Neighbourly vibes

Sabiha Sumar's Khamosh Pani shatters the comfortable black and white image of Pakistan that Bollywood movies have built up

Sonali Ghosh Sen Delhi

Pakistan is a country that Indians would love to see in black-and-white: they have dictators, we have democracy; they want to grab Kashmir, we want to defend it; they have nuclear weapons — oops, so do we. We are never going to harm them; but we can't say the same about them.

Our films also reflect this stereotype. Whether it's Gadar, Border, or even LOC Kargil, Pakistan has always been the shadowy, Inter Services Intelligence (ISI) agent-infested evil empire in moviegoers' minds. As for the dignified Garam Hawa, Train to Pakistan or Pinjar — they are someone else's history.

So, when there are two films connected by the common Pakistan-bogey thread playing at multiplexes, there is a strong temptation to compare the films. One is the much-hyped, Yash Chopra multistarrer Veer-Zaara; the other is Pakistani director Sabiha Sumar's Khamosh Pani.

Veer-Zaara is supposed to be the stuff love legends are made of, along the lines of Heer-Ranjha or Laila-Majnu, but the kind of conflict a romantic legend needs as fuel (so easily available to Chopra in his Indian hero and Pakistan heroine) is curiously absent. Veer Pratap Singh (Shah Rukh Khan), a dashing Indian Air Force officer and pretty Zaara Hayat Khan (Preity Zinta) are starcrossed lovers who will travel across national borders fairly easily for 22 years untill they meet for the happily-ever-after. The film hasn't heard

of visas and wars and Pakistan is just a train- or bus-ride away (even though the bus falls off cliffs with alarming regularity). Veer's air force uniform serves as just a prop rather than playing a crucial role in deciding the fate of the lovers. Zaara could belong to any stately haveli of a Mumbai film set, and Veer could be your average Punjabi munda. There is a lot of song-and-dance and even poetry about how alike we are, and much ado about love and the need to keep a woman's honour. That's why Veer Pratap would rather be jailed than talk about his lady love, lest her fair name be besmirched in orthodox Pakistan.

Thankfully, Sabiha helps us see a completely different Pakistan in Khamosh Pani. Her Pakistan is rugged, primitive and beautiful, although not Swiss Alps pretty. Through her protagonist, Ayesha (Kirron Kher), she not only shows us the pain of Partition, but also how liberal Pakistani youth can be manipulated by politics and get indoctrinated into religious fundamentalism. Something that is eerily similar to the wave of Hindutva sweeping India in recent times. While Yash Chopra, in true commercial style, sticks to clichéd secularism and lets Hindu-Muslim love blossom on neutral gurdwara grounds, Sabiha also shows us that extremism and dictators are, in any form, as distasteful to ordinary Pakistanis as they are to Indians.

Sabiha's women too, are gutsy, confident and survivors, not hothouse plants like Zaara. Zaara's espousal of women's rights is limited to building a girl's  school in the village, but when it comes to her own life, she'll be the dutiful daughter and sacrifice her happiness for her father's political ambitions. Khamosh Pani's Ayesha's fight is more real. She is a woman forsaken by her family, abandoned by her community, but she does survive, bring up her son, and live life on her terms — that, in itself, becomes a statement of a woman deciding her own fate.

Even in terms of style, Sabiha scores because she is restrained, while Yash Chopra is over-the-top. Both Veer and Zaara are caricatures, while Ayesha and Salim are real. Sabiha makes even the most melodramatic situation flow mellifluously past you while Yash Chopra creates high drama over the most boring situations. Veer-Zaara is glamorous, sophisticated, and superficial; Khamosh Pani is earthy, raw, and heart-warming.