OH MY DOG makes you exclaim OH MY GOD

One of the most Googled searches about films that have a dog in any capacity is 'Does the dog die in the end?' Last year, director Ben Leonberg released his horror film Good Boy, with his own Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever, Indy, as the protagonist, and although nothing was confirmed or denied by Google itself, many entertainment tracking outlets confirmed that there was a 2000% spike in the Google search, 'Does the Dog die in Good Boy?'

Why is it that the same people who have no problems whatsoever in sitting through hours of serial killer documentaries and films with gratuitous violence being its only keyword squirm and shift and hyperventilate at the prospect of a dog dying? Maybe it is because dogs evoke a kind of innocence that has otherwise been lost to humans. A recent study showed that just petting a dog lowers the stress hormone cortisol and calms the human mind. Another study has shown that Golden retrievers possess specific variations in their oxytocin receptor gene, making them hypersensitive to changing emotional states. However, it is not just Golden retrievers; any dog that has taken to a human as their ‘Hooman’ would do the same. They would go above and beyond and then some for the hands that feed and pet them and the heart that cares. But on that note, one cannot help but wonder at times: do we humans deserve dogs? Or animals for that matter. Amit Rai in his latest film Oh My Dog asks exactly that. He asks unsettling questions and draws an uncomfortable parallel without saying much at all. Let me begin by answering the burning question: does the dog die in the end? No. But the film begins with the death of a dog. The well-decorated police veteran Senapati is given her final farewell with 21 gun salutes, and it is almost as if Rai’s attempt at ripping off the band-aid before the roller-coaster ride begins. And it also sets the ball rolling for her estranged pups as they try to live up to their mother’s reputation. Two brothers separated in childhood- without the backdrop of a Kumbh ka mela, but oh so Bollywood!

Is it a bumpy ride? Yes, the woman sitting next to me in theatre 4, the smallest of all the theatres at Cinepolis Lake Mall, seemed to think so, as she kept asking her husband in not-so-hushed tones,

(Hullo! Why did this happen? Who are these people? Are these dogs the same? Oh, they are different! Are these two children brothers? Oh, these two dogs are brothers! Oh, you mean the film is about dogs?!)

But to a seasoned movie-goer, the film is understandably predictable. There has been a lot of recent commotion about how most films and web-series and TV shows are becoming victims of the phenomenon that can be simply put as ‘dumbing down’, where every little thing, every little plot-line and tangents and character developments are overstated and oversimplified for audiences who tend to be on their phones scrolling through something secondary while watching something else. Moreover, the films have become increasingly fast-paced to make sure that audiences do not lose their focus. Oh My Dog fares well on both these accounts. It is incredibly fast-paced, with the narrative effortlessly shifting between two parallel stories. But, at the same time, everything is laid bare: we understand the complicity of the police with the criminals from the outset. Or maybe it is just our experience with the corruption rampant in Indian governance- operating systematically through the labyrinth of grassroots to the coveted bureaucracy. We understand what would possibly happen, but that does not deter the audience from nail-biting anticipation or laudatory applause. Director Amit Rai, who has several box-office successes like Oh My God and Oh My God 2, the latter of which won him a Filmfare Award, in his kitty, has made and released this film at a very crucial time in India. The Supreme Court’s judgements towards the removal of street dogs and transference to shelters (most of which are questionable) have brought forth a wave of protests across the country. Despite the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals Act, we know how much cruelty is meted out to these animals on an everyday basis. News of abandonment, mutilation and even sexual violence towards dogs is common these days. The film emerges at a pertinent time with an important message: if we cannot be kind to animals, we should abstain from harming them. The dogs in the film are all Indian pariah dogs, often referred lovingly as Indie Dogs, more commonly derided as strays. Most veterinarians and dog behaviourists would tell you that Indies have better immunity than most breed dogs and are sharply intelligent with a keen survival instinct. They are not large and overtly powerful with fearsome bite forces like Rottweilers or German Shepherds; they are medium-sized, lion-hearted dogs with iron determination. They make for lifelong devoted and loyal companions, if one can look past the allure of having ‘a pedigreed pooch’.

The film blends two narratives effortlessly: a boy looks for his missing dog. A dog looks for his missing human. A boy subverts the whole idea of investigation with his Sherlock Holmes-like deduction skills, taking down a dog-smuggling ring; a dog subverts the very notion of justice by becoming a one-dog army against an entire organ trafficking ring. The boy, Apu, played by the director’s own son Mahi Rai, is a revelation. He is intelligent. There is no melodrama coating his performance. He is superb across scenes. Apu’s guilt at having thrown the ball too hard, which becomes the catalyst for Momo’s disappearance and eventual discovery of an animal-smuggling network, is built intelligently. Simultaneously, we see Oscar, who has been adopted by construction site minor labourer Prince, who becomes a potential victim of organ harvesting, subverting the entire system of law enforcement to retrieve his human. Oscar is a differently abled dog with his right forelimb being weaker. Every time Oscar was on the verge of being attacked or emaciated, the whole theatre gasped and prayed, even though collectively we knew he would be alright. Every time he outwitted the ‘bad-guys’, there was continual cheer and applause and a definitive sigh of relief. And when Oscar evoked his own retinue of faithful comrades, the humans erupted in pure delight. Pankaj Tripathi moved aside gladly to make his canine co-star shine in his own definitive right.

As in his previous films, Rai cumulatively pushes several important issues together, all packaged neatly within the overreaching symbol of the Hindu religion. Here, several rickshaw-pullers say that twenty thousand rupees has been enough money for their hush money in place of their kidneys. Prince’s father breathes a sigh of relief that the removal of one kidney does not mean death. His boy will live. He will earn and send home money for his family. Prince’s family is derided for the choice of his name; the police inspector pokes fun at Apu’s age, only to be outwitted, over and over again. Apu’s teacher is snubbed repeatedly by her uncle for her mother’s indiscretion in marrying an Assamese instead of a Punjabi. Patriarchy, stigma, abuse, neglect of animals and disenfranchisement of marginalised classes are all tied up in a neat little bundle. The symbol of the Hanuman Mandir, Maa Durga, the Assamese harvest dance of Lengpum Sokchon Kekan are all used to build a culture of harmonious co-existence- the unity in diversity narrative that has been the pillar of the subcontinent, but now hangs by a thread. Ironically, the same images intensify the texture of doom that looms large. Hanuman, the friendly Hindu God, said to be an incarnation of Shiva in his Rudra avatar, brings to mind how much veneration the religion reserves for dogs, with dogs being the Vahana of Kalbhairab. Now, if only followers of all religions tend to be kind too, just as their deities. The entire climax is built around the Hanuman Mandir in Bihar, which works as a compass for Oscar, centring and bringing him back, and the conch-shell or the bellowing of the shankha, an auspicious sound made during Hindu pujas, as well as during ancient wars, seems to climactically conclude the narrative and bring it full-circle. In typical Rai fashion, there is plenty of mention of the Mahabharata: how it begins and ends with a dog. In the Adi-parva of the epic, Sarameya, the son of the celestial dog-mother Sarama enters the Sarpayagna ritual grounds of king Janamejaya. Fearful that the dog might pollute the sacredness of the ritual, the brothers of the king beat the innocent little pup who whimpers in pain before running away. Sarama, burning with rage, confronts the king and curses him that a grave misfortune will befall his kingdom. Similarly, at the end, the only one to accompany Yudhistara to the gates of Heaven is a black dog, man’s eternal most loyal companion: it was Yamaraja in the guise of a dog, so beautifully symbolising that just like a dog, you cannot escape the loyalty of death: the greatest truth of life lies in death.

Over the years, Bollywood has immersed itself in producing propagandist communal hatred, churning mindless entertainers that function on gratuitous violence. On the other end of that spectrum lie severely sexist garbage that never should have seen the light of day (case in point: Cocktail 2 and Hain Jawani toh Ishq Hona Hai, here’s looking at you). So, when films like this are released, it becomes a fundamental duty of ours as sane citizens of the nation to watch this. Watch this with our families, our partners, with our friends, by ourselves, but in the theatres. It’s important. So that more films get made like this. So that balance in society is restored. The film might not be without seminal flaws, but it has its heart in the right place, and it is so heartwarming that you feel things you have perhaps forgotten to feel sitting in a theatre rooting for the Pathans and Tigers and Alphas and Hamza Ali Mazaris! We owe it to ourselves to watch this on the big screens without fail, to remember who we used to be before the fad of web series and reels took over our attention.