.::Balmy, elegant, lingering cinema::. Review on Tehzeeb

He’s picked up stones, smashed glasses and has chortled at the ensuant whole mess. Equivalent to zillions of critics. But when he splashed the pool of film-making with Fiza, boulders collapsed his own glass house. Even the fact that his debut baby was labelled as the “scar on every critic’s forehead”, India’s most celebrated film-critic (and easily my favourite), Khalid Mohammed strikes back with a subdued and elegant “Tehzeeb”.

Commemorating the past always occurs with its context on present. The sheer dexterity of the processing in the human brain entails that static photography isn’t the mechanism of storage in your fleshy skull. What’s involved is restructuring and reassembling in plenitude together with the gaps filled in by an individual’s expectations, schemas and stereotypes during retrieval of any and every bit of information from the past, and however biased, however partisan the final model might be, it relieves the individual from any mental conflict, any confusion of the real world and the resultant coherent narration and self-justification are mere bonuses.

Which is exactly what bechances Tehzeeb (Urmila), who appears to think in her tender age that she’s witnessed her father being shot dead by her mother, Rukhsana (Shabana Azmi), and the view of her mother holding a pistol is enough explanation for her to justify the plausibility of the scene. Pregnant with this reconstructed memory, and the fact that the mother is a busybodied and fully flourished singer, Tehzeeb’s embitterment only multiplies over the years and she completes this detachment of hers together with her younger sibling Nazneen (Diya Mirza) by espousing Salim (Arjun Rampal) in complete forbiddance and begrudging from Rukhsana.

Years later when Rukhsana and Tehzeeb meet, it appears that the communication gap and the yap of acerbity has only distended, leaving space for a series of stifled appreciations and taunts, all of which expectedly erupts into inflamed arguments and baseless accusals. There’s much resurrection to be done, many misunderstandings to be cleared, but is it too late?

Tehzeeb holds its ground firmly for its presumptive and believable basal theme of mother-daughter vendetta. Another much-needed breakaway from a jarring stereotype is the very trait and tone of the working-woman in the film i.e. the booming singer Rukhsana, who’s placed her flourishing career on a much higher pedestal than her nestlings and household. Though the rancid results this shoots is for everyone to see (a maternally deprived Nazo who eventually becomes psychologically deranged and a bitter Tehzeeb who yearns for companionship), yet Rukhsana’s never apologetic to Tehzeeb about her lack of attention for her children since career’s what has always been her choice. Her asking Tehzeeb to identify her in a man’s place and then adjudicate her life, to respect her success as she would have done her father’s and also identify the fact that there’s more to a woman than just relationships is plaudible. This projection of woman living a life on her own terms is seldom written and portrayed so well, as in Tehzeeb and probably that’s one of the reasons why Rukhsana’s character, together with the film is lingering cinema.

And while Khalid excels in bestowing depth to mother-daughter relationship and the metamorphosis it goes throughout the film, he insanely barges in two beauty queens to puncture the wonderful flow. While the first one (Diana Hayden) is to invoke fresh sentiment for Salim, the second one (Namrata Shirodkar) is to corroborate Rukhsana’s celebrity stature but sadly both have been myopically underwritten and directed with a disgustingly featherweight hand. So much so for his penchant to answer to commercial queries, that in the process he destroys a wonderful composition (“Sabaq Aisa”) which could have been instrumental in bringing forth Rukhsana-Tehzeeb’s stifled relationship. Nazo shoots herself point on the carotid artery but in wake of lavish medical liberties taken (which isn’t uncommon considering its Bollywood we are talking of), surprisingly is far from death-bed while the intervention of police on usage of unidentifiable pistol is mentioned and then forgotten.

And never in the recent times has a wonderful song-assemblage been so grossly underused (read misused) that even a wonderfully tuned “Meherbaan” or “Khoyee Khoyee Aankhen Hain” do nothing but crack an otherwise tessellated narrative. That Shirodkar’s come-hither-me expressions in a sombre and reflective track like “Sabaq Aisa” are visually retrogressive go without saying. Ditto for “I wanna be free” which is swollen with Khalid’s reputed self-indulgence. Thankfully, “Shiqwa Hota” and “Mujhpe Toofan Uthaaye” has been spared the sanguinary treatment. Cinematography (considering it’s from Santosh Sivan) is pedestrian, yet functional. Art Direction is non-existent, choreography slipshod while production values just pass muster. The general ambience imparts an immediately recognizable small-film feel while the hold on the scissors has deliberately been light to exuberate a slow, becharming spirit which amplifies the effect of the sudden, contrasting climax.

The enterprise is also empurpled with this year’s most seasoned performances. Azmi eloquently slips into Rukhsana and grabs even the most bantam quintessence of this character of a misunderstood flourishing singer radiating every singular emotion with transparent honesty. Be it the snapping confidence with which she rips off the reel off an eager journo’s camera in public or her sheer honesty for her deceptive looks in public, or even the snugness she feels with her daughters, you don’t realise the magnitude of your emotions for the character until the heartbreaking finale slaps you.

Tehzeeb’s character is definitely over-played, thanks to a hyper Urmila, but since Matondkar brilliantly sends the right vibes of Tehzeeb’s pulsating anxiety and fluctuating temperament at the right moments, who’s complaining? Diya Mirza is shockingly effective as a maternally deprived and mentally demented girl and you realise this in the fine nuances of voice-modulation and body language that’s on display. Ditto for Arjun Rampal who gives Salim a charming, understated, sarcastic yet a sensible touch. As the doting brother-in-law and a third-grade novelist, he’s a blast on-screen with his invincible chemistry with Urmila and Shabana. The less said about Diana Hayden, Rishi Kapoor and Namrata Shirodkar, the better.

The equation clearly has reversed. While Fiza was a three-hour hollow-folderol of gimcrackery and gawdawful histrionics dotted with poignant moments, Tehzeeb is poignancy in continuum punctuated by three-four instances of pea-brained executions. With no political leanings this time around, Khalid’s second baby is wonderfully magnified and possesses a heart firmly in its place.

Wouldn’t it be so much better if all the wishes are fulfilled, all misapprehensions absolved much before the treacherous chopper of life slaughters and channels the soul? Tehzeeb repents in the climax, would you ever want to? Beneath the labyrinth of the entangled characters lies a clear message of learning to view life from other’s standpoint and living for the moment.