Here's To Letters!

Dear ‘Dear Zindagi,’

Hi!

Since you made me realize the importance of letters, it only makes sense that I write about you in a letter. I had butterflies in my stomach before I walked in to the auditorium to watch you. I was wondering if you’d be at the same level as English Vinglish, if you’d be on par with other feel-good movies from Hollywood that I love, since you were supposedly from the same genre. But you made me forget all that. I won’t review you, because I don’t think I understand films and filmmaking so well. But I’d love to share what you made me feel.

As soon as I walked out of the cinema hall, I tweeted that you are a beautiful, beautiful film. I wrote about you on Facebook and BookMyShow and also gave my opinion about you to those who asked me how Dear Zindagi was, using the same adjective: Beautiful. Not because I ran out of other adjectives or something, but I believe beautiful is how everyone should describe you. Because beauty isn’t perfect. It is flawed. But it makes you love it. Not in spite of the flaws. It makes you love the flaws too. And that’s what you did.

Dear ‘Dear Zindagi,’

They say, you are flawed. They say, a therapist cannot take a walk on the beach with her/his patient. She/he cannot go cycling with the patient, cannot roam around the city, cannot share personal experiences, cannot hug, cannot... But I say, why not? Aren’t humans supposed to experiment? Aren’t humans supposed to be humans?

Maybe I don’t know much about psychiatry or counselling. But I know a thing or two about films or fiction. I know a thing or two about stories. I know that they reflect the world we live in, but not necessarily as it is. Stories may portray our dreams, our imagination, our utopia. They may be a form of escapism; from the troubles of my life, from my incessant overthinking, my anxiety, my dilemmas, my problem with the fact that therapists aren’t allowed to be like Jug. I don’t know much, but I do know that you made me feel alive. And I would trade any realities (about therapists, or otherwise) to be able to feel alive.

I don’t want to talk about the therapist you showed me on screen or the actor who portrays him. Not because I have any problem with him, or that I didn’t like him, but for the exact opposite reason. I’ve been a fan of the actor, and I’ve spent my life talking about him. And I would really love to talk about your protagonist and the actor who portrays her. Because both the character and the actor deserve it.

I noticed how polar opposite her reactions were when she was asked “Good for you Kaira?” in Singapore at the film shoot as opposed to the advertisement shoot back in Mumbai, excitement vs frustration. I noticed how her face went, when the guy told her she was a ‘hot DOP’ even though he was joking, maybe because she’s been through a lot of that. I liked how she ate chillies as an excuse to cry.

I noticed how you made clear—well before the final revelation— that she ran away from people before people could run away from her, that she wanted to be the first one to leave; when she untied her hair and danced with the Justin Bieber guy when she realized Raghu will be seeing his ex, when she got furious when Raghu was in Goa telling her it’s good that she took the decision. “What do you mean Tumhe lagta hai?

I loved the way she narrated her problem as her friend’s when she visited the therapist for the first time—clearly uncomfortable with letting people see the real her—and then relaxing after she’s heard the Pyarelal story. I loved how she went from a hell lot of confused to a tad bit hopeful.

I love the scene where she confronts her family. I gritted my teeth when she said “my foot.” I clenched my fists and swore under my breath when she tore into every single one of the elders. That alone is the proof of the actor’s tremendous acting prowess. She was Kaira. In the climax, she didn’t break down all at once. Her face went from being devoid of expression to teary eyed to a complete sobbing mess. I loved how real and relatable your protagonist was. I loved how she was stupid and mature at the same time, and how most of us are like that anyway.

Dear ‘Dear Zindagi,’

A lot of people pointed out your flaws, so I want to point out the things about you that I loved, and some might have missed. I loved all the small things you wanted me to notice. I loved how Jackie, Koko and Fatty’s group is named JFK. It made me smile, making me remember all the silly names my friends came up with for our group. I loved how the camera showed us a close-up of Alka when Fatty says she wished her parents had bought her a villa in Goa.

I love how easily Kaira and Raunaq bring up homosexuality, and how it is the exact opposite at Kaira’s family dinner. I love how Jackie asks Raunaq is he’s crazy because he’s seeing a therapist, highlighting the fact that mental health and therapy is a sort of taboo for even the sweetest of people.

Dear ‘Dear Zindagi,’

I loved the way Kaira admits that she likes Jug. It ends her character arc on a peak as she’s no longer hiding her feelings. I read a lot of people saying she shouldn’t have fallen in love with her because it shows she’s not really independent and I don’t really agree. Why? Because she says she likes Jug and not loves him. All her life, she never has had a person who listened to her. It’s only natural that she’ll develop a liking for that person.

And it wasn’t a sudden revelation. You were dropping hints. The way she cringed when Jug cancelled the session, the way she hid the buzzer, the way she always wanted more time. Maybe she just couldn’t understand Jug’s previous advice: that there are different sort of relationships. Maybe she was already in a relationship with Jug: a ‘share everything without inhibitions’ relationship. She just mistook it for the romantic sort.

I know I said I won’t talk about Jug, but it’s hard not to. I love him. And despite the holding back, keeping a distance, the ‘professional ethics’ line, I’d still like to believe that Jug liked her back. I’d like to believe that the chair creaked for a reason when he sat, and that in that final session, his eye drops were to him what chillies were to Kaira. He was hiding his tears. I’d love to believe that there was nothing wrong for them to like each other. At least for the age part.

I love how Kaira notices everything in the room when the final session is over, as if taking it all in for the last time; as if keeping it all safe as a memory of Jug. And I love how she walks out, and stands at the gate and cries her eyes out at the pain of goodbye, and then gradually the sob changes into a smile: joy of feeling free, of being able to face her fears finally.

That’s why I clapped when you ended. Because you illustrated a beautiful metaphor. Kaira is Dona Maria. I clapped because she won her battle with her fears, and that’s where the heartfelt smile came from when she stood at gate of Jug’s house.

So,

Dear ‘Dear Zindagi,’

Thank you.

Thank you for teaching me so many things. Thank you for making me feel okay with—in fact proud of—whatever I am doing or whatever choices I’m making. Thank you for being so beautiful. Thank you for resonating with me, for reducing me to a puddle of tears (both the times I watched it), for making me love you so much that I stayed back till all the credits rolled up, because I wanted to take it all in, as a memory of you.

Thank you for closing with Kaira playing Kabaddi with the sea alone with a camera in her hand. I felt proud of her—a fictional character—and I guess that speaks volumes about you.

Thank you for making me fall in love with life again. Here’s to life, to beauty, to flaws, to love, to you, and to letters. Markus Zusak, the author The Book Thief, wrote a blurb for John Green’s The Fault In Our Stars, but I think it describes you perfectly:

"You laugh, you cry, and then you come back for more."

Love,

Brü