Dealing with Death: “Ramprasad ki Tehrvi”
The last bastion of resistance that I had erected for myself in the OTT space was Netflix. I had resisted subscribing to it all these years. Finally, it was breached yesterday. The first movie I watched after subscribing was “Ramprasad ki Tehrvi”, the directorial debut of veteran actor, Seema Pahwa. The movie leaves you with a haunting feeling, an experience that is enhanced by the background score, specially that of the piano.
Death is inevitable. What differentiates us all is how we deal with it. In the last piece, I had mentioned that our response to death reveals many truths about us. The movie does well to bring on screen many such uncomfortable truths that we hesitate to accept, except perhaps in the comfort of solitude. What makes the movie endearing is that most of us would definitely have come across one or more quirky characters who make up the ensemble here. Thus, even while it is the story of Ramprasad Bhargava’s family in Lucknow, it attains universality.
The “Tehrvi” is the culmination of a 13-day mourning period, complete with rituals. Is mourning confined to such observance? Is it a period to grieve over the departed soul? Or to come together to celebrate the life of the dead? In the song “Kaise yeh bulawa..” in the movie, there is a line which translates to “nobody listens to the old songs I had sung”. If we do not reminisce the life and times of the dead, are we actually mourning?
In a darkly humorous moment, Laali, the widow of Ramprasad, is shown to be repeating the story of his final moments to multiple sets of audiences, across the thirteen days. In one instance, her grandchildren pre-empt this and snigger, only to be admonished. While it juxtaposes a comic element over the tragic, it shows the psychological gulf that exists within the family. The grief is restricted only to Laali and, to some extent, her children. For the rest of the family, it is a “celebration”, a get-together. In a moving moment, hiding behind one of the pillars in the courtyard of the vast house, Laali sees three of her sons make their way down the stairs after being drunk, while the grandchildren frolic their way up.
While the brothers try to reconnect — by trying to latch on to nostalgia, supported by alcohol, and fail — the reality is laid bare during an altercation between the daughters-in-law, when the youngest comments that they will not be meeting anytime soon, because their mother-in-law is in good health. Their families have moved into different orbits, with little to reconcile them. This is a harsh truth which not many of us are willing to confront: for most of us, our extended families are held together only by deaths and sometimes, by celebration.
Then, there is the question of loneliness. When are we really alone? Is it when we lack people around us? Or is it when, despite the kith and kin being around, we feel distant and lonely? The latter reflects how we sometimes fail to invest in our relationships and nurture them. Laali is more alone in the midst of her children and their families, than she is in the company of Ramprasad’s memories, his instruments and clothes. In another important moment in the movie, Laali’s youngest DIL, who was always distant, gives her a tearful hug. A single moment of kindness establishes a connect that was missing all those years. A connection that Laali does not have with her other DILs.
While discussing some elements in the movie, this piece is not intended to be a movie-review. It is only to tease out some of the questions the movie poses to each of us and try and reflect on it. Watching this movie, in this time of widespread devastation, might help us realign our lives: build bridges with those we have ignored for long, to be grateful to what we have and who we have around us. The inevitability of death must help us focus on living our lives better.
