In Main Vaapas Aaunga, Imtiaz Ali tackles religious politics and war through the 1947 Partition in a way that possibly only Imtiaz Ali can. There is a love that survives the ravages of time, and there is a man who cannot commit to either a job or a relationship. There are Love Aaj Kal-type flashbacks that present an innocuous picture of a romance that once existed, and they contradict the romance of the modern day, where couples are scared and ask too many questions before moving forward with their relationships. A character feels suffocated by his 9-to-5 office job and wants something more from life. He is Nirvair Grewal (Diljit Dosanjh), and he, I think, wants to be a stand-up comic. It's not as if he has any good jokes. He bombs on stage, and people actually walk out midway through his set. But the reason behind his failure turns out to be his lack of a personal connection to his material. When he begins to educate the audience about the Partition through humor, he is met with applause and approving smiles.
Main Vaapas Aaunga might be Ali's Swades, in which he asks us to educate ourselves about our roots and our history. It also asks us to use our skills for the development of the country, as is evident in the scene where Nirvair, to help farmers, draws up a design for a machine. But does either of these things help Nirvair discover what he wants to do with his life? Does he find a strong footing as a stand-up comic, or does he decide to pursue the technological project for the benefit of the country? Ali, alas, draws a blank because he's more interested in using Nirvair as a marionette-cum-mouthpiece. Nirvair's relationship with Kaveri (Banita Sandhu) exists so that Ali can make the difference between the love of the past—between Ishar (Vedang Raina) and Afsana (Sharvari)—and the love of the present explicit. Nirvair and Kaveri don't have a history. Where and how did they meet? Do they have any friends in common? How long have they been dating? Ali brings a similar incuriosity to Ishar and Afsana by not expanding on their personal tastes and idiosyncrasies. Ishar initially looks like a sportsman, but he is never seen on the field playing or practicing. How long has he had a crush on Afsana? Was it love at first sight? What does Afsana find so attractive about him? What are they studying in college? What do they want from their own lives, except for the fact that they want to marry each other eventually?
I am afraid to report that if Ali doesn't bother adding distinct layers to his characters, that's because—you better be seated for this—he sees them as some sort of metaphors screaming for love and unity. We are meant to take Ishar and Afsana in terms of their religious identities, as they are meant to convey that people from different faiths can fall for each other madly, that people who worship different gods can coexist peacefully. Love is so supreme that it transcends physical obstacles, rules, boundaries, and calamities. Main Vaapas Aaunga is less a boy-girl love story and more a love story between man and memories. No wonder Ali's movie reaches its peak whenever the director decides to foreground the haunting, memorial force of history through archival footage that lends the pain and suffering of the past a sense of immediacy and unbearable intimacy. The black-and-white videos and footage move you tremendously, and so do scenes of violence like the one in which Danish Pandor's Afzal takes his men to Muzaffar Ahmedzai's (Manish Chaudhary) house, prompting an old woman to slit the throats of young girls to prevent them from experiencing brutal sexual assault at the hands of the rioters shouting outside. I was reminded of that scene from D.W. Griffith's The Birth of a Nation in which a father, knife in hand, is prepared to kill his daughter to protect her from the Black men trying to break in.
However, unlike Griffith, Ali carries a message that's morally right. The emotional effect he generates from images of Partition and riots is profoundly moving. Then again, these visuals can work even in isolation, away from the context of the film. Put them under the heading "Partition 1947," and the images of death and destruction will affect you in almost the same way as they do while you're watching the movie. It does somewhat make you feel as if you've been cheated. Ali, after all, doesn't spend enough time fleshing out young Ishar's domestic space and his relationship with the members of his family. What he provides is a vague, generalized sense of watching a happy family. On top of that, he casts actors who express themselves openly, so if you do feel for the plight of the characters, thank the fantastic performances that make memorable the kind of parts that would, in lesser hands, stick out for what they really are: one-dimensional and paper-thin.
Main Vaapas Aaunga has a languorous-ish pace. Ali allows many of his scenes to relax and breathe. If he had paid more attention to the dialogue, the film wouldn't have felt quite so drowsy during certain stretches. Much of the problem stems from the older Ishar's (Naseeruddin Shah) mumbling. He can be quite incoherent, which is why Nirvair has to repeat some of the lines to himself, to other characters, and to the audience. This stretches the movie and makes it a bit repetitive. I liked the idea of labeling the rioters as "Martians" and "aliens," and the "moon" thing is lovely. Ali does a nice job of connecting these absurd notions to logic and reality. Still, I found it difficult to connect with the characters because Ali works with symbols rather than flesh-and-blood human beings. The violence shook me, and it's admirable that Ali wants to educate people about the Partition and highlight its absurdity. But like many filmmakers concerned with good intentions, Ali fails to see beyond the message he's conveying, leading to the creation of characters who don't themselves suck you in. Instead, the actors and the weighty issue the movie deals with do the heavy lifting.
I also am not convinced by Ishar's love for Afsana. Ali imbues it with intensity, yet—either intentionally or unintentionally—he exposes its hollowness in the scene where Ishar goes to visit Afsana in Pakistan a few years after Partition and, after finding out that she's now married, instead of waiting for her, simply gets up and leaves. What kind of love is this, one that fails to grasp the circumstances under which the wedding happened and that so easily lets ego take the wheel? Nirvair, after seeing the older Ishar, might think that his love is different because it originates from a different period in time, but I think it's similar to any modern-day relationship, and it reminded me of Ek Din, where Dino deletes a video from Meera's phone, returns to India, and spends his days crying. I don't see the appeal of romances in which men choose to shoot themselves in the foot and then weep like diehard Romeos who have made some great sacrifice. If Ishar truly loved Afsana with all his heart, he wouldn't have left so easily, so quickly. For him, was love simply the notion of him and Afsana getting married? Did he find no joy in her company—a company he could have continued to enjoy had he not been so foolish? If Main Vaapas Aaunga is an intense romantic drama, why is the romance at its center so fragile? It's certainly not as terrible as Jab Harry Met Sejal, but it leaves some part of you unfulfilled. The songs are terrific, and the melancholic aftertaste is bittersweet. Nonetheless, these elements seem to be working hard to elevate something significant yet merely fine. Main Vaapas Aaunga is powered less by its characters than by the weight of history, the performances, and the music. It moves you, but it doesn't leave bite marks on your skin.
Final Score - [5.5/10]
Reviewed by - Vikas Yadav
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Publisher at Midgard Times