Madhur Bhandarkar's Indu Sarkar completely misses the mark

Madhur Bhandarkar's controversial drama is purportedly based on the period of Emergency

Indu Sarkar begins abruptly and mundanely with a montage of newspaper headlines, which announce the imposition of Emergency in India, and takes viewers into the thick of its atrocities. More than the “how” or “why”, filmmaker Madhur Bhandarkar focuses mainly on the “what” of the period that lasted for 19 months, from 1975 to 1977.

“Sarkaarein challenge se nahi, chabook se chalti hain (governments can’t work with challenges, they rely on force).” This type of harsh dealing is true of the film’s treatment, too. Rather than nuanced, its conflicts are grinding, its characters rarely subtle, and metaphors at times clunky.

Indu Sarkar is a deeply political film, even if it refrains from naming the political figures on whom it is based. The title, which was widely interpreted as a reference to Indira Gandhi’s government, is the name given to its fictional protagonist. Played by Kirti Kulhari (seen earlier in Pink), she is an orphaned girl with a stammer that prevents her from ever being adopted. She finds solace in writing poetry and grows up to fall in love with and marry Navin Sarkar (Tota Roy Chowdhury), an ambitious young bureaucrat.

Navin, eager to leave behind poverty, is willing to toe any line to climb up the ranks of government and society. This is obviously at odds with Indu’s personality, who, while wanting to be a “good wife”, is also full of empathy for others. As her husband colludes with his senior officials to facilitate orders of male sterilisation, evictions and imprisonments, Indu busies herself in sensing public opinion and rescuing children. Neil Nitin Mukesh, who masterminds this operation, goes by the name “Chief” while looking every bit the spitting image of Sanjay Gandhi.

The care taken in designing some main characters is missing in the rest of the film, which looks more like a 1970s-themed party than the era itself. Bell-bottoms, patterned satin shirts and sideburns abound. The frames recreating Connaught Place, Chandni Chowk and Turkman Gate are overstuffed with props from the past era — vintage Bata posters, a Sholay hoarding, radios and dusty shop-signs in Hindi.

The background score stirs not because of its beauty but because of its frightening decibels. The film is overwritten too — what is depicted is almost always reiterated in words. Occasionally, it slips into high-school skit territory. This becomes the only source of humour in an otherwise exhaustingly sombre drama. Bhandarkar and co-writer Anil Pande, perhaps excited about making a period film, seem to have packed in nearly every detail that emerged during research.

A redeeming element is the relationship of Navin and Indu. Their love sparks naturally, the political disagreements and insecurities are convincing, as is the sense of regret. The script has evident limitations but actors Kulhari and Roy Chowdhury perform these portions with utter and sublime sincerity. Kulhari sensitively stammers her way through both poetry and protest.

Given the colossal misfires in the last few years, this may be among Bhandarkar’s better works. Heavy-handed though it is, Indu Sarkar tries to show how enforced compliance and violent muting of criticism hurt a democracy. While pointing to brutal events of the 1970s, it harks to the dangers of any political power that thinks “janta ka dimaag kore panne ki tarah hota hai, jo chahe likh do (a public’s mind is a blank piece of paper, fill it as you please).”