disapproval in the eyes of her in-laws and husband.

A loud shriek jerked her back from the line of thoughts and she saw her eldest sister-in-law was holding the milk container in her hand. The container was stained with spilt milk and so was the refrigerator. Five pairs of dark eyes fell on her, accusingly. Her mother-in-law walked up to her and gave her a resounding slap on the face.

“Do you not know how to manage a single container without creating havoc in our house? Why are you so clumsy, all the time? Had it only been because of the baby, we would have understood! But this kind of behaviour has been there ever since you stepped into this house! What do you want, you little witch? What is the matter with you? I knew you were up to no good from the moment I set my eyes upon you! The God be damned that He gave me a stupid fool like you in place of a responsible daughter-in-law! You are nothing but another troublesome mouth to feed! How I pity my son. What must he be feeling, after realizing that you were up to no good? Now don’t just stand there, gawking up at me! Clean the mess you have created!”

But before she could respond, before she could tell her that she had been extra cautious with the utensils, her mother-in-law walked away in a huff. It was then that she noticed the malicious gleam in her sister-in-law’s eyes and the haughty gait of hers which she often made use of, after purposefully causing trouble to someone. Fighting back tears, she walked up to the refrigerator and stood in front of it, helpless. She knew she would not be able to bend down, for the baby may get hurt in the process. But she knew too, that if she were to go against her mother-in-law’s commands, then it would be the end of her. While she was lost in thoughts, she had unconsciously bent down and removed the utensils from inside the refrigerator. Age-old practice to do work efficiently had taught her not to realize that she was actually doing some work. Till then, this quality had always brought appreciation from those around her, but that day, the same quality turned its back towards her.   

It was during this time that her husband came out of the room and saw her bending down to clear up the mess. Choking back most of his anger, he launched himself at her, pulling her hair and slapping her multiple times. Not realizing what had hit her, she fell to the ground, her hand covering her stomach, protectively. From somewhere through her fazed mind, she was able to register someone yelling at her. At length, consciousness returned to her and she realized that her husband was screaming at her, that her mother-in-law must have ranted on about her ‘clumsy’ daughter-in-law for being the way she was. Weak though she was, she got up on her feet with the help of the dinner table and readjusted her pallu. No longer having control over her tears, she felt them flow unrelentingly against her cheeks. Through the blur, she saw her mother-in-law frowning at her with distaste. She saw, rather than felt, her husband pulling her sharply into the room and locking the door from the outside.

Time seemed to pass quickly for her, as she lay collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. The tears would not stop. It was as if they had a life of their own and wanted the freedom to flow out of her eyes. She clutched her swollen stomach, felt her baby girl move restlessly. It was as if it sensed its mother’s discomfort. She heard the rumble of the clouds and realized, with surprise, that it was raining outside. It was as if Mother Nature was grieving for her, too. The next instant brought the news of the arrival of her husband, who looked like Death himself. She saw him pull out his belt from within the wardrobe and turn to glare at her. By the look of his face, she knew that he had taken the belt out to hit her with it, and not to secure his pants around his waist more firmly. It was as if he had not had enough already. The last thing that her mind was able to register was the crack of her husband’s belt around her belly.

WORLDLY MATTERS

She sits in front of me, with a crooked smile on her face. When asked about her name, she blushes and mumbles an inaudible reply. I turn to her teacher for help, who tells me that people call her Bipasha.

I had hit the jackpot.

We not only shared a common mother tongue, but even our names coincided. I was confident that the interview would go well.

I try to make small conversations with the little girl, conscious of the scrutinizing gaze of her cautious teacher on us. I knew the middle-aged woman will have me thrown out of the dimly-lit and claustrophobic room that they called ‘school’, if she finds my questions too provoking. And so I stick to general questions for some time in the hope of gaining her confidence; I ask Bipasha about her well-being, that of her parents’, her feelings towards her school and what her aspirations are. To each of these, I get an almost coy answer, for which I literally have to strain my ears. I fervently hope that the tape-recorder is able to catch all of this. Unable to hear her answers, and thus strike up an easy conversation, I quickly switch over to interrogating her. I ask her about her views on the way garbage is collected and disposed off, what changes she would like to oversee for its proper disposal, whether garbage is of any use to her or her family, etc. Gradually, I notice her getting accustomed to the string of never-ending questions I throw at her.

At length, she opens up and provides me with extra information I had not hoped on receiving -- but with some difficulty. I would ask her one question and she, who turned out to be quite talkative by nature, would start off pretty well, but would get mixed up in the middle and end up chattering about something that is not related to my question at all. No matter how hard I would try to steer the conversation around the questions I had formulated the night before, she would inadvertently talk about something else. Hardly did I get more than one sentence of significant use for my interview out of her, before her wandering away. But overall, it felt good to talk to her and see a bubbly character amongst so many dark and lifeless ones.

All throughout, she seemed optimistic towards life, with the hope of being an actress. She told me she liked Mathematics the best and wanted to get hold of a job so that she, too, could be a helping hand for her over-worked parents. She told me that garbage, no matter how dirty and revolting it may seem to be, was a constant joy to her. It was like a wrapped-up gift, out of which many unexpected items come that may later adorn their houses. She showed me the doll that till now had rested in her arms, and told me how she once found it near the local dumpster when she went visiting with her father. She chatters along happily, oblivious of my occasional glances at my watch in the initial stage of cross-questioning, after which even I got entranced by her talks. 

Eventually, however, I put forward my conclusive question and asked her if she had ever wished for a different lifestyle. As expected, I received a scowl from the protective teacher, but luckily, she did nothing to prevent the arrival of the answer from the child. It made me wonder if she really was genuinely concerned about these kids, who had, without my realizing it, now crowded into the small room. But I chucked the thought aside, as I argued with my pessimistic self on her behalf, that her initiative to educate them was but a sign of the ability to achieve much more. As I pondered over my conflicting views, the much awaited answer rolled from the pretty little tongue of my interviewee. She told me that anyone who would have been in her position would obviously have desired for a better lifestyle. Who, afterall, would wish to live in a cramped-up jhuggi, which received no electricity but still adorned a DishTV satellite disk? And which, despite being so small, was still considered as ‘home’ by those who could achieve no more? She told me how she preferred to study than help her mother with the chores, and how she loved her subject books when none of her friends were even willing to enter the classroom. She even told me how she hoped that her parents would spend some quality time with her, without admonishing her at the slightest provocation. All this while, I noticed her having a sour smile on her dirt-stained face. 

That put me in my place, did it not?   

After bidding them goodbye, I made my way to the waiting car, all the while thinking that the even little kids, who we think are too small to comprehend their situation, are full of optimistic feelings; are always waiting for the magic spell to unleash a bundle of opportunities on them. Lack of supply of electricity to their basti does not stop the people from buying TV sets and expensive satellite connections. The wish to merge with the richer beings is so strong that they do not realize how pathetic their situation looks, more so because of their open application of material goods that are symbolic of status in the society. We always pride ourselves over whatever we have achieved in life so much that we begin to disregard things that come our way easily, often overlooking the fact that there are some who can’t even afford half the things we own. But even if these thoughts periodically enter our minds, they soon dissolve into the background of what we consider as ‘important matters’.