Iqbal, the promos might proclaim, is the story of cricket. However, that is the last thing that the movie is actually about. Iqbal is a usual story of unusual people; a story of dreams, ambitions, aspirations and hopes; a story of struggle, defiance, perseverance and pain; a story of one boy and how the entire universe did not conspire to make him achieve his dreams, and yet how he got what he wanted; a story of disability, marginalization, discrimination and politics, and the triumph of one man over them; a story of epic proportions etched on the mythographs of a lost reality. Nagesh Kukunoor comes back to tell the kind of stories he tells the best – honest, sincere, simple and fantastic. Shaped in Magic Realism and exploiting our capacity to willingly suspend disbelief, Kukunoor gives us the second Indian sports movie that is worthy of notice – the first was Mansoor Khan’s Jo Jita Wohi Sikandar.
Iqbal, the eponymous protagonist of the movie is deaf and mute, Muslim, poor, rural, and uneducated. In the hands of any other director – the likes of Madhur Bhandarkar or Sanjay Leela Bhansali (I know they seem to be on opposite ends of a spectrum but the are not really)- the movie would have been ridden with bathos, darkness, irony, a larger than life struggle and an impossible characterization, which would have been disastrous. However, Kukunoor is successful in not demonizing Iqbal’s character and producing a lovable, endearing, believable and inspiring common man out of what could have been just a caricature. The strongest point of the movie is how we are allowed to respond to and possess the character of the protagonist who is so different from us that we would be forced to pity in any other treatment. However, Iqbal, with his passion for cricket, his gift for placing the ball on the stumps, and the determination to make it to his dreams, requires neither pity nor sympathy. In fact, he becomes a hero – not because he makes it to the Indian cricket team but because he is who he is.
Iqbal falls on the other side of the diagonal from Lagaan, where the real villains are not the people who threw him out from the coaching academy or threatened to trade him away using their political nexus. The real villains in Iqbal are the fears that haunt us in nightmares, the frustration that arises out of our inability to conquer the demons of the mind, the pain that comes of knowing that the dream might just be that – a dream. In his attempt to soar and achieve his dreams, Iqbal fights and battles against all odds to reach his destination and his destiny and Shreyas Talpade does a near brilliant job in his role as Iqbal. However, his path is not lonely. By his side is a younger sister played by Shweta Prasad (she sparkled in Makadi and now is back) – a wise-dame, a spit fire, a girl called Khalida. Khalida is the person who speaks for and speaks to her brother. If behind every successful man is a woman, Khalida fills that position for Iqbal. Encouraging, supporting, loving, respecting and understanding him for now who he can be but who he is, Khalida becomes instrumental in realizing Iqbal’s dream. A perfectly scripted character – immensely funny, very sensitive and incredibly vivacious, Shweta Prasad has just given the performance of her young life.
And while Girish Karnad plays a stuttering, pompous head of academy who, in a Dronacharya like bias, throws away Iqbal to protect his princes, it is Naseeruddin Shah who steals our hearts and wits through his portrayal of an ex-cricket star – Mohit, who has fallen on hard drunken days. A significant part of the movie deals with Mohit’s helping Iqbal to attain his dreams and in return transforming himself again to become a man of might and power. The bonding between Iqbal and Mohit is almost as fragile as a romance and is so carefully etched that one can almost cry at the bonds that they make with each other. The supporting caste has Iqbal’s parents – the conventional father who does not understand his son and the unconventional mother who stands up for him and shares his passion for the sport that has turned into a new Indian religion – Cricket. The last to mention but palpably humorous, are the five buffaloes – Kumble, Kapil, Harbhajan, Sidhu and the latest entrant Irfan, who form an audience to Iqbal’s training as a cricket star.
Humorous, resilient, simple and stunning, Iqbal paints small strokes on a canvas that is familiar and personal, to present a movie that shall touch hearts and shake spirits in every visually crafted frame that it presents. Kukunoor allows the story to slowly simmer into a beautiful poetry that does not overpower the plot but adorns it with subtle graces and a strong power. Kudos to Subhash Ghai for not interfering with his production and letting Kukunoor tell his own tale, his own way. The music, especially the oft repeated Aashaein by K.K is breathtaking. Without any preaching, without any pathos, without any morals or messages, Iqbal manages to be one of those rare movies that teach you without teaching. It might not be a huge commercial success and it might not break box office records but it will break my heart if you do not go and watch the one story that was waiting to be told and has been told to perfection – Iqbal.