50 years of Piya Ka Ghar: Revisiting Basu Chatterjee's comment on Mumbai's space crunch, and ode to its resourcefulness
Many of Basu Chatterjee’s warm, relatable films had the recurring theme of the relationship dynamics of newly married couples. There’s Sara Akash (1969), his seminal debut and a key film in the Indian Parallel Cinema movement, Swami (1977), Priyatama (1978), Hamari Bahu Alka (1982) and, of course, Piya Ka Ghar (1972).
Over the years, I have lost track of the number of times I have sought the familiar comfort of revisiting Piya Ka Ghar and admired its simplicity and humour on every viewing. This gentle, slice-of-life film starring Jaya Bhaduri and Anil Dhawan is about a newly-wed couple’s struggle for space and privacy while residing in a joint family in a single kholi of a Mumbai chawl.
Mumbai’s image as an aspirational city of many contradictions has long been a part of Bollywood's storytelling. The city is believed to offer a chance at life to anyone and everyone who can grab it.
In the ‘70s, the megapolis found itself merging into the cinematic narrative – becoming a character, an inspiration, a plot driver – as filmmakers like Hrishikesh Mukherjee, Basu Bhattacharya and Chatterjee himself focused on stories about Mumbai (then Bombay) and the diverse groups of people living in it.
Mukherjee’s Anand (1971) is a dedication to the city’s identity as a cultural melting pot and its accommodativeness. Bhim Sain’s Gharaonda (1977) heartbreakingly depicts the middle-class’ elusive dream of owning a house here. Chatterjee’s Chhoti Si Baat (1976) and Baton Baton Mein (1979) turned to the everyday world of offices, buses, and local trains to deliver the most delightful love stories.
In Piya Ka Ghar — a remake of Marathi hit Mumbaicha Jawai (1971) — Chatterjee observes Bombay, its people and their way of living from an outsider’s perspective. In this case, a new bride who left her expansive North Indian village home and is attempting to settle into the cramped existence of a chawl lacking in privacy.
The film’s premise is established right at the outset. A matchmaker arrives at the heroine Malti’s (Bhaduri) parental home with a promising alliance. The suitor is a genial Bombay boy, Ram (Dhawan) who has a loving family, a decent job, and lives in a five-storied mansion. “Raja maharajon ke jaise mahal hote hain, Bambai waalon ke chawl hote hain,” the matchmaker informs a coy Malti and her parents who are impressed at the prospects of their daughter marrying, moving to a big city, and even residing in a mansion majestically named ‘Bharat Mahal.’ But Bharat Mahal is an old, weather-beaten multi-storied structure that houses numerous families. As the opening credits roll, viewers are introduced to the vignettes of chawl life – the hustle bustle, ambient sounds, and routine work and social interactions happening along the common corridors.
Ram’s parents, two brothers, and bhabhi unanimously agree to the proposal and the wedding date is set. Also informed are their neighbours Kanhaiyya (Mukri) and Kulkarni (Keshto Mukherjee) with whom the family shares a close bond. The only opposing party is Malti’s stern uncle, Gauri Shankar (Raja Paranjpe) who holds a low opinion of the city and its residents. “Bambai mein sab maans machhi khaane waale rehte hain,” he scoffs like that’s the worst thing in the world but gives in, sensing Malti’s inclination for this alliance.
His views are strengthened when the baraatis arrive in the village and their non-traditional, carefree ways, and flippant remarks irk the elderly man. For the Bombay group, however, the access to these large, airy rooms, spacious courtyards and lush green fields is wondrous. Each member imagines the possibilities with such huge spaces. Ram’s kid brother Hari wants to play cricket everywhere, older brother Shree (Suresh Chatwal) and his wife Shobha (Rajita Thakur) would love to conduct their theatre rehearsals, while Kanhaiyya dreams of renting out the whole bungalow and making tons of money from it.
In contrast to this jolly imagination is Malti’s rude reality when she arrives in her new home that’s effectively a living room with a kitchen and a tiny bath. Within the living room stands a wooden compartment that serves as Shree and Shobha’s bedroom while the newly weds are packed off to a slightly more private space – the kitchen – that is to double up as their bedroom during night time.
In all these years as the island city continues to expand to new growth areas, housing still remains financially challenging. Living in matchbox houses and the quest to find a desirable place to call home has prompted Hindi cinema to look at how punishing the process can be. In Dastak (1970), a newly married couple moves out of their old shanty and rents a bigger flat hoping to live in better conditions only to learn about the house’s disreputable history that threatens their domestic bliss. Wary of getting into another precarious situation, they strive to gather funds to buy a house but it’s never enough. In this city, there’s always someone to outbid you. In Griha Pravesh (1979), a wife saving compulsively for her house finds her husband having an affair. Newer films like Love Per Square Foot (2018) and Love and Shukla (2017), a contemporary take on Piya Ka Ghar, too are built around the city’s unaffordable, scanty spaces.
“Jo Bambai mein nahin rehte unhein humara rehan sehan kuch ajeeb lagta hai,” Ram’s father Girdharilal (Agha) says at one point in the film. Malti discovers this on her wedding night. There’s outside light and noise filtering into the room as there is constant activity of chawl folks near her room’s window. The new bride is also apprehensive the family members would overhear their conversations through the common walls.
Even as she finds herself surrounded by a caring family with whom she forms a quick attachment, the constant flurry of neighbours and unannounced guests in the house and little scope of alone time with her husband makes Malti homesick. Ram’s attempts of getting close are met with Malti’s hesitation about being surrounded. Despite her traditional upbringing Malti is also shown as a woman who has certain, and justified, expectations from her husband.
Chatterjee makes an interesting distinction here. For Ram and his family who have been in Bombay all their lives and are aware of the city’s cramped housing, the lack of space and privacy isn’t as concerning as it is for Malti, the outsider. With true Bombay-style resourcefulness, couples have learnt to adapt to the city’s imperfections as they have welcomed its candour. Ram’s parents head out to Chowpatty beach to be by themselves. Shree and Shobha prefer going to hotels. “Bambai mein jitni samasyaaein hain, utne hi unko door karne ke tareeke,” Shree tells Ram wisely.
The film makes an economical and accurate use of songs — only four — to demonstrate the varying stages of Malti and Ram’s relationship. Like any traditional arranged match in those days, the soon-to-be married pair imagines what the other partner would be like while casting furtive glances at each other’s photographs in the song ‘Yeh Zulf Kaisi Hai’. Post marriage, hope and excitement have given way to unimpressive realities. When Malti urges Ram to sleep outside to avoid their hassling lack of privacy, Kishore Kumar’s reflective solo ‘Yeh Jeevan Hai’ starts playing in the background. The song’s heartening philosophy of taking life in its stride and not wasting it looking for perfect moments is signified with contrasting images of Ram and Malti brooding separately while Shree and Shobha happy in their not-so-ideal little corner. The song’s ending with a few family photographs adorning the living room wall and symbolising the journey of life has struck a chord across generations of Hindi film music fans.
The first time Malti has the whole house to herself, she celebrates her solitude singing ‘Piya Ka Ghar Hai Rani Hoon Main’. She dresses up, walks leisurely around the house waiting for Ram to arrive, feeling in control of her small world even if it’s temporary. "Bambai Shehar Ki Tujhko Chal Sair Kara Doon/ Aa Teri Har Ek Shikaayat Aaj Mita Doon," the final song goes, promising a happy outcome when Ram takes Malti sightseeing and hopes to spend some quality time with her in the peace and quiet of a hotel room. Visuals of this young couple, finally free in each other’s company and enjoying the sights of the city, flash by. However, Ram’s hotel plan ends disastrously and a dispirited Malti contemplates going back to her village with Gauri Shankar who is livid to see his dear niece living in such a disappointing setup.
The whole family and their friends spring into action realising how they had misjudged the extent of the situation and think of serious alternatives to stop Malti from leaving. And they do. Interestingly, in the end the film doesn’t offer any quick-fix solutions but an arrangement that’s not only clever but also respectful and practical. Very Bombay.
Every time the city is in crisis, ordinary Mumbaikars soldier on. Their attempts at coping and surviving invokes the indispensable discourse about the ‘Spirit of Mumbai’. Whether it is out of choice or habit or obligation depends on who you are talking to but people soldier on to survive. To live. Much like how the lyrics of ‘Yeh Jeevan Hai’ go: "Yeh Na Socho Isme Apni Haar Hai Ki Jeet Hai/ Usse Apna Lo Jo Bhi Jeevan Ki Reet Hai."
Produced by Rajshri Productions, Piya Ka Ghar also offers a refreshing portrayal of a middle-class sasural where family members have frank conversations, are tolerant and fair, and coexist without conflict despite their constrictions.
In doing so, Chatterjee creates a metaphor for the city of Bombay. It is not to say Bombay/ Mumbai is some utopian oasis of tolerance and acceptance. The city can be unsparing, shamefully segregatory, and has witnessed some of the worst communal violence in the past. But Chatterjee speaks of a city that’s also known to be optimistic, broad-minded, resourceful, and more accommodating than any Indian city possibly is. It's this Bombay one frequently hears about from outsiders who have made the city their home. A city that rallies together when it needs to and moves forward with the mantra of live and let live. An idea worth holding on to in the divisive these times.
This post was first published on Firstpost on February 25, 2022.
