Waiting on grief

Superlative performances, a poignant script and easy dialogues make Waiting a rare gem

Call it misfortune or a necessary training in adulthood, but I have visited a lot of hospitals, mostly accompanying a loved one. While they used to be scary at the beginning, they became exhausting after repeated visits. Anu Menon's Waiting offers a heart-wrenching account of how hostile, confusing and tormenting the waiting room at a hospital can be.

The trailers of the film reveal the basic plot, so I am at no risk of giving out any spoilers. Shiv Natraj, essayed effortlessly by Naseeruddin Shah, is a jolly old man whose wife has been in coma at a Kochi hospital for the last eight months. Tara Kapoor, which Kalki Koechlin plays in her trademark "troubled-girl" style, receives news of her husband's car crash. Natraj and Kapoor's respective spouses are admitted to the same hospital and Natraj becomes a sort of coach for Kapoor to navigate through medicalese and her own grief.

Superlative performances from all actors, including the supporting cast, drive the grief home with needle precision. Shah as the doting husband, who is fighting all odds to keep his wife alive, is instantly charming. He becomes a father figure to Keochlin's character, countering her volatility with his stable, calming presence. Neither Shah nor Koechlin seem aware of the camera and even the dialogues are written to reflect an easy colloquialism. Girish, the man from the company where Koechlin's husband works, complete with his broken English and benign face, is quite memorable. Suhasini Maniratnam's short role as Pankaja Natraj, Shah's wife, is equally noteworthy.

Unsurprisingly, Rajat Kapoor is cast perfectly as the doctor who is both involved and detached. The cool professionalism of doctors and the need to be distanced from their patients makes one both despise and relate to Kapoor's character. In a country where the doctor-patient ratio is so poor, one really cannot blame doctors for being brusque. And yet, it's easier said than done when one is on the other side of the table.

But the biggest strength is perhaps the script of the film, simple yet beautifully layered. It is surprising that for something that is an everyday reality for almost anyone who visits the hospital with and for a loved one has never been the core of a film. One sees the doctor's perspective often in popular television series such as Grey's Anatomy, but the myriad emotions that unravel themselves in a hospital waiting room has yet been unexplored.

The other aspect that is left largely untouched in the Indian health care discourse is the question of life support. When is the right time to pull the plug on a loved one's life? When do you know you've fought enough? The absence of healthcare directives or even a debate over them is brilliantly highlighted in Natraj's heated exchange with the doctor.

"Zara zara" and "Tu hai toh main hun" are haunting and perfectly capture the poignant tone of the film. The writers of the film have sprinkled a light dash of humour over the dark reality of lives of the characters, giving it, in turn, an element of unexpected profundity.

At a personal level, this film is bound to touch anyone who has seen a loved one on a hospital bed and felt helpless. As Natraj explains the five stages of grief - denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance - to Tara, one experiences each stage in the 99 minutes of the film. Though it ends on an inconclusive note, it tugs hard at your heartstrings. I would recommend carrying a pack of tissues, I certainly needed them.