Between The Squiggles

My sister and I watched an episode of The White Lotus in the evening. I’m kind of bored with the series at this point. Normally, I would’ve just left and I dont know… curled up in my room after that, but my sister’s sick, so I figured I’d keep her company in the living room. Didn’t want her to feel lonely.

I mindlessly scrolled through Amazon Prime on the TV, looking for something – anything – interesting or even average enough to hold my attention for a while. I came across a movie called Photograph. It’s Indian (Bollywood). Normally, I would’ve skipped past it too, but just two days ago, I was thinking of watching another movie with the same actress. That one turned out to be a remake of a another film, so I ended up watching the original one instead.

So when I saw this movie had her in it, I thought, “I didn’t watch that one, but let’s watch this.”

In the first few minutes, there’s a scene set at the Gateway of India. The male lead is one of those street photographers who take pictures of tourists. He calls out to the female lead from behind, nudging her to let him take her photo. He says something — not quite cliché, but not entirely original either:

“You know, if you take this photo today, years later, you’ll still see the same sun on your face as in this photo.”

Something about that line gets to her. She pauses, then turns around and agrees.

In that very short 10-15 second long scene, something about her felt very familiar to me. She stands there awkwardly as the guy adjusts his camera, telling her how to pose. She clutches her dated bag, trying to smile, but her brows crease slightly. Her lips press together — not in a smile, but in hesitation. And in that hesitation, I saw myself.

I swear to God (not that I really think there is one), I’ve never seen a movie and thought, “Oh wow, that’s exactly me.” But this one specific moment – felt different.

Because what she felt in those few seconds — I feel every time when I step outside. She smiles because she has to, and I do things because I have to. I do things hoping I’ll like doing them and I technically really want if not like doing them but I don’t feel happy. And if you don’t feel happy doing something, then it feels like a burden. But I still do them anyway. Why? Because I have to. Just the way she lets that man take a photo of her. Just the way she puckers her lips in hesitation – I do that every time too.

You know what else that scene reminded me of?

This might sound strange, but it took me back to The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy. I have a terrible memory — most books and movies blur together in my mind. But for some reason, there’s one moment from that book that has stuck with me for years.

You’ve probably read it too. But just in case, a little background: This is set in Kerala. Ammu, the protagonist, is a divorced woman with two kids. In her society, being divorced is like being an outcast. This story is set in the late ’60s, so… the misogyny is more extreme. Then there’s Velutha, a Dalit carpenter who works for Ammu’s family. They fall in love, which is we know… unthinkable. So absolutely no one can know. It’s dangerous.

In one scene, Ammu and the kids are in a car, driving somewhere. One of the kids spots Velutha walking on the street, rolls down the window, and calls out:

“Velutha! Velutha!”

Velutha stops. For a moment, he’s happy because the child noticed him. But also not happy, because he knows he can’t afford to be noticed. He knows the weight of his background, and now, he carries the secret of Ammu’s love too.

Ammu turns to her children, and is fuming.. .glaring at them. The kids are confused and scared… why is she so angry? She’s been angry with them before, but never like this.

Then Arundhati Roy describes her face:

“… Rahel saw that Ammu had a film of perspiration on her forehead and upper lip, and that her eyes had become hard, like marbles.”

As a kid, I was mesmerized by that line. Sweat on someone’s upper lip.

At first, I admired the authenticity of her writing — how specific and real her description was. She didn’t go for the usual, dramatic imagery of anger: eyes widening like a bull about to charge, fists clenching, nostrils flaring. Instead, she focused on something small, almost mundane — perspiration gathering on the upper lip.

And that made me wonder. What was it about that tiny detail that made this moment unforgettable? Why did she choose that, of all things? Was I missing something? Over time, though, I stopped thinking about it.

But today, watching that girl in the movie – watching her hesitate in that one small moment – I thought of Ammu.

Ammu, with perspiration on her forehead and upper lip.

The girl in the movie had neither. But for some reason, the feeling fit.

It’s very interesting because this movie had a similar theme. This is like coming full circle for me