Kashmir바카라�s Timeless Hamlet

Around the halfway mark in Vishal Bhardwaj바카라�s Haider (2014), we enter Faraz Cinema. 바카라�Main hun diwaana tere pyaar ka, peecha na chhodunga tera,바카라� sings Salman Khan, like a dutiful stalker, on screen. A wide shot shows the Indian Army officers, as viewers, enduring varied stages of boredom바카라�some drinking, some sleeping, some barely awake. Then, a door opens, and convicts line up in front of the screen. An officer signals the projectionist to stop; the interrogation바카라�or the real film바카라�has to start.

This Hamlet adaptation, much like its setting, Kashmir, inverts conventions, mocks normalcy, and distorts identities. So a theatre, promising freedom from the captivity of mundane life, functions as a prison. The multiplicity of identities here isn바카라�t just restricted to inanimate things. Because in the same theatre, Haider바카라�s father, 바카라�Doctor바카라� (Narendra Jha), notices an 바카라�aasteen ka saanp바카라�바카라�a man whom he considered bhai, Khurram (Kay Kay Menon), morphed into the Army바카라�s informer바카라�a brother turned betrayer. In a drama centred on a conflict-torn land, coveted by two countries, it makes poetic and perfect sense that dualities define Haider.

Consider its more literal example: the Army officials stopping and checking the IDs of regular Kashmiris, reminding them that they need permission to enter their own homes. Or making them feel, as a character says later, that 바카라�All of Kashmir is a prison바카라�. These ID checks, even more than the Faraz Cinema scene, examine and extrapolate identity and duality, as the 바카라�correct바카라� documents make all the difference: between allowed and detained, insider and infiltrator, home and prison. Sometimes this diktat produces dark humour: A middle-aged man (played by Basharat Peer, the writer of the memoir Curfewed Night, the movie바카라�s other source material) stands in front of his house, frozen and lost, refusing to enter. It바카라�s only when he바카라�s mock checked that he feels 바카라�normal바카라� and resumes walking again. In another scene, while searching for his father, Haider (Shahid Kapoor) opens the door of a police truck and sees scores of dead bodies. Right then, a bloodied boy leaps out, screaming, 바카라�Thank God, I바카라�m alive! Thank God, I바카라�m alive!바카라�

Existential dread suffuses Haider. Grieving the disappearance of his father, he transitions from son to sinner, poet to murderer, unable to differentiate the dualities stinging his mind: Has his father disappeared or died? Is he sane or insane? They converge in a searing soliloquy that doubles up as a paean to duality itself바카라�absorbed by Hamlet, spat by Haider, written by Shakespeare, moulded by Bhardwaj바카라�바카라�Dil ki gar sunoon to hai, dimaag ki to hai nahin. Jaan loon, ke jaan doon? Main rahoon, ke main nahin? [to trust the surging beats of the heart or to heed the caution of the sober mind? To kill or to die? To be or not to be?].바카라�

At least one more factor amplifies the dualities in Haider: Hamlet. Just see the introduction바카라�and character바카라�of Roohdar (Irrfan), the cinematic counterpart of the play바카라�s ghost. The ominous hums segue into a throbbing background score, as a blurry figure emerges in the snow in a limp so poetic that it deserves to be a dance. Bhardwaj builds great ambiguity around Roohdar바카라�does he exist, does he not? Is he a person or an apparition? And the actor relishes such scenes. After mock checking the middle-aged Kashmiri, Roohdar says it바카라�s a 바카라�psychological disorder, called the new disease바카라�. It impresses a local journalist (Shraddha Kapoor) who asks him, 바카라�Are you a doctor?바카라� He tilts and smiles: 바카라�Main Doctor ki rooh hun [I바카라�m the doctor바카라�s soul].바카라�

Sometimes the dualities, foreshadowing the protagonist바카라�s ins­anity, are literal. Take an early scene, where Haider visits his house, which was bombed by the Indian Army. Where others see rubble, he sees home. He imagines snuggling up to his parents as a child; he sees himself polishing his father바카라�s shoes; he remembers admiring his mother (Tabu) in the mirror and kissing her neck. Snapping back to the present, he places a vase on a broken table, dusts off a sofa, practises a shot with his cricket bat바카라�anything to convince himself that he바카라�s not homeless.

The same house appears towards the end of the film, where Ghazala (Tabu) goes to meet her mad and murderous son. She looks at her split image in a broken mirror. Standing behind her, he says, 바카라�My two-faced mother.바카라� Just like her lover, the 바카라�two-faced바카라� Khurram. Haider holds her chin and says, 바카라�Such innocence on one face, such deceit on the other.바카라� This scene, in fact, contains duality in duality바카라�garnished by an echo. In a rubble doubling up as a home, a mother and a son, who could also be lovers, are looking at the mirror in the same way they used to in happier times.

Sometimes echoes, like dualities, underscore traumas that don바카라�t mitigate but amplify, showing how these characters are imprisoned in their own circularities. Just like the scenes featuring the demolished house and the mirror, Ghazala putting a gun to her head바카라�or threatening to kill herself바카라�recurs as well. She does it for the first time after discovering a gun in Haider바카라�s school bag who wants to 바카라�cross the border바카라�. This threat of suicide, then, is to make him leave Srinagar for Aligarh Muslim University. Years later, sitting with him in their ruined home, she cups his wrist and points the gun at her forehead: 바카라�I바카라�m tired of my wretched life. End my agony.바카라� Haider doesn바카라�t but Ghazala persists and, like a twisted literary joke, gets 바카라�third time lucky바카라� in the climax, detonating herself in a graveyard, exercising her only agency.

But the most superb example of duality, materialising as a traumatic and vengeful response, comes in the 바카라�whodunit바카라� song Bismil (an ingenious hat doff to the play-within-a-play in Hamlet). It바카라�s also a commentary on the protest art바카라�evident in songs, placards, and slogans rippling on Indian streets over the last several years바카라�as it바카라�s the only recourse available to powerless victims. So when Haider can바카라�t scream, he sings. When he can바카라�t be direct바카라�levelling allegations and taking names바카라�he is elliptical, weaving a story through puppets. Nothing is commonplace바카라�or 바카라�normal바카라�바카라�in Kashmir: a song is a puzzle, a dance is a wail바카라�and the perpetrator sits in the audience, watching his victims perform (just like the scene in Faraz Cinema).

The insanity and duality doubles down in the third act, as three gravediggers dig their own graves. A playful song, Aao Na, intensifies the irony, where a kid gambols in a snowy graveyard, handing them biscuits. On seeing Haider, they urge him to follow suit. He shovels the snow, carves a grave, and lies in it. There are 20 more minutes left in the movie but, at this point, it gets over in spirit. Because for many ravaged Kashmiris, their ultimate duality doesn바카라�t hinge on dead or alive but dead and alive.