A flying carpet of shimmering splinters
‘Welcome to Sajjanpur’ shows well what engaging cinema is like, where issues – countless of them – are measured through good story-telling, where immaculate detailing of frames and an incessant trickle of intelligent humor communicate with the audience in an intensely intimate yet subtle manner. So, what one is mesmerized with is how the story – or so many of them in this case – is told rather than being overwhelmed by the gravity of the issues.
The diversity of characters and the depth (of whatever measure the makers chose to or could portray) of their autonomous yet related stories distinguish the sajjanpur narrative. It is Mahadev’s (Shreyas Talpade) and Munnibai’s (Ravi Jhankal) characters which are most evolved. The first is the protagonist, while the latter a eunuch – the inherently enigmatic element of our societies; both exhibiting myriad colors, including grays. Though most other characters follow a predictable trajectory – Chutki’s (Divya Dutta) potential appearing aborted – it needs to be accepted in gratitude that these narratives exist, twisting and turning the course of the story.
There is a wonderful paradox in the existence of Mahadev and Munnibai. While the protagonist is a writer, the eunuch epitomizes the marginalized. Both are, at least in idea, blessed to transgress almost all boundaries, yet they belong nowhere. Both speak to and speak for all, yet have none who empathizes with them. And both exercise mysterious powers, yet, in a moment can be rendered absolutely powerless. Such is the predicament of those on the threshold.
Taking the aspect of diversity further multiple languages have been employed in the story. The main language of the film – a dialect from UP – itself demands conscious attention from a majority of the audience, while establishing an acquaintance with the rest. In either case it creates the necessary displacement to prepare for an emotional experience, even though, as a whole the pronunciations are inconsistent. There are two other languages significantly different form the main one: the fist is the written language of the protagonist – a higher plane of the literate; and the other language belongs to Munnibai – the lower realm of the untouchable – brilliantly embodied and pronounced by Jhankal in all its intonations.
Another potent story-telling device employed is that of ‘a story within a story’. In the closing scene, the novelist admits altering the culmination of a couple of episodes in his narration. The subversions narrated and their negation leaves the matter of emancipation of the oppressed as a question; without indifference, without prophesying. The tool accommodates the artists’ dilemma.
It is the script and dialogues, followed by some truthful performances, which not only hold the work but also hold the audiences to the work. The script and dialogues also express the strong textual rooting of Sajjanpur’s theatrical texture. Bodily performances, as in embodied expression of emotions, the actors’ reliance on and correspondence to other bodies, and a not so hidden portrayal of the inter-relationships of episodes and characters is a trait of good popular theatre, the kind Habeeb Tanveer has shaped. Sajjanpur is a cinematically elaborated theatrical frame. It is a quality satire that interweaves innumerable socio-political splinters into a rich tapestry of contemporary India.