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Film Review: Gamak Ghar (2019) by Achal Mishra

An act of preserving from oblivion. A poignant and deeply touching journey.

“I believe that one can never leave home. I believe that one carries the shadows, the dreams, the fears and the dragons of home under one's skin, at the extreme corners of one's eyes and possibly in the gristle of the earlobe.” – Maya Angelou wrote in “Letter to My Daughter”.

must be carrying this kind of inner picture of a house, which abides regardless of passing time. His debut “Gamak Ghar” (literally: village house) with Maithili dialogues, woven from semi-autobiographical elements, is an elegy told in images. A sorrowful tribute for what is irrecoverably lost, though keeps giving us a safe shelter in memories. This subtle, minimalistic movie announces an author (not only the director, but also editor and scriptwriter), who dares to search for his own distinctive voice. He shows (un)ordinariness, a volatile beauty hidden in simplicity – as Aditya Vikram Sengupta also did in “Labour of Love”, but he gives them a different treatment. Mishra abandons not only conventional storytelling techniques, but also characters. What he puts in the spotlight – as both the subject and a hero – is… a house. The house perceived literally, as a building, as well as a symbolic space denoting family, childhood and community.

The director allows us to observe a ghar in a Bihari village through two decades. The story is divided into three segments cum chapters, placed in 1998, 2010, and 2019. Unhurried, contemplative pacing mirrors the rhythm of life. It allows us to pause – in order to watch closely and sense, similarly as while browsing through old photographs. People of the house subconsciously understand the significance of capturing moments, so either in past, or in present, they are taking pictures of the home itself and other family members cherishing the functions. “Gamak Ghar” is a celebration of being together, in which longing entwines with sweetness, but also sadness, when passage of time inevitably brings evanescence. It is also a reflection on social change transforming old ways of life and concepts of family. Big multigenerational clans, who once used to live close-by and together, are fractured and giving room to nuclear model. Mishra recalls idyllic bygone, when there were no gates and doors remained open for everyone at every time. However, do not expect the belief that everything used to be better. It is just a personal myth, constructed from the times of youthful carefreeness, when the grass was greener, the light was brighter, and everything seemed easier – what doesn't mean it really was.  

The house of 1998 is a bustling and vibrant place, with a tulsi plant in the courtyard, vase with drinking water, and pantry full of mangoes, curd and other delicacies. Family members gathered to celebrate the birth of a child. The canopied veranda, supported on solid pillars, seems a centre of their universe, where people gather in the evenings to have endless chats. Every corner of the house is full of people. Kids are fooling around, men are sitting on a charpoy playing cards, women are chatting in a kitchen and frying potato fritters. All that gives a sense of warmth and intimacy. When we are listening to scraps of conversations, glimpsing youngsters deciding on a videotape to watch (tough call – Salman vs Sunny Deol), or following someone on his way to fetch mangoes from the orchard – it is as if we were there. The viewer is invited to participate, and an atmosphere of camaraderie reminds of one's experiences of visiting grandparents', aunties' or cousins' homes for festivals. This part seems idealized, showing only good moments preserved in memory. Probably back then someone quarreled, and neighbors gossiped, but in the end it faded to black. A narrow frame (4:3 ratio) of that part reminds of old films and the palette is as taken from retro photo prints.

In 2010, the family gathering is different. The children grew up, the adults grew old, everyone dispersed – to new city homes, to work, for studies, and bonds are not as strong as they used to be. People visit the ghar less and less, usually just once a year for a function like chhath puja on the riverbank. Before “here and now” was what mattered. Years passed-by and the family members are turning to the past, to their memories, and they try to reconstruct their common heritage from old photos, memorabilia, diaries of ancestors and their expenses' registries. The veranda emptied, colors became darker, while frame wider, more spacious. Also nature, along with time, has left its imprint on walls.

2019 brings fog, chill and emptiness. With the eldest generation's demise, the home became forlorn. 2.35:1 frame ratio strengthens the sense of void. Courtyard tulsi is just withered stub. Entropy takes charge, as the walls fall apart and tje roof desperately needs mending. But there's a promise of something new, that may be build on the old fundamentals.

Everyone needs to work puzzles of this story, told in poetic long shots (Anand Bansal), on his own. And there are so many beautiful elements to discover: a grandfather's picture on the guard, a road more and more overrun with weeds, an old tree by it. Not only the home and the family are changing, but also the world and space around. Birdsongs are replaced by car and motorcycle horns and the noise of the train. New buildings grow in the village…“Gamak Ghar” seems an act of preserving from oblivion. The director may be leading us through the lanes of his own memory, but the emotions he evokes are very common. A poignant and deeply touching journey.

About the author

Joanna Kończak

I graduated in the field of cross-cultural psychology, what made me curious of the worlds far outside my backyard. Hence you may meet me roaming the Asian and European sideways as I love travelling, especially solo. Have been watching movies since I remember, and I share the same enthusiasm for experimental arthouse as well as glittering blockbusters and the filthiest of horrors. Indian cinema became the area of my particular interest. Apart from being a frantic cinephile, I devour piles of books. As I have been working in the publishing house known for children’s books (and even authored a couple of toms) for over a decade, I became quite successful in hiding the dreadful truth: never managed to grow up.

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