Vishal Bhardwaj’s The Blue Umbrella: An ode to childhood, warm weekends and candy-coloured cosmos

Arriving three years after the brilliant horror-comedy Makdee, The Blue Umbrella (2015) was Vishal Bhardwaj’s sophomore children movie offering. As far as tone is concerned, the two movies could not have been more different. While Makdee was eerily discomfiting, The Blue Umbrella pulsates with a throbbing heart. Based on Ruskin Bond’s story of the same name,

The Blue Umbrella is a children’s film set in an appropriately candy-coloured cosmos. The vibrant and scenic Himachal Pradesh thus becomes the stage for the story to unfold.

On an otherwise regular day in Biniya (Shreya Sharma), a nine-year-old girl’s life, a blue umbrella glides from the skies and gently drops on the green-carpeted landscape of Banikhet. The perspective that we are offered is that of the umbrella, watching the girl gape at it in amazement as it kisses the ground. The Mary Poppins-esque descent of the umbrella from the clouds immediately transports the viewer to a magical world. She trades the bear-claw necklace her bodybuilder brother had gifted her, and joyously parades her prized possession around the village. Biniya becomes the apple of the Banikhet’s eye — as the entire village is enamoured by this exquisite Japanese creation.

The setting of the film in a remote village is key to understanding the obsession with the titular blue umbrella. The azure of the umbrella is as vibrant as the sky above, proudly shrouding everyone seeking refuge under it. It is the only alien object to have infiltrated this otherwise sparse world — there is no internet connectivity, phones or exposure to the world that lies outside of the valley circled by lush mountains. Their only segue into the outside realm is a radio, on which Khatri and his friend, played by Deepak Dobriyal, listen to news about Bill Gates and his wealth.

Thus, this umbrella becomes the centre of attention of the entire village, especially the cantankerous old shopkeeper Nandkishore Khatri, played to absolute perfection by Pankaj Kapur. He tries bribing, threatening and scaring Biniya to acquire this umbrella.

But this Vishal Bhardwaj film is not cynical. Sure, it pits the purity of spirit of a childhood with the wiliness of adulthood. Biniya imagines Khatri as the ten-headed Raavan, the symbol of evil in Indian mythology, when she suspects that the man has finally managed to steal her umbrella. But Khatri is not an irredeemable monster ala Agatha Trunchball from Matilda. Aided by his young apprentice Rajaram, Khatri goes to the only umbrella shop in the village, but is heartbroken when he learns that he does not have the means to buy one for himself. For him, the obsessive quest for the umbrella is not just dictated by greed. He craves for the social acceptance that the nine-year-old Biniya seems to effortlessly enjoy. He is also aware of the umbrella’s economic currency — he is told it costs Rs 2500, five times more than he has at his disposal.

While the story is fairly threadbare, The Blue Umbrella urges you to take the flight of fancy and leap into the breathtaking world of Biniya and Khatri. The immaculate cinematography lends the film a relentless cheeriness; every frame is saturated with a technicoloured magnificence. It is always sunny in this Biniya-land — she even dedicates a song to the ‘neeli aasmaan’ that brightens up even the dullest moments. Colours are also symbolic in this film. When Nandu steals the umbrella, he dyes it blood red. Unlike for Biniya, the umbrella symbolises power and control for Khatri.

Biniya is at the centre of The Blue Umbrella. Like Jagga Jasoos, who undertakes an adventurous journey to locate his estranged adoptive father, (this writer dearly recommends everyone to watch this Anurag Basu gem), Biniya’s sleuth-like quest of the umbrella makes the otherwise languorous narrative taut. Indeed, the pace of the film is admittedly indulgent. But once you submit to Vishal Bhardwaj’s vision, it is difficult to tear away from the screen.

The Blue Umbrella is the kind of optimistic fare that soothes even the most chafed, post-pandemic souls. It will remind you of a simpler time, when weekends would mean peeling oranges and digging into Malgudi Days or Secret Seven.

Watch the film on Netflix India.