After quitting my dream corporate law job, I decided to take a couple of weeks off in the interim to prepare myself for a new role at an edutech start-up. That I was travelling with "safe groups" to touristy places was the myth my moderately conservative parents had believed for years. I finally broke to them this month that I'd been mostly trekking and backpacking alone across the country whenever I got a chance. Their faces fell like a child's might when told that there's no Santa Claus. But they accepted my solo treks and understood (albeit with copious amounts of fear and obvious discomfort) my need for alpha independence.
If the men in the movie said, "We need to teach these girls a lesson," the audience in the theatre would go, "Haan bey, behen***d kuch zyaada udti hai ladkiyan aajkal."
After my trek around the Pir-Panjal range, I decided to visit my ancestral home in Allahabad, Uttar Pradesh, before getting back to work again. When I was there, social media compulsively informed me about the must-watch factor of Pink. Twitter had been raving to me how this film is a new feminist manifesto. And of course it's Shoojit Sircar (no, I'm not a Bengali). So, I booked my tickets for the movie at the only PVR in Allahabad; my parents weren't interested and knowing the theme of the movie, I didn't get into it. At this point I was pretty relieved that they hadn't disowned me after my solo travelling confessions, so I didn't want to drown them in details.
By now, you might have guessed that what you're reading isn't a movie review of Pink. If you've read the headline you know that I found the movie "powerful". But I also call this movie a failure. In fact, I called Pink a failure much before the movie ended
