"Whoever comes to Varanasi leaves with something close to their heart," says a man in Varsha Vasudev's exquisite Chinna Chinna Aasai. Based on the film, Vasudev seems to have walked away from her own visit with a deep love for its people, architecture, and ghats. That love comes through beautifully in the film's delicate images that, rather than functioning as mere pretty pictures, gently accentuate the city's everyday routines, sacred rituals, and tourist bustle. Vasudev composes a love letter to this place with breathtaking sublimity. From the opening scene itself, Vasudev, with cinematographer Faiz Siddik, conjures a soothing, trance-like atmosphere that's elevated by the graceful performances of the two leads. As Madhavan and Leela respectively, Indrans and Madhoo converse with a free-flowing, laid-back charm that evokes a reposeful state of mind. Conversation flows so naturally that some words seem carefully chosen while others slip out almost unconsciously. While consuming lassi, Leela compares it to Thanjavur halwa, which leads to the mention of her grandmother and how she lived till the age of 90 before one day she simply went to sleep smiling. This small anecdote slips out naturally, and Leela finds herself surprised by her own behavior. It's as if she subconsciously lowered her guard in front of Madhavan and, after catching herself red-handed, was surprised by her own openness.
Madhoo's performance is quite physical in the sense that she makes Leela's gradual opening up to Madhavan almost literal. You can see her putting up walls between herself and other people and watch those walls come down after she reaches a certain level of comfort. Indrans, for his part, wears such a gentle expression that it seems as if his very soul has been purified by all these years of living in Banaras. His smile is radiant. Whenever Indrans and Madhoo—or Madhavan and Leela—are on the screen, Chinna Chinna Aasai moves with all the finesse of an enchanting dance. The characters are separated temporarily at one point, and those scenes are not as strong (they are not terrible either). But the movie regains its bewitching spell as soon as they are reunited. With Madhoo and Indrans, Vasudev develops a mesmerizing rapport. She observes them, listens to them, follows them with a keenness that lends the characters many layers and dimensions. At the same time, she never loses sight of their surroundings and views the characters in relation to them. When Madhavan and Leela, facing the river and sitting on a bench, talk about their children and marriage, Vasudev briefly cuts to the canvas of a painter busy painting them. The camera also frames Madhavan and Leela between two foreign tourists who, with their eyes closed, peacefully meditate.
Vasudev is as interested in the sights and sounds of Varanasi as she is in her characters. She links the two intuitively and generates vivid, palpable images. The movie has a tactile texture—something that's sorely missing from many big-budget blockbusters. Madhavan and Leela discuss their personal lives, talk about places they have traveled (Madhavan enjoyed visiting Spiti Valley in Himachal Pradesh), their hobbies and interests (Leela loves to dance and wanted to be a dance teacher), and what they think about the locations they visit and the food they savor. Vasudev's curiosity accentuates her thrilling imagination. She might have a great affection for Varanasi, but she doesn't offer a one-sided, rosy picture. In her own gentle way, she shows how women are made to feel uncomfortable by men and how those colorful homes are filled with families where husbands and wives quarrel. Chinna Chinna Aasai has a vast scope and a sharp gaze that penetrates Varanasi's spiritual essence. Vasudev's lens offers a portrait of a city that's cyclic in nature. The boy and girl who, in a joyful rush, brush past Madhavan and Leela at a ghat appear again when Madhavan and Leela go to a scenic terrace. We first see Madhavan's daughter (Aparna Balamurali) perform, then another dance performance at Madhavan's hotel, and finally Leela dancing herself. A little girl who tries to sell some items to Leela earlier returns later as well. Even that line about the sleeping grandmother resurfaces with emotional force at the end. No wonder Leela is seen on a giant wheel, moving in a circle.
What this repetition also does is make us feel as though we are really moving through specific sections of Banaras. Vasudev truly creates an immersive experience. She also reaches a stunning cinematic height during the scene where Madhavan and Leela, lying in a boat, are observed from above. The image resembles a dreamy, magical eye, imbuing the overhead shot with an almost mystical aura. Chinna Chinna Aasai is Vasudev's directorial debut, and it's the kind of debut that makes one happy and optimistic about the future of movies, about the art of cinema itself. It also rekindles one's love for film criticism through a reminder that movies aren't limited to the mediocre theatrical releases that dominate discussion. There is more to this art, much of it still left untapped, which is why it's always heartening to see filmmakers like Vasudev emerge every now and then. After crafting such a warm, spellbinding tale of companionship, I am very, very impatient to find out what Vasudev will come up with next. I hope she pushes her talents even further with her next feature.
Written by - Vikas Yadav
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Publisher at Midgard Times