Pyre

Bluesky

Somewhere high in the Indian Himalayas Padam (Padam Singh) lives with his wife Tulsi (Hira Devi) and an indeterminate number of goats in a ramshackle home. Elderly and increasingly frail, we meet them as Padam has marched Tulsi to the top of a cliff - one of many spectacular shots of the countryside captured by cinematographer Manas Bhattacharyya, featuring a waterfall in the background - with a view to them both jumping off it together. Like Samuel Beckett’s Vladimir and Estragon from Waiting For Godot, however, they do not move.

It’s not Godot that the pair are waiting for, but their son Hariya, who left their isolated village 28 years earlier. He probably wasn’t the first to leave and he most certainly isn’t the last as throughout this film a number of residents pack up their bags for various reasons. Vinod Kapri doesn’t need to emphasise the effect of urbanisation and depopulation for it to be keenly felt, since Padam and Tulsi are the epitome of the end result - alone and struggling because their child has flown the nest.

Padam is also thinking a lot about leaving - not the mountainside, but life as a whole - giving goats away to the few fellow locals who are left, especially the younger Laxman (Subhash Chandra) and Jeevan (Shubham Chaudhary), who periodically help him to carry Tulsi off the hills so she can make the five-hour round-trip to hospital.

These kindred spirits of Vladimir and Estragon also keep themselves going somehow, singing and bickering to pass the time. “Let’s quarrel - it’s your best talent,” Padam instructs Tulsi, in one of their many exchanges. The only thing worse than death for these two is the thought of being left entirely alone. Their stoicism in the face of that proves increasingly moving, no doubt one of the reasons the film picked up the Audience Award at the Black Night's Film Festival.

Vinod Kapri slips into the rhythm of the days with the pair, as they rub along together, finding a resonance in the sort of ‘old love’ that they represent, taking comfort as much from the routines they share as from each other. Even the conversations in which Tulsi scolds Padam for his drinking habit, while he chides her for not taking her medication come with the sensation of the pair taking comfort from them. There’s a raw authenticity to the performances from the non-professional stars, who feel as fully part of this landscape as the scoring from Mychael Danna and Amritha Vaz. There’s also a gentle absurdity, not just in the dialogue but also in the way Padam takes a goat almost everywhere with him and frequently hangs his umbrella from the collar of his jacket for safe keeping.

The smallness of the couple in comparison to the land they inhabit is emphasised by shots that frequently pull away - sometimes high in the air by drone - to give us a sense of the scale of the lush green mountain environment. But though they may be insignificant in terms of size, Kapri emphasises the vitality that remains despite their declining years. The framing throughout is immaculate, from their weathered faces in the warm glow from the flames of their fire to the pair of them silhouetted in their home’s window as they have a discussion. Kapri and Bhattacharyya don’t just excel at static shots but often provide elegant movement, whether it’s pulling the camera upwards at unexpected moments or generating poignancy as it moves sideways to reveal the aftermath of a celebration that has turned to sadness.

It’s true that in the end Padam and Tulsi may only have each other - but Kapri humanistically shows that in the great scheme of things, that could mean more than even they realise.