Watched The River by Jean Renoir recently as a way to see Bengal in 1950s - a time I have only heard and imagined of. Both my parents used to tell me stories from their childhood when I was growing up. Some stories were repeated more often than others. The characters from the stories were real to me even if they were people I would never have a chance to meet. They were essential to my understanding of who my parents were when they were kids. After I left India and as they grew older, I heard those stories a lot less. Certainly they are not told spontaneously anymore. Maybe too much time has passed and there is no anchoring point. I have forgotten a lot of detail and they find it amusing that I even remember as much as I do. There was a time when they would have filled in the details, naturally. Now, I would ask and it would unnatural. What if that is a time they no longer want to return to.
Watching the movie transported to the time when my parents were very young. Most of the adults in the movie would be deceased by now. The river, the life in and around has most certainly disappeared. My great-grandmother was known to walk to the steps on the banks of this river back when the movie was made and she sat their alone for hours watching boats passing by. It was her escape after her household chores were done. My mother and her siblings knew not to follow her there because it was her time to be by the river - a sacred ritual. She passed way before I was born. Those who knew her, often tell me that I am a lot like her in spirit. I was able to experience the stairs she spent her many quiet hours of her life, imagine watching the ebb and flow of life in the river. The movie is a visual delight and tells the story of the narrator's family in certain a place and time that was formative for her. India had just gained independence so it is remarkable that the story stayed centered on the family unit, love and loss without straying into the heady political climate of the time.
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