Abhishek Chaubey’s first film Ishqiya (2010) has its heroes standing in their own graves within minutes of their introduction. Khaalujaan (Naseeruddin Shah) and Babban (Arshad Warsi) are swaying and singing drunkenly in their jammies, celebrating the successful theft of Rs. 20 lacs, before coming face to face with its true owner. Instantly, the two transform, squatting at the thug’s feet and snivelling for their life. We’re not supposed to fall in love with duplicitous bums, but when these two escape certain death by using nothing but a long-winded joke and quick thinking, they win your heart. With this opening, Chaubey flaunted what would become characteristic of his filmography over the next decade: Deft writing, authentic settings and the marriage of masala and substance.
Good guy, bad guy, good bad guy
Every director dabbling in realism aims for characters with shades of grey, urging us to see how heroes and villains are in the eye of the beholder. In that sense, Chaubey is no different. Only his anti-heroes are among the most complex and unexpectedly charming characters Hindi cinema has seen in recent years. Ishqiya hinges on an unconventional trio: Two men – a nephew and uncle – plan a kidnapping along with the widow they’re both in love with. When Babban and Khalujaan show up at Krishna’s (Vidya Balan) palatial home, you inadvertently fear for the woman. She’s a lone widow, spending her days cutting up wood or cooking food on the coal stove. But Chaubey turns the tables on the audience in no time. The apparently demure Krishna reveals herself to be a clever and calculating femme fatale who cheerfully flirts with both uncle and nephew. Chaubey never makes her influence on the men too overt, but it becomes clear that she wears the pants in this three-way relationship. Just when your sympathies, indulged by years of rooting for cinematic bromance, begin to side with Khalu and Babban – poor things estranged over a wily woman – Chaubey, once again, turns this on its head. Krishna’s sensuality reveals itself to be a desperate means to a desperate end, a representation of the only form of power afforded to women historically. With her vulnerability laid bare, the femme fatale looks much like a damsel in distress — only she won’t be waiting for a knight in shining armour.