The title might be cryptic, but this is a powerhouse of a small independent film that has shades of Tarantino and the Coen Brothers written all over it. And that’s a high compliment, really. Because it’s hard to find a standard bearer from Bollywood of the type of genre this movie falls into.
No masala, no fluff, no song-and-dance routines here. Just the facts, as they stand and unfold to the point of insanity personified with bone-chilling precision by the entire cast, especially the watchman and his wife.
If Delhi has been christened the rape-capital of India, it probably isn’t too far behind to earning other equally revolting titles if stories such as these are said to be more common than actually reported. While avarice is a universal human emotion, there is still a certain brand of avarice that surpasses all understanding when seen in the light of filial relationships.
But above all, this is story that offers a glimpse into the face of utter poverty and powerlessness in the urban sprawl of Delhi, and the powers that be that abuse, nay, rape (in every sense of that word) the poor, senseless.
Prepare to be shocked and outraged, even as you prepare to be heartbroken.
Simmi, where did you watch this film?
At home, on DVD. Thanks to my local Indian grocer, a.k.a. Bombay Grocers.
I’ll check around too! thanks!