Astitva mirrors society, and Tabu is its reflection!

Savera R Someshwar

"What a bastard!!!"

The female voice, low but unequivocal, carried clearly across the darkened cinema hall.

An embarrassed silence followed, broken by even more awkward how-should-we-react-to-this kind of laughter.

If anything, it was tribute to Sachin Khedekar's effective portrayal of Srikant Pandit in Mahesh Manjrekar's Astitva.

Srikant -- it is tempting to add the words "in typical male fashion" here -- has just announced it is perfectly okay for a man to have affairs because he "is a man." Ergo he will not suffer the backlash (read pregnancy, read it is considered 'okay' for a man to sow his wild oats, read a symbol of male virility) of a casual fling. Which is why, though he too has indulged in affairs, he is quite clearly of the opinion that he has done no wrong.

Yet, he is, at the very same moment, portraying himself as the luckless victim of his wife's infidelity. And is, in fact, having a showdown with her in front of his friends, whose presence he has demanded all the way from another city.

His wife's pleadings -- this is between you and me, let's sort it out in private, please don't make it a public spectacle -- falls on deaf ears.

Instead, it is one human being's discovery that she too has an identity: in this case, the person happens to be a woman called Aditi, brought to instant, believable life by Tabu. In the process, the film holds a stark mirror to society, reflecting with unblemished clarity the life of an ordinary, upper-middle class Indian housewife.

Aditi begins the movie as Mrs Srikant Pandit in a typical Indian household -- this one just happens to be based in Pune -- with the husband calling out for his tie (Aaj do meeting hain, main der se lautoonga), with her supervising breakfast for an indulged son (which portrayal, thankfully, is human and not the unbelievably syrupy mush normally dished out in the name of maa-beta relationships).

Srikant's old friend, Dr Ravi Bapat (Ravindra Mankani), and his once-divorced wife, Meghna (Smita Jayakar), arrive from Goa and are promptly invited for lunch. Srikant's "important appointments" are instantly cancelled, son Aniket (Sunil Bharve) is ordered to bring fiancée Revati (Namrata Shirodkar) home and it is understood that Aditi will whiz up a "chatpata" lunch.

Ravi arrives, the two friends down a few drinks and the cracks -- faint though they are -- begin to show: the women in the kitchen, the men in the garden, Srikant uncomfortable with the thought of a working daughter-in-law (the male as provider syndrome), his confused reaction to the fact that Meghna is a divorcee with two daughters, his opening mail meant for Aditi, cruelly teasing her about the fact that she has received a large legacy (saluting her, pretending to ask her for a loan, making fun of her because she is now rich)...

Aditi, too, is the normal wife we see around us every day -- educated and intelligent. Devoted to her home and her family. Aware of her husband's needs and constantly working at keeping him in comfort. Glossing over his inconsiderate behaviour in order to keep the peace in the house. Her loneliness in the initial years of her marriage. His refusal to let her take up a job even though he is away from home for months on end.

For the present, though, Aditi, like most Indian women, has made her peace. It is clear the two love each other and this is, in most respects, a happy household.

Until denouement strikes: Srikant realises Aniket is not his son. It shatters a family, a marital bond painstakingly built over decades, a mother's relationship with her son.

Srikant's veneer as the loving husband melts. Ego shattered, he only looks to balm his hurt manhood by emotionally devastating his already broken wife. Even Ravi's reminders of his own marital infidelities are swept aside under the blanket of "I did not bring the result of my infidelities home."

It tells you why filmmakers make a beeline for her door.

If I have one small crib with her, it would have to be the way she cries. It is only at that moment that she becomes Tabu -- witness Kandukondain, Kandukondain, Maachis, Hu Tu Tu, Virasaat and most of her other films -- instead of remaining Aditi.

As for the others, they are not particularly impressive. Bharve, as the son, is weak. Mankani, who plays Dr Bapat, tends to look angry when the situation calls for sympathy. His expressions are particularly jarring during the highly emotional denouement. Portrayed as the sympathetic understanding male, his expressions simply belie his stated role.

Jayakar comes across as perpetually angry and bitter with life. Understood, she is a divorcee with two children, but even the fact that she now has a wonderful husband does not seem to salve her wounds.

Mohnish Behl plays his little part competently, but it is Namrata Shirodkar "in a very special appearance" who surprises. She has less than 10 minutes in the film, but delivers a believeable performance. If she falters, it is only at the climax when she uncomfortably delivers a I-am-a-modern-woman speech.

These are but minor aberrations and in no way detract from the fact that Manjrekar has come up with a beautiful, sensitive film.

If there is a slight feeling of disappointment, it is with the speed with which Aditi arrives at the solution -- the pace does not keep with her character and leaves you with a fairytaleish feeling.

Yet, one would not like to upbraid Manjrekar. Astitva brings to the forefront many known, if unraised, issues by the simple method of holding a mirror to society.

There are no fancy cinematographic gimmicks, the tale is simply told with careful use of flashbacks, the songs fit in smoothly, even if the background music jars in a couple of pivotal scenes where silence would have been a better weapon.

Astitva is a story that plays itself in many Indian households. It may not happen in yours or mine, yet most of us have seen it happening - either between our parents, with our cousin, aunt or uncle or in our neighbour's house. I'm not talking of physical infidelity here, but of the emotional abuse that is, in most cases, unknowingly and callously perpetrated in most homes.

Most women and, I believe, many men will identify with what they see on the screen when they watch this film.

I don't know if this is going to be a box office hit -- it might not, since it focuses on too many painful truths.

But, as a movie, Astitva is a must-see.