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The Other Song is a documentary about a journey in the search of a lost song. 'Why' did Rasoolan Bai, a famous thumri singer in the early 1900's, changed the lyrics to one of her songs with the passing years - and what can it tell us about the times they lived in and the world we live in now.

The filmmaker have successfully become part of lives of the people they are documenting - it shows, in the topics of conversation and in the manner of conversations. It's the kind of camaraderie one develops only when one has been listening and has genuinely been interested in the ways of living of the person, the kind most people often refrain to engage in, for the fear of sharing unforeseen unlikely problems. It's clear they have been in the homes of these people many a times before the camera has rolled. And thus, when they have conversations on the camera, it is often at a level which makes it seem that the speaker isn't emotionally aware that they are being filmed.

The lady in question, a singer in her prime, now in her waning years, who has acquired a position of administrative power in the community around her, tells the interviewer happily a story about an encounter of her with a member of certain royalty that she performed for sometime in her youth - and how she rejected his advances to court her wittily. The one thought that crossed my mind during her dialogue was a hint of voyeurism, even if unintentional - does she know the kind of intimacy shared between her and the interviewer will be accessible to people currently not in the room; would she have opened up if anybody else was there present. But before my guilt could deepen further, the film shows the woman watching the same footage on her TV quite sometime later, apparently forgetting what she had said before, and smiling at the recollection through the video, and taking the conversation ahead. This is sensitivity. My cloud of guilt was dissipated - here are filmmakers who sensitive about their subjects, and are willing to take both their audience and participants in confidence of each other. It takes time - no wonder it took the filmmakers whatever time it took to complete it - but it reflects.

I got to watch the film through Asheesh Pandya, under his course on Sound Design here at NID, and I am extremely thankful for that.

The film has a lot of interesting things to say, and I hope I shall get to delve into it in greater amounts later - I am inclined to think that the best way to approach a topic as broad as women and society can be effectively tackled through an issue that appears tangential to it. The film appears to change streams midway, from music to discussions of nationalism in the pre and post independent India - maybe it was topic they discovered on the journey, or maybe it was always there in the back of the mind - nonetheless, the film is richer for it.

Salman Khan movies might have been lame, they might have been dumb, but one thing they never were, boring. This time, it bigger, sweeter, and a new low even by 'bhai' standards, plainly boring, to the point of being irritating.

I have personally loved Rajshri's brand of cinema, especially the 90's decade, which more or less established Salman as the noble, humble, heartthrob 'Prem'- on the shoulders of Sooraj Barjatya. They single handedly set marriage trends – whether it be musical chairs, long lavish melodious premarriage celebrations in Hum Apke Hain Kaun, or be it ladies 'sangeet' introducing family members in bollywood style in Huma Saath Saath Hain, while being inclusive and politically correct. But they were always enriched with beautiful songs, brilliant supporting cast, a believable story and decent A- stars.

Sooraj and his Salman-Prem should have worked again. Prem should have been back. Legally and critically. At nearly 3 hours of lecturing about various topics – brother-sister relationship, property settlement, a football match between men in kurtas and women in sarees – with not a single whistle-podu moment or digestible one-liner, this was unbearable. The only appreciable thing I can find is the set and art-direction.

While Sooraj Barjatya stayed ahead of his times, assimilating the will of the youth and traditions of the established during his outing in the last 2 decades, his recent films don't have that charm that invites you to watch them again. I can watch Maine Pyaar Kiya again and again; Hum Apke Hain Kaun is still a staple on Diwali every year on TV. But the rigidity on traditions, and political correctness make it plainly unbearable (along with the irritating lyrics – aayo, paayo, laayo b#$).

Nevertheless, Bhai, just like his characters on-screen, is never wrong.