A note on the mythic witnesses of “Kalyug”

The most remarkable aspect of Benegal’s adaptation of the ancient Hindu text is just how “secular” the world here is outside of the obvious underpinnings. It’s not simply that these characters aren’t too overtly played up in reference to their counterparts in the original text, but also that the world of the extended family here seems far removed from any sense of devotion, any religious ritual outside of the suggestion of such. In fact, the film is marked by moments of profound awkwardness or inner turmoil when certain key characters come into direct contact with a “Hindu universe” that is otherwise avoided at every turn. A Kathakali performance depicting a mythic, violent battle scene is cut short when Anant Nag’s character grows bored and impatient with the show. Shashi Kapoor, (playing the Karna analog Karan here, a Rhodes Scholar who likes to listen to Western Classical in his solitude) is frustrated and stuck in traffic during a Ganesh procession. Later, he is intensely torn as he witnesses the immersion of Durga and explodes angrily at a young woman who begs for change at his side.

There are weddings and funerals that occur here mostly in passing, religious “paraphernalia” whirls around the film’s “galaxy” of players,  but there is little actually shown by way of ritual or formal practice on the part of the main characters. Notably, a key wedding is entirely elided (the one between Anant Nag and Supriya Pathak) but Benegal cuts in a scene where the entire family “witnesses” the couple’s engagement video with mixed reactions of awkwardness and quiet inner conflict. This scene alone captures the sense that the characters here, while steeped with references to the Hindu text, are not in any sense comfortable with or interested in the rituals and key moments where religion and family ties rear their heads. It is notable that this home video scene is interrupted by a profoundly awkward moment in which a Swamiji who remains the estranged father of the entire family is treated like a stranger—a walking affront to the secret roots of this family that always seems to lean towards increasingly Western modalities of expression and cultural identification.

The true Kalyug exists perhaps as a period in which, as in the case of this Swamiji scene, the “rooted” is erased. A period in which personal and filial histories become effaced and ancient cultures are lost and found—but lost and found perpetually.