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| Directed by Sriram
Raghavan Music: White Noise Collectives, Rooh Lyrics: Amitabh Bhattacharya, Vaibhav Starring: Dharmendra, Jaideep Ahlawat, Agastya Nanda, Simar Bhatia, Suhasini Mulay, Ekavali Khanna, Avni Rai, Vivaan Shah, Sikander Kher, Rahul Dev |
His superior officer congratulates him, and informs the group that war has indeed been declared. And Arun is jubilant; he’s thirsting for the opportunity to prove himself in battle. But Ikkis is not just the story of a young man’s valour; it is also the story of what happens 30 years after his death.
The second timeline is in 2001, when Retd. Brigadier Madan Lal Khetarpal (Dharmendra) is planning to visit Lahore for his college’s centenary celebrations. His wife, Maheshwari (Suhasini Mulay), wonders why he wants to go there. Hasn’t Pakistan done enough damage already? But the Brigadier has his reasons – he wants to meet old college friends, revisit his ancestral home in Sargodha, and…
In Lahore, Brigadier Jaan Mohammed Nisar’s (Jaideep Ahlawat) wife (Ekavali Khanna) is similarly remonstrating with him – why does he have to play host to the visiting Indian? And why, in God’s name, did he have to invite Brigadier Khetarpal to stay with them? But Nisar, too, has his reasons.
And so, the film alternates between the two periods – Arun’s training montages; his ratting on his classmates (for breaking the rules) that leads him to ponder whether loyalty trumps duty; Arun’s break-up with his girlfriend when he realises that the relationship has caused him to break rules himself – all these are perhaps the tropes of a conventional biopic.
What makes Ikkis a more complex narrative is that this coming-of-age, both as a man and a soldier, is interspersed with an almost-lyrical exploration of a father’s loss and his quest to discover his young son’s final moments. For Arun Khetarpal remains frozen in time – and his father’s memories – as a 21-year-old. The young man, India’s youngest Param Vir Chakra awardee, did not live to be 22. He was martyred in the Battle of Basantar during the Indo-Pak War of 1971. Alongside, we also have Brigadier Nisar’s perspective to ruminate over. He is labouring under a secret of his own, one that has weighed heavily on him since the war ended.
Amidst these two emotional strands is the war itself – not slickly shot like set action pieces, but slow, methodical, and strategic. Arun, fast-tracked into action, though his bravado initially has Lt. Col. Hanut Singh (Rahul Dev), his commanding officer, smacking him down verbally – “You have no idea what war is.” – is now a tank commander and his courage is visible as he leads his team into battle.
We know how this will end for Arun, but the battle scenes leading up to the young man’s demise are both exhilarating and moving. A tank battle differs from typical battle scenes involving soldiers fighting each other. But the destruction a tank leaves in its wake is nonetheless devastating.
Director Sriram Raghavan also chooses to film this section like a documentary (cinematographer Anil Mehta), shorn of visual thrills and adrenaline-pumping set pieces. The scenes are cold, clinical almost, but the visceral impact is stunning. This documentary feel is also echoed in the second timeline as Nisar’s daughter, Saba (Avni Rai) follows her father and Khetarpal around, her video camera documenting every minute of their sojourn together.
These ‘echoes’ – scenes/events mirroring each other are peppered throughout the film. For instance, there are the trees – the first stands in the courtyard of Khetarpal’s ancestral home in Sargodha, where the binocular lens he had hidden in its hollow as a child so he could look into the tree as it grew, is now enclosed by bark. (This scene segues into a rumination about displacement – does this tree know that it now stands in a different country, muses Khetarpal.) The other tree stands guard over land that was once soaked in blood – Arun had died under its branches – and is now witness to a pastoral scene.
In another scene, when the Indian tanks cross into Pakistan, Arun crows, “We’re in Pakistan”, and the tank’s driver, Sowar Parag Singh (Shree Bishnoi), comments, “It looks just the same.” A sentiment that finds its echo in the Pakistani villagers who welcome the convoy of Indian tanks, handing the soldiers fruits under the presumption that they are the Pakistani army.
Similarly, the scene where Arun’s training officer congratulates him for choosing to do the right thing instead of what’s easy is mirrored in a later scene (involving Nisar), albeit as a sign in a school he visits with Khetarpal.
Ikkis is the film it is because of the performances. Agastya Nanda and debutant Simar Bhatia are both competent in their roles, the former more than the latter, but only because ‘Kiran’ is a stock character. Her presence is limited on purpose in the film, but given reel follows real, she carries herself well. I was glad that she was not playing ‘regulation heroine’, and I give her props for choosing a part such as this.
Agastya is earnest and portrays Arun’s bravado, self-doubt and staunch courage with commendable sincerity. Arun is who he is because of his lineage – he comes from a long line of soldiers. His inherited patriotism and his urgency to go into battle both come from his urge to make himself the hero of his own story. It shows as much in his determination to end the drought of medals that his regiment suffers from as it does in his over-eagerness to go to battle. He’s ignorant about the reality of war. As a trainee officer, he comes off as a little self-righteous, even a bit of a prig.
But as his squadron rejects him roundly, we see him grow to understand what it really means to be a leader. His quest for vainglory notwithstanding, there is a strong vein of compassion in Arun. One that we see when he, as tank commander, is given the job of butchering the sacrificial goat on the eve of battle. These complexities paint a more nuanced picture of the real person whose journey from boy to man was undertaken in the harshest of circumstances; his death, coming as it did at the cusp of his entry into manhood, seems a cruel blow of fate.
Agastya’s innocence stands him in good stead, and while he’s a bit stiff in the emotional scenes, he makes me invested enough in his character to be moved at his death.
But the film itself is anchored by two towering performances. As Brigadier Khetarpal, a man who is haunted by one question: Why didn't his son retreat when ordered to do so? – but who accepts that death was the inevitable consequence of his duty, Dharmendra was wonderful.
His final monologue about life is moving in more ways than one, as is his response in one of the more introspective (if one cares to introspect, that is) scenes, when Nisar says that Arun didn't retreat because he wanted to defeat the the enemy. “Kaun dushman?” responds Khetarpal sadly. Nothing more is said, nothing more is needed.
The
gravitas that Dharmendra brings to this role was a pleasant surprise, given
that his previous outing (in Rocky aur Rani ki Prem Kahani, a
film I loved) was sad to watch. But here, it is hard not to be moved by
his performance – from someone keen to know his son’s final moments (he only
knows that Arun refused to listen to the order to retreat and had, in fact,
turned his radio off) to someone who learns his host’s secret and accepts the
truth with grace, he was truly in character. When Nisar asks him (upon
receiving an invitation to visit the Khetarpals in Delhi) how Mrs Khetarpal
will react, “She’s the daughter of an army officer, the wife of an army
officer and the mother of one,” Khetarpal remarks quietly. It’s a moment of
immense grace.
Dharmendra reciting his own poem about wanting to returning to his pind adds a poignant note, especially when one recollects that the actor died shortly after completing the film,. Ikkis is a bittersweet farewell to an actor I’ve always loved, and a reminder that he was a better actor than his filmography might attest.
Jaideep Ahlawat is a fantastic actor, and I’m always keen to see what choices he will make next. As Brigadier Nisar, weighed down by a feeling of guilt and lingering regret, there is not one wrong note in his performance. In one scene, as he’s driving Khetarpal back to Lahore, and the latter wants to know if this was where Arun had breathed his last, he remarks, “No, the enemy tanks…” before recollecting who he’s speaking to. He quickly corrects himself. “Arun’s tanks didn’t come this far.” But he speaks glowingly of Arun’s courage and how inspiring his actions were, not just to the Indian soldiers but to the Pakistanis as well, a soldier respecting another soldier’s bravery, even if he’s the enemy. Nisar’s character is accorded the same respect that Arun is – a patriot, albeit on the ‘enemy’ side. Ahlawat’s scenes with Dharmendra are the most moving in the film, and I had a lump in my throat many a time.
While these are the more important characters, Ikkis makes space for the unknown soldiers – the soldier, recently married, who eagerly awaits his wife’s letters; the driver of the tank who understands in a way that Arun does not, that the land is the same, among others. Vivaan Shah, Rahul Dev and Sikander Kher make an impact even in their limited screen time. It is refreshing to see even minor characters given fully fleshed-out characterisations. I teared up a little at the late Asrani’s cameo as Khetarpal’s old classmate, afflicted by Alzheimer’s.
Ikkis is that rare Indian war film that asks what war is, and what its consequences are. It deals with what duty means, and whether men who are sworn to kill their enemy while in uniform can find a common humanity when outside it. Arun’s courage in battle is placed within the context of army rules and discipline, and both Khetarpal and Nisar remark on what it means to be a soldier serving his country. And while ‘obeying orders’ has long been shorthand for denying culpability, it is strangely moving within the context of the film as the two men – both soldiers, albeit from opposing sides – discuss the immeasurable personal and collective loss that ensues.
All this might seem naïve given the current geopolitical situation we find ourselves in, but Raghavan does not shy away from giving us a healthy dose of reality. One is a humorous scene involving ISI agents who trail Nisar and Khetarpal; when Khetarpal asks who the men following them are, Nisar is dismissive. They are just doing their jobs. The other involves Nisar and an ISI general (Zakir Hussain), who wonders if the former can use his friendship with Khetarpal to ‘develop relationships’ in Delhi. Nisar can only laugh at the politics of it all.
As always, Raghavan uses old Hindi film songs woven intelligently into the narrative. For instance, the soldiers are listening to the radio when they are attacked. And when the attack ends, the song playing is Kehne ko bahut kuch tha magar as the camera pans to the corpse of the newly-married soldier. Earlier, there’s a snatch of Unko ye shikaayat hai ke hum kuch nahi kehte. (I was curious to see a ‘Thank you’ credit to Pran, until I realised that they were playing the Special Jaimala episode that he hosted.) And Kar chale hum fida jaan-0-tan saathiyo is used effectively as a hat-tip to another war film, Haqeeqat.
The editing (Monisha Baldawa) is excellent and makes the transitions between the different timelines seem less chaotic than they are. They don’t always work – sometimes, the jump takes you out of the moment – but it’s interesting to see how editorial decisions shape a story. Ikkis, with its [minor] flaws, is an important film in that it remains quietly patriotic without resorting to the chest-thumping jingoism that has lately become the norm. And when we see the battlefield, the focus is not on chest-thumping valour but on the committed duty-bound soldiers killing and dying for their country. It’s a sobering thought.
Ikkis deals primarily with the lives of those who have the most to lose – the soldiers in the line of fire. In restricting its narrative to the soldiers, their motivations, their compulsions, etc, Ikkis shows us the true cost of war – the immeasurable loss of human lives, the pain of losing friends and comrades, and the trauma that lies smouldering underneath.
Violence and bloodshed are to be expected given the subject, but Raghavan ensures that they are not glorified. The film might deal with the theatre of war, but the drama is muted by the tragedy of war. Even the scene where Khetarpal takes a handful of dust from the place where Arun breathed his last is quietly moving, not melodramatic with soaring background music to emphasize the magnitude of his loss. This quietude, the gentleness and the humanity envelop both the film and us with the warmth and grace that Khetarpal shows/showed.
It also leaves us to ponder a sobering thought – in the last scene, a young cadet is showing off the portraits of the regiment’s first Param Vir Chakra recipient and that of its youngest recipient. He boasts that he will break Arun’s record – the quest for make-believe glory that still sends young men and women into battle makes one want to repeat Khetarpal’s final words in the film – Rab rakha.
Photo credit: All photographs were taken from IMDB, or as screen grabs from the official trailer of the film.
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A very belated Happy New Year to all mu readers.
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