WATER : Reflections of Reality

Chuyia's Father: [to young Chuyia] Child. Do you remember getting married? Your husband is dead. You're a widow now.



A woman trying to keep her faith and understand it. Another trying to discover a sense of self-worth by her faith in love and renewal. A man looking for a change in an orthodox world of stagnation.
The orthodoxy/theocratic theme is brilliantly and ironically juxtaposed in a continuing images of serene water of the Ganges. Water is the main character of the film. Water falling down from the skies on water down below. Water that falls down on Narayan as he is crossing the streets looking for Kalyani. Water, that young Chuiya goes to get for the dying widow, only to meet Narayan(life). The inmates of the ashram spend all their lives in the pursuit of God, yet they are damned to the neglect of an otherwise rising patriarchal society, in wake of the freedom struggle showing early colors of success. Strong element of dignity in characters that cold look asking for pity, if not handled deftly. The first shot of the lotus in the pond sets the mood straight.

Images from India, picture perfect postcard India, water as a character, rain, the Ganges, damnation, life long curse, “she will go to heaven on eating the laddoo…., and god willing will be reborn as a man…..”
Compelling sequences – the last scene at the railway station, the old lady eating the laddoo, the conversation between narayan and his friend, young Chuiya’s fearless rejection of the compulsions, “don’t let your shadow cast near us”, the old priest and his faith in faith- - bird in the cage …contradictory to expectations …self imposed prison……Gandhi…Antaratma vs. religion….”why do they send us here?...where do widowers go? Is there an ashram for them too? Shakuntala’s waking up everyone towards the end, is metaphorical of the sleeping society.


Naina neer bahaye
A lone head bends down on the floor in an empty room, against an invisible god. What is the future, what is the past? This moment too does not matter now; it will not matter in the times to come too. Still I rejoice and dance in the hope of meeting my beloved in some other world. Tears trickle down my face, still I smile. Why do I smile? Water that rubs against these stones on the bank, flowing down centuries of pain, looks pale against my tears. They seem to weigh everything on a balance of truth. Truth does not concern me anymore. I would rather be lying.
The bowl of poison that Meera drank and found her lord, did not work for me. Who would I get if I drink it? My lord seems to have left this empty room ages ago. The water must have taken him too, to greener shores. Love, they say, is like the water of holy Ganges, it makes poison turn into an elixir of life. They say I do not deserve to live too.
Love is Lord’s flute; love is Radha’s lover. This is the brook of the seven notes, keeps gushing down like tears down my face.

Piya Ho
In pursuit of my lover, I leave the shore.
In the blue moonlit night, I leave the shore.
In the waning light from the holy candles, I keep my hope alive, and leave the shore.
I wear white, and it sums up my faith.
For the millions who have left before me, and the millions who will live by this faith, I leave the shore.
My hope walks with me, and with you my heartfelt beloved and cohort, I leave the shore.
On this road of hope, you are my unwilling companion,
And in your devotion, I leave the shore.

Oh, nightingale! Tell me which way I should seek.
Oh, peacock! Wouldn’t you chant one more time what they say you always chant.

Does the one, for whom I slowly burn, know my pain?
Does the one, for whom I leave the bank, know my pain?

I hear things that were never meant to be said.
I hear songs that no one sang.

In the blue moonlit night, I see two eyes.
Eyes that say the unsaid to me, eyes that echo the blue of the moon.

Eyes that see a familiar face, the face that looked like mine.
A face that shines in the dark.

I don’t see those eyes any more.
All I can see is the unending nothingness.

And yet wishing I see my face again, I leave the shore.

Bangri Marori
Krishna, the lord, has the crown adorning his head.
And Radha has a thread around her neck.

I am incomplete without Krishna.
Krishna’s might does not need my longing.