Original subtitles

(Tango: Nostalgia No 6 Buenos Aires)

When I was growing up, I liked to think I looked Jewish.

And I had a mother to go with it.

But no, we were Parsees, the children of a great Persian empire

who fled to India,

when they had their proud noses smashed

by Arabs thundering out of the desert.

That was a long time ago.

Since then, we've become the treasure of the British Raj.

If India was the jewel in the crown,

we were the sparkle in it.

Then the British left.

They left us with nothing to do except remember.

It seems the best thing to do, remember everything as it was.

Or as it must have been.

(Wails)

(Baby cries, woman laughs)

(Laughs)

(Baby cries)

This is no laughing matter, Mrs Kotwal.

Your son's bones are as thin as... as test tubes.

He will never grow.

His teeth will crumble when they meet anything hard.

I must tell you...

your son will never walk.

Wheelchairs, Doctor, were invented for boys like mine.

Now, if you don't mind, I would like to see my husband and daughter.

Darling... the doctor told me everything.

You're so brave, darling, you're so brave!

Am I?

(Sighs) What's so brave about loving your baby?

- Is the baby dead? - Heavens, no!

Come and have a look.

You mean he's never gonna walk?

He's gonna be toothless, his bones are so brittle.

- Then we'll call him Brit. - You can't do that possibly, Dolly.

Couldn't call a mongoloid kid Mong.

I think it's a brilliant name.

My son will grow up proud of his bones.

And Brit. That's what I am in my heart.

My mother suffered from the Parsee disease, Anglophilia.

Which was small change compared to what I was dealing with,

osteogenesis imperfecta.

Try getting your tongue round that.

Or your head round the fact that I didn't grow,

though I was always trying.

We suffered a lot of confusion.

There were people who thought I was my sister's son.

Others, with thicker spectacles,

thought I might be my father's secret brother.

And I couldn't blame them,

because I did look sort of ageless,

hardly different between eight and eighteen.

(Traffic noise, chatting)

(Car horn)

Five years old and he hasn't learned to walk?!

You have left it a bit late, haven't you?

You can't teach. And anyway, he isn't five.

- Six? - He's eight.

The boy needs urgent medical treatment.

It's not good enough. Which is why I'm taking him to a witch doctor.

- A Hindu Godman?! - Wagh Baba.

I need a miracle that will change you, Brit.

Then you'll have to change my name.

My parents were fighting a battle over my bones,

medicine and miracles their weapons:

Sera, like all good Parsees, listened to her London-trained doctor:

Sam was desperate, wading into the waters of Indian magic:

You.

Cripple boy first.

Sleep.

I don't want to sleep. It's only six o'clock.

Don't do this to me. Just pretend you're at the doctor's, please.

I don't want to be at the doctor's. My legs don't feel broken.

Wagh Baba's dong is like an elephant's trunk.

Wagh Baba is very, very weak. Like a hungry bird.

- Mmm. - He's always fasting.

He has given up... all his appetites.

Blessing is now over.

- How do I thank Baba? - As you think fit.

I suppose... this is the least I can do.

500 rupees.

Your boy will feel Baba's good vibrations very, very quickly.

(Traffic noise)

Darling, why did you bring us here? It doesn't feel like a treat.

More like a mistreat:

We can't go on living like we used to

now that we have him.

We certainly can't if we go throwing money around on wizards and witches.

Wagh Baba is a holy man.

And Brit hasn't had a single fracture since we met him.

And he's never going to earn. We've got to leave him money.

My father used to take me to the Taj Mahal hotel

and he left me money.

I know: He used to make furniture for the Governor of Bombay.

- Put that down, Brit, please. - Why? I can read now.

- You don't finish what you order. - He enjoys his food as much as I do.

Go on, Brit, order what you like.

Don't look at the prices.

(The women giggle)

Only at the doctor's bills... when you have your next fracture.

What can he do about that?

Let's see this.

- That's pepper water! - He's a big boy now.

(Hiccups)

- Oh, my God, no! - Swallow hard, Brit.

(Hiccups)

(Hiccups)

- (Pops) - (Hiccups)

Nothing works.

Not even Wagh Baba. Now he's broken a rib.

We'll have to go.

(Traffic roars)

(Horns blare)

(Yelps with pain)

Please make me stop crying.

It hurts when I cry. And I'm crying because it hurts!

- Maybe that should make you laugh. - No! (Sobs)

(Brit whimpers)

(Car horn)

(1930s waltz)

It hurts now, Brit,

but tomorrow morning the sun will shine.

And next week you have a birthday party.

(Fan clicks)

(Bicycle bells)

(Doorbell rings)

Happy birthday, Brit!

Oh, we've been waiting forever!

Ah, I was rushing to get ready.

And Tina, have you forgotten to put in her hearing aid?

We don't bother with that any more. Who wants to hear cars hooting?

Your daughter, dear Jeroo, will be both deaf and dead!

Is everything ready for the party?

Sam and Dolly will try and join us later.

Ah, everything except me:

My servant decided to fall ill today. It's all her fault.

And look! Not one thing Indian on this table.

- Ohh! - It's all from the smugglers.

- Anti-national activity! - As if I care.

I'm stocking up for the next war with Pakistan, anyway.

Jeroo was Sera's cousin and Tina my intended wife,

according to our mothers:

Though I did love her

and I had learned her sign language before I learned to talk,

I hate to admit it, but she made me feel better

because, in some way, I felt being deaf was worse than being me.

On our way here, we got followed by this big man.

- Big in what department? - Every department, Sera!

- (Both giggle) - Shh! She can lip-read.

I have to protect my Tina like anything.

She wanted to read Tess of the D'Urbervilles:

I said "Nothing doing." Next she'll be asking me for Oscar Wilde.

I want her to read some light novels.

Just now, she's reading some American novel by...

What's his name, Tina?

Ah! Harold Robbins.

(Bell rings)

- Hello! Hello! - Hello!

No, no, first things first.

Happy birthday, mara dikra. Buy whatever you like.

Oh, my little walkie-talkie doll!

- Ah, not walkie, just talkie-talkie! - (Bell rings)

(Laughter)

Look at her, look at her! I forced her to come!

Oh, happy birthday!

Such a good custom we have, just giving money-presents!

(Giggles) Yes!

Let's have some music before she falls asleep.

- I think we should wait for Defarge. - (Bell rings repeatedly)

Come in!

Oh, it's you at last. Today even you have brought your knitting with you.

Why have you worn white on a happy day like today?

Because when this child was born it was a tragedy. That is why.

Let's have some music. Come on, darling!

(Fur Elise)

You see, she's already a classical musician!

You should hear her play the Minute Waltz: 54 seconds flat.

Also the Moonlight Monata:

Sonata, my dear, Sonata:

Sonata, Monata, anything. Come on, my turn.

Let's have a song for Brit.

Rule Britannia, Britannia rule the waves

Britons never, never, never shall be slaves

Bas, bas, bas. Let's have some dance music.

Baba, what is the use? The birthday boy can't dance

and his little girlfriend can't sing!

But we can all have birthday cake! Come, there are lovely things to eat.

- Yes, of course. - (Murmurs of approval)

Come on, let's go and get some goodies, huh?

- (Bell rings) - That must be my little nephew.

I hope you don't mind, I thought Brit needs a little boy to play with.

No, bring him in.

Ohh.

Mad monkey! Kung fu!

Mad monkey! Kung fu!

Ah! You can't play anything!

I can play bridge and chess, which little boys like you can't play.

If I am little, you are a tingu!

See? I'm so much taller.

OK, if you're so smart, answer this: What is a bed?

- I hate riddles. - A bed is... a multiplication table!

So it wasn't much fun being a boy,

if I couldn't do all those stupid, seductive things

that other children did.

The only solution was growing up as quickly as I could:

I've never been to Sam's bank before.

As good a reason to go now.

(Sera) Taxi!

(Birds twitter)

- You'll have to open the dicky. - You want to carry his pram, also?

- It's not my pram! - Yes, we do.

- Go on, put it in yourself. - What do you mean, asking a lady?

Your British days are gone. No more Parsee memsahibs now.

(Bicycle bell)

There. We memsahibs, my man, have grown up on British food.

What a pity your son hasn't.

(Hum of voices)

(Telephone rings)

Why did you bring him here?

In that contraption.

- What's wrong with you? - This is no place for a child.

Your child, you mean.

God, you make it sound as if you work in a brothel, not a bank.

I'm going downstairs to the safety vault to get my jewellery.

- Who are you waiting for? - For my father to stop working.

Your father?

Mr Kotwal, you didn't tell us you had a son.

Oh, well... that was a long time ago.

I've been here over four years.

Your boy doesn't look older than that.

Well, he is.

Actually, he is.

I have a meeting.

I have to go.

Sorry, Brit.

- Where is your manager? - He has gone out, madam.

Well, I am his wife.

And this: : : Is our Prince of Wales.

I have been working here for years and I never knew.

Like all precious things,

he has been my husband's well-kept secret.

To make up for that afternoon,

and maybe to make sure nothing like it would ever happen again,

Sam began to plan a visit to Lourdes.

Once and for all, he wanted to turn me into some other boy,

a son he would not need to keep secret.

He began to look for flights to France.

But Sera's hopes were soon fulfilled

and aeroplanes from Pakistan sent our world flying with excitement.

The war had begun.

Bangladesh was being ripped out of Pakistan's womb.

But for Sera, any war was the war she had fought on Britain's side,

knitting her hands sore for the soldiers, dancing with them.

We were in the '40s again.

...washing on the Siegfried line

Have you any dirty washing, mother dear?

Chuck those brochures into the gutters of the Ganges.

It's time for a Spitfire or two.

The war is here, beloved, the Battle of Bombay.

Who knows what I might be asked to do?

Drive an ambulance, run the canteen...

You seem to relish the idea of bombs and blood.

Sometimes I long for a life in the world outside.

Look what I've got, Brit!

A Be Prepared bag.

But first, the cushion.

Now, when the air-raid warning sounds... Ah-ah-ah ah-ah

: : you will pop this under you.

Mm-hm.

- Ow! It's poking my bottom. - Everyone has to bear their share.

That cushion has all our jewellery sewn into it.

Since you've put everything in this cushion,

can we forget the Be Prepared bag?

- We have Brit to look after. - Positively, certainly not.

Now, in goes a change of clothes for each of us.

And some talc to keep the children sweet-smelling.

You call that being prepared?

- Look here. This is what we need. - I know what I need.

Confetti! Confetti, that's what your rupees will be worth! (Shrieks)

Don't you remember Germany after the Great War,

a pramload of cash for a bottle of milk?

Come into the bedroom. See what I've done! Come!

Darling, you've lost your balance again.

How much have you spent at the smugglers?

- I'm a Libran. - It's the scales.

I can't help it

- And I miss them so much. - Miss who, darling?

Marmite. And Robertson's marmalade.

- Sharps toffee, Huntley & Palm... - And even Quality Street!

I don't believe it!

And the plastic makes a lovely cape for a rainy day!

Toodle-oo ma-Iooma

Toodle-oo ma-Iooma Toodle-eye ai

Any umber-ellas, any umber-ellas

To mend today?

(She laughs)

(Squeals of laughter)

Hey, Sam, listen to this, no?

"Sex-crazy Baba booked." Come here, na!

"Wagh Baba, who had laid a spell on Bombay's credulous citizens,

was arrested this morning

with his beautiful accomplice, Ma Shanti Devi,

on charges of fraud, cheating and indecent assault."

I'll read the juicy bits.

"The Baba claimed that he could diagnose women's diseases

by feeling the shape of their breasts."

- Get back, baby. - No!

You forget how old he is!

Listen. "The father of a teenage girl broke down

as he told how his innocent daughter

had allowed the Wagh Baba to fondle her breasts."

"The girl had breasts that were lemon-shaped

so she was to avoid all citrus fruits."

"'But his hands did not stop there,' sobbed the numbed father."

- Enough! - OK, all right, just one last bit.

Er..."The strangest aspect of the city's flirtation with the Wagh Baba

was that it affected people from every class and community."

"'I remember,' said one devotee,

' a man who used to visit Baba with his baby son."'

"'The man was dressed in a jacket, spoke phinphon English,

and he was handsome like an American film star."'

Hey, not bad, uh? You looking like Paul Newman at your age!

- Mmm! (Kisses him) - As if he cares about that.

He just wants me to look like him.

Why do you keep on torturing yourself?

I'm stuck with him all day. I know it's not easy but I love him!

You don't mind who he's like.

It kills me to see my flesh so badly wrong.

Maybe I just need to get out.

But what good is it? He'll still be here when you return.

- Maybe I won't return. - You can't go out in this blackout.

It's dangerous, you might get run over.

With my luck I'd only get run over if I were wearing a blindfold!

Sam!

(Air-raid siren)

- Where's Mummy? - Looking for Sam.

- What are you doing? - Looking for chocolate.

Stop that! I've got something much more delicious.

I'll show you in a sec.

- It's so gloomy. - We should all have a singsong.

- Ah, yes! - I think that's a good idea!

- Come and sing! - (Siren continues)

There'll be bluebirds over The white cliffs of Dover

Tomorrow, just you wait and see

There'll be love and laughter

And peace ever after

Tomorrow, when the world is free

Whatever's got into you?

I like showing off when no-one can see me.

Sera always sings this song.

D'you think she's dead, Dolly?

Here's your surprise.

(Giggles) Better than a chocolate bar!

He's like my little finger compared to our father!

- (Giggles) - (Door clangs shut)

I found him. Even in the dark.

Oh, Sam!

I waited for the stomp of soldiers' feet,

bayonets smashing windows.

But all we got was a sky bright with colours,

chasing the demons.

I would sit in the dark and write my diary,

convinced that one day,

long after my bones were in the bellies of the vultures,

someone would read it

and think of me as the boy Anne Frank.

But, all too soon, the war was over.

Sera was stuck with me, instead of the soldiers she had dreamt of

and for Sam, it was time for magic again.

Good afternoon, Mrs Kotwal, I am (Inhales) the Breathing Generator.

I was summoned here by Mr Sam Kotwal Esquire.

Oh, I can see my little patient hiding behind you.

My son is not sick and he is not little. He will soon be a teenager.

I can feel the tingles rushing through me like the monsoon waters!

- May I come in? - Of course.

What are you going to do for my Brit?

Strip him! (Laughs) Look at him blushing!

Come on, get your clothes off. Don't be shy.

Big, big soldiers have done this for me, you know.

Take that. Ah! Stop! Not everything you little... rogue.

Come.

Erm... I think I'll have you on the table.

Good. Now, you lie there...

...and I will start conducting... my curative current into you.

Will I get a shock?

No, no, don't worry, I'm merely a low-voltage generator.

Mere... tingles.

But they drive me crazy unless I can pass them into some needy person.

(Inhales) I think of myself as... a missionary.

Like Ingrid Bergman in The Inn of the Sixth Happinesses:

Yes, I can see the similarity(!)

Ahh, The Inn of the Sixth Happinesses:

But do you remember what the other five happinesses were?

How could I forget? Health, longevity...

...wealth, virtue... - Longevity, wealth, virtue...

...and peaceful death. - Peaceful death. I knew that.

You know, there is a sixth happiness for each of us.

You have yet to discover yours, I fear.

Of course not! Here is my sixth happiness.

I would die if you would change him into some other boy.

(Hums)

(Birds cheep)

- A treat for my son. - What is it?

A rabbit, red eyes and all.

I don't need all this disguise. What is it?

It's a very special jelly.

It's made from the juice of a goat's trotters.

Ahh? I won't eat that.

Oh, it's delicious!

Look.

It goes straight into your bones, gluing them together

so that they never, never break again.

(Smashes)

How dare you smile?

- How dare you smile? - How dare you?

Sam, stop it at once! You will kill my baby!

Did you see that? He's smiling. I'm smacking him and he's smiling!

You are smacking him!

He breaks his bones every two months and you are smacking him?

You wanna bring him up without me?

Go on!

I'll only be too glad.

(Plate clatters)

I just wanted to let him grow!

Not turn him into someone he can never be!

(Horns blare)

Oh, help me, Jeroo. I'm going mad between my two boys.

But you should see Madame Maneckshaw.

The woman is a genius!

I'm fed up with these ha'penny, tuppenny magicians.

Madame Maneckshaw has been to the Sorbonne.

She's rich. And looks after her ancient husband,

who has all the money.

She can wrestle your boy to the ground.

(Children shout)

Off you go! Chalo, chalo, we're in a hurry!

(Jeer)

- They've come for my Tina. - Bloody rot and poppycock!

I will scatter them.

(Screams)

To my astonishment, Sera listened to Jeroo's advice

and took me to yet another magician, Madame Maneckshaw:

Bonjour, Madame.

I was not told the child was dumb.

Dumb? As Bobby Fischer, perhaps!

Already at his age he can play a fine hand at bridge

and he can tell Keats from Yeats.

A boastful mother, Mrs Kotwal, is no substitute for an education.

I started out like him.

- (Whispers) Handicapped? - No need to whisper, Mrs Kotwal.

There is no shame in that word.

Merely a... Merely a challenge.

Yes. I was handicapped.

By poverty.

My poor mother had to make jam

from the peel of a pumpkin we had for supper the night before.

Yes.

But I changed my life.

I flew on wings and my wings were degrees.

One from Cambridge, one from the Sorbonne

and the third from Vassar.

And then I married. Not for money.

But... he happened to have it.

And now I'm free to devote my life... to little ones like you.

Yes.

Yes, you, too, will fly. Out of that ghastly wheelchair.

You will fly and perch on the rooftops

and feel the winds of the world ruffling your feathers.

I want my son to be a man.

Not a bird with fine plumage.

Is this wit... or madness?

Brit, do you know who said that?

I can tell you.

It's neither Keats nor Yeats.

It was Mrs Woolf.

When someone at a dinner party lifted her dress,

thinking it was a napkin.

Would you like to know more about Mrs Woolf?

She drowned herself, leaving a note for her husband

which said "Dearest, I fear I'm going mad again."

Do you remember the sad end of Miss Jean Brodie, Madame?

It is a pity you do not have the accent of Edin-burg.

Edin-borough, Mrs Kotwal, Edin-borough:

No wonder the poor child doesn't speak,

he's ashamed of his pronunciation.

Brit, I can see the fires of rebellion kindling inside you.

And they blaze fierce and high.

So high, tears cannot put them out.

Call me.

Here is my card.

Au revoir.

(Shouting)

What have we here?

Brit Kotwal.

One of His little cripples.

As are most of us in our souls, where we cannot be seen, except by Him.

But he's very bright.

I would like him to go to your school. Not that he can.

- Well, can he or can't he? - Well, he can, but not every day.

Well, he can come for examinations

so that we'll know whether he's studying at home.

That's just what I meant.

Well, little boy, Brit. Why are you carrying a not-so-little book?

Because Madame thought that would impress you.

Oh, the boy speaks with the tongue of an angel.

Come, put him on my lap. (Chuckles)

Oh, he's so light!

Made of divine dust, like all God's little ones.

The Complete Works of Shakespeare?

I really do like to read, something I can do as well as anyone else.

Write... Do you write in a little diary?

That's something you can do better than anyone else, perhaps.

Well, we'd better see if you can spell big words.

Off to your test, little one.

(Whispers) I could do that.

Give or take a rib.

(Whispers) Wow!

I could do that standing...

on my head.

(Cheering)

And now we have finished presenting the prizes for academic excellence.

But there is one... special prize that remains to be given.

It is for a very special boy.

He's not ranked first or second... or third.

In fact, he's reached fourth.

But the prize for being the bravest little boy in the school

goes to... Brit Kotwal!

He might have asked me if I wanted a special prize.

No-one ever asks me.

They will. They will one day.

Then you won't need me.

Well, that's the whole... idea, I suppose.

Why do people keep pushing me into the future?

"One day your bones won't break, one day this will, one day that will."

Can't you see why? Your future has to be better than now.

And for most of us, the future is something to be... afraid of.

For you?

Oh yes, Brit, yes. I married an old man.

Only he wasn't old then. And I was young.

And now he's almost ready to go.

And I don't know what I'm going to do.

I gather children to me but they... they grow up

and I only grow old.

He has me. Who will I have?

I'm sorry I can't be of much help.

I'll be too busy doing all the things... I'm waiting to do.

You're a hard young man.

Only my bones break and they don't count.

You know, one day you're going to like those bones of yours.

Not in a silly, sentimental way but... but because they're you:

- They're not me! - Oh, yes, they are.

Just as much as those seductive eyes and that quick mind.

My bones break. I don't.

You can be... breakable without breaking, you know.

So if I don't want to be brittle... I don't have to be hard.

I think we can pack up your books now.

We've done quite well without them today.

- Why are you getting all dressed up? - I'm going to a dance.

- Where? - A college dance, Brit.

- With who? - A boyfriend.

- Do you mind? - No.

It's just that I wanted to go to the fair.

- It's the last day. - You should have asked me yesterday.

Yesterday my rib was hurting.

And anyway, I have so little fun.

Brit, getting pity out of me is like getting sex out of Jeroo's head.

I wasn't trying to get pity.

I just want to go somewhere my legs can't take me.

Shall I get dressed?

Come on, Brit, let's go before it's too dark.

I can't. My rib is hurting again.

You go, Dolly.

And leave you in pain? Don't be silly!

We'll play something. Chess or something quiet like that.

I don't want to play anything. I just want to... lie down.

- By myself. - Do that.

We'll play something when you feel better.

How can she love me so much?

But you can, Brit. I love Monsieur Maneckshaw like that.

And you are becoming quite a master of manipulation, aren't you?

It's tough for me, you know.

Father Fere thinks I'm a hero,

Sam thinks I'm a biscuit that hasn't cooked properly.

Maybe the books I brought can be of some help.

They're not much help.

Sometimes I'm a cripple called Tiny Tim,

other times I'm supposed to be extraordinary, like Helen Keller.

What do I do?

- Be just me. - That should be enough.

If not more than enough.

Now tell me, why did you do that?

You know you can't keep her to yourself forever.

I can try.

When your legs don't work,

it's easy to make other people do what God forgot to.

Sera, dear, you know what all the Parsees in Colaba are saying?

That your daughter is five feet two, pretty, graduate,

...why isn't she married? - Ask her.

In our family, like in all good Parsee families,

love-marriage is a tradition.

Ja, ja, Sera, you want to keep her to look after Brit when you're gone.

Who will cook for him?

Who will look after him when his bones break like biscuits?

Well, my Tina can.

My Tina will:

But seriously, you should consider my proposal for Dolly's future, ha?

OK, I am prepared.

But it must be a secret or Dolly will never agree.

Right, you be here tomorrow to bring Dolly to the Gateway of India,

where they will bump into each other.

Accidentally on purpose!

(Jeroo laughs)

Beware... the Gateway of India.

There awaits Dinsu Dinshaw,

your intended husband.

Jeroo's discovery...

Brit! Uth ni! You're talking in your sleep.

Huh? Dolly? What did I say?

Something about a man waiting for me.

(Gasps)

Dolly, promise me you won't tell them.

I wasn't supposed to know. But...

There's your parcel. On a plate.

Ohh! If he is my meat, then I'm a vegetarian.

Well, Dolly, you are a very pretty girl. But are you as good a cook?

The way to my Dinsu's heart is a tikhi tumtumti prawn curry.

I learn very quickly, Vera, Auntie.

I hope you know how to fill a bankbook and change a light bulb.

Those are womanly duties.

My Dinsu is a junior manager. He has no time for such pettinesses.

I know what is required of me.

Now you talk to Dinsu while we discuss financial arrangements.

You mean a dowry. Absolutely certainly. Definitely...

So... I guess it's, er, your turn, old chap.

Well, since you can't change a light bulb,

perhaps you can tell me what is Kant's Categorical Imperative?

Erm... must be a new group.

- It isn't in the top ten, is it? - No, it isn't.

D'you think the paintings of Turner pointed the way to Debussy's music?

Come on, yaar, I know nothing of this arty-farty stuff!

Ask me some science questions.

Come on! Give the guy a chance.

OK. How many light years ago was the earth born?

Three thousand?

A light year measures distance, not time, dear Dinsu.

It's no use. I shall die yawning after a couple of days with you.

How about a couple of nights?

Oh! (Giggles)

(Giggles) What a bounder!

- How did you think of these things? - Brit thought of most of them.

How did you know you were gonna see him?

- Anyway, who cares? - Ooh!

We're gonna celebrate with champagne tonight.

Whaa!

(Dolly giggles)

May I?

I can't dance. Remember?

Whenever I'm doing this, I'm thinking of you.

My son made of glass.

Maybe someday you'll write about all this.

Maybe I won't become a writer. Writers don't make any money.

You don't have to. We don't expect you to.

Why not? That's a horrible thing to say!

Imagine if Sera said that to you when you got married.

How would you have felt?

- Hugely relieved. - No.

You would have felt... not strong.

Not a man.

I'm sorry, Brit.

I'm really sorry.

I just thought you had enough to cope with.

Maybe you're more of a man with everything you've been through.

My son.

My son, whom I love so much.

That's what they call a postscript.

An afterthought?

That's not true.

That's not true.

I just don't know...

...what to do with you.

I mean... you play cricket with your son.

Or you teach him how to ride a bicycle.

Brit, I'm not like your mother.

I wasn't prepared.

But you know... you can love something you've never ever want...

(Glass shatters)

Well, you were wrong about one thing.

I'm not made of glass.

If I were, I would have broken in your hands like that.

(Sniffs)

As if that evening were not enough,

the next day I heard Mr Maneckshaw had been killed.

The chauffeur had taken him and Madame for their evening drive.

Turning a corner, the door had flung open

and he'd fallen out of his old Rolls.

He'd been silent for so long, Madame didn't even notice.

Poor Monsieur Maneckshaw, like all Parsees,

was going to be eaten by the vultures

in our sacred Towers of Silence:

I knew how my teacher must feel

and I made my parents take me to the funeral:

But, as it happened, I wasn't to meet her again:

(Prayer sung in Avestan)

(Chatting)

(Woman) Very, very sad.

- Brit Kotwal? - How?

I will tell you.

Yesterday was the birthday of the sea.

Imagine the scene.

We went together: I'm her husband's sister:

I was surprised, because she didn't believe in that sort of thing:

She offered to bring me some sea water

to take home to bless my house:

I gave her my glass jar:

She: : :

She just went away:

Guilt:

Guilt of a woman with my brother's blood on her hands.

And I saw his funeral only this morning.

That's not true. Madame Maneckshaw loved her husband!

That is why she didn't want to live.

Little mouths should not concern themselves with big matters.

You can't make me feel small by calling me little.

She left that to me:

Not to mention... this.

It was a short message my teacher had left for me:

All it said was "I can go because you're big enough."

"You don't feel like that right now

but, believe me, when you lose someone,

you never feel big enough."

Well, she didn't know it, but it was a most timely warning.

Before weddings and funerals came together in the movies,

they came to my family.

Help me, Brit.

- Help me not to. - Not to what?

To get married.

I've said yes and I don't want to.

Yes?

To who?

- Saleem. - Why didn't you tell me?

But I am telling you, Brit.

Now? After it's all stitched up?

But it isn't. Not for me:

It never will be properly stitched up for me, no matter what I do.

Why?

I love him.

Then why?

Because he's in New York and I don't want to leave you.

Oh, it isn't duty or guilt or any other dirty words.

I love you and I can't leave you.

Maybe we can write.

And how will you go out? Hm?

Concerts, library, restaurants.

I can't bear the thought of you at this window, looking out.

If you stay, you'll hate me afterwards,

when you look out of that window and... see 5th Avenue.

There's no way out.

Is there?

Maybe you can come and see me?

Lots and lots. Long months.

It's strange. There are times when I just want to stop growing.

For this moment, you can, maybe.

We both can.

Marry a Muslim indeed!

The Muslims are our traditional enemies, they drove us out of Persia!

- One thousand years ago! - The wound is as fresh as yesterday.

The women, babes in their arms,

the men carrying the sacred fire across the stormy seas!

I will never surrender!

In that case, I shall fast unto death.

Gandhi snatched an empire from its masters with his hunger cramps.

Oh, blackmail will not work on me:

After all, no matter what I feel, I am not a milksop Britisher.

- I am a Persian! As Persian as a... - A rug, I suppose!

(Banging on door)

And, pray, why have I been summoned at this terrifying late hour?

I've had to leave my deaf daughter in bed alone.

Better than with someone.

I called you here, and it is only midnight,

to tell you my Libran scales are now in balance.

When my Piscean fishes are swimming this way and that way in my bosom.

My Dolly... is getting married.

A love match. Without matchmakers.

Arre wah! Where's he from?

What's his age? Education? Income? Height?

He's from America. New York.

- A doctor. - Surname?

Yosef.

Uhh! Chhi! Muslim!

Better than that Parsee pansy you got for Dolly.

How did you find out?

After Dinsu's mother died, he settled down with a bus conductor.

This boy is a nuisance here.

(Sam sighs)

Now, you be useful and fold my shirts.

Isn't that rather a lot for three weeks?

You are coming back, aren't you?

Am I? I thought this was my getaway.

I'll take the next flight and get you back.

Why must you? You have Brit, I have Dolly. That's a fair settlement.

No, it isn't. He's yours as well.

As if... You don't have to remind me.

- Biju kai joiech? - Nai.

Are you going to play Mummy to Dolly in New York?

It's mothers who usually accompany the bride.

Am I wrong?

You know Dolly has always been my girl.

Oh, my God.

This will be the first time I'll be without my son.

(Softly) Not for long.

It might be a relief.

We got letters from Sam and Dolly almost every day.

Sam sent us a photograph of himself at the Empire State Building.

Said he was feeling on top of the world.

It's Sam.

(Sobs)

How?

Crossing 5th Avenue.

A car hit him!

(Whispers) Blindfold!

There's nothing in the end, is there?

Only courage.

Endless courage!

He just didn't have enough.

Sera was wrong:

My father's suicide taught me a different kind of courage.

To be able to say no to life is sometimes as brave as saying yes.

His death told me

that it was all right to feel as far as your feelings went.

And when I began to write, I wrote my first story about that day,

of our grief and of my father's freedom.

Sera took the blow like the British.

She withstood the Blitz, but after that she was no longer glorious.

As for me, the years went by

and I often felt a strange chill,

as if I had been wrapped in woollies all my life

and, one by one, they were being taken away from me.

I need a bigger house, there's just no more room!

Sera, there would be if you got rid of some of this stuff.

What? Sam's suits?

The ones he wore to the bank? Not on your life.

I know Brit has grown up in the last five years

but his father's clothes are never going to fit him, are they?

Sorry, Brit, I'm sounding just like Defarge.

I wasn't keeping them for Brit.

(Hums)

Come, Sera, let's go and have a tot of that smugglers' gin.

(Chuckles softly)

(Muffled giggles)

(Irving Berlin: What'll I Do?)

(Banging on door)

Hello. I'm the lodger.

Jao! We don't take any lodgers-bodgers here.

I quite forgot. Of course we do:

Come in! Come in.

You never told me, you sly cat.

I thought it was for the best. Everyone's doing it now.

I'm only renting the servants' quarters.

I thought it would mean I could put something away for Brit.

I hope you'll be comfortable.

This is Jeroo. My son, Brit.

Brit, will you help me unpack?

He can't help you. He needs the help.

So do l:

Let's go. We're not needed here.

I need some help. Man to man.

Man to... man?

I need a safety pin for my jeans. The button's come off.

I don't have one. Do you have a needle and thread?

Shall I, er, take them off?

I think I can manage.

Take care. You're in dangerous waters.

Is that... your violin?

Yeah. I don't play it any longer.

I just brought it for old times' sakes.

- I wish I could play. - Don't.

You play too well and you disappear. No-one sees you.

They only hear your music.

Why are you here?

(Chuckles) I'm a hippy the wrong way round.

Brave men give up careers for music.

I've given up music to become a lawyer.

You exchanged music for money?

I didn't want to make a beautiful sound instead of life

and I was doing that till last week.

Now I'm... I'm on my own. No fiddlesticks to lean on.

I guess if I wrote a book that... became so big no-one could see me...

You write?

Only when I'm inspired.

Did I scare you? It's as if you were waiting for me.

- I was waiting. - Good! Let's go to the Gateway.

- I miss the sea in Delhi so much. - Yeah, but I'm wearing my shorts!

- Bloody hell! So am I. - Yeah, but that's...

Listen. Your legs look funny to you because you hardly ever see them.

Everyone else looks at you and sees you:

You know, I've never seen the sea like this before.

Where have you been all these years?

Safely at... home.

Your safe days... are done!

Aaaaaahhhh!

I'm going to drown!

Can't you swim?

God! I'm going to teach you.

What will you teach me in return?

- To write! - Ho! That would hurt too much.

The violin was bad enough.

I never knew if it was the music making me cry

or I was making the violin weep.

I just didn't want to feel all that pain:

It's a nice kind of pain.

As if someone is stretching you in a dream and...

...you're much taller when you wake up.

I wish I knew you... before.

When I won a scholarship and didn't go to London.

You didn't go to London? Are you mad?

Maybe.

But my parents were strange.

They loved their talented little Mozart and not their Cyrus.

So I thought I would take away the music from them

...and see what happened. - And?

I am here.

- No, no, no. You can't, you can't: - Why not?

- Because you're not like... - Other men.

You can't stay out all night

and you can't get out of your wheelchair!

It hasn't grown into my skin, you know!

When you... break your legs, I'll manage,

but there's no Sam, no Dolly:

And if something goes wrong: : :

No, you can't go out any more.

Be brave, Sera, you always have for me.

Now you'll have to be even braver.

Not because I'm trying to grow but... because it's happening anyway.

(Sighs) Go ahead.

(Kelly Marie: Feels Like I'm In Love)

It feels like

It feels like I'm in love

Ooh ooh ooh: : :

You know, people will think you're really weird if you don't dance.

I don't because I can't:

Excuse me. Excuse me.

: : : my heart it beats like a drum: : :

So, now I can't move any more than you can.

So let's dance together.

Ain't been this way before but I know I'm turned on

This time it's no good, baby I'm getting turned on

My knees are shaking, baby My heart it beats like a drum

It feels like, it feels like I'm in love

My knees are shaking My heart beats like a drum

Oh, oh, oh

Oh oh-oh oh: : :

(Chuckles)

- Your turn now. - No! I'm not! I'm not! I'm...

- (Whimpers) - Don't worry.

- I don't want... - Don't panic.

- Relax. - (Whimpers)

Relax, Brit. Relax.

Now, totally relax, Brit.

Relax.

Relax.

(Tchaikovsky: Violin Concerto)

- I'll get a better view this way. - So will I.

Is the moon made of mountains?

Or craters?

I'm always trying to answer that.

Oof! Ohh!

Brit? Sorry!

Sorry. Are you all right?

Wh... What is it?

Why've you gone rigid?

Are you... Have you broken something?

Brit, talk to me!

Look, I'm sorry. How do I?

Maybe this will make you talk.

Why did you go silent like that?

When I come so close to a fracture...

I become small again.

And I vanish. Everything goes.

Even sex.

Doesn't look like it.

My... What is this?

Are you two perverts?

- I'm calling Jeroo. - Don't be silly!

- We were just... practising. - For the girls who are waiting.

(Birds cheep)

(He shouts)

For a brief moment, I saw them, doomed,

like Prince Jehangir and the court dancer, Anarkali:

(Pyar Kiya To Darna Kya)

Pyar kiya to darna kya

Jab pyar kiya to darna kya

Pyar kiya koi chori nahi kii

Pyar kiya

Pyar kiya koi chori nahi kii

Chhup chhup aahen bharna kya

Jab pyar kiya to darna kya

Pyar kiya to darna kya

Jab pyar kiya to darna kya

Chiki-chiki! Tell her to be on the balcony at nine o'clock

I'll talk to her upside down.

Jaan bhi le le chahe zamana

Aaj kahenge dil ka fasana

Jaan bhi le le chahe zamana

Maut wahi jo duniya dekhe

Maut wahi jo duniya dekhe

Ghut ghut kar yun marna kya

Jab pyar kiya to darna kya

Pyar kiya to darna kya

Jab pyar kiya to darna: : : :

(Banging on door)

She's gone! Gone with the wind!

My daughter! Jewel of my widowhood,

...reward of my lost virginity! - Bloody rot and poppycock!

Your son. Ask him. He was privy to her secret!

Ask him where my Tina has fled!

All I wanted was for Tina to find romance:

I'd thought she might run away, but never with Rohit:

She'd told me where Rohit came from

and that's where we started looking for her:

(Horns blare, bicycle bells ring)

- (Chatter) - (Whispers) It's all right.

My girl has told me what you want. But you are wasting your time.

There is no Tina-bina here.

We know she's here. We can call the police.

Just you try that.

Even if she is here, she will be sent so far away,

into some jungle, some village.

You will never see her again.

But my daughter is deaf! Have you no pity?

At least she will not hear the growls of hungry men.

Now, go from my house.

Or I will lock you up like the other girls. Go!

(Retches)

That was my wedding present to Tina:

We never found out

where the child bride I had never wanted had gone.

I told myself "Maybe they just dashed into the nearest house."

"Maybe the madam was a romantic,

helping young lovers find a dream she had never found."

But more than half of me knew I was lying.

Maybe if you hadn't have met me...

Tina wouldn't have gone out with Rohit.

Maybe if I'd never given her all those sexy novels to read.

(Cyrus sniffs)

Grown men don't cry.

- What about you? - Me ain't grown.

You think you can remain small forever, don't you?

Tell me. You only like me for the way I look.

No. Maybe I like you because I don't like the way I look.

Brit...

one day you'll be able to see how beautiful you are.

Sure. In a fairground mirror.

Oh, where is Jeroo?

It's the last day of the Bombay Dyeing sale and I'm going to miss it.

- We don't really need anything. - Yes, we do.

Sam's going away so suddenly taught me

if we had had the funeral here we would have needed bolts of muslin.

We must be prepared for when it happens.

Oh, don't look like that, darling. I'll probably touch 90 but...

just in case.

And... where is Cyrus?

He hasn't been around for almost a month. Nor has his rent.

He's away. He's got a cousin visiting from London.

- I don't like you being alone. - (Knock on door)

Ah, here is Jeroo.

Oh, I'm sorry. I will step out and step in again.

Swamiji says always enter with the right foot.

Tell your swamiji to go suck an egg.

Chup, Sera. Don't say these things!

- Swamiji's a vegetarian. - So was Hitler.

Your saint is nothing but a latter-day Wagh Baba.

Say what you like, he has taught me what is is, what is not, is not:

I could have told you that the day my Brit was born.

And he has taught me not to mourn for my Tina,

who's being raped every day by strange men.

She's not mine to mourn. She's not mine...

Come, Jeroo, the sale will be over.

We have to be back for our bridge evening.

But I'm not playing if you're allowing that King of Spade.

He's always making eyes at me.

I had to turn him over last time. Shameless flirt.

Men these days(!)

Ah, ah, ah! "Step out with the right and your day will be bright."

(Tchaikovsky: Violin Concerto)

(Music stops)

So you still remember the address?

- I've been busy. - With?

Stop asking questions.

I'm kidnapping you.

We're going to the Hanging Gardens. To bring in your birthday.

You remembered.

- I have a carriage waiting for me. - Indeed.

Here goes!

- Who's that? - Never mind.

- I'm not going! I thought we... - You are going.

This is Amy, who's been keeping me busy all this time.

Hello, Brit. I've heard so much about you.

Tell me something, are you really called Brit for "brittle"

or is this one of Cyrus's stories?

He usually calls me something else.

We must get together and have a long chat.

I really don't think I have the time.

For he's a jolly good fellow

For he's a jolly good fellow

For he's a jolly good fellow

And so say all of us

Sorry.

How?

There's a time for everything.

I c... can't be with you any longer.

I also loved my music, Brit.

- And you gave it up. - Yeah.

I had to.

These things... scare me and hurt me.

And I just want to stop feeling the pain.

I'm going, Brit.

I'm moving out.

Look at that cage.

Tina's bird escaped.

Got as far as that tree.

Then it didn't know what to do.

It liked the look of that tree but it didn't belong there.

I watched.

It sat there all day.

Until it folded its wings and dropped: : : To the pavement.

Dead.

You know why, Cyrus?

Because life is here.

Real life is here.

Inside our cages.

Cyrus had told me his reasons for leaving:

But a part of me thought there was something else:

Something I needed to confront:

By myself:

(Traffic roars)

Excuse me.

Is there a toilet I can get into?

Sorry, sir, impossible. Toilet is downstairs.

No lift.

Thank you.

Are you all right?

Brit, Brit, are you hurt?

- (Sighs) I don't break any more. - Oh. Good.

Well, let me help you with this mess.

What are you doing here?

I work here. Didn't Cyrus tell you?

I grew up in London but my parents are from Bombay

so I decided to work here for a year and learn.

- Are you sure you're all right? - Actually, I need to get home.

Are you stuck here all by yourself?

My mother's at home and...

a cousin was supposed to fetch me but she's a bit gaga and...

...anyway, I need to go to the loo. - Let's go.

- No. It's downstairs. - So what?

I forgot you were British.

- What has that to do with it? - The spirit of the Blitz, of course.

Sorry I had to drag you away from work.

It's a pleasure. I needed a break.

I read some of your short stories.

They're so beautiful. You have to write something longer.

D'you know, I hate you for doing this for me.

What?

Makes me feel I should like you, but I don't.

Oh, dear.

Well...

...I like you:

I'm sorry, Brit.

I wish I could've brought you here without being me:

(Gasps)

(Laughs)

(Moans)

I'm glad.

I'm glad.

I had to.

To understand how Cyrus could have.

Frankly, my dear, my reasons were the same.

(Both laugh)

- (Knock on door) - We won't answer the door.

- (Door opens) - (Gasps) My mother! She's...

Another woman in the house!

Bringing boys home is one thing. This is quite another.

I will not have it, Brit Kotwal.

Shameless hussy!

In a funny way, that was my farewell to Cyrus.

We never met again.

And I realised... that we'd never stop breaking.

As we grow older, fractures don't show on our X-rays.

(Horns blare)

(Jeroo shouts) Sera, barnu khol. Barnu khol, Sera!

Aah-haa!

Ay!

- What have you got there, Jeroo? - The sacred waters of Swamiji!

What are you doing?

Brit, come here at once!

She's sprinkling her Swamiji's wee-wee all over our house!

Filthy minds, that's what you have!

These are the sacred waters of the Ganges.

(Squeals) Floating with corpses!

(Wails)

Bhag kari nakhse.

Oh, no, you don't! Not my Be Prepared stuff.

I'm saving it for Brit when I'm gone.

- Khasi jaa! - Woe to any who dare approach!

- Don't stop me in my holy work! - I shall defend this to the last!

I shall fight to the end! Ahhh!

Mum? Mum?

(Whispers) Sixth Happiness. Remember?

(Exhales)

So I was alone:

Like Sam and Sera.

My Tina. Even Jeroo.

After the funeral, I was going to phone Dolly.

Just to hear her voice.

Then I thought it wouldn't be fair to all the others,

the ones who couldn't talk any more.

And how desperately I wanted to keep my memories of them with me.

(Tango: Nostalgia No 6 Buenos Aires)

In that moment, the mirror and the music had told me

that, at last, I liked the way I looked.

And as I danced, the words came to me.

Clear and fluent and correct.

And I knew it was with their help that I would take my past with me

into the future.

My words turned into a book

and my writing became a ship

in which I sailed to a distant land.

And a new lover.

We fell in love when we were dancing.

Sera and Sam would have liked that.

(Contemporary fusion)