‘Compound’ will strike a real chord with a lot of you. Not because of some overly dramatic theme or some convoluted narrative twist, but because of what the short film is trying to actually convey through its story. Written by Ranjith Moukod and directed by the team at the RK Mangalore Studio, ‘Compound’ is a film about blossoming friendship and compassion in the times we live in. 

With an ongoing pandemic and everything that follows with it, it has, for a lot of us, become relatively easier to be absorbed in our lives. And while that may not be all bad, it does stand to reason that people, all over the world, are slowly losing touch with what’s around them. That comes off as a little harsh, I know. What I mean to say is that, while necessary, in an increasingly digitally engrossed world, more isolation during the pandemic, sometimes, can lead to a pronounced disinterest in the people and things we used to know.

‘Compound’, then, is a short film that touches on this very thread. We follow two boys, of school-going age, Saurav and Nandu. With their school shut and all the course load and the classes being taught online, Saurav and Nandu have come to find themselves at a loss and slightly nostalgic for the lives they used to know. With the two of them sharing a wall between their houses, on account of them being neighbours, Saurav and Nandu are consistently attempting to meet each other, much to the chagrin of Saurav’s father. 

Trivial problems, right? True. It does make you think, however. For a lot of us adults, life, as we knew it, had come to a halt. Things did move on, eventually. But what about the lives of children? What about the kids that went to school and then came home to meet their friends? What are their lives like at this moment? 

Diving a little deeper, it is only when the exams loom around the corner, that the boys find themselves in a bit of a conundrum. Nandu, just recently, had his phone broken by his father. With no other way for Nandu to appear for his online exams, the boys get down to formulating a plan that lets Nandu attend his classes and appear for the exams.

Ranjith Moukod does not attempt a narrative spectacle with ‘Compound’. On the contrary, Moukod opts for a slightly more grounded story about the mundane. In doing so, he manages to concoct a message for the time that we find ourselves living in. It’s incredibly important that we understand the message he is trying to relay because it applies to everyone we rub shoulders with, from that lone vendor selling vegetables in your neighbourhood to that friend of yours having a tough time. It’s vital to be safe but also critical to be compassionate.

Watch ‘Compound’. It’s a slice of our own lives in this pandemic.

There have been a lot of films made on the issue of our country’s obsession with skin complexion. Some deal with the issue in a manner that is solemn, while others deal with the issue in a manner that highlights the ridiculous nature of the whole idea. ‘Kakka’ falls somewhere in between. Directed by Aju Ajeesh and written by Ajeesh, Shinoj Eenikkal and Gopika K. Das, ‘Kakka’ is a short film that tackles India’s fixation on skin complexion through the lens of a 20 something woman, Panchami, living out her life in a small town nestled somewhere in Southern India.

There are a number of things that ‘Kakka’ does right when it comes to dealing with its subject matter. What it absolutely gets right is the manner in which it portrays the growth of Panchami, as a woman, a human being and, perhaps most importantly, an individual who respects herself. Of course, there are a few narrative devices that I don’t actually agree with. The fact that marriage proposals are the primary plot device for Panchami to grow into the individual that she does, at the end of the film, is somewhat questionable. However, I also understand that, in a lot of the smaller Indian towns and cities, things flow in that direction. 

The single most powerful point in the entire short film, personally speaking of course, was Panchami’s phone conversation with a man that she was chatting with over the phone. That one scene in the entire film made me realise that ‘Kakka’ is a coming of age film more than anything else. 

Aju Ajeesh, S. Eenikkal and G.K. Das have done a wonderful job at creating a believable character. The character of Panchami is loaded with her own insecurities. Through it all, however, you sense a quiet strength in her. When the man she talks with delves into the beginnings of an indecent proposition, you see Panchami crestfallen. Doubt does seep into her, of course. Questions about her place in life. Yet, not once does she stumble significantly despite the seemingly bleak circumstances that she considers herself to be in.

There are a few cliches that Ajeesh, Eenikkal and Das could have avoided. However, ‘Kakka’ stands as a shining example of what a relatively smaller film can tap into. There are plenty of questions and themes that you see Aju Ajeesh dive into, some which a more conventionally produced film would not think of touching. And, for that alone, ‘Kakka’ deserves your time.

Well, that and the nonchalant manner in which Panchami drinks the symbolic cup of tea at the end. Truly iconic. 

Written and directed by Surabhi Saral Sachdev, ‘Chi Chi’ is a curious short film that steps wonderfully into the idea of delivering a message before it turns itself on its head, dropping, on you, the realization that biases are only ever apparent when it comes from someone else. If I really had to be blunt, ‘Chi Chi’ serves as a commentary on that very idea. It is not a short film about abandoning our biases as much as it is a film about the idea of how much we are willing to forgive when it comes to our own selves.

The premise of ‘Chi Chi’ is simple enough. Shreya, played by Sai Deodhar, is paying a visit to her colleague, Juhi, played by Ritu Choudhary Seth. Tagging along with Shreya is her toddler and her helper, Shabana, played by Amrita Chowdhary. The purpose behind the visit, itself, is so that Shreya and Juhi can catch up on their workload. The two of them, having recently become mothers, have a stark contrast to their daily lives. Shreya, owing to Shabana’s help in household chores, has a much better time dealing with the responsibilities that a new parent has. You understand the extent of it when you see Shabana, walking a few paces behind Shreya, carrying bags filled with whatever her employer would need. 

Juhi, meanwhile, is not faring as well as her colleague. Constantly between hiring new domestic help, Juhi seems to be struggling with everything that comes with becoming a new parent. Funnily enough, her husband does not seem to be anywhere in the picture when it comes to helping around. That aside, the meat of the short film comes from the difference in the manner in which Shreya and Juhi treat Shabana. 

Juhi, especially, seems to regard Shabana with a defined sense of social distinction. As the narrative progresses, the audience bears witness to Shreya being disappointed with her colleague’s behaviour before she finally decides to leave.

It is only when Shreya returns home, with her child and Shabana in tow, that you understand that Shreya’s biases are no different from Juhi’s. The sole reason that it doesn’t become apparent is owed to the fact that, perhaps, Shreya’s biases are a little less overt. Nonetheless, they exist for certain.

Surabhi Saral Sachdev, through ‘Chi Chi’ has done a wonderful job at capturing the idea that our judgements don’t extend to our own actions. Sachdev positions Juhi’s character as a representation of the obvious, the blunt, the downright apparent practices that furthers social stigma. Shreya, as a character, serves as the covert variant of the same practices, insidious but no less damaging to an individual’s sense of dignity.

‘Chi Chi’ is a short film that is not what it appears to be on its surface. Like the characters it contains, it goes a little deeper.

There is very little in the way of words when it comes to expressing filial love. Most often, as we grow older, a certain distance builds up between us and our parents. Misunderstandings, past misgivings and just the general pressures of adulthood all snowball into this emotional disconnect from the people who raised and gave us everything they had. ‘Rent’, then, directed and written by Danish Ali, is one such short film that touches on this idea, of the oceans that begin to run, over time, between parents and children.

Featuring Rakesh Bedi, the celebrated Bollywood and Television actor known for his roles in iconic films and shows, such as ‘Chashme Buddoor’, ‘Rent’ follows a young couple, Varun and Madhu, played by Mac Lara and Ridhima R. Bedi, respectively, living out their lives in a rented house. With their rent overdue, albeit only by a day, Varun asks Madhu to just write out a cheque for the amount instead of transferring it directly into their landlord’s account. It is only when Mr. Mohra, the landlord’s father, comes in, personally, to collect the rent, that we, the audience, find out about the declining relationship between Mr. and Mrs. Mohra and their son.

I will come out and admit it now. It is hard, having grown up seeing Rakesh Bedi take on famous comic roles, to reconcile him with the man I saw on screen. Mr. Mohra, we learn, is not a man that time has been kind to, especially when it comes to having a fulfilling relationship with his son. Rakesh Bedi pulls it off, effortlessly of course. The man was made for dramatic roles even if your fondest memories of him are that of him being an on-screen comic. 

Credit, though, must be given where it is due. Ridhima R. Bedi, the real-life daughter of Bedi, plays her scenes to actual perfection. The real relationship between father and daughter translates beautifully on screen, with Ridhima R. Bedi playing off Mr. Mohra’s on-screen woes incredibly well. 

Danish Ali, through ‘Rent’, tries to convey a simple message. Simple, yet powerful. There is not, by any means, enough trouble in this world to make us forego the people who raised us and made us into the people we are. We owe everything that we have to our parents and that sentiment, alone, is enough to make us realise the fallacy in letting our relationships with our parents crumble and be reduced to being mechanical.

Watch ‘Rent’. Danish Ali, with the help of Rakesh Bedi and Ridhima R. Bedi, has managed to deliver a poignant tale about love, understanding and the idea of holding on to the people who gave us what they never did.

I am going to get straight to the point. There are only a few short films that tackle a subject so head-on, so deliberately and, more importantly, so gracefully. ‘Name Plate’ is one of them. Written and directed by Sreejoni Nag, ‘Name Plate’ is a deep dive into some of the traditions that, in spite of their lack of relevance, we let go unchallenged. It is an important film to watch, especially considering the social climate that India, as a country, harbours.

‘Name Plate’ follows a recently married couple, Needa and Pratyaksh, played by Diptii T. Pujari and Vishal Vashishtha, respectively. Everything seems to be going fine for the two. Needa is a successful, young professional who is not only financially independent but a strong and stable individual. Pratyaksh, meanwhile, has just become the youngest manager at the firm he works in. Things could not seem to be better for a couple who are just starting out on a journey together. However, it is not in the confines of their relationship where the issues start to factor in. Rather, it is the external, societal drivel that starts to cause friction between the two. Well, friction is a strong word. But you get my point.

Sreejoni Nag has done a wonderful job at using subtle references about the status of men and women in society to highlight the core theme of ‘Name Plate’. To be very clear, Nag isn’t using overtly narrative points to outline the message he is trying to relay. Using Pratyaksh’s parents, played by Menekka Arora and Suneel Sinha, as a symbolic representation, Nag attempts, mostly through the conversations between the characters played by Menekka Arora and Suneel Sinha, to create a contrast between individual and societal perspective.

A striking highlight, in a conversation between the characters of Needa and Pratyaksh, is the point where Pratyaksh questions her on whether she is actually mentally punishing herself for being more successful than he is. While the context of the conversation is more adequately understood in the film rather than in written format, it is, regardless, an important narrative point to speak about. Sometimes, due to the ingrained regressive societal hierarchies and traditional reinforcements, there is this idea that women, through their own success, condemn their personal relationships and lives. That is something that Sreejoni Nag brings out beautifully in a singular line of conversation.

A possible criticism that could be directed at ‘Name Plate’ is the fact that the resolution of the film’s narrative still rests on the acceptance that is offered by Pratyaksh’s father, who, up until that point, serves as the representation for all the external societal factors that could possibly affect a relationship. However, I do think Nag is attempting to convey the idea that society needs to be more accepting of individual differences and the subversion of traditional societal roles. Nag treats Pratyaksh’s father’s acceptance as less of an external approval and more as a need to internalize acceptance.

Watch ‘Name Plate’. It is a beautifully thought out movie that only gets better once you reflect on its subtleties.