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The hidden gem that is Kali Salwaar

I could kick myself. It's a film tracker's responsibility to seek out miniature or major examples of quality cinema, which have fallen through the cracks - either because of their lack of wide exposure or adequate promotion by their producers. So, when I chanced upon Kali Salwaar (The Black Garment), backed 16 years ago by the now near-defunct National Film Development Corporation, I was astounded. Inspired by a collection of short stories by the legendary Urdu writer Saadat Hasan Manto, this hidden gem stars a heartbreakingly callow Irrfan Khan.

Plus, the acting crew includes Sadiya Siddiqui (who has since switched over to TV), the woefully undervalued Kay Kay Menon and the powerhouse National School of Drama alumna Surekha Sikri. There's yet another revelation: theatre actor Vrajesh Hirjee, recognised today as the comic flunkey of Rohit Shetty's Golmaal franchise, turns in quite a jaw-dropping performance in sync with the stellar ensemble cast.

More surprises: the interior set designs were executed by none other than the late genius artist Bhupen Khakhar. And if you have a taste for poetry, the integration of couplets by 18th century's Mir Taqi Mir should have you entranced.
Captained by director Fareeda Mehta, a graduate of the Film and Television Institute of India, who had once assisted the uncompromisingly artistic filmmaker Kumar Shahani, this no-holds-barred account of the seamier streets of Mumbai is a must watch. It hasn't dated at all, and is yet another strong statement on women who, against all traditional odds, strive to combat subjugation.

If Lipstick Under My Burkha and, of late, Veere Di Wedding have, in their own separate ways, showcased feisty and outspoken women, Fareeda Mehta's endeavour does so with as much candour. However, Mehta's work has been cavalierly neglected, finding an audience back in 2002 essentially at international film festivals.

Happily, Kali Salwaar can now be accessed on DVD, YouTube and on Amazon Prime video streaming channel. Indeed, it features on the channel in the category of 'Hidden Gems' alongside Shyam Benegal's Bhumika (1977), Govind Nihalani's Party (1984) and Tamas (1988), and Kamal Swaroop's Om Dar-B-Dar (1988). Needless to suggest, the various streaming channels need to extend their library of films which have defied the formula over the decades.

Set in crumbling chawls, sinister alleyways, spotty chai cafes and the slopes close to the Haji Malang shrine, Kali Salwaar debates the little big dreams of migrant workers in Mumbai. "Hate it with all your heart but you can't help falling in love with it," goes the age-old credo. And it's vivified here by a middle-aged woman breaking into an impromptu, endearingly off-key rendition of Yeh hai Bombay meri jaan - the iconic Mohammed Rafi song composed by O.P. Nayyar and picturised on Johnny Walker in that golden oldie C.I.D. (1956).

Without being judgemental, the screenplay inspects the bonding of women attempting to earn a square meal at the expense of losing their self-esteem. Above all, without being obvious or didactic, it is asserted that if there are communal disparities in practically every neighbourhood, these have been deepened by vested interests comprising business czars, the hand-in-glove law force and power-bloated politicians.

The dramaturgy follows the life of Sultana (essayed by Sadiya Siddiqui), a young woman from the small town of Muzaffarpur, who doesn't know where her next meal is coming from; she doesn't know how she will be able to buy a black salwaar for the approaching Muharram, or how to raise money for a train ticket to return to her hometown in Bihar. Her companion, a much older man who dabbles in mysticism, has become a parasite. As for the neighbourhood's gadabout Shankar (played by Irrfan Khan) she is tentatively attracted to, he seems far too cynical and is also quite exploitative.
Intermittently, the screenplay recreates the underbelly of the city, zooming in on a cowardly don (Vrajesh Hirjee), whose swag is put on even when he twirls his macho moustache. The only empathetic male character on the scene happens to be Manto (Kay Kay Menon), who observes the desperate lowlife of the city with a bemused detachment.

How can Manto (he passed away in Pakistan in 1955) feature in a story set in 2000, you might ask. The device of resurrecting the writer is anachronistic, even artsy. Yet, the sleight of script works marvellously. It's as if Manto was keeping a vigil on how his stories are being interpreted for cinema. A Bollywood scriptwriter himself during his lifetime, he states ruefully here, "No one cares for the script. Every producer merely wants his film to make pots of money. End of story."

Without revealing the finale, suffice it to say that the end is quiet, elegiac and touching, closing in on Sultana and another woman of the neighbourhood preparing themselves for Muharram. Throughout, every actor is clearly inspired to participate in a film which has thoughtful points to make on the human condition.
Unfortunately, Fareeda Mehta hasn't yet directed another feature film.
Kali Salwaar wasn't decorated with any awards during the year of its all-too-limited release. Perhaps, as the saying goes, it was far too ahead of its time.
But then, that's the fate of every hidden gem, isn't it?
wknd@khaleejtimes.com