Psychodynamic Interpretation, Bollywood Movie, Childhood Sexual Abuse,

Trauma, Intrapsychic Conflicts, Stockholm Syndrome, Attachment Disorder.

Bhatt played a Delhi girl from a rich household, who gets abducted by Hooda, a
Haryanvi truck driver. Right before she gets kidnapped, Alia tells her fiancé
how claustrophobic she feels in the middle of the wedding proceedings. The
abduction serves as a blessing in disguise, as we find out later, as the forced
departure from her 'comfort zone' exposes her to the world beyond and the
freedom that comes with it. Buoyed down by social conditioning and the
perception of being a 'rich girl', she breaks free only when she is pulled out from
a familiar environment that curbs her natural identity.
In a telling scene, when Alia tries to sneak out of Hooda's hostage, he allows her
to run away, challenging her to escape the predicament. She runs with all her
might across the deserted land of Sambhar, Rajasthan. She calls out for help in
vain and eventually gets exhausted, only to come back to Hooda. This is
symbolic of how Alia, stuck in the rigmarole of high-profile life, ultimately gets
drained of her 'privilege'. She feels isolated even in the midst of 'well-wishers'
who pay no heed to her helpless shrieks. This scene is soon followed by Alia's
confession of how her uncle sexually abused when she was a child, and her
mother asked her to conceal the truth when she complained to her.
This feeling of being bound by your freedom is also the case with Hooda's
character. As a truck driver, he has the luxury of mobility, unlike Alia. While
she uses her newfound state to free herself of the throes of social conditioning,
he takes travel for granted. For him, it is merely a reflection of his evasive
approach. He keeps running away from his truth, from his childhood pain of
having an abusive, reckless and exploitative father. For him, travel is also an
escape; but not from the evils of society. It is merely a self-defense mechanism
to avoid confrontation with his instincts. As Alia embarks on her journey of
rediscovery, her confidence rubs on Hooda as well. He then warms up to the
idea of embracing his softer side, one that he had long foregone to deal with his
harsh realities.
In fact, there is a documentary-like treatment throughout the film as far as
capturing the journey is concerned. Most of the scenes are shot in natural light
and the movement of the camera is also jerky, because let us be practical: How
smooth can a truck ride be? Imtiaz tries to prove the same point through the
characters' journey. Their life is no less bumpy. It is only when they embrace
the shudder that they make the most of the ride.
Veera’s flight marks a turning point in the film, as helmer Ali alternates
between whirlwind closeups of the character running frantically toward the
camera and extreme long shots of her tiny figure amid the infinite salt flats
under a vast, star-filled sky.
Rahman’s evocative songs function mainly as inner voices conveying the
characters’ unspoken emotions, while their impromptu dialogue (minimal on his
part, run-on on hers) attests to their growing familiarity and ease

Anil Mehta’s HD lensing cannily exploits specific landscapes of the varied

provinces the film traverses, from Rajasthan’s salt flats to Kashmir’s snow-
capped mountains, interpreting them as psychologically resonant topography
rather than picturesque travelogue. Meanwhile, Rahman’s music, freed from the
staginess of intricately choreographed, multi-costumed setpieces, flows
sinuously throughout.
She displays potential—especially in a harrowing scene in which she tells her
companion of a secret that devastated her childhood — but she can’t really
convince us that the thread of snot coursing through her tears is not artful. And
in other places, she evokes incredulity: a high society Delhi girl in clothes that
do not wear any ‘kaajal’ that differs in smudge-size as she rolls about in sand
and mud?
The storyline was gripping, and Alia carried the movie on her shoulders. If she
had not stepped up to the acting challenge offered by the narrative, the movie
would’ve flopped. Imtiaz’s directorial skills in addition to Alia’s talent made for
an exceptional combo. Randeep Hood is also unforgettable as ‘Mahabir’
The film progresses in fits and starts. Veera’s revelation that she was at the
mercy of an abuser in her childhood comes almost out of nowhere. She gets
over her pique at being misused, at Mahavir’s entitled treatment of her,
abruptly, morphing from mortal fear to puppy-eyed willingness. Even she is
constantly surprised at her own transformation. Bhatt has done something
engrossingly tangible about Veera. She is a woman whose transformation defies
logic. In the limited arc of the character—with just two notes, outrage and
charming naivete—Bhatt establishes her promise as an actor.
Veera baby-talks to Mahabir, the way a mother would respond to her son’s
cuteness. She strokes his head when he sleeps, and she sings him a lullaby,
making up itty-bitty staccato words to fit the tune she overheard him humming.
(In contrast, the words sung by his mother, in the flashback featuring the lovely
Sooha saha, are more free-flowing.) In some ways, Veera becomes the mother
Mahabir has left behind, and he becomes the father she never had. When she
runs away and returns after finding that she has nowhere to go in the desert, he
instructs the members of his gang not to help her. “Apni marzi se bhaagi, apni
marzi se bheetar jaayegi.” And the next morning, she asks for permission when
she wants to step out. This disciplinarian aspect of a father is also brought out
when he asks her to dress properly. But elsewhere, when she gaily climbs a tree,
he watches with worry from below. And he buys her new clothes, which she
parades before him.
It could be Veera’s story alone, a Bildungsroman about a young girl who,
through an agent of change (Mahabir), is transformed. Or it could be seen, like
Gravity, as the story of a woman whose past trauma is exorcised by a traumatic
experience in the present. Bhatt is spectacular in the scene where she reveals
what this trauma is – it’s as if all those suppressed screams which she talks
about have congealed into this creature that’s burrowing its way out through her
throat.
The film ends with the gunshot that echoes the gunshot that marked its
beginning, when Veera first ran into Mahabir. (Both times, the sound is
amplified by the silence.) She’s got the freedom she wanted, and thanks to her,
he’s gotten a glimpse of what it would be like to meet his mother again, to visit
that simpler world again.
A lesser issue with the second half is that it has too many songs underlining the
mental state of the protagonists. Some are indispensable – like Sooha saha
(which features the gently disorienting editing we’ve come to associate with
Ali, with Mahabir’s chronology slightly fudged, boy to infant to boy again).
And the positioning of Patakha guddi is sensational. One scene, we see Veera’s
mother fearing the worst, and the next, we cut to how much fun Veera is having,
gulping down ganne ka ras and making pehelwan poses as the song soars in the
background. Even the stretch with Wanna Mash Up? is fun. (The entire theatre
burst out laughing when Mahabir’s gang member joined Veera in her
uninhibited dance.) But did we really need Kahaan hoon playing over the
confusion already etched on Veera’s face? We may not have minded this
intrusion in another film, but the storytelling in Highway is exquisitely
minimalist, with about five minutes of background music in total. (AR
Rahman’s short, eerie bursts of sound are perfectly in sync with the slight
surreality of the film.) The script and the performances provide the narrative
tension through the long stretches of silence – and it’s an insult to the
performers to have these editorialising lyrics playing in the background. As for
Heera and Maahi ve, they seem to have been squeezed into the final reels just
because Ali didn’t want to leave them out. But given what he’s achieved, you
feel ungrateful for complaining. By the end, I felt I’d been on a bit of a journey
myself, as if, after weeks of stale movies, the air in the cinema hall had
suddenly become cleaner. It’s hard to explain but you’ll know what I mean if
you remember the scene where Veera sees the river up in the mountains and is
awestruck. Leaving Highway, I knew exactly what she felt.