March, 1948.
Pakistan’s founder, Muhammad Ali Jinnah,
comes to East Pakistan.
The students & people of the nation, had high hopes
that he'd understand the emotion of this land, its language, culture.
But instead of hope, they received a declaration.
Urdu would be Pakistan’s one & only national language.
And Bengali?
The language which was the root of this land’s culture,
history & birth...
was discarded without a second thought.
This wasn’t just an attack on the language alone.
This was an attack on a community’s identity.
This was the first time, they realized
that they would need to fight for their identity’s survival.
Come what may
Your feet, O Mother
I hold your feet to my heart
-How much longer?
-Five more minutes, sir. I’m trying my best.
-Look, a bus! Stop it!
-Stop the bus! Stop!
Come what may…
Why are they stopping the bus?
Sir, please come.
What’s wrong, grandpa?
You know, dear?
Buses used to have names of stoppages written in Bengali.
Bonani, Deshgaon, Dhanmondi, Motijheel...
They tried to wipe out our language back then too.
But some determined young boys & girls like y’all
stood firm facing their guns.
We haven't forgotten the struggle of those four years.
Now they want us to give our tests in Urdu. Imagine, Kaberi?
-Where will you go?
-Ask in Urdu.
-He's asking where we will go. -We won't need tickets.
Why do you need to ask? Move!
-Come, sir. -There they come.
-Come, please. Move aside.
Come on, scoot. Make space for him.
-Come on, uncle, move. -Hey, easy.
Please sit, sir.
Who deems you poor?
You have a heart of gold
I know what that treasure is worth
I know its worth
I won’t abandon you for the love of a foreign land, Mother
Come what may
Lovely tune.
But I don't understand the lyrics. Whose song is it?
Rabindranath.
Tagore... (scoffing)
Why enrage the government unnecessarily by singing such songs?
You know they are banned on the radio, right?
-Hmm. Banned on the radio. Not on buses.
-Such a sweet voice.
Why don’t you sing us a ghazal?
How will you advance in life if you don’t learn Urdu?
Learn some ghazals.
Come to the cantonment. Perform for us.
Why don’t you wear a veil?
Ma’am, your stoppage has arrived. Come.
Let’s go.
Quick, go.
Hey!
You guys, come here.
-Yes?
-Pakistan and India are both looking for the boys.
You need to find them fast.
They are our assets now.
-Go.
“Today they ban our singing.
Tomorrow, our speech.
Soon they won't let us breathe.
Today we were made to get off a bus.
Tomorrow, maybe, they won't let us get on.
Three professors left the country last week.
They probably have relatives in Calcutta. They’ll manage.
But what about the uneducated, those who have no family?
Their only hope is your jute mill.
See if you can do something.
Don't worry about me, sister.
Our struggle didn’t begin yesterday. It won’t end tomorrow."
-Why don’t you call Kaberi here?
How on earth is she going to study there?
She would’ve come already if she wanted to.
People getting abducted, murdered.
And she's busy with Language Day events.
She’ll walk in the procession, get arrested.
So little and yet...
wonder what she's made of.
I feel scared for her, but I am equally proud of her.
If I had half her courage…
Don’t be harsh on yourself, Sheela. You’re helping from here too.
You've arranged jobs for so many refugees…
Would it be possible without you?
As if I am doing it all alone?
I’m helping because I can afford to.
You know, the Arabs used to say,
“A man, a stranger, appears at your door;
feed him for three days without asking him his name,
where he is going, or where he is heading.
And in three days, either he’ll have the strength to answer
or you’ll be such good friends; you won’t care.”
I’ll get going.
Alright.
I hear more refugees have come in?
Yes, I was thinking of going.
Be safe.
(intense music)
Bring the hoe...
Sir, work’s done for today. Can we close down?
-Hmm.
Hey, what happened? Huh!?
Pull him up!
How did he… Bring him up!
Let’s carry him away!
-Let’s go. -Where to, sir?
The place you picked up your previous passenger from.
-Why? -Come on, Sardarji.
Keep this. Let’s go.
Hello?
Mr. Sinha. Please take the call. It’s for you.
Hello?
Mr. Shashi.
Does your agency know that the topsoil has collapsed?
Sir, sorry.
“Sorry”?
What will I do with that?
We’re running out of time, Mr. Shashi.
Sir, I'm on it.
Since we can’t inform PWD or electric-supply engineers,
arranging personnel is taking some time.
The Ministry has given you a freehand,
yet, I have to handle the budget.
Ridicule me, give intel, support… I'll gulp it all down, sir.
-Stuff away. -We’ve been providing all the intel.
We will continue to.
Look, an engineer is arriving day after.
Who’s that? Farokh Engineer?
A British engineer.
Note it down. George Holbrooke.
George Holebruk? Hole, as in ditch? Or…
G-E-O-R-G-E H-O-L-B-R-O-O-K-E.
Right?
He’ll go back to London after two days.
-Over to you now. -Holbrooke. Got it.
We’ve to extend his stay by 15-20 days, right?
You wouldn’t say such things had you trained in the army.
You need to live by the rules.
But my civilian life's training teaches me:
Those who make the rules rarely suffer their weight.
Okay, anyway.
It’ll be done, sir.
Got to hang up now.
Damn it.
Hello.
No, I’ll be late.
What!
A friend of mine?
From school?
He always visits our club whenever he’s in Calcutta.
Will you… introduce me to Tiger?
And what will I do? You'll bowl & he'll bat.
Fielding.
Okay!
Oh, sir!
-Dad! -Liked my surprise?
You know,
Sharmila & Tiger would meet at Jazz City on rest days during tests.
Yes, he is such a gossip... How are you?
Good. You?
Tea?
-Hmm.
-Another one for you? -Sure.
Tea on the river bank plot…
We barely manage to pay rent in a government flat.
-Another plot? -Make the tea, will you?
I'm going.
And Pluto?
Don’t you have homework? Go, do it.
-Okay.
You shouldn’t have come here.
You shouldn’t have sent me to jail either.
What is this? Revenge?
It’s just the beginning of our friendship, Mr. Sinha.
You visited our club.
Can't I come to your home?
Come on.
Your wife doesn’t know about the plot, isn’t it?
Don’t worry at all.
I am right beside you.
You took care of me, I’ll take care of you.
Then do me a small favour.
A table for Saturday night? For three? Done.
-You didn’t understand my question. -You didn’t understand my answer.
I'll come back for tea another time.
-What! He left?
-Keep the tea here.
-Both the cups?
-I drink both.
Go and ask them if they need anything.
Go.
-170.
Just one moment.
I’m making so much more money in tips,
I just add an extra bill and well…
none of the men seem to complain.
-That’s because you make the pegs larger, darling.
-Why don’t you use that calculator? -Because I don't need to.
(phone ringing) They pay me exactly what I tell them to.
-Hello? -Yeah, right...
Sir.
Hello.
-Chandu answered. So you haven't found Joseph's replacement yet.?
-Thank you.
-Such concern for Jazz City?
You’re making Pamela work double shifts, Jimmy.
Why don’t you hire a proper manager? Also, she's the club's voice.
-Not invoice. -Chandu!
I’m asking for my steak sandwich!
Thank you!
I’m still looking.
So many qualified Bengali refugees are looking for a job.
Why don’t you give them a chance?
What! A refugee?
Are you out of your mind, Sheela? How will they fit in?
Jazz City is the epicenter of glamour.
How do I suit up those refugees and present them in front of guests?
Well, don’t give them a job, at least give them a chance.
Yeah...
Booze is taboo for many of them.
Won't it hurt their sentiment to serve it?
Jimmy, all big companies here are helping in whatever way they can.
At least conduct an interview?
Yeah.
Uff!
-Playtime! Duke! -Hmm.
Remember, we tried this at Snowfox once?
God, we bombed so badly!
That wasn’t your fault.
Rodriguez was nervous.
-Yes. He was planning to propose to Anita.
I remember everything.
-Do you? -Oh, ya.
He proposed. She said no.
And then we had to sit & drink with him all night.
Well…
At least, he said it.
And see how it turned out for both of them.
He continues to be a wreck and… she moved on.
Park Street misses your voice.
It’s Language Day on 21st February.
Won’t you do something at Jazz City?
You know my views on this.
See, Jazz City is absolutely apolitical.
A place for entertainment, not revolution.
Besides, Jag warned me to steer clear of any controversy. So...
Hmm. Or else, he won't share his dad's pocket money with you?
Woah!
Sister is here! Yay!
Hey!
How are you all?
-Good.
Okay.
Here you go.
And this is yours. Oops!
Slow down.
-Sister, where's mine? -This is for you.
-How are you? -Good, ma'am.
Come.
Hello, are you well?
-The water problem is sorted? -How've you been?
-Hello, ma'am. -Hello.
-Come.
Hello.
Meet Jimmy. Jimmy Roy.
He has comes from the local Jazz City club.
-He’s looking for a manager. -Alright, alright.
I won’t be interviewing in Bengali.
Jazz City is a cosmopolitan club.
Most of our patrons listen to highest forms of music,
are aware of the best brands of alcohol…
And while I’m there for that,
I would need someone with a certain panache
who’ll not look like a fish out of water.
When a guest asks for the vintage, he’s being served.
So,
those of you who understood what I said, please raise your hands.
What's he saying...
-Y'all stay, rest can leave. -What on earth!
Jimmy!
Hearing is easy.
Speaking is a different matter.
How many of you are fluent in English & have a workable Hindi?
Hmm.
You, sir. Could you introduce yourself?
-Salauddin Shamsi, sir. -Hmm.
Myself from Barisal.
I have a Master’s in Chemistry.
Chemistry.
Interesting. Can you make some cocktails?
Do you have any hotel experience?
Thought so. Anyone with any...
-Sir! -Hmm?
Sir, I’ve been an assistant manager at the New Intercontinental.
For over a year.
Since '67, sir.
Alright. And…
what’s your name?
Ram Bahadur Singh.
-Sir. -Hmm.
I’ve also done a course in shorthand.
And my typing speed is 160 words per--
-Alright. Okay. So…
I need a manager. Not a stenographer.
-You won’t be disappointed, sir.
-Hmm...
I can give you a probation of three months. My hotel is Jazz--
-Jazz City, sir.
At my place, they say
you haven’t seen Calcutta if you haven’t seen Jazz City.
He’s hired.
-Ram Bahadur? -Yes, ma'am.
You have family at Dhaka whom I need to inform?
No... But thank you so much, ma'am.
-Jimmy. -Hmm?
He is one of us.
-Hmm. -Please take care of him.
I will.
Certainly.
-Anything else, sir?
-Congratulations.
-Thank you so much, ma’am.
-Thank you.
-Bye.
-Let’s go.
-1952, 21st February.
The first time voices roared, demanding their own language.
And they imposed Section 144.
Gunshots were fired on the streets of Dhaka.
Salam, Rafiq, Barkat, Jabbar’s blood
gave birth to an oath.
“We must die for our mother language.”
-Does no one know this boy’s name, Suman da?
No.
Not just him. We don’t know many more names.
The rickshaw puller who died in crossfire,
the fishermen, the bauls & faqirs…
We carry their souls within us.
Yes. We do.
So… you’re going to Calcutta.
Feeling anxious?
I am just thinking about the 21st, Kaberi.
Suman da.
Pratul sir used to say this:
Languages, like ideas,
are bulletproof.
Like our souls.
Can’t drown in the water.
Can’t be wounded by weapons.
Can’t be burned by fire.
-No, dear. -Sir.
-Oh, Shamsur sir... -Language is like a plant.
Can’t survive if you don’t nurture it.
That’s okay, dear. Please do your work.
Bless you.
There was a time the North Californians spoke in Yana language.
Louisiana spoke in Tunica. Eyak in Alaska.
Just in America alone, these three language went extinct
due to lack of nurturing.
Therefore, if the state won’t water it,
a language can’t survive, dear. -Shamsur sir, please come here.
-Coming.
Bless you.
Get back to your work.
My father was a farmer, Suman.
He used to till other people’s lands.
I used to study
and my father would send me money.
I still wonder how tough it was for him to arrange that money.
Filling up the application was no easy task!
My father didn’t know English, nor Urdu.
He went to a maulvi, had him fill it up & then came back to submit.
He spent a whole day doing that.
A day’s wage went into sending me money.
Why? Because his son was studying.
-When that time returns,
Bengali will bloom blood-bright on the streets, all over the walls.
-They...
painted rangoli with that blood to win against Jinnah, Suman.
So you won’t have to fight anymore. Come.
-Will the election happen, sir?
-Well, it will.
But I don’t know how impartial or hassle-free it’ll be.
But still, it's our only hope.
See that man?
He is our only hope.
Oi.
What are you all doing?
They are drawing.
Drawing the face of Bangla!
Will you tear it off?
Go ahead!
Every time you tear it off, we will draw it all over again!
Come, brother.
Stand with us.
Raise your voice with us.
-Come for the program on 21st, brother.
We are all kings in this kingdom of ours
Without being so, how will we unite with our king?
We are all kings
in this kingdom of ours
Without being so, how will we unite with our king?
The ban on the state radio is not enough, sir.
They can catch programs from Calcutta on the radio.
Yes.
-Happy?
You were over-confident about him.
And it’s jazz.
No head or tail to it whatsoever!
Sir, we’re not training him for foreign service.
We need to weaponize his emotion.
Look, Mr. Shashi.
Fine, you're employing civilians in the agency.
But this guy has no discipline, no decorum.
An upstart, liar, fixer.
How will you churn patriotic acts out of him?
You think some goody two shoes decorum-fed lad can do this?
And please, sir. Let not talk about protocols.
Is Pakistan conducting its mass killings obeying protocol?
That is why we need the tunnel immediately.
Begin work, fast.
Fast?
Excuse me, how long will it take?
-Hey, I’m trying to work here!
Are you done?
-Nearly.
You said it’ll take just 20 minutes. Come on, finish it.
Sir
What do you think?
Will he leave Shammi behind?
Well, Khanna has one advantage.
The voice of Kishore Kumar!
Stick one on this wall.
-Hmm.
Hey, what are you doing?
Hello…
Don’t be surprised. It’s your Sheela ma’am’s favourite day.
I knew about Dhaka. They celebrate it in Calcutta too?
No, man. It’s only Sheela who’s been going on about it.
All our Bengali singers,
Burman, Dey, Mukherjee,
they all sing for Punjabi heroes in Bombay.
No politics bigger than business, darling.
-Hmm. -Say what you will, sir,
Bengalis are ruling Bombay.
-Hmm. -Guru Dutt.
He doesn’t use his Padukone surname.
Thinks of himself to be an honourary Bengali.
-Hmm. Please come out if you are done.
Enough now.
How much?
10 rupees.
-Take it.
Do one thing.
-Yes, sir.
Go, see the film.
Oh, no, sir.
We, refugees have a very strict code of conduct.
Sheela ma’am had briefed us.
I… can’t take it, sir.
-Fine, don’t. -But sir... what if she finds out?
How would she know?
Just go, man.
Enjoy!
-Thank you, sir! -You’re welcome, darling!
-Stop the screening!
Stop the screening!
Down with propaganda!
Our communist friends are being insulted here!
It’s just a film, man!
The hero will hit back!
-Hell with your film!
Long live communism!
Set fire to it! Come on!
What are you doing? Hey! What are you doing!
-Revolution!
Run! Run!
Revolution!
Let’s get out of here!
Move aside!
Move it! Move it!
-Hey! Call the police!
Call the police!
You don’t understand, sir.
I have suffered a huge loss.
Know how much a new screen will cost?
Some audience members are even demanding a refund.
I don’t know what to do!
Don’t worry, Mr. Sanjay.
I am there.
Get the screen fixed by a tailor.
And those demanding a refund;
tell them to collect it from the police station.
Was it him?
It was dark.
I can’t be sure.
Now watch my detective work.
Which college, son?
Medical college. Homeopathy.
Nope, he's useless.
Which college?
Madhabpur University.
Das! Take him!
-But why? -Shut up! Come with me!
-I didn’t do anything, sir! -Just come!
Sir... sir... may I go? I’m not a student.
You can go. What do you do?
I am a manager.
At Park Street.
At Jazz City, sir.
Wow!
What?
Come with us.
-Come where, sir? -Just come.
-But I didn’t… -Come on.
-Sir? But I did not… -Just come!
-Sir…
I’m not even a Bengali! Nor a student!
I was watching the film, sitting in the dress circle, sir!
Now we’ll show you the undress circle.
If not a Naxalite, you could be the heros fan.
He was getting beaten up, so you set the screen on fire!?
-Your father's property? -Sir!
Sir…sir, please call up ma’am!
Stop it! What do you think I’m doing?
Mr. Foreigner Roy.
Two calls done, right?
-Yes. -Go home.
Better give us your confession for the previous case.
Sir, save me from his clutch!
His crotch?
-Hello. -Hello, Jimmy here.
I’m at Park Street police station. They've arrested my manager.
-But he is innocent. -Hmm.
Could you come down?
It’ll take 20 minutes.
Okay.
-But… -Another exchange of favours?
Right?
You should’ve been a criminal.
You’d have done well in life.
Please come fast.
What’s the Bengali word for crotch? I mean, the Hindi word?
-Are you hungry? -Yes.
Hi!
Mr. George Holbrooke?
Mr Collins at the Grand sends his regards...
Why, thank you.
Thank you. Um...
And also, his deepest regrets, Mr. Holbrooke.
There’s been a termite infestation at the hotel.
Oh, dear!
But, we’ve arranged a suite for you in my hotel.
Uh, Jazz City.
Uh, please.
So… this is Jazz City!
-Oh! -The finest club on Park Street!
-Impressive!
-Please come.
-The rooms are upstairs. -Ah.
-Ya. -Jimmy sir.
-Yes? Please carry on. -Please have a look at today's menu.
-Yes... You look into it. -Alright.
-Is the room ready? -Yes.
-Oh! -Oh!
Terribly sorry!
I had no idea there was a suite booked today.
Oh! Oh, Lord, Pam!
I am terribly sorry, George.
Our lead crooner, Pamela, often occupies the suites
for the costumes and all.
Darling, did Ram Bahadur give you the wrong key? Um, this is 501.
Oh, I’m terribly sorry. -(nervous laughter)
Uh, she can finish up.
I don’t really have a room preference.
-Oh, that’s so nice of you, George! -You don't, is it?
-I mean…
I’m only teasing you, darling.
A little bit of mascara & gloss can wait.
I’m done with the options tonight.
I’m thinking…
You prefer the pink? Or the cream?
Uh… this is… great!
-Oh, Lord! All these dresses!
Excuse me... sorry!
-Oh! -Have a nice day!
Enjoy the room! Um... Pam...
You’re not going to tell me what this is about?
On a need to know basis, darling.
On a need to know.
Ah.
What's his name?
Left me a diamond at the so and so place
It was a 'you know what I mean'
And I put a smile on his face
The cutlery, the shoo shaa
The babu and the chhokra
The lobster, the chardonnay
The tarts and the okra
He fawned
I yawned
His muse... excused
Tuxy tights and lights
Another jester bemused
Lace and luck, cluckity cluck Shimmery shim, nip and tuck
Giggly bubbly, risky mess
Fun times got over in my nest
What's his name?
Left me a diamond at the so and so place
It was a 'you know what I mean'
And I put a smile on his face
Waiter…
-Yes, sir...
-Uh…
Have you seen-- Have you seen Jimmy?
-Good morning, Mr. Holbrooke! -He's here.
-Can I help you with something? -My passport, my wallet, I...
-Passport?
Oh, did you…
Did you leave it here last night?
Oh, okay, is this the table?
-I don’t remember!
-Okay, let me check.
Let me check.
-The food wasn't great.
Sir, the passport is kept there.
Ah, okay, thank you.
What!
How did this happen?
Please sit.
Can’t even… Can someone take me to the embassy maybe?
Oh, certainly. I’ll take you there myself.
But first, you need to settle down. Let me get you something to eat.
-Excuse me… -Yes, sir?
-I’ve booked a call to London.
-Unfortunately, sir, all international lines are jammed.
-Oh, really? -Yes, sir!
I believe, women have been calling all across the globe
to ask the Beatles to reunite.
-Please. -Oh!
-This? -This is just temporary, sir.
Sir.
And I am really sorry, sir.
But the hotel is booked at the capacity.
When will you be able to pay for the room?
Oh, when the get the passport.
Sir, that could take weeks.
Sir, between you and me,
if Jimmy sir agrees to extend the line of credit for you…
that could help.
Lovely! But, Gaurav sir...
You must tell me.
-Jimmy!
It’s amazing what you’ve turned this place into!
I mean, no disrespect to Skyroom or Mags.
Forget Lahore.
But, this place?
The vibe rivals any joint in London!
-You'd know, Mr. Alvarez!
-Oh, man! You won’t believe the discounts Arora is offering.
-I hope you’re not taking it up.
-Are you crazy?
Leave the apartment given by the agency to move here?
-Hmm.
They are paying him well to report on unrest in India.
Since when did you become a patriot, man? Huh?
Look, it’s not personal.
I’m just Lahore’s point of view,
doing his job for a world audience.
We're both stateless vendors, you know.
I sell news, you sell addiction.
Well, as long as Jazz city continues to be your party central,
who is complaining?
God willing.
-Come home someday. -Hmm.
And on that, a double!
Oh! One double for Mr. Richard
and one on the house for Mr. Holbrooke.
Ah, let me introduce you.
Mr. Holbrooke... is an engineer.
Uh, the poor guy has been going from pillar to post
to retrieve his passport.
But you know how things are here.
-Hmm. -That reminds me.
I hear, Sheela madam too has been doing pillar to post these days.
She had come to our office.
But you know, cash flow has been tight since nationalization.
Everyone is being close-fisted.
-She came to Lloyds too. -Oh.
I heard she's collecting donations for some Pakistani politician.
I’m not sure, that Bengali professor...
His name is Shamsur I think...
I told her, if you want to do a fundraiser…
Jimmy, uh, I was wondering if I could stay for about two weeks.
My coffers are empty, Mr. Holbrooke.
But… Miss Bose has become a benefactor for all.
Um, but we still do have a problem, George.
You're a very rich, white man!
I am employable.
If you could just find something for an engineer.
Maybe until we get my passport.
Or, my wire transfer comes through.
-Excuse me.
What kind of engineer are you?
-Mostly, civil.
Okay, I have something that might interest you.
It can cover your room and boarding.
I am Sinha.
And you are?
-George. -George. Nice to meet you.
Would you be interested in a game of chess?
Oh…
It feels like playing with royalty.
Good luck, George.
-Thank you. -See him out.
-Sir.
Have a good day, sir.
Chef, table eight, appetizer pickup.
-Right, sir... -Good morning, Gauri.
Chef Samuel, table 11 has passed his compliments to you.
-Thank you, thank you.
-This is the appetizer. -Oh, yes.
Yes, Michael? You were looking for me? Had something to ask?
Uh, yes, sir...
If I & Gauri could leave a bit early on 21st evening…
I already told my substitute player.
21st…
That’s a Saturday, Michael.
What are you saying!
We have the busiest dinners on Saturdays, right?
How can we manage without the chef? I can manage without a trumpet.
But I'll lose my job if we compromise on food.
She'll arrange everything before going. Trust me, won't be a problem.
It would’ve been different had someone been ill.
But… it’s a Saturday evening, Michael. Can't help it.
Chef, table 12, please.
Six point, Six point!
Read & spread the word!
Six point! Six point!
Know your reality!
Understand your own history!
Six point! Six point!
It shouldn’t have come to this.
If you could talk to Mujib…
The problem isn’t Mujib.
The problem is… bloody Gandhi!
Sir?
We had instigated the Kashmiris hoping that
India will attack us from the east.
We wanted to keep India busy with tension at various borders.
A massacre would have balanced the Bengali-Urdu ratio.
Buggers didn’t attack the Bengalis.
Skinny dwarfs sat like sitting ducks. But…
They are just physically with us.
Not in spirit.
That’s always been with Tagore, with Gandhi…
“We place our humble offerings at Your feet,
we’ll not buy from others,
we rest our noose on Your ornate words.
Oh my golden Bangla, I adore You!”
-Is table no. 5 ready? They've been waiting.
-I've told them. -VIP guest. Don't make them wait.
-What's the order? -Done?
-Yes.
What’s the occasion? You look all decked up!
-Husband & wife have a date tonight!
No sir, we’re going to Rabindra Maidan.
We have received an order for tea & samosas.
Samosas?
Who ordered it?
-Um, Sheela ma’am.
Ah.
Are you a chef or confectioner?
-It’s a big order, sir. -Yeah, right.
She was looking for you, but you were out. So…
A programme at Rabindra Maidan, sir. A big fest. Many people attending.
-There will be singing & recitation. -Hmm!
One Bengali is a film critic.
Two, are a political Party.
And when it's three of them, it's Language Movement!
Sir! Call from your residence.
-Where is he? -I had gone for a bath.
Master was listening to the radio. I returned to find the door ajar...
You are useless!
-Useless? What do you mean?
You two, father & son are driving me crazy!
Think you can treat me as you like? Why aren’t you available on call?
Huh?
-Do as you wish! -Oh!
-What is it again?
-Ah. -Lock the door.
Hey, be careful… don’t run…
Dad…
Excuse me, please move…
Excuse me.
-Dad? -Why are you pushing?
-Which stoppage? -You took a bus again?
Why are you misbehaving with your father?
Please mind your own business.
Ah.
What will I do with you!
Don’t you have any change?
Bhasha Shahid ground.
Keep the change.
What a rude young man!
Can’t take care of his father, but has to showoff his status on a bus!
Bloody nonsense!
Hello, Mr. Tie! Don’t say “bloody”!
You’ll forget your father’s name if we start abusing.
Please go ahead.
Anyway he can’t remember anything. That will balance it out. Come on?
Hey, didn’t I tell you to do this? Please put the mic up there.
- Sure. -Place the harmonium centrally.
-Did they give you water? -Yes, ma'am.
-At the centre. Place it correctly. Yes.
-He was on the bus already.
-Uncle!
What a surprise!
-21st February is painted red with my brothers’ blood!
-How could I ever forget? -Please come.
Just a half an hour time difference between Dhaka & Calcutta. Right?
-Hello, ma’am. -Hello, Ram Bahadur. How are you?
-I'm good. -No problem at work I hope?
-Not at all, ma’am. -May I sit here?
Sure.
What problem would he have? Don't I take care of my own people?
Ah, good!
You’re starting to think of them as your own. Good progress.
Had you told me instead of Michael, I’d have put up a live counter here.
-Hmm. Right.
We will sing the 21st February song a bit differently this time.
In Abdul Gaffar Chowdhury's words...
-You want something? -No, you go ahead.
-...with utmost respect to all languages,
our languages and dialects that have gone extinct...
I’m not even surprised when I bump into you now.
-Oh, I came to say thank you to you.
Is it?
Don’t forget about me when the riverside hotel gets made.
-Hmm...
It’s tough to forget you, Mr. Roy.
-Hmm. That’s true.
See you.
Painted red with the colour of my brother's blood
21st February
How can I ever forget this day?
Painted red with the colour of my brother's blood
21st February
How can I ever forget this day?
-Sir, the Bengali servants are on leave.
Steward!
Secretary!
Where the hell is everybody!
Sir…
Sir.
They were not permitted.
But they still went off.
I’ll arrange it.
Sir, tea.
Sir?
Painted red with the colour of my brother's blood
21st February
How can I ever forget?
-Artists only have blessings & best wishes to offer.
A fundraiser needs a solid plan.
A glamorous program.
A list of wealthy donors, a stellar venue.
Should I look into it?
People will want to put their money where their heart is!
-Wow. -And…
I thought you always think from your brain.
The fact that you still have a heart… well, that’s news!
-Aha?