Piku

Spoilers (mild) ahead:
Piku is the reason why some sane people still find it in them to cheer for Bollywood.

The movie is named after the lead character, Deepika Padukone, who is a single woman living with her annoying, cantankerous and hypochondriac father.

The father is Amitabh Bachchan, who has shown, once again, why he is the lord of the silver screen.  

Director Shoojit Sircar is obviously as Bengali as the double oo-s in his name, and knows his subject like the back of his hand. 
His story telling devices are clever and pithy—he has to use Bachchan and Padukone for main leads, which could lead to accent issues notwithstanding the actors’  exemplary efforts to not sound fake.  So, Piku and her father are Delhi-based Bengalis. There, now the slight slips in accent are not as misplaced at all. The broad swaths are taken care of by the actors and the director, who, I presume, made sure no one says “rasugulla” and “kolkotta” and gets away with it.

Bengalis and Kolkata have been done justice, with their badminton and rolls, alpona and bindis and that inherent pride that is so hard to shake off.

There, important basics fixed and out of the way, Piku goes on to tell a story about an everyday, common working woman of today. The story is about how there are little things in her, as are there in her father and her friend, that make their (and by extension, our) ordinary lives not so ordinary.

Bachchan’s Bhashkor (emphasis on “o”) Banerjee is an annoying man. He is a nag and a hypochondriac of the first order, who likes to talk about his bowel movements with all and sundry. Sircar’s choice of ailment for Bachchan is apt—the food loving Bengali constantly suffers from digestive trouble.

But he also surprises the younger and more modern Irrfan Khan with his views on marriage and why he would rather his daughter first lived her life and then tied the knot, if at all.

Bhashkor Banerjee is a classic example of the old man who can use age as an excuse to spell out bitter truths to the family and get away with it. Things he would not, or did not talk about when he was younger.  His heart is in the right place, but he has reached a point in life where he does not and need to put up with nosy neighbours, annoying relatives or social mores.  So, he won’t.

Irrfan Khan is the able third wheel in the father-daughter equation, the helping hand who can sometimes fight for Piku when her father crosses the line, the outsider who can out-yell the family  into silence.

Don’t be misled by my calling him the third wheel—he is that only in the equation of the movie, because the movie is about Piku and her father. Khan more than holds his own in the quirky triangle that this movie is.

Top marks to Padukone for playing the part of Piku to the hilt. It is heartening to see what she can do when she decides not to run around SRK in tiny clothes.

So Piku is Everywoman, and every woman will relate to her in bits and pieces. She is the heroine, but she works hard at an often demanding job,  has to look after the house, has baai issues to resolve, has a father to look after, goes out with friends for a drink and worries about finding the right man for herself. She also admits to being about 30, without batting an eyelid.

Piku admits to having sex, terrorizes taxi drivers, yells at her father a lot, but mothers him as well.

In that relationship lies the quiet calm of the movie, the underlying sense of warmth that transcends what could have easily been a supremely bitter family experience.

 Piku says, at one point, “we can’t judge our parents.”  In Sircar’s movie, both father and daughter act with that basic understanding in place—he knows she is around to take care of him no matter how much he embarrasses her, she knows he will love her the most no matter how much she screams her head off at him.

With that foundation in place, the movie uses various devices to make it an interesting journey, often surprising the jaded Bollywood audience.

When Piku, Father and Third Wheel start on a journey, you could be forgiven for thinking that travel is how they will resolve all their issues and find inner peace. But, try again. 
They travel, but there are no emotional upheavals that make father and daughter weep their anxieties away. They keep doing their own things and drive the third person nuts in the process, but without loss of love.

Because, if every road trip turned out to be a life changing experience, the world would be a very different place, no?

There is a scene where a drunk Bachchan comes home and starts twisting to a popular Bengali number. You almost expect the daughter, who had stormed off the same party because she was annoyed with the father, to get up and join him, thus resolving differences. She doesn't, and there is no sappy “beta, but I love you”s.

Seeing her father dance, Piku gets up and shuts her door, albeit smiling to herself. That is how Sircar strikes a chord.

The setting of a Bengali family with no mother makes the movie believable:

 Where else would you find a woman of thirty not being hammered daily with marriage proposals? The mother’s place is taken over by Moushumi Chatterjee as the maashi, who diligently tries to push the wedding agenda, but is thwarted by the dad.

There is love, but in the very Indian style where there is not much physical manifestation of it. Like I said, there are no “I love you beta” moments, but an unshakable understanding that love exists between father and daughter. 

When Piku cries after her dad is taken ill, you could feel squeamish, remembering the many times your parent or a loved one might have complained about a problem and you've not paid attention.

In that, and other things, Piku is not a film that can assure you all’s well with the world. But then again, maybe in just that, it does.