Watching “India’s Daughter” yesterday was an experience that left me with sadness. The melancholy did not dissolve with the night as I had hoped that it would. It only grew. At last as I was looking out into the road, I knew that the change was to come from every individual, and not by people who wished to instigate the society as a whole. Perhaps that had never worked, but, it was not going to work now, when the roots were so so deep. My largest pet peeve was probably the fact that the rapist’s wife was also interviewed without blocking her face, I have a feeling that this leaves her much more vulnerable than she was before and given the brand of justice that India loves to dole out, I fear for their safety.
I needed to get out of the way because the documentary affected me so much. I was left harrowed for hours afterwards and I tried very very hard to rationalise it. I tried to find words that would fit into the framework of the entire deal, but, there was none that would fit in. None that were strong enough. However, I could positively say that I had cried.
The film follows the events after the Nirbhaya case occurred, it showcases the upheavals of society, the strength of the parents who lived on. It also showcases the violence.
The violence was not over the top. It was just there.
What affects however, is the aftermath. The sad faces, the strength hiding the grief.
As the film pans out, there is this scene showcasing the funeral pyre. In that moment we are with her father too.
And we go out into the world again, dismayed