Love. Is it about looking for something or someone ‘whole’ and perfect out there? Or welcoming imperfection in people, situations because they mirror our lacks and maybe it is only the broken pieces of one soul that can fit into the gaps of another? Jane Fonda once wrote, “Life is not about perfection but completion.” Anurag Basu’s Barfi says the same thing without saying it. Love in this film is not the cosmetic, geographically manipulated stroll in tulip fields with a song being lip-synced by two air-brushed individuals. It is one trusting finger tangled in a hand that knows how to answer that trust. It is shared foolishness. Spitting out watermelon seeds. Trying to hitch a ride by puncturing vehicles that don’t stop. Shining broken pieces of mirror in each other’s dark corners. Playing hide and seek. Turning vegetables into mock weapons of war. The unself-conscious undressing of a soul before eyes that do not judge. Hysteria of one that can only be contained by the other. Making Origami birds and willing them to fly because ,”agar hausla ho to kaagaz ke par bhi ud sakte hain.” Wordless, unquestioned sense of belonging. Rituals of meaningless laughter no one else can understand. Love is just that. Love. No more. No less. And yet, consider the modern baggage attached to it. The insecurities that we will be hurt if we reveal too much, give too much. And fears that perhaps we are not enough. Maybe, we are not prefect enough, worthy enough, whole enough to love or be loved.
Reema Moudgil has been writing for magazines and newspapers on art, cinema, issues, architecture and more since 1994, is an RJ, hosts a daily Ghazal show, runs unboxed writers, is the editor of Chicken Soup for The Indian Woman’s soul, the author of Perfect Eight (http://www.flipkart.com/perfect-eight-9380032870/p/itmdf87fpkhszfkb?pid=9789380032870&_l=A0vO9n9FWsBsMJKAKw47rw–&_r=dyRavyz2qKxOF7Yuc ) and an artist.