Cactus Pears

Bluesky

Out in some of the most remote villages in India, where life has remained much the same for centuries, change is coming. It takes many forms. The land is drier than it was, the summers hotter. It’s getting harder to make a good living from the land. The previous generation’s embrace of ultrasound technology as means of identifying female foetuses, so that they could be aborted, has left many young men unable to find wives. Some have resorted to marrying below their caste. Others have left, in search of a better life in the city. All of these changes have facilitated other forms of social change, the fading of traditional beliefs and the acceptance of things that once could not be spoken.

Anand (Bhushaan Manoj) has travelled from Mumbai, where he works in a call centre, to support his mother Suman (Jaysri Jagtap) in the wake of his father’s sudden death. She knows why he went away, and why he has never married. He had revealed it to his father, but despite their acceptance, he still feels guilt over the way that his sexual orientation has complicated their lives; and he struggles with being in a place where, for fear of making Suman’s life harder at this already difficult time, he cannot be honest about who he is. In giving way to her pleas that he remain to lead the ten days of funerary rights, ensuring the safe progression of his father’s soul, he commits himself to rebuilding their relationship on an adult footing, and to once again enduring the pressures that made him miserable in the past.

Also dealing with such pressures is Balya (Suraaj Suman), a close friend of his as they grew up, who is being pushed ever more relentlessly towards marriage. He goes out daily to herd his goats and Anand accompanies him – at first just to get away, but increasingly because, despite the very different lifestyles they have as adults, he finds that they have a connection. The film doesn’t make any sharp distinctions between friendship and romantic feelings, and it’s never clear to what extent their closeness is about convenience, but there’s a little bit of magic there nonetheless. We see it in Suman’s eyes when a relative drops off a gift of cactus pears, carefully dethorned, that Balya has sent to Anand. If her son can’t marry and give her grandchildren as she once hoped he would, at least she can hope that he will settle down with a nice boy.

There’s a real sweetness and gentleness about this tale, in which everybody really wants the best for everybody else, but different ways of thinking mean there’s still sufficient dramatic tension to keep it moving. Manoj and Jagtap have wonderful chemistry, and it’s in their relationship that the film finds its heart, as Suman tries to fortify her son with enough love to fend off all the injustices of the world. Starting out as a confident outsider, there to protect her when she is at her most fragile, he becomes a child again in her arms, opening up to reveal hidden fragility.

There is a good deal of observation of change. When they spend a day in the local lake, Balya asks Anand how far the sea is from his house, and Anand has to explain that they can’t swim there because it’s polluted. He laments to his mother about how the beautiful stone walls of the local temple have been covered in concrete, and she says that’s happening everywhere now. Over time he seems increasingly affected by this on an emotional level, and his relationship with the rituals he is performing changes. He does not seem any more convinced by the villagers’ beliefs, but develops a degree of reverence for the traditions themselves, as something worth preserving for its own sake. As he does so, what began as an effort to comfort his mother gradually leads him to a place where he can reckon with his own grief.

Although writer/director Rohan Kanawade grew up in the city, there is a deep sense of authenticity about the village setting, and the whole film is handled with a rare degree of sensitivity. It’s a thoughtful, lyrical ode to a disappearing way of life, full of respect for its contributions to modern, urban India. Love takes hitherto unrecognised forms but remains itself, like a soul migrating to a new body. By the time that Anand eventually takes the train back into the darkness and dirt and cramped spaces of the city, the bright open spaces of the village have found their way into his heart.

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