The story begins with retired and widowed Mumbaikar Kamath, who is so exhausted by his nothingness that he often dreams of suicide. When he is robbed by Nanhe (who resorts to stealing to pay off his debts), he begs to be killed. He is advised by the police to try and make new friends, which is when he finds Mrs Handa, who’s just returned to Mumbai after years of being in Canada with her kids. Their organic camaraderie unfolds, answering all the questions we may have as audience members: What do they have in common? Are they going to fall in love or just find a cute friendship? What are they going to talk about? What are they going to do with so much time to spare but a whole life of conversations to be had? How is a Kannadiga from Mumbai going to bond with a Punjabi aunty from Canada?
The beauty of Mast Mein Rehne Ka is that it doesn’t provide on-the-nose answers. But just like Mumbai city, the answers are found in stolen glances, impromptu realisations and visceral observations.
Additionally, Nanhe and Rawas’ quirky meetcute will put a smile on your face. They share a glass of sugarcane juice in a crowded and busy city corner when someone steals Nanhe’s new sewing machine. Touched by his unassuming kindness towards a street dweller, Rawas helps him get his machine back and they embark on a beautifully nuanced and emotional relationship.
Mast Mein Rehne Ka is a sweet, endearing story about Mumbai, its people and its metaphors. That’s not to say the themes are not deep, in fact the breeziness of the film helps digest brutal truths about human existence. There’s no urgency with which the film presents its themes of desperate loneliness, the price of ambition and the cost of ageing, the intrinsic need for human connection. The slow shots of the city — a steaming vada pav at the backdrop of the Mumbai local trains, the morning calm of the city’s parks and ocean fronts that spiral into a familiar morning bustle, the cramped jhuggis and high-rises in which each person has a sad/happy/scary story to tell — unravel like a character in itself.
One scene in particular is extremely visually impactful and I'm unlikely to forget it for a long time. Bilkis didi (an under-utilised Rakhi Sawant, who plays a dancer in the film), is barking orders to Nanhe, who she’s employed to make costumes for her troupe. She’s been beaten up by her handler/pimp so she sports a fracture and bruised eye. But she has no emotions about it. She’s trying to rush Nanhe on his deadline, while also prepping her troupe for the next performance, while also trying to plan her next few gigs, and she tells him, “Yahaan pe marne ki fursat nahi hai, tu agle hafte aake mil (I have no time to die, come meet me next time).” This sentence was like a bullet to my soul. The first part of the sentence is immensely existential while the second part is logistical. It beautifully encapsulates what Mast Main Rehne Ka tries to articulate — philosophising the human condition is as important as living it every single day with a consistent rhythm.
Maurya and Payal Arora’s writing champions hard-hitting one-liners. “Bheed mein bhi akela toh akela hi hota hai (you can feel lonely even in a crowd),” Kamath tells Handa in one of his vulnerable moments. He hasn’t spoken freely in years so when he opens up to Mrs Handa, the words just tumble out of his mouth. Handa hasn’t been herself, or allowed to be the focus of her own life ever since she became a wife, mother and grandmother. So when she strikes a friendship with Kamath, she is loud, she is excitable, she is forthright. “Zindagi mein do tarah ke chakkar hote hai. Ek jisme aap zindagi jeete ho, aur ek jisme zindagi aapko jeeti hai (there are two types of situations, one in which you live life and one in which life lives you),” she says.
While Nanhe and Rawas are in continuous pursuit of living a (decent) life, Kamath and Handa find beauty and happiness in finally letting life live them. And it is in this juxtaposition that Mast Mein Rehne Ka exists. There have been several films that use Mumbai as a metaphor, from a moody Talaash to a heart-warming The Lunchbox, but in Mast Mein Rehne Ka, Vijay Maurya finds his own personal love story with the much-exposed city. It’s difficult to do that because Mumbai is a perennial subject for impassioned filmmakers and often the romanticisation can get cumbersome. You don’t feel that way while watching this film, which is definitely one of its plus points.
Speaking of cumbersome, content fatigue is very real today. With too many choices that are over-marketed to seem like they’re the Next Best Thing In Entertainment, here’s a charming little nugget — perfect for a weekday solo watch — that packs a philosophical punch.
