REVIEW 148: HARUD

Release date:	July 27, 2012
Director:	Aamir Bashir
Cast: Language:	Shahnawaz Bhat, Reza Naji, Shamim Basharat, Salma Shabir Ashai Urdu (with English subtitles)

Harud is so stark that it’s hard to believe it’s fiction and not just reality unfolding before our eyes. It’s a challenge to make a film about Kashmir because the national debate on the state is too often dominated by partisan voices speaking up for one religious community or the other, instead of speaking up for the human cause. Yet, like director Onir’s National Award-winning film I Am released just last year, Harud too manages to raise uncomfortable issues without prejudice and without bias.

An entire generation has grown up in Kashmir without knowing who Kashmiri Pandits are, says a man in Harud. Hey son, he calls out, do you know any Kashmiri Pandits? The boy shrugs. No he does not. And in that brief exchange, the film establishes the all-pervading absence of Hindus from the scene as unambiguously as it does the all-pervading presence of soldiers, bunkers, fire-arms and concertina wire in the lives of the Muslims who have remained. Clearly there are no victors among the common people in this battle. 

Harud (Autumn) is the story of Rafiq who finds a new direction to his aimless existence when one day he chances upon his missing brother’s camera. Rafiq lives in a home drowning in the din of its silences. His ageing father – a traffic policeman – is gradually crumbling under the weight of the atmosphere of suspicion that surrounds them; his still-feisty mother persists in attending meetings of the Association of Parents of Disappeared Persons. This is a Kashmir where bomb blasts are as much an everyday occurrence as the man wounded by gunfire who drags himself towards the spot where you happen to be idling away an afternoon with your friends; where a frightened and depressed old man’s awkwardness could be misconstrued by the watchful eyes of the Army; where a moment of hesitation could lead to fatal consequences.

Debutant director Aamir Bashir – a Kashmiri himself – adopts a completely matter-of-fact tone in his narrative, thus underlining the tragedy of Kashmir in a way a melodramatic manner could not. I’ve read that mental illness has been one of the major fallouts of militancy in Kashmir, but nothing has brought the point home to me as strongly as this film in which Bashir’s storytelling, Shanker Raman’s camerawork, the production design by Rakesh Yadav and sound design by Nakul Kamte all collaborate to recreate that pall of gloom that seems to permeate the lives of Rafiq, his family and friends. This is no paradise. This is a permanent state of gray, punctuated by youthful dreams of escape and burnished chinar leaves falling to the ground. It must have been tempting to embellish the film with snapshots of Kashmir’s picturesque beauty, but Harud refuses to succumb. For this reason I suppose it must also be stated for the record, in this week of Kyaa Super Kool Hai Hum’s release, that Harud is a demanding film; and a far far cry from being a slap in the face of maturity.

The cast of Harud are uniformly wonderful. Thankfully, nobody is ‘doing an accent’ – the Kashmiris here actually look and sound Kashmiri. The film’s website tells me they are all either “non-actors or amateur first-timers” and that the actors playing Rafiq (Shahnawaz Bhat) and his friends were part of a theatre workshop held by Naseeruddin Shah in the state. The exception of course is Iranian actor Reza Naji (Children of Heaven) in the role of Rafiq’s tormented father. I read an interview with the director in which he said Naseer was initially supposed to play the part. I, for one, am glad that did not work out. Not that I have anything against Mr Shah, but having seen Naji’s hunched shoulders and forlorn face, I can’t imagine another human being who could inhabit that character as evocatively as he does. What a lovely film, Aamir Bashir!

Rating (out of five): ***1/2

CBFC Rating (India):	U/A
Running time:	99 minutes

Photograph courtesy: http://www.harudthefilm.com/press.html