PARCHED (A)

Director: Leena Yadav 

Cast: Tannishtha Chatterjee, Radhika Apte, Surveen Chawla, Adil Hussain, Riddhi Sen, Lehar Khan

Running time: 118 minutes

What is more stifling —physical confinement or mental bondage? Is it possible to be mentally free even when you are physically shackled? What, exactly, is freedom? 

Last Friday, if Pink gave two-thumbs up to a woman’s right to lead her life without being judged, then this Friday, Parched celebrates a woman’s liberty to make her choices. From marriage to career, love to sex and ultimately, her right over her body.

If Pink highlighted the perils of women in the metropolis, then Parched takes us deep into the hinterland of India... and straight into the lives of its three protagonists, each battling her own demons, both within and outside, but bound by a common enemy — patriarchy. 

So Rani (Tannishtha Chatterjee) is the woman married and widowed young. But her mental conditioning makes her believe that the only way to discipline her wayward teenaged son (Riddhi Sen) is to bring a child bride home. Rani’s only respite from a life fraught with difficulties is the voice of a stranger who calls himself “Shah Rukh Khan” and mutters sweet nothings on her mobile phone.

Rani’s closest companion is Lajjo (Radhika Apte), whose inability to bear a child is “rewarded” by her drunkard husband’s physical abuse every night. The friendship finds an unlikely, not unwelcome, third wheel in Bijli (Surveen Chawla), the local prostitute, who on the surface seems to be leading life on her own terms, but is actually more caged than the other two.

Director Leena Yadav sets her film in a nameless village in the interiors of Rajasthan dominated by patriarchy. Female foeticide to child marriage, women not allowed an education because that would mean they will go on to becoming “bad wives” to TV being considered a curse that will “corrupt” the women.... It is in this atmosphere that Rani, Lajjo and Bijli lead their humdrum existence — their mental trauma more apparent than their physical scars — even as they yearn for a life that will give them new families, new friendships and above all, freedom.

But that doesn’t mean that the three don’t make the most of the lives they have. From sharing a smoke to skinny-dipping at the local lake in the wee hours to vrooming off on Bijli’s bike — which, in a way, becomes a metaphor for the heaven of freedom they want to wake up to — the trio do it all, cocking a snook at the society that is all too eager to shove them into a box.

But it is only when they talk dirty that these women come into their own, their conversations frequently dominated by sex, satisfaction and size. And that’s what makes Parched — though patchy in parts — such a powerful statement about what women actually want. The film makes sex a topic of conversation, with the three uninhibited women, long suppressed, sexually and otherwise, not willing to allow their veils to restrict them anymore. 

That results in some delightful moments — like the three discussing why cuss words only target the “mother” and then shouting out, with childlike glee, some rather unprintable swear words directed at fathers and brothers. Or those scenes where they take off to destinations unknown on Bijli’s bike, the wind both on their faces and beneath their wings. 

Feted at festivals worldwide before finding a release in India, Parched is a universal tale of sisterhood that could be placed anywhere in the world. Rani may initially ill-treat daughter-in-law Janaki (Lehar Khan) but ultimately, she’s the one who hands her over to the young girl’s former lover. And when Lajjo needs a salve on the bruises inflicted by her husband, she rushes to Rani, a particular scene of the two sharing their individual miseries even as they bare themselves — soul and body — to each other, having lesbian overtones.

But there is disappointing news for those choosing to ignore the message of the film and walking in only to be titillated. The sex scenes are censored and frontal nudity is pixelated. But thankfully, its language — Parched is replete with cuss words — escaped the censor scissors, managing to keep the authenticity of the film’s setting and fabric intact. 

Parched may have its fair share of problems — too many story strands result in a haphazard narrative and the ending is too simplistic, even bordering on the utopian — but powerful performances ensure that the viewer remains riveted. While Tannishtha and Radhika expectedly turn in award-worthy acts, Surveen makes Bijli a flesh-and-blood character, lending her a pathos that is mirrored in her eyes even when a hundred men are making a play for her as she pole-dances every night.

A special word for the film’s young guns, with both Calcutta boy Riddhi and theatre actress Lehar Khan excelling in their respective roles.

You may not be Rani, Lajjo or Bijli, but their story — on some level or the other — is yours. The Rajasthani dialect may mean that some may be unable to keep pace with what’s being said, but English translations to the print in most multiplexes (courtesy Parched making it to 24 festivals) may make it easier. Just one niggling question: why does Salma Agha translate to Marilyn Monroe?!

 

Parched after Pink... is Bollywood  finally getting real?
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