Review: I Know the Psychology of Rats by Saeed Mirza
Director Saeed Mirza’s emotional tribute to his lifelong friend and sometime collaborator Kundan Shah, director of the classic Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro, is funny and nostalgic
Kundan Shah, who is best known for the film Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro (1983), a masterpiece of dark comedy that he wrote and directed, is the protagonist of I Know the Psychology of Rats. Written by Saeed Mirza, the filmmaker who gave us Albert Pinto Ko Gussa Kyon Aata Hai (1980), and Salim Langde Pe Mat Ro (1987), this work of non-fiction is as much about friendship as it is about cinema.
This ten-chapter volume, a tribute to Shah, who died in 2017, is a must-read for filmmakers, scholars of cinema, and audiences keen to know how Shah and Mirza – who co-directed the television show Nukkad (1986-1987) – first met as students at the Film and Television Institute of India (FTII) and “built an incredibly strong bond of trust and friendship”. Mirza’s prose is funny, nostalgic, pensive and emotional: “Why am I writing this book? Is it because I feel it is necessary and my time is running out? Perhaps that is true. It is becoming more and more difficult to remember the conversations, camaraderie, intellectual debates and dialectical upheavals with a friend.” The book is supported by an excellent collection of archival photographs, which go well with Nachiket Patwardhan’s illustrations and design.
The memories that come gushing forth provide insights into life on the FTII campus. Mirza’s initial impressions of Shah were far from flattering. He wondered why Shah took copious notes in every class, and if he was actually listening or only recording mechanically. Shah, to him, “looked more like a clerk than a filmmaker”. When Mirza got past his annoyance, and found out why Shah behaved like this, he learnt something unexpected. Shah came from a family of traders. He wanted to break free of the life that he had inherited but coming to FTII gave him an inferiority complex. He felt that he had a lot of catching up to do because Mirza and other students spoke English fluently, asked questions with confidence, and discussed topics like socialism, Marxism, the Naxalite movement in India, the war in Vietnam, and liberation movements in Africa that he knew very little about.
While writing about Shah’s vulnerability, Mirza also holds up a mirror to himself. Until he began to see things from Shah’s perspective, he had not noticed that “most of the voluble ‘visible lefties’ at film school” came from elite backgrounds. They inhabited a world of ideas, where justice, equality, history, aesthetics and art were discussed “for their intrinsic value” but these conversations were often far removed from the lived experiences of other students. Perhaps this can be said about several institutes of higher education in India even today.
Mirza takes a brief pause to ask himself whether he is just rambling, and whether his reflections would make any sense to the book’s readers, but continues nevertheless because he wants to get things off his chest: “I have to present this wonderful, crazy and vulnerable friend of mine to the world because he deserves it, and also because I firmly believe, he had not ‘lost it’.” Kundan Shah’s future biographers will find Mirza’s personal account an extremely rich and valuable source of information.
The book documents several incidents that shed light on Shah’s personality. Once a hostel mate, hoping to cause him embarrassment, removed Shah’s towel from its customary place on the bathroom wall and hid it. Unperturbed, Shah “emerged wearing nothing but his glasses and casually sauntered past the students”. After he entered his room and closed the door, he yelled, “This is nothing you bastards… Learn to bare your souls!”
Why Mirza chose the title I Know the Psychology of Rats is best discovered while reading this book but a clue might help. He wants his friend Shah to be remembered as “a deeply passionate Indian and world citizen…who, by using humour, the absurd and the grotesque, attempted to unravel our times and the world we have inherited”. Shah often accompanied Mirza to the office of the Communist Party of India (Marxist) in Delhi, and until the former’s death, the duo met almost every fortnight to talk over drinks about politics and contemporary issues. Perhaps the most moving part of this extraordinary book is Mirza’s recollection of the “guilt” that Shah felt “at the communal massacre that occurred in Gujarat in 2002”. When Shah told Mirza, “I’m sorry, Saeed”, Mirza wondered why he was apologizing because the “madness” had nothing to do with him. Shah, in all sincerity, said, “You’re wrong. You know why? Because no one is going to be held accountable… No one! That’s why I’m guilty. I am a Gujarati and a Hindu. Somebody has to take responsibility for what happened there.”
During their last meeting at Mirza’s apartment, after their usual chatting was done, Shah wondered what it would be like to record a private conversation between Donald Trump and Narendra Modi. He imagined it would be “damned funny” to make a film with them talking about democracy. Mirza did not indulge him and said, “When do you stop thinking, Kundan? Go home… I’m bloody tired.” They never met after that exchange. This book is a continuation of that last conversation.
Shah was deeply concerned about a range of things including the violence that both Kashmiri Muslims and Pandits have had to endure and the drone strikes and religious extremism that created havoc in the lives of Afghans. This book gives the reader the opportunity to understand how Kundan Shah’s world view evolved through the films he watched, the books he read, the woman he married, and the friends he made.
Chintan Girish Modi is a freelance writer, journalist and book reviewer.