‘Dear Zindagi’ — Charming but unfulfilling

As the end credits for ‘Dear Zindagi’ started rolling, I sat in my chair in the cinema hall and thought to myself: Well it was a really charming movie, the proceedings felt so real and engaging, it made the small things in life appear so beautiful. But I was a little….ummm…..unfulfilled! I guess it could’ve been better. The tale of a modern girl coming of age, moving past her confusions and conflicts, attaining liberation, navigating through her emotions, relationships and baggages with the help of and breaking the taboo around therapy — was a beautiful concept but the film seemed to lack a punch.

(Spoilers in this paragraph) As the queue towards the exit began clearing, I got up from my seat and thought — the abnormal family bit could’ve been avoided, since that took away the relatibility quotient and helped the viewer distance themselves from the blame. I recollected my interactions with my therapist friends and wondered that they’d possibly mind a lot of the interactions Alia’s (Kaira) therapist Shahrukh (Jug) had with her. But I put that down to cinematic liberties for making the content more engaging. Also maybe, Kaira’s feelings for Jug could’ve remained unsaid, as part of her transformation.

As I moved towards the exit stairs, I appreciated Gauri Shinde’s trademark observations of human dynamics that were sprinkled all through. Those slight mannerisms, those unsaid emotions as mastered in ‘English Vinglish’ and carried forward here were beautiful but maybe this one could’ve done with even more subtlety. Most audiences aren’t going to understand this movie and it’s not going to make 100 crores anyway, so why compromise! But I felt in awe of Alia Bhatt yet again, she’s perhaps the only actor besides Aamir Khan who is truly a different character each time. I also thought how the men in her love life — Kunal Kapoor, Angad Bedi, Ali Zafar and Aditya Roy Kapoor were reasonably progressive characters by Bollywood standards and all the actors were efficient enough as well.

By now I had reached the lobby. As I proceeded to collect more of my observations, a family of four walked behind me. A young father with a cute little cherub sleeping on his shoulder and the mother walking behind him with their daughter holding her hand. Lost in my thoughts, I lazed slowly and they overtook me. As they crossed, the father told the mother: “Pakistani artist hato, picture jovani jaroor noti” (There was a Pakistani artist, there was no need to watch this film). I couldn’t think of much more after…