Driving down the Delhi Noida flyover in the National Capital Region invokes similar feelings and sights from the windscreen. A row of housing societies with skyscrapers spruced up at intervals and small alleys quietly descending into downtown areas. Especially on moonless dusk, plush condominiums cropping up reminds one of the cities heaving under the weight of humans and vehicles.
With the monsoon prodding on and sporadic downpours, the familiar landscape seems garbed in emerald green as vehicles make a beeline. You see a harsh concrete jungle in the distance and bouts of cacophony as sedans whizz past. At times, a cloudless calm and then cool blue tranquillity.
Every other day you may come across stories on business pages or news channels on how the pandemic has had a devastating impact on the housing industry. Howsubsequent lockdowns for months, migrant labour and a gig economy all messed into one have impacted real estate and many ancillary units are at a standstill.
If you carefully observe abandoned housing projects, the thought of families investing hard-earned pennies always creeps up. The sweet dream of having a roof over your head and the desired project seeing the light of the day. Onsite, you may see some lazy bums, having made windfalls after selling their heirlooms to builders, for whom working is more like a hobby. And the thought strikes deep down; most of us do not want to be subservient to anybody and would like to sleep at will.
As I switched on the FM station, the track ‘Ek akela is sheher mein / raat mein aur dopahar mein/ aab o daana dhoondata hai aashiyana dhoondhta hai…’ resonated. That’s when Bhimsain’s film Gharaonda or ‘The Nest’ strikes you like a thunderbolt.
Many of us have watched Gharaonda first on Doordarshan, a contrarian take in many ways on urban angst. The storyline wasn’t a typical hoodwink but a protracted one. Most of the characters were real men and women whom we would acquaint in our everyday chores – those with Lambretta & bellbottoms. Serenely crafted with overtones of melancholy and loss, the shots drifted as if in sync.
A scathing tale on urbanisation, Gharaonda portrays the challenges of survival in a thriving city and its conundrums. Just like the unusual combo of aab-o-dana (water and grain), our eternal quest fuses smoothly in one of its popular tracks, continues.
It is easy to correlate the plot of the 1977 movie to today’s ethos.
Cupid strikes affable office colleagues Zarina Wahab and Amol Palekar who weave a dream to settle down under a roof. As romance blossoms for both, Gharaonda or the nest is a release – one suffocating in a nondescript chawl and the other in a decrepit tenement.
The house hunting sojourn and the camera panning the building skeletons mopping up on low angle frames adds a unique flavour to the film. Something we easily still relate to, as many of us do the realtor’s rounds on overcast mornings.
‘Do deewane shahar mein’ reflected their situation best; searching for a nest ‘ab-o-dana dhundte hai ek aashiyana’.
The builder dupes them and elopes while one of Amol Palekar’s roommates commits suicide. This strikes a chord even today as we read about similar tragedies in the papers.
Stellar performances by the main protagonists make one revisit Gharaonda like so many in the same genre. Dr Sreeram Lagoo, without going overboard as the honcho, gradually gains the lady’s affection and Palekar as the recluse, shattered protagonist whose stealthy marital usurp plan nixes, moves on.
Calculating EMIs for repaying housing loans and the desire to have a roof over your head, coupled with the uncertainties of builders handing over apartments in the scheduled timeframe cuts ice even in today’s ethos.
Graduating from rented pigeon holes to a separate accommodation is a sought-after milestone even today for many working couples offsetting their careers. Gharaonda is all about that reverie, getting trapped in an opportunistic shade under highrises and skywalks. A film for all seasons and the accretion of shots falls in today’s monochrome as you drive down from any metropolis to the suburbs along national highways. And this pathos is best crooned in ‘koi khwaab oonche makaano se jhaankey, koi khwaab baitha rahey sar jhukaye‘ (Some dreams peep from skyscrapers, some dreams keep sulking in discontent).
Alone, sauntering down the same footbridge where he had once dreamt of a nest, this hangout works as a perfect metaphor for the lovers’ plight. The lyricist’s couplet ‘tumhe ho na ho mujhko toh itna yakeen hain‘ sums up the philosophy of life and the impermanence of despair.
The story of Gharaonda is still pertinent and contemporary. Only the characters have changed, glazed by the patina of today’s metropolis. The quest for a permanent shelter and the nest continues. When the last instalment is repaid or the remaining housing loan is prepaid and you have the original mortgaged deed in your hands, you know that the sacrosanct legal entity is finally yours to preserve, the slice of the sky on your patio outside.