Alaav

There came a scene in Prabhash Chandra’s Alaav (which as the English title Hearth & Home) when my jaw dropped on the floor. A 60-something Bhaveen is helping his 90-something mother, Savitri, relieve herself. It’s the part of a caregiving film, where most filmmakers prefer implying it by either starting the scene before or after the said deed. But in Alaav, the camera (thanks to the dependable ingenuity of cinematographer Vikas Urs) remains strategically placed, straddling a pencil-thin ethical line – where on one side they could be accused of being voyeuristic and exploitative; on the other end, it could be held for trying to lessen the blow of a hard-hitting reality. Remaining true to its static, observational style – the scene went on for longer than I was ready for, making me shift in my seat uncomfortably. It’s only then did I recognise what Chandra was trying to highlight – the selflessness of it all. We hear truisms like ‘being of service’ to something bigger than us, but nothing quite tests it like when we take care of a loved one in a hopeless situation, and when everything is only steadily regressing.

Life stands still and yet flows inexorably in Alaav – Hearth and Home, written and directed by Prabhash Chandra. The uncompromisingly austere film approximates the restrained tempo of existence when old age takes its toll on both the giver and recipient of geriatric care. With its meticulously composed frames and strikingly unhurried rhythm, Alaav delineates the weight of ageing and its repercussions on a 95-year-old woman and her sexagenarian son sheltered in a well-appointed Delhi home.